Lee Albert, sat in the garden cafe, in Huancayo, Peru, at “Mia mama” and ate a bacon, lettuce, and tomato sandwich, washed down with a cup of dark coffee, under a large umbrella, his goddaughter, was over there. Ximena had stopped to greet him as usual, after school. Above him the sky was turning a light gray, it looked like rain, “What are you reading Godfather?” she asked.
“The Children of Húrin,” he said, adding: “From Tolkien, have you read it yet?”
“No,” she answered.
“He would like?” she asked.
“Oh yes, absolutely,” she replied.
How good it felt, he told himself, someone who wants a good read, like me, that here at last was life at its best, a light lunch in the sun, and a goddaughter, who was sixteen, pretty. like a sparrow, and enjoying a good read.
He took another bite of his BLT, told Mini the chef, “Wow, this sandwich tastes great today,” maybe because he found someone he didn’t think was coconut, about reading and writing, that he liked the part about read as much as Hey. There were stars in the air.
“I’ll ask you for a copy for your birthday,” he said, “but of course not a real First Edition, like this one, which costs $140, but one that costs $40, a Second Edition.”
It didn’t seem to him to be here or there with a first or second edition, just getting one was great.
And on her birthday, he brought her the book, “I hope you enjoy reading this,” he told her, and she gave him a warm, homey smile, a bit of real life in that smile, and he felt comfortable.
Similarly, Lee Albert gave another young relative named Diane, who was visiting him with her father, a $140 first edition copy of his book, “Children of Hurin,” after hearing that she She would very much like a copy to read, and she showed the deepest joy in receiving it, and he felt good, and that it was splendid that she also liked reading the book, or just reading in particular, like Ximena. He felt as if they were three peas in a pod, they were, to like.
And she was the same age as Ximena, and they were both good friends. She got to thinking that maybe they would share notes on the book, so she went out and bought a third copy, a signed first edition, $460 for him.
And meanwhile, he lay back at home and reread the book, enjoying the second reading even more than the first, wondering how his two pretty young nieces would fare with their copies, and maybe they could all share a nice conversation or exploration. . on the characters, theme, or plot of the book.
He looked at the full body pictures in the book too, he stared at them, he examined them, he loved the artwork.
It had been six months now where he felt like they had both, or hoped they had both read the book in its entirety and wanted their opinions on that.
He had met with Ximena one day and had asked her if she liked the story, and she had said, “No, I didn’t read the whole thing, it’s in my room on a shelf, but I plan to get to it and read it.” the rest.”
“Oh,” he said, “how much have you read?”
“About twenty pages,” he commented.
‘Oh,’ he said again, and rolled his eyes, and felt a little empty, wondering: ‘Twenty pages, it’s like climbing the first step of a ladder and standing still.’ Maybe he likes the cover of the book more than the content, or maybe he just doesn’t like reading for reading’s sake, which is knowing. However, she had asked him, maybe she was just being polite. What a miscalculation.
He then met with Diane, thinking that she probably would have read it, but now he had his doubts and asked her bluntly, “Did you enjoy the book?”
She lowered her head and said sheepishly, “No…ooo, sorry, I haven’t read it yet… (actually, I haven’t even started reading it yet)” she looked so bad for having to. Saying that she hadn’t read it, she felt guilty for asking him in the first place. And he again raised her eyebrows, trying to remember when he was young, and what he had done when someone had given him a book to read, and all he could remember was, ‘Nobody ever offered him a book.’ .
3-12-2009. Dedicated to Ximena and Diane o/ds FF
Spanish version
The history of the book
By Dr. Dennis L. Siluk
Lee Albert was sitting under a large umbrella in the “La Mía Mamma” garden cafe in Huancayo, Peru, including a bacon, lettuce and tomato sandwich, washing it down with a pile of strong coffee; his goddaughter Ximena was there, she had stopped to greet him as she usually did after leaving school. Above him the sky was turning slightly grey, it looked like it was going to rain.
What are you reading godfather? she asked.
“The Children of Hurin” he replied, adding, “by Tolkien, have you read it yet?”
“No” she argued.
“Would you like to read it?” he asked.
“Oh yes, absolutely” she replied.
How good it feels, he told himself deeply, someone who wants to have a good read, like me; finally here life was at its best: a light lunch under the sun and a goddaughter, who was sixteen years old, as pretty as a sparrow and enjoying a good read.
He bit into another piece of his BLT sandwich and said to Mini, the chef, “gosh, this sandwich tastes so good today!” maybe because he found someone he didn’t expect that he was a “cuckoo” in reading and writing, someone who liked reading as much as he did. There were stars in the air.
“I’m going to buy a copy for you for your birthday,” he told her, “but of course not a first edition original, like this one, which cost $140, but one that costs $40 dollars, a second edition.”
This didn’t seem to matter much to Ximena, she didn’t care if she had a first edition or a second edition, just the fact of having one was already magnificent.
And on her birthday, he took the book from her, “I hope you enjoy reading it” he said to her, and she smiled at him pleasantly and simply, there was a piece of true life in that smile and he felt comfortable .
In the same way, Lee Albert gave Dayanne, another young relative who was visiting him with her father, the $140 book, the original first edition of “The Children of Hurin” after hearing that she really I would like to have a copy to read it; and she arose the deepest of joys upon receiving it; and he felt good, and he felt that it was splendid that she also liked reading the book, or just reading in particular, like Ximena. He felt that they were like three drops of water, they were alike.
And Dayanne was about Ximena’s age, and they were both very good friends. He came to think that perhaps they would share some notes on the book; and so he went and bought a third copy of the same book for himself, a first edition with the author’s signature that cost him $460 dollars.
And meanwhile, he stretched out at home and reread the book, enjoying reading it a second time even more than the first time, wondering how his two pretty young nieces were doing reading his books, and that maybe all of them could share a pleasant conversation or the exploration of the characters, the theme or the plot of the book.
He went through the drawings in the book too, staring at them, examining them, he liked the artwork.
Six months had already passed, in which he felt that they, or hoped that they had finished reading his books in their entirety and wanted their opinion on it.
One day he met Ximena and asked her if she had enjoyed reading the book, and she said: end of reading the restaurant”
“Oh, he said, how much have you read?
“About twenty pages,” she commented.
“Ah,” he said again, and rolled his eyes, and felt like a void, saying to himself, “Twenty pages, it’s like submitting the first rung of the ladder and standing still. She likes pasta.” of the book more than the content possibly, or maybe she didn’t enjoy reading for the love of reading. But I asked her. Maybe she was just being polite, what a mistake!”
He then met up with Dayanne, figuring that she had most likely already read the book, but now he had his doubts, and asked her bluntly, “Did you enjoy the book?”
She lowered her head and said sheepishly “no… oo… sorry I haven’t read it yet…” (Actually she hadn’t even started reading it yet) she hadn’t read the book yet, but he felt guilty for asking her in the first place. And again he rolled his eyes, waggled his eyebrows, trying to remember when he was young and what he would have done if someone had given him a book to read, and all he could remember was: “no one had ever offered him a book”.
Written on March 12, 2009. Dedicated to Ximena and Diane.