arrow of the dial above the sliding doors jerked its poky way along the ring of gold-colored numbers. If it didnât come soon, Iâd go insane.
Â
Julian Arcturus Margulies, sitting at his desk, seemed unsurprised to see me.
âThatâs the remarkable thing about rare books, isnât it?â he said. âYou fall under their spell, you just canât stay away.â
â Julian .â
âYou donât have to be so alarmed. Your nice new briefcase isnât lost. You left it here next to my desk. I called after you, but you were in such a hurry, you just didnât hearââ
So that was what Iâd had the sensation of missing. I no longer cared about that briefcase. â Julian!â
âYes?â He peered at me with an expression of kind attention.
âDid they close early today? Or what?â
âOf course not. Why should they close early?â
â The library is empty .â
âWhat are you talking about?â
âNobodyâs here! I went down to the ground floor, to the Newspaper Room, and there was nobody. Not in the reading rooms! Not anywhere!â
He looked puzzled. Only for a moment. âOh, that ,â he said. âThat happens sometimes. Itâll be all right.â He walked around the desk and put his hand on my shoulder. âDanny, youâve got to stay calm. Are you listening to me?â
I nodded.
âYou know the elevator you just got off?â He pointed down the hall. I nodded again. âGo back there. When you get in, push the button for the basement. The one marked âB.â As in boy . Not âG,â this time; the floor below it. Have you got that?â
âI think so,â I said.
âWhen the doors open, walk out and turn to your left. Go about fifty feet, and youâll see a small door to the outside. To Nineteenth Street. Itâs below street level, though. Are you listening?â
âUh-huh.â
âGo out that door. Climb to the sidewalk. Directly up the slope. Itâs icy, but I think you can make it. Youâve got that?â
âUh-huh.â
âThen go around to Vine Street, to the front entrance. Come in again. Itâll be all right.â
I started off toward the elevator. âDanny!â he called.
âWhat?â
âDonât forget your briefcase.â
Â
I pressed âB.â I rode down to the basement. I forced myself, faint with dread, down the dimly lit hallway. On either side of me boxes were stacked nearly to the ceiling, such that I could barely make my way through the passage. The door was where Julian had said it would be.
I slipped more than once, getting up that slope.
At first, when I reached the sidewalk, it was the library all over again. Nineteenth Street was empty, still, silent. But then I began to feel the rush of traffic, to hear the honking of a taxicab. I saw Iâd wandered into the street and leaped back to the sidewalk. I leaned against a building, catching my breath. A man in earmuffs and a thick overcoat marched past, glaring.
Â
It was a few minutes past four when I walked back through the libraryâs entrance hall. Filled, as usual, with people. I wasnât ready for the Newspaper Room. I walked into the general reading room on the second floor and sat down at one of the long tables. I opened my briefcase. I pulled out Benderâs Flying Saucers and the Three Men and the three Jewish calendars. I began flipping through the calendars, mostly looking at the pictures.
My eye fell upon Saturday, December 22, 1962. My thirteenth birthday, by the Jewish calendar. The day that should have been my bar mitzvahâ
When I should have proclaimed myself a man.
Only my mother was too sick, so we couldnâtâ
I stopped leafing. I thought of all the things over the years that we couldnât do, I couldnât do, because she was too sick. She couldnât go outdoors; needed rest,
Tim Lahaye, Jerry B. Jenkins
Aleesandro Alciato, Carlo Ancelotti