What could be better for a fledgling writer of
history texts than to have a sixteenth century
chest in which to store your work. It seemed
perfect, as if it was a sign that I was destined to
succeed as an historical writer. The owner told
me it had arrived just yesterday with two boxes of
old papers and he quickly left to haul them out.
They were very large, and after dragging them to
the middle of the shop, he stood aside as I flipped
through a few inches of each of them, hoping of
course that they were filled with papers from the
period of the desk, which would have been a
great find and something worth many nights of
scouring. But they were not. It seemed to be
mostly personal registers, bank reconciliations
and such, dating from perhaps fifty years ago. I
quickly abandoned the examination of the papers
without taking the time to look any further. I told
him I really had no interest in them and he soured
a bit. “Why not take them and give them a better
look?” I told him I really didn’t need a closer
look. He pressed me, asking if I were sure about
not being interested in them, and I said yes. From
the quick inspection I had made, there was no
reason to even consider taking them out of the
shop. Then I realized he was concerned I might
transfer that lack of interest to the chest. I quickly
reassured him that I still wanted the chest and he
brightened, said that would be fine, and we
agreed on a price. He asked me if I would mind
grabbing one of the boxes and follow him out to
the trash. He hoisted his box up, groaning under
the strain and tossed it in. It broke from the
weight of the papers and they spilled out over the
trash already there. He turned and began to walk
back into the shop. “Just toss it in, and we’ll
finish up our transaction.” I hauled the box up
and heaved it, it also split open. Then I saw them
strewn amongst the papers. They had certainly
been in the box, but far below the level I had
examined a few minutes ago. Three leather
covered objects. They looked like old
manuscripts. I leaned over and pulled out the
thickest one. It wasn’t bound, two age darkened
pieces of leather wrapped with cord around pages
of what seemed to be parchment. I reached for
another one, but before I had dragged it out I
heard the voice of the owner, I turned and he was
standing in the door. I dropped what was in my
hands. Inside we completed our transaction. Then
I said jokingly, “No discount for not taking the
boxes!” He laughed and said, “No discount, but
you can still have them if you want to dig them
out!” I laughed and said I might spend a few
minutes retrieving some of them if he didn’t
mind. “Suit yourself.”
