Swanston Street--Piccadilly of Melbourne
on the third floor of a decrepit building-
along its dark deserted corridor I went
in search of that my favourite boyhood bookstore-
the bald old man looked at me and said:
' Who could you be?'  He was half-blind
thick glasses hanging on his nose-- was he 100?
reading Rilke-piles of books beside--a pale light
flickered and half of the room was semi-dark
(Sign read:  Beware of your steps--don't step
on the books on the floor--they are precious)--

What are you looking for?'

Nothing in particular---poetry books, mainly

Over there, second shelf on your left

music from an old CD player filled the room--
Mahler's 'Resurrection' No 2 in C minor...

Young man, do you listen to this music? Mahler--my favourite!

Yes,  his melancholy makes me cry.  Brahms is also among my loves. Mahler- a romantic to excess-obsessed with brevity of life and loss of beauty....also with death. His music seems to say:
Mankind, do not be too happy--everything is ephemeral....

Here's a book on Mahler by Norman Brecht--you can have it--a gift from me.

Oh, no.   I said

We share great music and you have paid me.

But the book costs $40 as marked.

Take it.  How many people these days come here?  I was the number one book-man in Melbourne 50 years ago--I owned four shops.  Even the Governor and PM came here--look at the pictures on the wall....

I'm closing in December 2018.  My wife Dorothy died last year--she wrote beautiful love-poetry and wonderful books for kids--won a national prize.  She graduated from Cambridge--I'm just an ordinary person who finished high school but I loved books--so much did I learn from her.  It was she who urged me to venture into the book-trade.
I can't manage on my own.  Genug ist genug.  It's time to let go.

That's really sad.

And who could you be?  Coming to this ghost-of-a-shop?

I remember your wife so well, and you too. You are Tom.
I'm Peter. I came here as a boy to purchase a Latin primer from you.
Yes, published by Longmans--blue colour.  It was marked $2.
But you said:  Boy, it's a gift from me--after all, no one would buy it.
Aussie kids can't even manage their English and Latin would make them cry!

And your wife interjected--I had to do Latin at O Level as Cambridge and Oxford insisted on that before I could be accepted.
I did Caesar and Virgil.

You  remember me and dear Dorothy?
Forgive me,  that was so long ago and I had met thousands of school-boys and girls..... You are a gift!

What do you do for a living?

I teach dyslexic and intellectually-disadvantaged kids in rural Victoria.

(Two customers walked in and Tom had to attend to them).

Peter, here's my phone.  Please phone me. Come over for dinner.
I live in Brighton.... Maybe I could persuade you to take over this shop! (chuckle)

I left and a strange sense of sadness descended on me.

I walked into the crowded and bustling Swanton Street which seemed to me a world apart from where I came from.

I looked at my watch. It was past five.  Evening set in early, this being late autumn.  Vesper songs from St Paul's drifted through the air amidst the clanging of punk music.  A mother was pushing a pram.  A beggar begged outside Bank of Melbourne. The same blind man, an Asian, was trying to walk across the road to Flinders Station--every Melburnian knew him--he always refused any assistance offered by passersby  A horse-carriage passed by. Singing voices  were heard from Young & Jackson, the oldest pub.
A woman shouted for help:  I lost my dog!  He's called Brownie!
Did anyone see him?

I was turning to Flinders Lane where the City Library was located.

Someone called my name:  Peter, I'm Sandra! Buona sera!
She was my Italian teacher.

Do I call this an ordinary day in Melbourne?