My parents owned books that they kept prominently displayed in a man-sized bookcase in the living room of the house on Burgos Street. My mother’s were novels and children’s (and, as the kids grew older, juvenile) books that occupied four of the shelves. On the bottom shelf were my dad’s odds and ends. He taught high school English but didn’t own any book worth listing nor did I see him ever read one. His life was completely taken up with administrative work at ICC and, when he came home, his horses and calesa business.
I read my mom’s books. Off the top of my head I remember two: Captain from Castille (published 1945) by American author Samuel Shellabarger and Rebecca (published 1938) by British author Daphne du Maurier. The 1938 edition of Rebecca sells for $187 on Amazon. Captain was republished in 2002. Two copies of the out-of-print hardcover edition are available for sale for $57 each. The effect of these books on my young mind is priceless.
From that 13-year-old boy’s world to my world today is immeasurable space yet no more difficult today to visit than the snow-covered garden outside the door. In fact the inner tundra begs to be revisited. To visit it again is to pay my dues in appreciation and gratitude. It’s like paying a debt, word for word.
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