When I moved out of my parents’ house to another country, young and adventurous – I did not care taking with me my great collection of children books. I loved those books, each of them being a separate reality I used to travel to in the long evenings of my early years.
Years later I came home to find out that all my books have been taken by some relatives with children and therefore vanished out of my life forever. I was sad and angry. Why would they take my books without even asking?!
Today a memory hit me as a boomerang from the past. How did I come to possess the best half of my books? As a little girl I used to spend my summers at my grandma’s. One day while playing scouts in the attic (strictly forbidden activity) I dug out two boxes from the outer-front attic corner, well hidden and all covered by dust. Two large boxes full of children books. This was a real treasure.
Without asking I have taken those books and brought them home.
Those books belonged to a young lady-teacher, who used to rent half of the house at my grandmother’s. Out of a sudden she received an immigration invitation and left the country with one little suitcase. She left her books behind, and then I came and took them without asking.
My books left me in the same way they came into my possession…