Miggi swung his satchel to the ground, where it landed with a thud. Bending, he flipped the flap and pulled out a small book. The cover had the reddish cast that finicky people call oxblood. The page edges were gilt. A title was stamped on its front in big, golden letters.
'Una Guida De Las Mariposas De Cuba'
'What's that'? , asked Langley.
'Just an old book I found', replied Miggi, mysteriously. 'Worth nothing.'
He held up the book so its title was visible.
'Since when did you become interested in bugs', asked Langley, drolly, eyelids lowered.
The question resonated in Spanish, because he used the derogatory term 'bichos' instead of 'bugs'.
'Recently', replied Miggi, staring. 'So it's better to study with a venerable guide'.
He made the point. Langley tried to keep his face blank, but couldn't. A bolt of laughter escaped him and his body shook with amusement. He suddenly felt the kind of affection for Miggi that the good-natured feel when people they favor tease them agreeably, to get their goat. But he soon sobered.
''Makes sense', he chirped. 'Let's have a look'.
Miggi obliged and handed over the book.
He opened the book and studied the front-piece. It had its first printing in Madrid, in 1909. No later printings were listed. Langley whistled:
'A first edition'! , he exclaimed, pushing back his hat.
'A what'? replied Miggi.
'A first edition', repeated Langley, more softly, realizing the term meant diddly to Miggi.
'What's that'? replied Miggi, feeling shame dawn for his oversight.
'It means it's valuable. Valioso'.
Morgan Michaels
http://www.poemhunter.com/poem/from-the-double/
