B007P4V3G4 EBOK by Richard Huijing Read Free Book Online Page B

endorsed by a flamboyant signature, Dr Raoul Sarrazin was ordering a dozen geological studies and reference books from Maccari and Company. Except for author's names
and the titles of the desired works, the letter contained nothing
other than polite phrases, references to terms upon which previous
orders had been fulfilled and, finally, a word of thanks in advance
for rapid despatch. The remarkable thing, however, was that there
were three books among them written by Dr R. Sarrazin himself,
and on re-reading the titles I did rediscover my curiosity of the
previous day: Recherches mineralogiques dans la region nord-ouest de la
Mediterranee, L'isola di Argentere e in sua importanza nella letteratura
Napoleonica and - especially - Description de la vie quotidienne en
Argentera. Tome XXXVI. I had never heard of the remaining
authors, nor of their just as picturesquely entitled works.

    Sitting on a bench in the light of the sun that was getting
warmer, I wondered what kind of backwater that minute island
would have to be, what with that academic Bibliotheca Sarrazina.
Was there a librarian sitting there, day in, day out, working on
historical studies of his island in the Napoleonic era? And, in the
meantime, did he take down the daily events in the village as well?
And how, from this badly accessible clump of rock, could he
undertake mineralogical research in what he called la region nordouest de la Mediterranee? In short: I really had become curious now,
and counted myself lucky that I had opened the letter and,
moreover, that I had the opportunity to sort out this affair right to
the bottom.
    Before commencing my immodest sleuthing, I first went and
had breakfast and subsequently, in the mounting heat of morning, I
looked for a cheap little hotel. I found the Albergo al Porto not far
from the docks, a small, tall building that had not been painted for
a hundred years but which, from my rickety balcony, did indeed
give, only just, - almost miraculously bit of a view on the
harbour and the Mediterranean that stretched out beyond it.
    A problem occurred when, that afternoon, I asked the proprietress of my Albergo the way to the Calle delle XV Settembre where,
according to the address on the envelope, the Libreria Maccari had
to be situated. Everybody was dragged into it - brothers-in-law,
neighbours, sisters - but no one appeared to know precisely this
street or that bookshop, though some had lived for fifty
of fifty years, Sir - in this town. All the names of all the
bookshops were read out aloud from the telephone directory but
there was none called Maccari. Only the old father-in-law, wakened from his afternoon nap by the clamour, was able to solve my
simply-meant question. Despite the clear manner in which the
letter had been addressed, Maccari turned out not to be a bookshop
at all, and the Calle delle XV Settembre was not such a long walk
away: the old gentleman would show me the way, no trouble at
all.

    At the time of writing this continuation to my tale, I'm on
Argentera, in the garden room of the Bibliotheca Sarrazina where I
enjoy the greatest hospitality possible. Before, however, passing
on to a description of life here and of this extraordinary institute, I
must first explain what has happened in the intervening weeks and in
what manner I have, you might say, made Dr Sarrazin's existence my
own, or rather Raoul's, as he has permitted me to call him.
    Once arrived in the unprepossessing Calle delle XV Settembre,
having thanked my elderly guide and rung the bell at Maccari &
Co., the door was presently opened by the proprietor himself. He
was visibly delighted by a possible new customer presenting
himself and invited me in with many words and gestures. In my
best Italian, I lied that I was a close acquaintance of Dr Sarrazin's
and that he had asked me a friend's favour to take back a fresh
order for twelve books for his library to Argentere in a fortnight's
time.