WEBVTT 1 00:00:04.160 --> 00:00:19.280 Us was studious the town librarian. The library sat at 2 00:00:19.320 --> 00:00:22.879 the corner of Maple and Third, a red brick building 3 00:00:22.960 --> 00:00:26.640 with tall windows that led in the afternoon light. The 4 00:00:26.679 --> 00:00:29.600 door was heavy and wooden, and it made a sound 5 00:00:29.640 --> 00:00:33.840 when it opened, not a creek, but a low, satisfied hum, 6 00:00:34.479 --> 00:00:36.920 as if the building itself was pleased to see you 7 00:00:37.000 --> 00:00:41.039 walk in. A small brass bell hung above the frame, 8 00:00:41.600 --> 00:00:46.719 and it rang once, softly every time someone entered. Page 9 00:00:46.759 --> 00:00:50.479 had hung it there herself years ago when she first 10 00:00:50.479 --> 00:00:54.240 took over the library. Page was the kind of librarian 11 00:00:54.280 --> 00:00:58.280 who remembered things, not just the Dewey decimal system or 12 00:00:58.320 --> 00:01:01.759 the dow dates of overdue books, though she knew those two. 13 00:01:02.560 --> 00:01:05.760 She remembered that Missus Calloway liked mysteries, but not the 14 00:01:05.879 --> 00:01:09.640 violent kind, the ones where the detective solves the puzzle 15 00:01:09.680 --> 00:01:14.000 by noticing a small detail, a misplaced teacup, or a 16 00:01:14.000 --> 00:01:17.959 shadow that fell wrong. She remembered that old mister Brennan, 17 00:01:18.000 --> 00:01:22.159 who came in every Tuesday at two o'clock, preferred biographies 18 00:01:22.200 --> 00:01:26.159 of people who had lived quietly, farmers and teachers and 19 00:01:26.239 --> 00:01:30.799 postal workers, not presidents or generals. She remembered that the 20 00:01:30.840 --> 00:01:33.920 teenager who came in on rainy days. The one with 21 00:01:34.040 --> 00:01:37.519 the green backpack and the headphones around his neck, was 22 00:01:37.560 --> 00:01:40.480 reading his way through every science fiction novel on the 23 00:01:40.519 --> 00:01:45.079 third shelf, left to right, one at a time, without skipping. 24 00:01:46.000 --> 00:01:48.799 She knew them all by name, and she knew them 25 00:01:48.840 --> 00:01:52.079 by the books they carried. Her library was not a 26 00:01:52.159 --> 00:01:55.920 large one. It had two floors. The ground floor held 27 00:01:55.959 --> 00:01:59.879 the fiction and the children's section, with its low shelves 28 00:02:00.040 --> 00:02:03.680 and its bright carpet, and the small reading corner where 29 00:02:03.719 --> 00:02:07.560 parents sat with their children on weekend mornings. The second 30 00:02:07.599 --> 00:02:11.719 floor held the non fiction, the reference books, the local 31 00:02:11.840 --> 00:02:16.080 history collection, and a quiet room with four arm chairs 32 00:02:16.159 --> 00:02:18.560 and a window that looked out over the town square. 33 00:02:18.960 --> 00:02:21.960 People called it the Thinking Room, though Page had never 34 00:02:22.080 --> 00:02:24.680 named it that herself. Some one had written it on 35 00:02:24.719 --> 00:02:27.120 a small card and taped it to the door, and 36 00:02:27.199 --> 00:02:30.479 she had never taken it down. Every morning Page arrived 37 00:02:30.479 --> 00:02:33.719 at seven thirty, she unlocked the front door, turned on 38 00:02:33.800 --> 00:02:37.360 the lights, and walked through the stacks, Running her fingers 39 00:02:37.360 --> 00:02:41.159 along the spines. She checked the return bend first. There 40 00:02:41.159 --> 00:02:44.360 were always books there left in the slot over night, 41 00:02:44.560 --> 00:02:47.599 like letters to a friend. She stamped the return date 42 00:02:47.680 --> 00:02:51.039 on each one, slid them onto the cart, and then 43 00:02:51.520 --> 00:02:54.159 she began the quiet work of putting them back on 44 00:02:54.240 --> 00:02:57.520 the shelves where they belonged. This was her favorite part 45 00:02:57.560 --> 00:03:01.879 of the day, this early hour before anyone arrived, when 46 00:03:01.879 --> 00:03:05.319 the library was just her and the books and the 47 00:03:05.400 --> 00:03:09.120 dust motes drifting through the light. At nine o'clock she 48 00:03:09.240 --> 00:03:12.879 opened the doors. The first person to walk in was 49 00:03:12.919 --> 00:03:16.520 almost always the same missus Yamata, who came for the 50 00:03:16.560 --> 00:03:19.560 newspapers and sat in the armchair by the window and 51 00:03:19.639 --> 00:03:24.960 read every page front to back, including the classifieds, which 52 00:03:25.000 --> 00:03:28.879 Page thought was either very thorough or very lonely, or 53 00:03:28.960 --> 00:03:33.800 perhaps both. Missus Yamada never checked out a book. She 54 00:03:34.000 --> 00:03:37.439 just read the paper and left, and Page never once 55 00:03:37.520 --> 00:03:43.000 suggested she do otherwise. The library was for everyone, and 56 00:03:43.080 --> 00:03:46.240 that included the people who came for the newspapers and 57 00:03:46.280 --> 00:03:50.759 the warmth. By ten o'clock, the library was alive with 58 00:03:50.840 --> 00:03:55.599 its quiet life. Children arrived with their school groups, sitting 59 00:03:55.639 --> 00:03:58.599 cross legged on the carpet while Page read them a story. 60 00:03:59.599 --> 00:04:02.840 She did the voices not dramatically, but with a slight 61 00:04:02.960 --> 00:04:07.039 change in tone that made each character feel real. The 62 00:04:07.120 --> 00:04:10.800 dragon was not loud and fearsome, but slow and thoughtful, 63 00:04:11.319 --> 00:04:13.280 as if it had all the time in the world 64 00:04:13.800 --> 00:04:16.920 and was in no hurry to be anything other than itself. 65 00:04:17.959 --> 00:04:22.240 The children loved this. They sat with their mouths slightly open, 66 00:04:22.800 --> 00:04:26.839 their eyes wide, and when the story ended, they always 67 00:04:26.879 --> 00:04:30.240 asked the same question, can we hear it again tomorrow? 68 00:04:31.160 --> 00:04:34.920 And Page always said the same thing, Tomorrow is a 69 00:04:34.920 --> 00:04:40.519 different story. In the afternoon, the library became a different place. 70 00:04:41.959 --> 00:04:46.199 The morning light gave way to a softer, warmer glow 71 00:04:47.079 --> 00:04:51.199 that came through the west facing windows and fell across 72 00:04:51.240 --> 00:04:56.439 the reading tables in long, golden rectangles. This was when 73 00:04:56.439 --> 00:05:02.000 the adults came. They came for the quiet. Mostly some 74 00:05:02.040 --> 00:05:05.959 of them actually read. Others sat at the tables and 75 00:05:06.000 --> 00:05:10.199 wrote letters, or sketched in note books, or simply stared 76 00:05:10.240 --> 00:05:15.759 out the window, lost in thought. Page never disturbed them. 77 00:05:15.839 --> 00:05:18.800 She understood that a library is not just a place 78 00:05:18.839 --> 00:05:22.759 for books. It is a place for being still, for 79 00:05:22.879 --> 00:05:26.399 having a room where nothing is expected of you, where 80 00:05:26.399 --> 00:05:29.759 you can sit with your own mind without anyone asking 81 00:05:29.759 --> 00:05:34.439 you to explain it. Her most important work happened at 82 00:05:34.439 --> 00:05:37.839 the reference desk in the back corner, where she sat 83 00:05:37.879 --> 00:05:41.759 with a computer that she used sparingly and a stack 84 00:05:41.800 --> 00:05:46.439 of paper records that she used often. People came to 85 00:05:46.480 --> 00:05:50.639 her with questions, not just where can I find a 86 00:05:50.680 --> 00:05:55.800 book about gardening? But my grandson is having trouble sleeping, 87 00:05:56.639 --> 00:06:00.360 is there something I can read to him? Or my 88 00:06:00.439 --> 00:06:03.600 wife used to love poetry. I want to find the 89 00:06:03.639 --> 00:06:07.560 ones she liked, or the harder ones, the ones that 90 00:06:07.639 --> 00:06:11.160 were not really about books at all. I have just 91 00:06:11.319 --> 00:06:14.439 moved here and I do not know any one, or 92 00:06:15.240 --> 00:06:19.079 I have lost some one and I cannot sleep. Page 93 00:06:19.120 --> 00:06:21.879 listened to all of them, and she found them what 94 00:06:22.000 --> 00:06:25.560 they needed, whether it was a book of lullaby poems, 95 00:06:26.240 --> 00:06:29.759 or a collection of ocean verse, or simply a chair 96 00:06:30.040 --> 00:06:32.240 and a cup of tea that she kept in a 97 00:06:32.319 --> 00:06:36.360 thermos behind the desk for occasions like this. She had 98 00:06:36.399 --> 00:06:40.399 once said to a friend, I do not prescribe books. 99 00:06:41.839 --> 00:06:46.160 I listen and then I understand, and then I find 100 00:06:46.199 --> 00:06:51.000 the right one. Her friend had laughed and said, that 101 00:06:51.199 --> 00:06:55.839 is exactly what a doctor does page, and Page had 102 00:06:55.879 --> 00:06:59.360 thought about that for a long time and decided it 103 00:06:59.399 --> 00:07:04.519 was true. The library closed at six, Page walked through 104 00:07:04.560 --> 00:07:09.680 the stacks one last time, turning off lights, straightening chairs, 105 00:07:10.519 --> 00:07:14.399 checking that the windows were latched. She paused at the 106 00:07:14.439 --> 00:07:18.000 thinking room, where the last reader had left a book 107 00:07:18.079 --> 00:07:23.480 open on the arm rest, face down, spine bent. She 108 00:07:23.600 --> 00:07:27.560 picked it up, gently, closed it, and placed it on 109 00:07:27.600 --> 00:07:30.519 the return cart. The book would go back to its 110 00:07:30.560 --> 00:07:34.399 shelf tomorrow, and someone else would find it, and the 111 00:07:34.480 --> 00:07:38.920 story would continue. She locked the front door and stood 112 00:07:38.920 --> 00:07:42.120 on the steps for a moment, looking out at the town. 113 00:07:43.319 --> 00:07:47.160 The street lights were coming on, one by one, like 114 00:07:47.240 --> 00:07:52.120 a row of small, steady promises. A dot barked somewhere, 115 00:07:52.800 --> 00:07:58.360 a child laughed. The evening was settling in, soft and unhurried, 116 00:07:59.120 --> 00:08:02.439 and paged stood there in it, letting the quiet fill 117 00:08:02.480 --> 00:08:06.720 her up, the way a glass fills with water, slowly 118 00:08:06.959 --> 00:08:12.199 and completely, until it is full and still and reflects 119 00:08:12.360 --> 00:08:15.959 everything around it. She walked home through the same streets 120 00:08:16.040 --> 00:08:20.160 she had walked every evening for twenty years, past the 121 00:08:20.240 --> 00:08:24.920 same houses, the same trees, the same small garden with 122 00:08:25.000 --> 00:08:27.800 the stone fountain that had not worked in a decade, 123 00:08:28.240 --> 00:08:32.480 but still sat there, patient and green with moss, as 124 00:08:32.480 --> 00:08:35.799 if it were waiting for something, or perhaps had simply 125 00:08:35.840 --> 00:08:40.360 decided that waiting was enough. She liked this walk. She 126 00:08:40.639 --> 00:08:43.440 liked the way the town felt at this hour, the 127 00:08:43.480 --> 00:08:46.639 way it settled into itself, the way the lights in 128 00:08:46.679 --> 00:08:49.639 the windows told stories she would never read but could 129 00:08:49.720 --> 00:08:54.519 always imagine. At home, she made tea, she sat in 130 00:08:54.559 --> 00:08:58.159 her chair by the window. She opened a book, not 131 00:08:58.279 --> 00:09:01.200 because she needed to, but because the day had been 132 00:09:01.240 --> 00:09:05.000 full of other people's stories, and now she wanted one 133 00:09:05.000 --> 00:09:08.840 of her own, one that asked nothing of her, one 134 00:09:08.879 --> 00:09:13.039 that simply held her gently, like a hand in the dark, 135 00:09:13.960 --> 00:09:17.559 until the words blurred and the book slid closed, and 136 00:09:17.639 --> 00:09:18.320 she slept