To Have and Have Not

It had been boringhanging about the hotel all afternoon.The road crew were playing a game withdollar notes.Folding them into small planes to see whose would fly the

furthest.Havingnothing better to do,I joined in and won five,and then took the opportunity toescape with my profit. Despite the evil-looking clouds,I had to get out for a

while.

I headed for a shopon the other side of the street. Unlike the others,it didn't have a signshouting its name and business,and instead of the usual impersonal modern

lighting,there wasan appealing glow inside.Strangely nothing was displayed in the window.Not putoff by this,I went inside.

It took my breathaway.I didn't know where to look,where to start. On one wall there hung threehand-stitched American quilts that were in such wonderful condition they

might have beennewly -made .I came across tin toys and antique furniture,and on the wall infront of me,a 1957 stratocaster guitar,also in excellent condition.A cardpushed

between the stringssaid $50.I ran my hand along a long shelf of records,reading their titles.Andthere was more...

"Can I helpyou?"She startled me.I hadn't even seen the woman behind the counter comein.The way she looked at me,so directly and with such power. It was a look ofsuch

intensity that for amoment I felt as if I were wrapped in some kind of magnetic or electricalfield.I found it hard to take and almost turned away.But though it was

uncomfortable.I wasfascinated by the experi- ence of her looking straight into me,and by thefeeling that I was neither a stranger,nor strange, to her.

Besides amusementher expression showed sympathy. It was impossible to tell her age.She remindedme faintly of my grandmother because,although her eyes were friendly.I

could see that shewas not a woman to fall out with .I spoke at last."I was just lookingreally",I said,though secretly wondering how much of the stuff I couldcram into the

bus.

The woman turnedaway and went at once towards a back room,indicating that I should follow her.But it in no way lived up to the first room.The light made me feel

peculiar,too.It camefrom an oil lamp that was hung from the centre of the ceiling and created hugeshadows over eve-rything. There were no rare electric guitars,no old

necklaces,nohand-painted boxes with deli-cate flowers.It was also obvious that it must havetaken years,decades,to collect so much rub-bish,so many old documents arid

papers.

I noticed some oldbooks,whose gold lettering had faded, making their titles impossible toread."they look interesting",I said,with some hesitation."To beable to understand

that kind of writingyou must first have had a similar experience",she said clearly.She notedthe confused look on my face,but didn't add anything.

She reached up for asmall book which she handed to me."This is the best book I can give you atthe moment",she laughed."If you use it."I opened the book tofind it full,or

rather empty,withblank white pages,but paid her the few dollars she asked for it,becomingembar-rassed when I realised the notes were still folded into little paperplanes.I

put the book in mypocket,thanked her and left.The writerdisliked the back room because______.

A.there was hardlyanything in it

B. she had orderedhim to go there

C. he saw nothing hereally liked

D. it was too darkto look around