Travel Blog

Last week I was invited to go through a deceased friend’s books. David lived in Coral Gables, a few blocks from the Biltmore, and had the largest personal library I had ever seen in South Florida – a library that, thanks to his cleaning woman, was now contained in dozens of large, sealed cardboard boxes. Toby, who let me into the house, lent me his Swiss army knife and told me to call him when I was done.

It was 10 o’clock in the morning. The lights in the living room, where most of the boxes sat, were not working, so I had to keep the front door open to give myself light. I cut the tape on the first box and dug inside. Paperbacks were mixed in with hardcovers, my main interest. While I knew I’d find many desirable titles, there was one in particular I was in search of: Patrick Leigh Fermor’s A Time of Gifts. I have a copy – it is one of my favorite travel books – but David had once shown me his, which he had taken to an interview he had once conducted with the writer in London, who had not only signed it but adorned the inside with a whimsical illustration.

After 30 minutes I started to sweat. I took off my shirt and hung it on a wooden chair. Sounds of the street came in through the open door. My arms and hands were scratched and bruised from the jagged cardboard flaps. I tend to scoff at people who talk of departed loved ones looking down at them from heaven, but I did start to entertain a vision of David peering down at me as I rummaged madly through his collection. And I imagined him enjoying the sight of my frustrating hunt.

I pulled a number of volumes to take home with me – essay collections by V.S. Pritchett, Anthony Powell, Elizabeth Bishop; the poems of Robert Lowell, an 800-page biography of Lawrence Durrell; even some Leigh Fermor titles: Abducting a General, Words of Mercury, A Life in Letters – but not A Time of Gifts.

A little after 1 I gave up. I had gone through all the boxes in the living room, and a few in the dining room. I had a strong feeling that my luck wasn't going to change. Toby had said that the books will go to the library, which will put them on sale. I told him to keep me posted as to the date of the sale.