Library
Sari
had a copy of Lord of the Rings by J.R.R. Tolkien. This was
an old volume from the early 20th century. The pages had turned yellow
but the overall quality was still good. The cover page was simple
but effective. In its understated style the book seemed valuable.
I asked Sari where she had got the book.
"It's
on loan from the library," she replied.
"When have you borrowed that?"
"In the 1940s."
"And you haven't returned it yet?"
"I've forgotten. But I don't suppose anyone has noticed."
It
was as if someone had overheard our conversation, since soon Sari
got an invitation to visit the library. The library manager wanted
to make Sari an honourary member of the collection.
A
ceremonial function was arranged, where Sari was presented the library
membership. This was a piece of paper fashioned in an old style granting
her a life-time access to the collection. Solemnly she accepted the
honour saying she was flattered with the privilege.
As
people clapped their hands the manager, a sixty-year-old gentleman,
turned towards Sari and whispered in her ear,
"Then not a word to anybody about that Lord of the Rings."
Sari
was quiet for a moment. Behind her public smile she answered, "No."
