It was my favourite haunt, the reference library, because the shelves always had an expansive, historic feel to them. Pounds and pounds of tomes were stacked in neat colour blocked sections. The smell of paper, the faint aroma of old glue, the smooth repeating bumps of equal height binding across my splayed fingers, and a barely definable dusty smell that all libraries tend to have in common settled comfortably into my senses. I was at home on the fifth floor, where all the music scores waited to be read or borrowed.
As I passed the fifth floor desk, I smiled at Mark, the head librarian, standing behind the large half oval returns desk. He was a tall middle-aged man who kept a neatly trimmed beard and short wavy salt-and-pepper hair. Secretly I called him The Professor, but that was only because of the rimless glasses he wore. His eyes crinkled in a smile as soon as he heard my hushed greeting.
“Off to discover a new composer?” he said, in an equally lowered voice. I wanted to linger by the desk, but his coworker was already frowning. The library enforces strict rules of minimum sound, especially on the fifth floor, because of the many study areas placed in a separate spaces away from the shelves. Sound carried in spite of the buffer of bookshelves and wall-to-wall carpet.
“Yes,” I said, smiling in a way that I hoped looked inviting. The sweater I wore was too warm for indoors, even for autumn, so I loosened the bottom two buttons and adjusted my bag at a better position on my shoulder. “I’m looking for a particular book. Perhaps you could help me?”
Mark’s smile broadened. “Of course. Actually, I’ll be on break soon, but I don’t mind helping you find what you need.” His beard moved as he formed the words with his lips, tempting me to reach out and touch his beard. I brushed the thought aside. He moved from behind the desk and led the way, slowing enough for me to catch up. I made an effort not to watch his long legs take shorter strides. “So what’s on the menu today?”
“Brahms and Rachmaninoff,” I said, holding my bag close to my side as I walked. At the speed he was going I had to work to keep pace with him.
“We’re still in the throes of renovation around here, so some of the shelves come to a dead end.” He put his hand out to indicate I was to walk ahead of him down the hallway of stacked books. “The movers will shift these bookshelves back to forming aisles when this floor is completed.”
“Thank you for the help,” I said, taking gulps of air as discreetly as I could to slow my racing heart. “The Rachmaninoff preludes are first on my list—”
“Preludes?” he echoed, leaning toward the shelf on the right, towering over me from his six foot four height. “I know for a fact that all three copies have been recently borrowed.” He stopped scanning the book titles and looked down at me. “Are you all right?”
“Yes...I’m fine...fine,” I said, resting my shoulder against the nearest protruding hardcover score. On the spine it read Scarlatti but I was in no mood for sonatas; only Rachmaninoff could soothe my soul today.
Mark rested his hand on my shoulder. “Tell you what,” he said, “how about I show you to the archive room? It’s staff only, but there are advantages to being head librarian.” He rattled a handful of keys in his right pocket and winked.
The archive room was where damaged books, special collections and newly arrived copies were kept. I felt like trespassing when I followed him past the large sign saying “Staff only” in capital letters. He bent slightly to fit the key in the lock and it occurred to me that he probably had to do similar stooping for nearly every activity that the rest of us mortals take for granted. Still, his height was an advantage in a workplace that required a lot of reaching and stretching to lofty perches.
“Rest your bag on the by the sofa and have a seat. There’s only two set of keys for this room, and the security manager has the other one. You can take it easy while I look around for a spare copy of the Rach preludes.”
The windowless room looked like a large office except there were shelves lining one side of the room and a long desk on the other. Supplies of forms and other paper were stacked in a corner. The sofa was by the door, deep-seated and soft.
“Comfy yet?” Mark’s voice sounded muffled as he crouched behind the desk.
“I just had a really tiring day,” I told him.
“Remember what we were talking about the last time you were at the library?” he asked. “I learned some good relaxation techniques and you should give them a try sometime.”
“I don’t know...it sounds too complicated,” I said.
“It really isn’t, you know,” he said. “Ah! Here we go,” and dusting off his thighs he held up a thin standard-sized blue hardcover, turning the book so he could read the title. “Rachmaninoff: Preludes.”
“That was quick,” I said, regretting already that he was so efficient. I was just getting used to the sofa.
“Technically, I’m now on break,” he said, flipping his wrist right side up so the metal watch clicked its fastening pieces together. “You want to try a little of what we talked about?” Mark set down the book on the corner of the desk and looked at me with a steady smile.
There was that question again. He did have a calming voice, it was true. I nodded, taking my time to think up an excuse, but none came to mind.
“Is that a yes? Great!” he rolled a chair to where I was and sat across from me, his knees on either side of mine. I worked hard to think of bookends to distract myself when he took my left hand and sandwiched it between both of his.
“Your hands are cold, Karen,” he said in a smooth, soft voice that immediately caught my attention, “but you can feel the warmth of my hands travelling through me to you, even as I speak.”
The nearness of his legs and the clasp of his hands were indeed transmitting a feeling of heat. I closed my eyes, just for a moment, to imagine soaking up his cheery disposition along with the comfortable warmth.
“Listen to my voice and follow the instructions as I speak. At any time you can choose to listen further or you can continue with this wonderful feeling flowing from me to you.
“Now. Close your eyes. Take a deep breath, hold for five...one, two, three, four, five....and exhale.” Mark held both my hands, his palms up and his thumbs keeping the tops of my hands firmly flat on his own. Already my hands were as warm as his were. “Soon your arms will start to feel lighter, or maybe they are too heavy to lift...”
I was aware of my shoulders drooping as he continued on in that soft, smooth voice.
“When I count from twenty down to one, you will fall into a deeper, more relaxed state. Listen to my voice and follow along easily and quietly. Let your breathing deepen as you follow more deeply down, down...”
There was a sensation of falling in slow motion when my hands were lowered to my lap. I felt pressure on both shoulders, and then my head seemed to be too lethargic to hold upright. The sofa welcomed my weight and the length of my supine body with no effort at all.
“Two...”
I wondered dimly what happened to all the numbers between twenty and two.
“...One.”
It was as though I was made of air, or drifting outside of my body on a cloud of nothingness. When he took my hand this time, it had a tingling sensation. He stroked the top of my hand from wrist to fingertips. As hard as I tried, I could not hear the words he was speaking, only the rise and fall of his voice slipping here and there between my thoughts. Only his touch was my language now. The pads of his fingers pressed between my knuckles.
“Listen carefully, Karen,” I heard him say, and at once all the words took form and solidified in my dream-like awareness. “Every one of your senses is open to my touch. Your skin is very, very sensitive to even the slightest pressure. As I touch your hand, you will feel it everywhere on your body in the way that you need to feel it.”
I moved my closed eyes from left to right, imagining that I could somehow see through my eyelids to what was slowly happening around me. The air had movement and currents that raised the hair on my arms; his continued stroking of my hand changed to a slow circular movement with his thumb and that was when I was surprised at the size of the hand rubbing mine. My hand was in miniature to his great statuesque hands, and every pass of his thumb was a massage for every cell of my flesh. Forgetting myself in the nothingness of impression of the senses kept me floating a while, back to revelling in touch alone and letting his words drift over me in wafts of delight.
“—and five. Wide awake and feeling refreshed!” Mark was smiling down at me.
I looked up at the ceiling, wondering why my view had changed. In the time I was listening to him talk, I had been lying down on the sofa.
“You did great!” he exclaimed. You have a real knack for relaxing, I see.” He nodded at the sofa where I struggled to sit up as gracefully as I could manage. I was grateful when he turned away to busy himself with the Prelude so I could adjust my skirt before standing.
An entire hour went by, according to my watch. To me, it felt like twenty minutes at the most. Where had the time gone?
“I’ll walk you back to the main desk. You look a bit unsteady on your feet.”
“No, no, I’m good. Thanks for offering,” I rushed to assure him.
“Oh, I insist and I’ll prove it to you,” Mark said, grinning. He pressed at my shoulder while simultaneously squeezing my hand in a rhythmic motion. Both my knees buckled and he was at the ready, holding me steady with one arm around my waist. “See? You’ll need a minute or two to find your legs again. Next time, it’ll be even easier to relax with my help. You’ll be back next week to experience more, because more is the best flavour a person can have over and over again, don’t you think so?”
I swallowed to bathe my dry throat, feeling hungry and wishing I had some chocolate, or even better, a bowl of chocolate ice cream. I clutched his arm for the first few steps until I could walk unassisted, laughing in spite of myself as we left the archive room. In fact, I had never felt so relaxed after such a long day at the office. Never mind the Brahms; I could borrow it another day. It was going to be a pleasure to visit this floor more often in the future. There was so much for me to learn.