The local market had a bookseller, and I needed to buy a book or two
What I saw was a stack of books arranged on a cart, publications old and new
A bit difficult to browse through, for someone used to large bookstores
I must admit I had never bought books at such a place before
The books were all in English, the language of the literary-minded
(In a country with twenty-two official languages, myself I reminded)
*
I had read quite a few, and was trying to find
A thicker, unread treatise to occupy my mind
My enthusiasm the bookseller did recognize
He began suggesting options, and to my surprise
He knew what the books were about, he could give me
An elevator pitch for each book he held out, an abbreviated summary
When I picked “Great Works of Franz Kafka”, quite enthusiastically
He listed the titles of all the stories in the book for me
He knew what Kafka had written, he knew something about the content
I was genuinely impressed by his effort and the extent
To which he had tried to learn about the goods (books) he was trying to sell
It could not have been easy for someone who did not know English well..
*
Despite the fact that someone like him probably struggles to make ends meet
He had learnt the art of salesmanship, to sell his cartload of books on the street
I smiled to myself as I walked home with Kafka’s works in hand
This was salesmanship at its finest, in my motherland..
Passion...unbridled 