The Library

**Disclaimer: This story is based on true events. The names and characters bear no resemblance to anyone living or deceased.

“Young man! Those books are old! I don’t think you would want to read them”, the old librarian called out to the man. He only nodded, without bothering to turn. His wife was standing next to him, with a smile on her face.

“That man has been rummaging through the racks over there, looking for who knows what!” The librarian complained to her husband, who had us walked in.

The old man frowned and looked in the direction. The couple was well dressed and seemed harmless. They were not the early lovebirds; from the way they had dressed. Rather, they looked to be married for a few years. The man was dressed in khaki trousers and a linen shirt, worn stylishly. His hair was closely cropped, with an extended stubble. The top button of his shirt was open and accentuated his athletic physique. His eyes were sharp and piercing and observed everything around him. His wife was dressed in a pair of jeans and a kurta. Her hair was wept back in a ponytail and her glasses were perched atop her head. She looked like an athlete as well, with her forearms barely concealing the strength that her muscles amassed.

The old man fished out his phone and began to send out messages to some of his friends. This was Goa. Tourists thronged the state through the year. The state was full of older people, who had turned their huge houses into places of entertainment for the tourists. There were restaurants on the ground floors of some houses, there were coffee shops in the gardens of other houses. There were play areas for children at some places and easy sit-outs for couples at others. Mr. Mendonca had run his library for several years now, in the heart of the city. The building was old and dilapidated. But the heritage of the structure stood out proudly. The board above the rickety staircase had held the name for a good thirty years. Freshly painted, it read Ceco Circulating Library - since 1985. There had been several incidents of theft and other crimes over the years. Old, unsuspecting people had let other people in, assuming them to be tourists. The locals had been looted, sometimes injured and in two cases, murdered. That was why Mr. Mendonca was busy messaging his friends. He hoped for some help soon. Mrs. Mendonca, was also worried. The couple had been there for almost an hour. They had not seated themselves and stood at one of the racks. The man was thumbing through the books rapidly, while the woman was looking around. Every few minutes, she turned towards Mrs. Mendonca and flashed a smile. Mrs. Mendonca had smiled back, but was worried. If these people got aggressive, the old couple had little chance of getting away unhurt. The entrance was narrow and the building wasn’t exactly in the center of the city. She hoped that their friends would be there quickly. Mr. Mendonca slowly moved towards the big desk. There was a walking stick there, which he hardly used, but he knew it was strong. He would fight these two, if they made any trouble. But he would ensure that his beloved wife would get out safely. He still wasn’t able to fathom what would anyone want in his library. All it had, were books. Most of them were old. Children came to the library to read the HardyBoys, the Nancy Drews and the Secret Sevens. Adults, mostly foreign tourists, came in to read the Agatha Christies, the Jeffrey Archers and the John Grishams. The place was quiet, most of the times. This was exactly why the Mendonca’s had preferred it, to staying home. They liked to watch people read in the library. They would often smile, with a reader, who smiled at the content in a book. They found themselves, more than once, saddened at the sight of a reader, engrossed in a tragic tale. The old couple would often chat up with the patrons of the library and share a little of their lives with each other. Ceco Circulating Library was rich, but not in material wealth. The wealth was made up of memories. Mr. Mendonca had no intention of letting it get destroyed.

Oblivious to the reaction of the old couple, Harish kept going through the books. He had stuck a card to one of his favorite books. It was a Hardy Boys novel. He remembered the book simply because it was recommended to him back in the day. He had gorged on the books and had developed the habit of reading. It had to be there. He had almost bored his wife telling her about the library. He had told her about the librarian who had helped him select the best books. His summer vacations would be spent in the library, surrounded by books. They had decided to visit Goa on their trip to India this time, after spending the last eight years in the United Kingdom. Neeta, his wife, had insisted on the trip. She had heard the story about the card.

It was the final day of the summer vacations. Harish was due to relocate to Delhi, with his parents. The years had passed by quickly and he had grown into a fine young lad. Harish had no friends in school. Almost everyone treated him with disdain. He was the outsider to all of them. He was the boy from Delhi, who spoke differently. He could not pick up the local language in his initial years, which had made it all the more difficult for him to socialize. His playmates were those who were the children of his parents’ friends. To add to that, Harish was a good student, which made him a favorite with the teachers. This alienated him further, from the rest of the students. As a result, Harish was growing up to be a loner, aloof from the rest of the crowd. His parents were worried. A family friend suggested that he join a public library, which is when he was introduced to the world of books. Each book was a window to another world. Harish loved spending time in the library. He spoke to the other patrons freely and almost always, enjoyed a discussion on the books he had read, with the librarian. Mrs. Mendonca was a kind woman and had grown to adore the young boy. She recommended books to him, which he hungrily devoured. Soon, he was better read than most of the other patrons. When the other children of his age were beginning to read Enid Blyton, he had started with Jeffrey Archer. When others were busy thumbing through popular fiction, Harish had finished reading the classics. With each book, Harish found his interest increasing. His hunger for the knowledge behind the inception of a book got him to engage with authors during promotional events. Harish would happily relate the happenings of such events to Mrs. Mendonca. She too, enjoyed listening to the young boy. Soon, the time had come for him to move. He had spent a tearful afternoon with Mrs. Mendonca, whimpering that he did not want to go. She had patiently explained to him that he needed to grow out of his comfort zone. She had told him that the world needed to experience his zeal and enthusiasm and it would be unfair for him to stay cocooned within the confines of the library. She had convinced him that he was destined to be bigger than everyone else, but for that, he had to go. His parents had stood, silently, tearily, at the sight of their son and his mentor. Mrs. Mendonca had hugged them all and waved goodbye with a smile. Harish had returned the last book that he had read, with a card stuck on the inner cover. It had a simple ‘Thank you’, scrawled across in his handwriting. His mother was shocked at the act, because it had ruined the library book. She had offered to pay, but Mrs. Mendonca had waved her off. She had looked at Harish in the eye and assured him that the card would stay where he had stuck it. Harish had promised her that he would return and left. Mrs. Mendonca had sobbed once they had left. She knew that she was going to miss him. She knew that she could not let him see her tears, because he would have not left!

“Found it!” Harish triumphantly said, grinning. He hugged his wife, who noticed the tears in his eyes. She smiled at him. “Let’s go”, she said.

Harish nodded and turned towards the desk. Mr. Mendonca was now ready with the walking stick, with his old wife behind him. He would strike them down at the first sign of any aggression. He tightened his grip further, causing his old knuckles to turn white.

“Two-one-three-four”, Harish said, controlling the tremors in his voice.

Mrs. Mendonca looked surprised. That was a very old membership number. She hurried to the register and began to leaf through the pages. She couldn’t find it in the register and looked at Harish quizzically. “That’s an old number”, she said.

“I know. I am an old customer”, Harish replied with a smile.

Mrs. Mendonca wordlessly bent, to pick out an older register and thumbed through the pages. She found the entry on one of the earlier pages. She stared at the last entry. Agape, she looked at Harish.

“I’d like to take this book, please”, Harish said, handing over the book.

Mrs. Mendonca opened the cover with trembling hands. She burst into tears and rushed forward to hug him. Her boy had kept his promise. Harish held her tightly, as his wife and Mr. Mendonca looked on, happily tearful. It was several minutes before the two of them stepped away; just as one of Mr. Mendonca’s friends rushed in. Thanks to the messages that the old man had sent earlier.

“What happened? You said you needed help?”

“Ah! Yes. I need some help in getting some coffee and scones from the bakery across the road. Can you help me?” Said Mr. Mendonca sheepishly, as he placed the ‘Closed’ sign on the door of the library.

**Copyright: Amit D'Souza