Harold James lived in the library. He lived within the walls of well-worn books, carefully assuring that each one was in its proper home. He lived behind the beaten and scratched desk, behind the open ledger of due dates and checked-out books. He slept in the ancient leather armchair that creaked with every shifting movement. He savored the smell of old paper and candle wax. He thrived on words and letters and cracked leather binding.
Yes, Harold James lived in the Little Italy Library and the Little Italy Library was a one-room establishment on the floor above a noisy delicatessen that sold him the bologna and cheese sandwich he ate every day for lunch. That one room was a small room, wider than it was long, stacked from floor to ceiling on all four of its walls with books and tall rolling ladders that slid across the shelves. Within these four walls were six shelves with narrow aisles between them. There weren't any rolling ladders for these shelves but there was a stepladder in the corner that was able to be transported. After all this, there was just enough space to fit two little tables with four chairs each, and a desk by the steep and narrow stairwell that led down to the door. There was no bedroom and though Harold James had an apartment nearby he hardly saw it.
Harold James lived in the library.
And because he lived in the library, he saw everyone that came in and came out. Not many people did that. Not many people did much reading. And because so few people came in and came out, he knew everyone on a regular basis. Everyone was a regular customer and one person was in there more than anyone else.
Her name was Giuliana Guidicelli and she almost lived in the library. She was busy renovating and caring for the girls in a lodging house for newsgirls not too far away, but all of her other time was spent amongst the shelves and the pages. She devoured books while curled up like a cat in the armchair that creaked that Harold James preferred to sleep in. When she was reading, she was lost. She dared to slouch and be comfortable, and she allowed her round, black glasses to slip down her nose. When she wasn't reading, her spine was ramrod straight and her shoulders were perpendicular to it. Her chin was high, her footsteps were small. She carried a greasy stub of a pencil in her pocket and a thick black notebook under her arm. She always wore a kerchief on her head to hide scars from an accident. She was also sixteen years old.
Harold James himself was nearly forty, tall and broad-shouldered, with light hair that was prematurely beginning to gray. His eyes were large, brown, and bespectacled, and his smile was genuine. He gave that smile to Giuliana whenever she came in, whenever she left, whenever they crossed paths. She returned it awkwardly, as if she never had enough practice in smiling. Her lips were tightly drawn, pursed, and her speech was prim. The corners of her mouth twitched when she raised them. No, she never had enough practice in smiling.
Three or four days a week Giuliana Guidicelli would sit with Harold James at one of the two tables in two of the eight chairs and have a sandwich with him from the delicatessen downstairs. The young Italian proved to be very well-read and educated and carried on a conversation efforlessly with the librarian. He attempted to make her laugh once. She stared at him blankly as if she never understood a word he'd said. The corner of her mouth never even twitched.
Harold James did whatever he could to make the Italian girl smile. It became his quest. When winter came he hid outside and threw snowballs when she approached. When spring had blossomed the flowers he brought her a bundle of fresh daffodils. The summer months were going fast and the girl still hadn't smiled honestly. She hadn't loosened her shoulders. She seemed to enjoy the company of his presence but was too prim to smile.
"Mr James? I'd like to take out this book, please."
The day was too hot to be working. The window behind the desk was open and the breeze was just enough to rustle the pages of the ledger. The sky was overcast, and thunder could be heard grumbling several miles away. The librarian took the book from her and scribbled the title into the ledger, followed by Giuliana's name.
"Are you heading home? There's a storm coming, you'll want to be inside."
"Yes, Mr James. I appreciate your concern."
The silence following was awkward. Giuliana gathered the book back into her arms once Harold had finished the record of it. Her shoulders wiggled and she fidgeted on her toes. She stole a quick glance around the room and once she noticed the library was empty she planted a quick kiss to the librarian's cheek. A smile tugged at the corners of her mouth.
Before Harold James could even consider what had happened Giuliana Guidicelli had disappeared down the stairs and out the door. His fingers brushed his cheek and he looked back at her name in the ledger. He closed the leather bound book as the rain began to hit the dusty window sill. A flash of lightning from afar lit the sky, punctuated with thunder and a harder splash of rain. Harold James stood and turned to close the window, and made sure it was tightly latched before settling back down at the desk. His fingers tapped the ledger thoughtfully as his eyes closed and he drifted off to the sound of the rain.
