Night at the Bookstore

By Eric W. Gershman

I encountered them at 4 am in the darkened café of the Barnes & Noble bookstore on 16th Street and Park Avenue, the one overlooking Union Square. They were nibbling on scones and sipping tea and coffee.

I had gathered a few of my favorite classics, as was my custom on my late night shifts, and stacked them on the floor. I had just sat down to enjoy a bit of reading. Next to me was the cleaning cart I wheeled through the store six nights per week, my trusty mop protruding from its yellow bucket.

The sound of voices in the deserted store drew my attention. I got up on my knees and peered through a gap on a shelf where the borrowed books had been.

What I saw fascinated me because long ago, back in Cairo, I was a professor of literature. I spent most of my hours between the covers. Few know of my former occupation as I was never able to transfer my credentials to America when I moved here thirty-four years ago. I came with my darling Faridah, who departed this life eleven months and four days ago. Without her, reading classics has become my last love on Earth.