Musings of a Librarian

Everyone knows to remain silent when one is in a library. It’s a stereotype that everyone is familiar with. But do they know why it is crucial to remain silent in a library?

It was a question that bothered Cassandra. She never thought about it, much like you and I, but it wasn’t until she got the job did she begin to wonder why was it important to maintain silence in a library.

Was it because the noise would disturb others? She wasn’t certain if that was the case, as one could still hear the sound of doors opening and closing, the sound of pages being flipped, the sound of muffled footsteps on the carpet, the sound of keys being tapped at the computers, the hum of the air conditioners, the sound of clothes fabric brushing against-

You get the idea. However, despite all these sounds, no one taps their the finger on their lips at them. It’s only when one deliberately (and irritatingly) becomes noisy do they receive that treatment.

That used to be her only hypothesis. Until she began working in this ever-expansive library.

She looked up from her spreadsheets at the rows of bookshelves with her song paused and an earpiece removed. Nothing so far. She returned the earpiece to her ear, resumed the song, and turned her attention to the spreadsheets, wondering how many new books have been added to the library.

Where was she? Right, silence. Specifically, the phrase ‘pin-drop silence’.

Why would one use a pin to determine whether the place was silent or not? The sound that a pin makes after it falls differs based on the material of the floor. On wood? It’s barely audible. On tiles? She could hear it, but it was a pain to pick up the pin afterwards. On a carpet? There was no sound, and she had pricked herself when she hurried to fetch the needle, out of fear that someone may step on it and hurt themselves.

Roslan berated her for her haste, yet he too pricked himself as he picked the needle. Now he sits at the reading zone with a red novel in hand, holding it in a sophisticated manner that doesn’t damage the spine of the soft cover book.

As for the needle? It now rests in its case on her desk. She’s made sure to clean it before returning it to her needle case.

A page was flipped. That came from Roslan.

Whoever coined the phrase ‘pin-drop silence’ must have cheated by dropping a pin in a carpeted room. That was probably what had happened.

Let’s see… there were a few books she had to return to their proper shelves. Only four soft-cover books, all of them lightweight and small enough to fit in her handbag. Except that she wouldn’t be bringing her handbag with her when returning these novels.

With the spreadsheet saved, her song paused, and the books cradled in her arm, she left her desk and headed for the only entrance to the maze of bookshelves. That was the only way to reach the many shelves that span across this library. There was no end to it, and if there was an end, there would be another opening for the curious to follow. And another, and another, and another. One could go on for as long as they want, until the growl from their stomach reminds them to return for a meal. If they remember where to go to.

Like that myth about a bull-headed man and its labyrinth, those who came unprepared run the risk of becoming lost in this maze. It was difficult to tell which aisle one has been through.

That was why she picked up a red thread of yarn and tied a simple knot to her tail. She had several of these balls of yarn for any who wishes to explore these shelves for a hidden gem. Even if one were to visit the same aisle that they thought they’d been to a few minutes prior, the contents would have changed. Perhaps the topic would be fascinating, perhaps not. Perhaps the books looked dusty and worn, perhaps they were read only once and left aside.

No matter what, every visit guaranteed a surprise. It was a mystery that has yet to be solved.

Honestly, she liked it that way. But it didn’t mean she could just return the books anywhere that she pleases, no. She had to keep her eyes open for clues, based on the theme of the books around that empty slot.

If the book didn’t belong? Nothing bad happened. It’s not like the books would launch themselves from the shelves like in horror movies.

It just felt wrong to put books of different genres together. Imagine browsing for adult fiction, and you find a biography snuggled amongst them. Or when you are searching for a particular novel, only to stumble across a dreary book about economics and politics behind the decisions of presidents in foreign countries.

Thankfully, none of the books that she carried had such dreary titles. No one in this mansion liked to read such books. Well, perhaps Elsie would, but she was in charge of the databases and is usually found in front of a computer anyways. Who knows, she shrugged. Perhaps these books contain information that she could not find online.

There’s a slot. Surrounding it were books on… artistic techniques and their evolution throughout the previous century.

She looked down at the book that would be returned. It was a fascinating book. After flipping through a few pages, she reconsidered and shifted it so it remained at the bottom of the stack instead. It would make a nice read when she dabbles in doodles again.

The second book was a story about a lover from the stars. How original. She’d already read a couple of them this year, but this one was intriguing. She wanted to believe that the star-crossed lovers would unite and stay together,as they generally do, but after a glance at the ending, her brow perked. She hadn’t expected such an ending. She planned to keep this one as well, underneath the book about artistic techniques.

The third book made her roll her eyes. It’s a science fiction novel on the ressurrection of extinct species using the power of science, and aliens. Roslan doesn’t read such nonsense, so he’s off her list of suspects immediately. So was Charles, as he didn’t like aliens (if they existed). Sagacious would be dead if she was caught with such a book, though thinking about it now… she was probably the one who borrowed the book about a lover from the stars. She had seen the fennec enter and exit the library with a book conspicuously hidden under her jacket a week ago.

She made a note to tease her about it over dinner. Then they could discuss about the characters in the novel. She looked forward to it.

With the third book returned and forgotten, she glanced down at the last book. It was a historical fiction set over a thousand years ago in ancient Chun-Nan. She wasn’t sure if the events and characters were accurate. Perhaps Liu Jian may know a thing or two about it, if he had witnessed such events in his childhood.

Would it be better to have Roslan question his mentor? She has been awed by the relatively ancient-yet-young-looking dragon every time that she visited his shop for questions concerning artefacts that her group have uncovered.

Come to think of it, had Iris borrowed such a book? She recalled seeing her a few days ago, which was a surprise. The actually-young dragon rarely ever visited the mansion, unless her father had sent her to relay a message for the group, even though it could’ve been done via text. The ancient dragon insisted on having his daughter walk to the place, even if her knee felt weak. Poor Iris.

Thinking about it now, maybe she ought to keep this book as well, so she could strike up a conversation with the dragon. They hadn’t spoken in a while. She could still remember Iris’s attempt to deny Cassandra from using her wings to shield them from the flash storm as they were returning from the shops. They were soaked by the time that they arrived at the mansion, but they had a good laugh over what they had been through.

But before she could initiate all of her plans, she had to return. This was the dangerous part, as she had to follow and gather all the yarn that she had pulled while cradling three books.

She wasn’t worried about becoming lost. She was worried about what else lurks in this library.

Every time that she reached a corner, she would stop and wait a few moments. If she had returned all the books instead of bringing them back to read, she would have prepared a spell if she sees something. Alas, her left arm is occupied with the books and yarn.

After a deep breath, she stepped out.

Nothing.

She remained on the spot, looking around for anything that looked out of place. Would an Escaped Illustration make its appearance? Which character had escaped from some obscure novel that she’d never heard of? Was it a benign character?

She prayed that it was.She had no interest in dealing with a malign character. Thinking about it, she didn’t want to deal with a benign character either. What if they perceived her as a threat?

She shook such thoughts away, then brushed her fringe aside to keep her vision clear. After listening with ears perked for a minute, she continued to follow and pick up the yarn.

The journey back to the entrance hall had been uneventful, thankfully. Roslan remained in the same seat as he had been since she left. That was a good sign that not much time has passed.

When he looked up, he raised a brow at the three books in her possession.

She held the book on artistic techniques up for him to see. He understood what she’d meant, and returned to his battered novel that he must’ve read more than hundreds of times by now. Perhaps more, given the age of the book.

She checked the time on her tablet. It was a quarter to five.

She should settle down and read. Roslan would let her know when he would be leaving for dinner. Until then, she indulged into the first encounter between a depressed waiter and an entity from the stars with the appropriate album playing in her earpieces.

‘There was a star, twinkling in the great beyond. One that they would look at after a long day, drained of their soul and hope by the demands and expectations of their patrons and manager.

It shone brighter than the city lights. A ray of hope surrounded by a cacophony.

The only thing that kept them from doing it, night after night.

Would anyone notice? Would anyone care? Did the star care?

The lights below moved like a trail of ants. Oblivious to the life in the city. Oblivious to them. All that mattered was they moved. If the drivers could not move, they would rage against the world with their beeping fists and honking swears.

Yet, they were not oblivious to the moving lights. They would watch from above, like a god pondering about the purpose of their creations, living a life free of worry.

Was that their purpose? To live a life free of worry? Then why was worry the leading cause of this sadness that they were experiencing? That many would experience, yet most kept quiet.

They hated it. They wanted to wipe those lights away like how they would to a trail of ants. Maybe crush the skyline so they could see the horizon, and leave their apartment as the only tall building in this city.

But they can’t. They can’t do these things. They can’t do it. They can’t do it.

Maybe tonight was the night. It would be easier to just get it done and over with. Then their manager would have one less irritance to put up with.

They looked to the bright star one last time. It had helped them for so long. Perhaps they would join the star? That was what they had read from another culture.

When they pushed, an arm stopped them. A glowing, bright arm.’