Perhaps you started leafing through the book already in the shop. Or were you unable to, because
it was wrapped in its cocoon of cellophane? Now you are on the bus, standing in the crowd,
hanging from a strap by your arm, and you begin undoing the package with your free hand, making
movements something like a monkey, a monkey who wants to peel a banana and at the same
time cling to the bough. Watch out, you’re elbowing your neighbors; apologize, at least.
Or perhaps the bookseller didn’t wrap the volume; he gave it to you in a bag. This simplifies
matters. You are at the wheel of your car, waiting at a traffic fight, you take the book out of the
bag, rip off the transparent wrapping, start reading the first lines. A storm of honking breaks over
you; the light is green, you’re blocking traffic.