The Bookseller

By: Carlos Castro

I walked quickly to one of the busiest bookstores in the city, with the firm intention of buying a book by Isabel Allende. I didn’t know which one, but I had read a few stories from her, and I wanted something similar.

When I went inside the store – filled with books that touched the ceiling – the sounds of the street, the cars, and the sax from the Cuban playing jazz from the other sidewalk vanished.

The atmosphere was heavy due to the intoxicating smell of burning vanilla, sandalwood, and orange incense. Men and women found their way around the employees who classify the books, dusting them with exotic feathers. Today they were giving away dissected butterfly bookmarks to their most frequent customers.

“I’m looking for books by Isabel Allende,” I told the lady with the messy hair who peeked out behind a display case.

“My pleasure,” she answered.

She made me accompany her, and as we walked, she seemed to lovingly touch all the books that formed our literary pathway.

She grabbed five books without looking at them. It was as if her hands had memorized their exact location in the middle of the endless stacks of words and letters and thoughts that had been recorded on paper.

As soon as I took the books from her, the woman returned to the front. I was grateful to be left alone, without the pressure I often feel in bookstores to act like I’m an expert on the subject.

It didn’t take me long to choose, but as I walked back down the hallway, I saw another book out of the corner of my eye that I had wanted to read months before. I took the five books back to their sacred place and advanced triumphantly towards the cash register, satisfied with my choice.

The lady had tied her hair up with a long ribbon that fell to her waist. I felt her look of disdain immediately. I tilted my head, looking for an explanation.

“Changing Isabel Allende for Elena Garro? Oh well. Isabel lost today.”

She took the money and put it inside the cash register, without looking at it.

When I opened the door and returned to the street, the Cubans had organized a dance, and some people were laughing and replicating the trendy steps on TikTok.

I looked at them, dismayed.

With her few words, the bookseller had killed my hope. I felt ignorant. It was clear that I had made a very bad decision.

“Should I have bought one of the five books she proudly presented to me?”

I began to walk, holding the book in my right hand, and a lack of confidence in my left.

Minutes later I removed the wrapping and read the first sentence. The memory of the disheveled woman disappeared, along with the self-imposed shame I always feel in bookstores.

The reality is that I bought a great book, and I would buy it again.

This whole situation made me think about how easily we question our beliefs just because a world-wise academic looks at us with contempt for believing in an invisible God. “Maybe they’re right,” we say. “Why should we love our enemies? It doesn’t make sense. And maybe the Bible is just an old book that’s gone out of fashion – a tool that’s been used to control the masses.”

In our lives, there will be many sellers of books, ideas, and habits that, according to them, are the best and most current. But don’t be ashamed of your book, either; don’t be ashamed of your faith. Hold it tight, open it up in the middle of the café, and why not? Dance with the Cubans to celebrate that you have the best book in the world.

*Carlos Castro has a Masters in Psychotherapy and is an athlete and author. Together with his INMERSO team, they motivate and train evangelists and church planters in Mexico.