Read The Last of the Wise Lovers for Free Online Page B

something to say," but Mr. K. didn't even hear.
 He brought the card close to his eyes, then moved it away.  His
mouth was very round and sensuous, like Byron's mouth in the portrait on the
flyleaf of his book of poetry.  We were all silent. The apple was still
perched precariously on the edge of the desk.  Ms. Yardley was the first
to lose her patience. "At the bottom," she reminded him, "where
it says `Date of Termination of Employment'."
       Mr. K. looked at me again and said,
"Why did you do it?"
       Both Ms. Yardley and I stood there
dumbfounded.  Each of us was astounded by the question - Ms. Yardley
because she hadn't understood it, and I precisely because I had.  He was
the second person in two days to speak to me in Hebrew.
       "I didn't do it," I said
after a moment.
       "She says you did," he
added in broken, heavily-accented Hebrew.
       "Could you manage to speak in a
language I understand?" Ms. Yardley bristled.
       Mr. K. apologized in English.
 Ms. Yardley gladly forgave him. His speaking to me in a language she
didn't understand was so rude that one would've expected him to punish me just
to even things out. But he merely asked in English, in a gentle voice,
"What were you looking for, there in the stacks?"
       "The terminals in the Catalog
Room were in use," I explained.
       "And this!" Ms. Yardley
presented the slide.
       "That's mine."
       "And I say that this is a slide
that was stolen from a book or from one of our collections."
       Mr. K. sent a tiny white hand
forward.  She placed the slide in it. He peered at it in the light that came
from the window and asked, "What's this a diagram of?"
       "That's exactly what I'm trying
to find out."
       He tugged at a drawer and took out a
magnifying glass.
       "You haven't signed," Ms.
Yardley reminded him.
       But Mr. K. was preoccupied.
 "How did you go about looking?" he asked.  "What did
you type into the computer?"
       "Agitator."
       He raised an eyebrow in surprise,
turned the slide over and examined it under the magnifying glass.
       "Your signature, Mr. K.,"
Ms. Yardley demanded.
       He discovered the words that were
printed on the bottom.  "Why agitator, of all things?"
       "I've seen that word someplace
before."
       He flashed a quick smile that seemed
almost like a twitch.  "How do you go home?"
       "From Port Authority."
       "Do you go through Times
Square?"
       "Sometimes."
       He picked my card up off the table
and held it out to Ms. Yardley. "It's all right," he hurled at her,
"it was a misunderstanding."  He turned his attention back to
me.  "When you stand opposite the Warner Cinema, look up."
 He glanced at the slide again.  "Are you interested in
science?"
       "Yes," I said, happy that I
didn't have to lie, "especially electronics."
       From the look on his face I could
tell he liked me.  You can trust me about this.  I'm so anxious for
people to like me that I can tell immediately when they do.  He tugged the
drawer open again, took out an envelope, and placed the slide inside.
     "If you'll leave this with me for a day
or two, I'll be able to tell you what it's a diagram of," he said, and
without another word drew his two books back toward himself and returned to his
reading.  The apple fell and rolled on the floor.
       Ms. Yardley went out first, striding
with such angry steps that her heels left little rings in the carpet.
 Along the corridors, on the stairs, in the Reading Room and in the
Catalog Room everyone stared after us in amazement.  The rumor about my
being caught had undoubtedly flashed through the library, and I must have
looked like a condemned man come back from a hanging.  I stood behind my
counter.  Ms. Yardley also took her place; after a minute or two of
self-control she picked up the telephone receiver and dialed someplace.
 Her words were lost in the usual noises of the Catalog Room -
conversations, the clicking of keyboards and the rasping