After hours

“Good night, Ms. Creed”, said John, the assistant, and after hearing “see you tomorrow, Johnny”, he closed the library door behind him. He remembered to lock as he usually did. The elderly librarian was left there all by herself. It was her favorite time of the day. Usually, she spent the entire morning and afternoon surrounded by the regular visitors, who always waved to her with respect, and also by those people who thought borrowing a book was the same as choosing an outfit, or purchasing an ounce of bread: “I’m so glad you can lend it to me. How come this book be so expensive if it’s less than 100 pages long?”, “Hey, this book is just a bunch of pictures; I bet my niece would draw something better, hahaha”. And despite both her employees were kind to her, she felt quite lonely during business hours.

The library wasn’t big: just a humble two-floor building in a small town. But every book it held on its wooden shelves was a treasure for the old librarian. At the back of the library, some stairs led to a little apartment where the librarian was supposed to go to sleep early in the evening, as soon as the library closed its doors. But Ms. Creed had her little secret: while everybody thought she wasted her lonely evenings in the apartment above the library, knitting, watching TV, having a drink, and dozing off in her armchair, the truth was she spent most of the nights inside the closed athenaeum. Because it was by that time when they all dropped by and paid her the best visits. Her best friends of all time, the ones that have kept her company her entire life, despite not being married and having lost touch with the few relatives she still had. Tonight, she had set the big table for a selected bunch. It was April 23rd, a special date, so she was expecting her closest group of friends. She had closed the curtains and lit all the lamps (though candles would have been nice, she was smart enough not to light a fire with so many precious books all around). The library was small, but there was enough room for the group she was expecting.

First came Alice, tumbling down the stairs, as she was falling down the rabbit hole once again. She brought some biscuits with her, together with a tiny bottle that sparkled, and handed them to her hostess. Ms. Creed thanked the girl, but of course, she wouldn’t try the snacks: otherwise, she could become as tiny as a bookworm, or expand her body to the point of crashing through the glass ceiling! Alice sat at the table, and other guests arrived. Jo March, always with some ink-stained finger and her hair cut short, boyish, yet charming in her way; soon another young woman came who sat next to Jo, both of them had so much in common and they immediately started discussing the affairs of each other’s sisters: it was Elizabeth Bennet, of course.

Dressed as a knight in armor, made her appearance Lady Éowyn of Rohan, who looked sad and fair, and hard as the cold steel of the blade she was carrying. And a young girl, Coraline, brought her talking cat with her. Ms. Creed introduced her to Alice: she knew both girls would have a lot to chat about. “So, how was the other side for you?” asked Alice, “did anyone threatened to chop off your head?”, “Not really”, answered Coraline, “but I would change that for your other mom trying to sew buttons on your eyes!”

“Do any of you girls want a slice of cake?” asked Ms. Creed “the men seem to be a little late this evening”. “Don’t mind if I do!” exclaimed Jo, already stuffing her mouth with some lemon tarts. “Yes, who needs men indeed?” Elizabeth giggled and poured herself and Eowyn next to her, a cup of tea. “Beer for me, if you don’t mind”, said the White Lady of Rohan, placing her sword and her shield on an empty chair next to her.

“Oh, well, here they are”, exclaimed Ms. Creed as a pair of English gentlemen walked into the library. The lights were dim, but anyone could recognize the tall figure with black hair, thin lips, and a hawk-like nose. The other man next to him, who was offering him a lighter, was obviously Dr. Watson. “Oh, Mr. Holmes”, the librarian clapped her hands; “I bet you can share with all of us the details of your latest case!” “I am afraid tonight I only want some distraction from my everyday occupation, dear Ms. Creed, but if you don’t mind, I can play something on the violin for your delight”. “Oh, that would be wonderful indeed!” said an enthusiastic Elizabeth, while Jo’s eyes became dim: she suddenly remembered how much her diseased sister Beth loved music.

More guests were yet to arrive from remote lands: the young Josef K, always frightened, always nervous, looking behind his back, fearing anything that would remotely resemble an authority figure, looked at the English private investigator with suspicion. An old man with rotten clothes and what seemed a pot stuck in the head as a helmet came riding a ridiculously thin horse, followed by a chubby man on a donkey. “Witchcraft, Sancho!” exclaimed the old knight, and his squire did the cross signal on his chest and trembled with fear, as a teenage boy with a lighting-shaped scar on his forehead hiding behind a pair of glasses came riding a flying broom.

“Oh, I’m so glad you all could make it tonight!” exclaimed the librarian. “Especially you, Mr. Quixote, and your faithful squire, I know tonight is a memorable date to both of you as well” (1) Don Quixote took a bow with chivalry and kissed Ms. Creed’s hand. “We are honored, Milady”. She addressed the whole of the party as she explained why that meeting was so special: “Tonight we celebrate the birthday, as well as the death anniversary, of my favorite author”. "A birthday, really? It looks like an unbirthday party to me...." said Alice. The boy with glasses mumbled to Josef K next to him: “Believe it or not, it is not my first time at a death-day party, mate!” but poor Josef was too scared to reply. Besides, Ms. Creed kept talking.

“So, with no further delay, let me introduce to all of you my very best friends! Welcome, you all!” The library became crowded with diferente kinds of people: all sorts of kings and queens, a Roman emperor, a young couple holding hands (her dress was still filthy with her own dry blood), a brave moor, a young prince who kept hesitating whether or not to join the party, a duke and a savage, beautiful ladies, knights, servants and countrymen… but also three witches, lots of fairies, and a mischievous jester. “Happy birthday, dear Will!” exclaimed all of them. The rest of the guests joined the crowd in a merry toast, and the celebration lasted all through the night.

The next morning, when John arrived and opened the doors of the library, he found Ms. Creed in a corner, lying on one of the library’s couches, in what seemed a pleasant sleep. She was surrounded by books, and her expression was sweet. Yet, when he tried to wake her, her face was cold. John felt pity for the lonely old librarian because he didn’t know that, for her, the perfect celebration kept taking place in a time where clocks no longer strike, where food and drinks never run out, and where she would never feel lonely, ever again.

(1) Miguel de Cervantes Saavedra, world-famous Spanish writer, author of Don Quixote, also died on April 23rd, 1616, but not on the exact same date as Shakespeare, since by that time Spain was on the Gregorian calendar. Shakespeare died ten days later than Cervantes, although they both share the death anniversary date.