B007P4V3G4 EBOK by Richard Huijing Read Free Book Online Page A

of
vegetables, wooden chests, small livestock and even a patient on a
stretcher. In the midst of all the activity and the frantic shouting
from the ship's railing to the edge of the dock and back, someone
managed to tell me that this was the weekly call at Argentera. All
other days, the scheduled service between Marseille and Livorno
sails past, non-stop, but once a week, in both directions, the ferry
calls at the island.
    What with all the running about on board I was barely given
the opportunity, during our already short stop, to take in the
island properly. Thinking back to that first impression, what I
particularly see again are those steep, narrow little streets, the
yellow-brown houses, the pebbly beach at the beginning of
the concrete berthing pier, all of this in the waning light of the
Mediterranean evening sun. Perhaps fifty or a hundred houses
could be seen; beyond that, Argentera seemed on first acquaintance
to be a forgotten, parochial island with more rocks and trees than
houses and people. I would therefore never have called this flash
visit to mind with special attention or have got to know anything
at all about the island, let alone that I would ever have set foot
there, had not an unfortunate incident taken place during the hasty
loading of goods that had to join us for the trip from Argentera to
Livorno.
    Our crew were being rushed to such a pitch by the captain, who
sought to shorten the delay as much as possible, that on taking in a sack with items of mail, part of the contents fluttered down like
white birds on to the water. The command to take in the two
gangways had already sounded through the megaphone and the
ship's engines were already making the extra revolutions necessary
for departure, so there could be no question of suffering further
delay for a few letters. The unfortunate mail was taken up mercilessly in the maelstrom of our propeller, while the ship loosed itself
from the little port. Among the people getting smaller on the pier
there was an older man in a sand-coloured suit who was beside
himself with excitement about the slight mishap with the consignment of mail. He had to be calmed down by three others and, by
the look of it, they were barely able to prevent him from jumping
into the water, fully dressed, in order to rescue the papers, indeed,
to prevent the ship from leaving, or so his wild gestures seemed to
suggest.

    The ship's turning obscured this tableau from my view and I
returned to my cabin to continue my evening meal there. Passing
the mezzanine deck I stepped aside a moment as a member of the
crew wished hurriedly to pass, and the moment I walked on, I saw
a letter jammed in the metal mount of a life buoy. The chic white
envelope was addressed to the Libreria Maccari in Livorno. During
the slipping open of the mailbag this letter must have got stuck
halfway through its fall. Doubtless, I would have quite properly
handed it in to the crew, or posted it in Livorno myself, were it
not that I was intrigued by its sender's name. Pre-printed in
splendid, dark-blue little letters, bottom-left, on the cream-white
cover, it read: Bibliotheca Sarrazina, Dr R. Sarrazin. What, for
heaven's sake, did such an island as this want with a scholarly
library? This was a question I dearly wished to investigate myself,
instead of immediately handing over the possible answer to others.
    Alas, the lights were out already in my cabin and, presumably,
the food was finished. From the upper bunk, satisfied snoring rang
out, in any case. Feeling my way, I rolled on to the bottom berth
and, before falling asleep, I felt a moment for the letter in my inner
pocket.
    As soon as we had gone ashore in the port of Livorno, in the early
light, walking along the quayside, I tore open the envelope. At
first sight, the contents disappointed me a little and I felt regret
that I had been unable to restrain my curiosity. In refined, oldfashioned handwriting