15,904. I HEAR THE KNIGHTS

I HEAR THE KNIGHTS OF MALTA 

ARE SINGING ONCE AGAIN

That may be, but you only have my word.

At Princeton, twice a year, direct from Malta,

the same woman would show up. She was the

proprietor of the only bookshop on the Isle of

Malta (look it up then!), and she'd come with

her line of credit and some listing of books.

She stick around a few days and make her

selections. Piles of oddities and intellectual

books  -  the crawly-with-knowledge sorts of

reads only the rigid class gets.

-

I liked her; she was tough and in-your-face, if

it got that way. Never turning backwards, she

seemed always intent on a forward motion. Her

stories of Malta were cool; as she perused, she

also mused, so we covered lots of subjects to

boot. It was hard for me, of course, to either

understand fully, or grasp the proportions of

the things she'd said. I had no grasp of Malta,

and my slim history-reads were a gruesome

guide. Eventually, we'd pack up her 40 or 60

books and - until next time - I'd start dreaming

once more about the cool life she must lead.