Fast Fiction: Poems By Graves
There wasn't much in the small shop with the grimy window. A few bottles, stone jars, bits of furniture, paperback novels at 50p each...and a volume of Robert Graves's poems. Richard Mallinson's story distils the wonder of young love.
They walked up the steep cobbled street and looked in the window of a small shop near the top. They couldn’t see much through the grime - or perhaps there wasn’t much to see.
They went in. A dismal-sounding bell rang as they opened the door and again as they closed it behind them. The interior was tiny and dusty.
Behind the counter was a small old bald-headed man. The only light came through the dirty window. The old man stared at them but didn’t speak.
‘We’ve just come in to look around.’ Jane said. The old man merely went on staring at them.
They let their eyes wander only to find, well, what? Not much. A few bottles, stone jars and bits of furniture, some old books and bric-a-brac.
Jane looked at the books - several paperback novels at 50p each. But there was also a slim hardback volume of poems. It was by Robert Graves. Jane picked it up and saw that it was priced, in pencil, at £20.
She read the short foreword by Graves in which he said that poets should write only for other poets.
‘We’ll have it,’ said Jane, ‘though it’s expensive.’
‘It’s a first edition, it’s been there for two years,’ said the old man. ‘I wondered when somebody was going to spot it.’ He spoke as if he had lots of customers.
‘Who decided on the price?’ asked Jack.
‘I did,’ said the old man proudly. ‘I’ll put it in a bag for you.’
On the bus going home Jane took the book out of the brown paper bag and opened it at the first poem and there was their £20 note.
‘Shall we go back with it?’ she asked.
‘No, I think he meant us to keep it,’ said Jack.
‘Yes,’ said Jane, ‘you are probably right.’
And she thought that it was just the kind of thing that happened to you when you were young and in love but probably not when you weren’t.
