Cover Story · Page 24
The Author Will See You Now
He wrote one book. He printed one copy. He would like a million dollars for it. LOOK spent an afternoon with the man in the crown.
Abdel Seoud is already there when I arrive, which makes sense. It's his flat. He is wearing a black cap with a gold crown on it, a brown corduroy shirt, and the expression of a man who has been waiting for a buyer for some time.
Behind him, on a shelf, sits the reason we're here: Dad, Look – I Wrote A Book! It is the only copy. There will never be another. He tells me this three times before I've sat down.
"One year of writing. One copy. One million dollars."
"One year of writing," he says. "One copy. One million dollars." I ask whether he has considered printing a second copy and selling it for less. He looks at me the way you would look at someone who has suggested cutting a painting in half.
What is the book about? "It's kind of a funny story," he says, and then nothing else. I wait. He waits longer. He has had practice.
The buyer, he explains, gets more than a book. There are beers with the author. There are chocolates, "the best you've had in years". I ask if I can have a chocolate. I cannot. They are for the buyer.
As I leave, he walks me to the door and says what I suspect he says to everyone: "Tell your friends. Tell your rich friends." This is me, telling you.