Read Online At the Villa of Reduced Circumstances by Alexander McCall Smith - Free Book Online Page B

heard that you had to go off to Cambridge. She said that she was worried that you would not be well looked after there, but I assured her that there was no danger of this. It’s odd, isn’t it, how that generation worries about things like that? You and I would have no hesitation about leaving Germany for foreign parts, but they don’t like it. It’s something to do with insecurity. I think that my aunt feels a certain degree of insecurity because she . . . ’
    ‘Yes, yes, Herr Huber,’ von Igelfeld interrupted. ‘That is very true. Now, I was wondering whether anything of note had happened in the Institute during my absence.’

     
    The Librarian looked thoughtful. ‘It depends on what you mean by the expression “of note”. If “of note” means “unusual”, then the answer, I fear, is no. Nothing unusual has happened – in the strict sense of the word. If, however, “of note” is synonymous with “of importance”, which is the meaning which I, speaking entirely personally, would be inclined to attribute to it, in the main, then one might conceivably come up with a different answer. Yes, that would probably be the case, although I could never really say
ex
Germania semper aliquid novi
, if you will allow the little joke . . . ’
    ‘Very amusing,’ said von Igelfeld quickly. ‘Except for the fact that one should say
e Germania
, the
ex
form, as you know, being appropriate before a vowel, hence,
ex Africa
in the original. Be that as it may, certainly far more amusing than anything I heard in Cambridge. I’m afraid it’s true, you know, that the British don’t have a sense of humour.’
    ‘I’ve heard that said,’ agreed the Librarian. ‘Very humourless people.’
    ‘But if I may return to the situation here,’ pressed von Igelfeld. ‘
Ex institutione aliquid novi
?’
    The Librarian smiled. He knew exactly what von Igelfeld would be interested in, which would be whether anybody had requested a copy of
Portuguese Irregular Verbs
in his absence. Normally, the answer to this would be a disappointing negative, but this time there was better news to impart, and the Librarian was relishing the prospect of revealing it. But he did not want to do it too quickly; with skilful manipulation of von Igelfeld’s questions, he might be able to keep the information until coffee, when he could reveal it in the presence of everybody. They were always cutting him short when he had something interesting to say; well, if they tried that today, then they would have to do so in the face of very evident and strong interest on the part of von Igelfeld.
    Oh yes, the world is unjust, thought the Librarian. They – Prinzel, Unterholzer and von Igelfeld (Zimmermann, too, come to think of it) – had all the fun. They went off to conferences and meetings all over the place and he had to stay behind in the Library, all day, every day. All he had to look forward to each evening was the visit to the nursing home and the short chat with the nurses and with his aunt. It was always a pleasure to talk to his aunt, of course, who was so well-informed and took such an interest in everything, but afterwards he had to go back to his empty apartment and have his dinner all by himself. He had been married, and happily so, he had imagined, until one day his wife walked out on him with absolutely no notice. She had met a man who rode a motorcycle on a Wall of Death at a funfair, and she had decided that she preferred him to the Librarian. He had tracked her down to a site outside Frankfurt – the sort of wasteland which funfairs like to occupy – and he had had a brief and impassioned conversation with her outside the Wall of Death while her motorcyclist lover raced round and round inside. He had implored her to come back, but his words were lost in the roar of the motorcycle engine and in the rattling of the brightly painted wooden planks that made up the outside of the Wall of Death.
    Such was the Librarian’s life. But at least