Books like Pan

I went into the café and sat down in the corner. I prefer to sit there. I took out my book and opened it. After a while, I looked up and saw that one of the waitresses was standing behind me. I realised she had been there for some time. She was a pretty brunette who looked about twenty.- Excuse me, I said. I didn't notice you.- That's okay, she replied and laughed. I didn't want to disturb you. What's that you've got there?- Pan, I said. By Knut Hamsun.- And you can read it? she said. What language is it in?- I suppose Norwegian, I said. Or maybe Danish. - You can't tell the difference? she said and raised her eyebrows. - I expressed myself badly, I said. They were almost the same language in 1894. At least in novels.- But you can read it? she asked again.- Quite easily, I said. If I guess a few words. It's very beautiful. He has a unique way of writing. I wanted to tell her more about Hamsun's style, but she interrupted me.- So what are you doing later today? she asked.- Finishing this book, I said. I like to read a lot. She was standing too close to me. I shifted my position and stretched out my hand, knocking over a glass of water.- I'm terribly sorry, I said. I was so embarrassed by my clumsiness that tears almost came into my eyes.- It doesn't matter, she told me. She fetched a rag and mopped up the mess I'd made. - Now what can I get you, she asked. A coffee? And I'll leave you alone with your book.- A latte, I said. A few minutes later, she came back. She put down the coffee on the table with exaggerated care.- You see, I'm not disturbing you, she said, and she patted my hand.I sat and tried to read Pan, but I was unable to concentrate. I drank my coffee slowly and tried to think how to explain the charm of the writing. I realised that I didn't even know the waitress's name. After a while, I walked over to the counter. She was talking with an older man who looked like her boss.- Coffee okay? she said. That's $4.10. I handed her a five. She gave back me the change. There was a little jar of coins in front of me with a sign saying BEER MONEY. I put my ninety cents in it. - Thanks, she smiled.- You know, I said, speaking a bit too quickly, I believe I can tell you what's special about Hamsun. - Who? she said.- The Norwegian who wrote the book I'm reading, I said.- Oh, right, she said. - It's the way he has of describing people, I explained. What they feel and what they see. You see, he can kind of--- Sorry, she said. I'm in the middle of doing something with Mac here. Why don't you come back and tell me tomorrow?I suddenly hated her. She had only pretended to be interested. I reached into the jar and took back my ninety cents. Her face crumpled as though I'd just slapped her. I immediately regretted what I had done.- Oh, I'm sorry, I'm sorry, I'm so sorry, I said. I'm sorry. Please forgive me. Can you forgive me?- It's okay, she said after a few seconds. She tried to laugh, but I could see her boss staring at me. I left without saying goodbye.