“Hello, how are you?” I called on to the elderly gentleman.
He seemed to not have recalled who I was and asked, “Have we met before?”
When I explained about the incident back then, he immediately reached out his hand to shake mine saying, “Oh yes yes, that Japanese man, I apologize.”
I asked, “Can you tell me something? I’m trying to learn about the book hunting trade from Jack at the moment and I wondered which antique book stores do art book collectors usually spend time in? I want to learn about this world of book collections.”
“Do you know how many antique book shops there are in New York? Over 200 and probably half of that are facing the street. The rest are hidden away in a room in a building, reservation only. Many collectors tend to frequent such places, I would say.”
Seeing how generous he was, I had to fight the urge to tell him about A GOLD BOOK which I have in my possession but refrained as I well knew that he was Jack’s client.
So I learned that there are many antique book stores in the city and that many discreetly operate from a room in a building to collectors only.
He took out a memo from his bag, wrote down the name and number of a store, and handed it to me saying, “For art books, this is where you should go.”
“If you say I introduced you, the owner will probably teach you many things.”

That day, the old gentleman had on a crisp white button-down shirt with a red V-neck sweater.
I said, “You look nice in a red sweater” to which he responded with a bit of embarrassment, “My daughter gave this to me as a present. I thought “Red? At my age?” at first, because I would hardly choose this color, but since I get complimented often when I wear this, I now think red sweaters are good, even for men.”
He gave me his business card and said, “If you ever need anything, just let me know. You can ask about me from Jack.”
I thought, you know, it’s not a bad idea to give my father a red sweater for his birthday next month.
Before parting our ways, I asked, “So did you buy any books today?” to which he took out one from his bag and showed it to me. It was titled, “Please Plant This Book.”
“Adorable book, right? Do you know Richard Brautigan? This is his poetry collection.”
There was a picture of a little girl printed on front.
“She looks so much like my daughter when she was little,” said the old gentleman.