42. The Bookseller’s Niece
She was only the bookseller’s niece, but that was enough for the bookseller. Dust from old pages went floating around unmoored by meaning. She tucked a strand of hair behind her ear, smiled like Madonna, or Buddha, and continued sorting the books coming out of empty cardboard boxes. The bookseller keeps buying more, and his niece keeps dusting them off, the dust of words and ideas hidden in closed boxes, wrapped in old newspaper, becoming dust itself. When the bookseller’s niece becomes dust herself, perhaps she will become a book as well. Perhaps we’ll all become books someday as well.