I've just had some late-night coffee. There may be some left. Give me your cap. Take off that coat. The file index is there. Go look up your old library cards for the hell-heck-of it.»
«Are they still
«Librarians save everything. You never know who's coming in on the next train. Go.»
When she came back with the coffee, he stood staring down into the index file like a bird fixing its gaze on a half-empty nest. He handed her one of the old purple-stamped cards.
«Migawd,» he said, «I took out a lot of books.»
«Ten at a time. I said no, but you took them. And,» she added,
«I can't believe. I must not have lived anywhere else but here. May I take this with me, to sit?» He showed the cards. She nodded. «Can you show me around? I mean, maybe I've forgotten something.»
She shook her head and took his elbow. «I doubt that. Come on. Over here, of course, is the adult section.»
«I begged you to let me cross over when I was thirteen. 'You're not ready,' you said. But-«
«I let you cross over anyway?»
«You did. And much thanks.»
Another thought came to him as he looked down at her.
«You used to be taller than me,» he said.
She looked up at him, amused.
«I've noticed that happens quite often in my life, but I can still do
Before he could move, she grabbed his chin in her thumb and forefinger and held tight. His eyes rolled.
He said:
«I remember. When I was really bad you'd hold on and put your face down close and scowl. The scowl did it. After ten seconds of your holding my chin very tight, I behaved for days.»
She nodded, released his chin. He rubbed it and as they moved on he ducked his head, not looking at her.
«Forgive, I hope you won't be upset, but when I was a boy I used to look up and see you behind your desk, so near but far away, and, how can I say this, I used to think that you were Mrs. God, and that the library was a whole world, and that no matter what part of the world or what people or thing I wanted to see and read, you'd find and give it to me.» He stopped, his face coloring. «You
She looked around, slowly, at the thousands of books. She felt her heart move quietly. «Did you really call me what you just said?»
«Mrs. God? Oh, yes. Often. Always.»
«Come along,» she said at last.
They walked around the rooms together and then downstairs to the newspaper files, and coming back up, he suddenly leaned against the banister, holding tight.
«Miss Adams,» he said.
«What is it, Captain?»
He exhaled. «I'm scared. I don't want to leave. I'm afraid.»
Her hand, all by itself, took his arm and she finally said, there in the shadows, «Sometimes-I'm afraid, too. What frightens
«I don't want to go away without saying good-bye. If I never return, I want to see all my friends, shake hands, slap them on the back, I don't know, make jokes.» He stopped and waited, then went on. «But I walk around town and nobody knows me. Everyone's gone.»
The pendulum on the wall clock slid back and forth, shining, with the merest of sounds.
Hardly knowing where she was going, Miss Adams took his arm and guided him up the last steps, away from the marble vaults below, to a final, brightly decorated room, where he glanced around and shook his head.
«There's no one here, either.»
«Do you believe that?»
«Well, where are they? Do any of my old pals ever come visit, borrow books, bring them back late?»
«Not often,» she said. «But listen. Do you realize Thomas Wolfe was wrong?»
«Wolfe? The great literary beast? Wrong?»
«The
«You
«That's it. He was wrong.
«Yes. Myths. Legends. Mummies. Aztec kings. Wicked sisters who spat toads. Where I really lived. But I don't see my people.»
«Well.»
And before he could speak, she switched on a green-shaded lamp that shed a private light on a small table.
«Isn't this nice?» she said. «Most libraries today, too much light. There should be shadows, don't you think? Some mystery, yes? So that late nights the beasts can prowl out of the stacks and crouch by this jungle light to turn the pages with their breath. Am I crazy?»
«Not that I noticed.»
«Good. Sit. Now that I know who you are, it all comes back.»
«It couldn't possibly.»
«No? You'll see.»
She vanished into the stacks and came out with ten books that she placed upright, their pages a trifle spread so they could stand and he could read the titles.
«The summer of 1930, when you were, what? ten, you read all of these in one week.»
«Oz? Dorothy? The Wizard? Oh,
She placed still others nearby.
«My God,» he said quietly, «did I say that?»
«You did. Here's more you read a dozen times. Greek myths, Roman, Egyptian. Norse myths, Chinese. You were
«King Tut arrived from the tomb when I was three. His picture in the Rotogravure started me. What else have you there?»
«Three dozen times!
«You never left. Summertimes you were here when I unlocked the doors. You went home for lunch but sometimes brought sandwiches and sat out by the stone lion at noon. Your father pulled you home by your ear some nights when you stayed late. How could I forget a boy like that?»
«But still-«
«You never played, never ran out in baseball weather, or football, I imagine. Why?»
He glanced toward the front door.
«They?»
«You know. The ones who never borrowed books, never read. They. Them.
She looked and remembered. «Ah, yes. The bullies. Why did they chase you?»
«Because they knew I loved books and didn't much care for them.»
«It's a wonder you survived. I used to watch you getting, reading hunchbacked, late afternoons. You looked
