Читать книгу The Dark Library - Cyrille Martinez - Страница 10

It is 9 a.m. I descend the metal stairs, slide in between the revolving doors, and get in line, where I see individuals in black, grey, and navy suits finishing up their drinks, concluding their telephone conversations, and unplugging their headphones. As for me, I shuffle along, step by step, until reaching a checkpoint where I yield to the security agent who demands in a monotone yet firm voice that I open my bag. While he examines its contents, I pass through the metal detector, behind which the security agent signifies, with a nod, that I am authorized to recover my belongings. I conclude that all is good, I’ve successfully passed the tests of the metal detector and bag control. I am admitted into the Library.

It’s hot inside the hall. As I open my jacket, a light panel catches my eye. It’s indicating the direction of the Reading Room: I follow it. The path is laid out with deep pile carpeting, and large windows offer up a view of the rectangular garden down below. I blink. A glass door opens and closes automatically behind me: here I am, in the Reading Room.

Silence.

Like that of places of worship, this silence is scary, intimidating; it inspires fear. What punishment will befall he who dares break it? I’d rather not think about it. Even if the Reading Room is situated in a building whose shape is reminiscent of that of a cloister, we are not in a church, we are in a room devoted to the public readership. The silence that reigns here is devised especially for reading.

There once was a time when the Room was noisy, the Library sonorous. Reading was done aloud, recited. Texts were read, played out, performed. The reader-performers vied to be the most clever at engaging an audience. The Library was frequented for both reading and listening to reading, where the text is revealed during a reading done out loud. But it was also frequented just to pass the time. It was known that one could find friends here, meet people. It was a living space, where it was nice to socialize. While the readers worked, the non-readers talked, shouted, cursed each other. If things needed to come to blows, they came to blows. The monk in charge of the Room’s surveillance let it happen. In the absence of internal regulations on which to rely, he did not feel entitled to intervene; he read in his corner. At that time, the readers and the books were accustomed to the agitation and noise. When, one day, a big voice thundered.

QUIET!

Who’s talking?

It’s the Book.

It’s expressing its anger.

I am the Book

I am the one you study

I am here to inform you

My study requires silence

You are asked to read in your heads

Here you will no longer perform

Here you now stay quiet

At the library, from now on, you will now read in silence

Keep quiet! Heed my Words

As the Book’s words resonated throughout the Reading Room, silence fell. It fell abruptly. And from what I know, no one has ever lifted it. The walls would have trembled. Personally, I have a little trouble believing that the walls really trembled; it is, however, very likely that the monk had indeed been terrified by this call to order. It was his master who spoke. Because the Book was his master, the voice of his master, the instrument of communication with Him, the man upstairs, he who sits atop the hierarchy of gods and men.

For fear of punishment, the readers present in the room hunched their shoulders and plunged into the Text, of which there were fortunately multiple copies.

From that day on, the monk kept a close watch on reading behaviour. The reader had to comply with extremely strict rules of conduct:

 eyes on the page and the tongue mute;

 the left hand stabilizes the book while the right is tasked with turning the pages;

 read in silence, potentially in a hushed voice;

 the text may be muttered aloud in order to better memorize it but without turning away from study of the sacred object;

 it is forbidden to chat, forbidden to do anything, reading mandatory.

Following the Book’s example, the other documents requested (and were easily granted) to also be read in silence. Even if some of them did not merit such consideration, no one would have taken the risk of going against the will of the Book. Its anger had been burned into their minds.

Silent reading was adopted, and calm and silence became part of the common good, imposed on readers in all libraries. As elements of heritage, everything in the Library should be preserved, for the benefit of all. That’s why, in moving, the Library not only transferred its physical collections but also brought along its silence.

Like the books that were organized in the new stacks, this ancient silence, of great quality, had also been placed in the new premises. So that the new Reading Room benefitted, right from its opening, from a fabulous silence. The second part of the Treasure.

Henceforth, one section of the rules forbids conversations and ringtones. The new Reading Room tolerates the rustling of a page, computer and office noises; the beep of a scanner deciphering a barcode, that’s fine; the rolling of a cart transporting books still passes; in a pinch, documents falling on the carpet; the pipes; the hum of the air conditioning, we have no choice; and clicks are allowed. However, as for the rest, the rule is the following, a simple rule, two words that everyone can understand:

QUIET, LIBRARY.