A Fall of Water
Page 119
She ushered them in the door and Beatrice breathed in the cool, dry air that was so familiar and welcome. The smell of old paper and ink assaulted her. Vellum and the faint must it always held. The curious vanilla smell of old books and dusty covers. She looked around in awe.
Though there was an entryway of sorts, and she could see a small office to one side, the house had been renovated into a vast library. The vaulted ceilings sheltered row after row of dark, wooden bookcases and the arched windows were covered in smoked glass to protect the room from the harsh light that would shine through during the day. Signorina Rossi guided them through the room.
“In my ten years, I’ve had the privilege of curating the collection here. We rarely have visitors, though I do coordinate the loan of some materials to private institutions and universities. Most of the collection is private. I will confess, I almost feel guilty that many of these items are not in a museum, but that is not my decision, of course.”
She guided them among glass cases, which displayed pieces of the collection. Beatrice grabbed Giovanni’s hand and felt him clutch her fingers tightly as they walked among the treasures.
A finely preserved Asian scroll with red lacquer finish. Papyrus leaves pressed between clear protective sheets. A vividly decorated manuscript of intricate Arabic script that glowed with gold-flecked illuminations. A collection of small clay tablets marked by tiny cuneiform writing.
“Most of my time is spent organizing the collection. It was not in any order when I was first hired, and I am still organizing parts of it. It keeps me very busy!” Dottore Rossi laughed before she turned. As if she could sense the waves of emotion around her, the librarian halted and fell silent. Her eyes widened and she took a deep breath. “I’m sure you would prefer to examine it at your leisure. I’ll leave you here. If you have any questions, please feel free to knock on my office door, but I will allow you your privacy.”
Giovanni was silent, but Beatrice stepped forward and took the woman’s hand, shaking it and sending a subtle message for the woman to go to her home and leave the key on the desk near the door. The friendly curator smiled and nodded before she left, and Beatrice waited until the door swung shut to turn to her husband.
He was overcome, and Beatrice was rocked by conflicting emotions when he pulled her into his chest. Sorrow. Joy. Relief. Anguish. Even pride. Giovanni looked around at the books that had caused so many trials and so much pain. A mystery that had brought them both the greatest joy and the deepest suffering.
“Beatrice…” He could not seem to form the words, so he held her hand and wandered among the rows of bookcases, stopping occasionally to open a manuscript box or scan the stacks.
Beatrice said, “This collection… Gio, it’s priceless.”
“She’s right,” he mused. “Most of this needs to be put into larger libraries or museums.”
“But not all at once.”
“No, not all at once.”
He looked around at the collected treasures of his sire. Of his grand-sire. Centuries of wisdom hidden away from sight. They strolled among the lost books, and she could see him breathing in their scents. They would donate the most valuable pieces so the world could share them. Slowly, over many years, Andros’ collection would belong to the world again. They had time.
Just then, a familiar volume caught her eye. Sitting unobtrusively on a shelf across the room, it was tucked among the others, but the scent of her father’s blood marked the worn leather cover. She dropped Giovanni’s hand and walked toward it. Then she reached over, picked up Geber’s manuscript, and clutched it to her chest. Giovanni approached her from behind and placed his arms around her waist as the tears fell.
“Do you want to destroy it, Tesoro?”
She shook her head and patted her eyes with the handkerchief he held out for her. “It’s just a book, Gio. It’s just a book. It’s not a secret anymore. It can’t hurt us.”
He reached around and plucked the small book from her hands, placing it on the table before he turned her and enfolded her in an embrace.
“That one goes home with us.”
“Yeah,” she sighed and buried her face in his neck. ”Good idea.”
After a few minutes, they parted to continue exploring. The library was arranged around a central reading area containing sturdy wooden tables and chairs, which was lined with glass display cases. Leading away from the reading tables, there was a long corridor down the center of the room, and two rows of bookcases lined either side. Small benches were placed at intervals, but the corridor was cloaked in darkness.
Beatrice looked for a light switch and spotted one on the far wall. She flicked it on with a pencil that lay on one of the library tables, and her eyes darted toward the single glowing light that lit the back wall.
“What is it?” she asked, blinking into the brilliant glow.
Giovanni’s voice was soft when he answered. “San Lorenzo protecting the Holy Chalice.”
An enormous stained glass window covered the back wall. Large and intricate, the yellow light shone from behind as if the window was lit by the afternoon sun. The scattered rainbow of colors dripped down the center aisle and Beatrice walked toward the light as Giovanni followed behind her. On the far wall, under the vivid stained glass, was a brass plaque with a Latin inscription.
Beatrice stepped closer to read it. “There’s a quote here.”
Desine iam tandem precibusque inflectere nostris,
Ne te tantus edit tacitam dolor et mihi curae
Though there was an entryway of sorts, and she could see a small office to one side, the house had been renovated into a vast library. The vaulted ceilings sheltered row after row of dark, wooden bookcases and the arched windows were covered in smoked glass to protect the room from the harsh light that would shine through during the day. Signorina Rossi guided them through the room.
“In my ten years, I’ve had the privilege of curating the collection here. We rarely have visitors, though I do coordinate the loan of some materials to private institutions and universities. Most of the collection is private. I will confess, I almost feel guilty that many of these items are not in a museum, but that is not my decision, of course.”
She guided them among glass cases, which displayed pieces of the collection. Beatrice grabbed Giovanni’s hand and felt him clutch her fingers tightly as they walked among the treasures.
A finely preserved Asian scroll with red lacquer finish. Papyrus leaves pressed between clear protective sheets. A vividly decorated manuscript of intricate Arabic script that glowed with gold-flecked illuminations. A collection of small clay tablets marked by tiny cuneiform writing.
“Most of my time is spent organizing the collection. It was not in any order when I was first hired, and I am still organizing parts of it. It keeps me very busy!” Dottore Rossi laughed before she turned. As if she could sense the waves of emotion around her, the librarian halted and fell silent. Her eyes widened and she took a deep breath. “I’m sure you would prefer to examine it at your leisure. I’ll leave you here. If you have any questions, please feel free to knock on my office door, but I will allow you your privacy.”
Giovanni was silent, but Beatrice stepped forward and took the woman’s hand, shaking it and sending a subtle message for the woman to go to her home and leave the key on the desk near the door. The friendly curator smiled and nodded before she left, and Beatrice waited until the door swung shut to turn to her husband.
He was overcome, and Beatrice was rocked by conflicting emotions when he pulled her into his chest. Sorrow. Joy. Relief. Anguish. Even pride. Giovanni looked around at the books that had caused so many trials and so much pain. A mystery that had brought them both the greatest joy and the deepest suffering.
“Beatrice…” He could not seem to form the words, so he held her hand and wandered among the rows of bookcases, stopping occasionally to open a manuscript box or scan the stacks.
Beatrice said, “This collection… Gio, it’s priceless.”
“She’s right,” he mused. “Most of this needs to be put into larger libraries or museums.”
“But not all at once.”
“No, not all at once.”
He looked around at the collected treasures of his sire. Of his grand-sire. Centuries of wisdom hidden away from sight. They strolled among the lost books, and she could see him breathing in their scents. They would donate the most valuable pieces so the world could share them. Slowly, over many years, Andros’ collection would belong to the world again. They had time.
Just then, a familiar volume caught her eye. Sitting unobtrusively on a shelf across the room, it was tucked among the others, but the scent of her father’s blood marked the worn leather cover. She dropped Giovanni’s hand and walked toward it. Then she reached over, picked up Geber’s manuscript, and clutched it to her chest. Giovanni approached her from behind and placed his arms around her waist as the tears fell.
“Do you want to destroy it, Tesoro?”
She shook her head and patted her eyes with the handkerchief he held out for her. “It’s just a book, Gio. It’s just a book. It’s not a secret anymore. It can’t hurt us.”
He reached around and plucked the small book from her hands, placing it on the table before he turned her and enfolded her in an embrace.
“That one goes home with us.”
“Yeah,” she sighed and buried her face in his neck. ”Good idea.”
After a few minutes, they parted to continue exploring. The library was arranged around a central reading area containing sturdy wooden tables and chairs, which was lined with glass display cases. Leading away from the reading tables, there was a long corridor down the center of the room, and two rows of bookcases lined either side. Small benches were placed at intervals, but the corridor was cloaked in darkness.
Beatrice looked for a light switch and spotted one on the far wall. She flicked it on with a pencil that lay on one of the library tables, and her eyes darted toward the single glowing light that lit the back wall.
“What is it?” she asked, blinking into the brilliant glow.
Giovanni’s voice was soft when he answered. “San Lorenzo protecting the Holy Chalice.”
An enormous stained glass window covered the back wall. Large and intricate, the yellow light shone from behind as if the window was lit by the afternoon sun. The scattered rainbow of colors dripped down the center aisle and Beatrice walked toward the light as Giovanni followed behind her. On the far wall, under the vivid stained glass, was a brass plaque with a Latin inscription.
Beatrice stepped closer to read it. “There’s a quote here.”
Desine iam tandem precibusque inflectere nostris,
Ne te tantus edit tacitam dolor et mihi curae
