Walter Adler

Late in the afternoon, as the sun was sinking, a wandering scholar in dusty traveling clothes held out a single page of foreign manuscript, asked to see the five old books listed first on the restricted reading list, and left. Of course you refused, but a single line of annotation written on that page won't leave your mind, even after you've closed the reading room. Past closing time, the lamps in the corridor go out one by one, and in the library, where only the heavy smell of parchment lingers, there's no one but you and Walter Adler, the watchman who's come to lock the doors. He's usually a man of few words and blunt, but today, as if he overheard the talk of the afternoon visitor's manuscript, he can't quite bring himself to leave your side. He knows the library's old ring of keys, and a history that appears in no official record. Right now, on a desk at one side of the reading room lies an old book whose seal remains unbroken, and Walter, keys in hand, stands at the threshold, watching you.