tell me trutter rapped in my rapped, it seemed, beneattic flat, like a bird t  in do ural t ted me; I rut left to discover it alone and in secret. tell me trute. But I resolved to put tter out of my  ime. I moved sly. In teetes to eigdress and slippers, ing for ttle to boil. Quickly, quickly. A minute to eig-er bottle er from tap. time  eigo an end. It ime.

    t te pages of my open book, illuminated by a circle of lampligeo anot t nig t  in suspense overnig I could not care about ually oget to secure myself to a strand of t, but as soon as I , a voice intervened—tell me trut unpicked t and left it flopping loose again.

    My ead over tes: te, uts, Jane Eyre…

    But it ell me truth…

    Reading  me do urning out t, I rested my ried to sleep.

    Ecs of a story. In tell me truth…

    At t out of bed, pulled on some socks, unlocked t door and,  doaircase and into the shop.

    At tiny room, not muc . It contains a table and, on a ss of broring. As ems t t holds a dozen or so books.

    tents of t rarely co look into it today you  nig a cover resting on its side, and next to it an ugly tooled leatin standing uprigany, tatty book of astronomy. A book in Japanese, anot?  kept ural companions on our neatly labeled s is ents of tire rest of the shop, more even.

    t I er—a small  four incy or so years old— of place next to all tiquities. It ence, and one of t to ask  it and s some in case, I put on te gloves. e keep t to o life roy turn ts paper cover intact and its corners unblunted, tion, one of a popular series produced to quite a andard by a publis no longer exists. A c edition, but not t you  to find among treasures. At jumble sales and village fetes, othe series sell for a few pence.

    tif of sangles  plain, one for title and auteen tales of Cion by Vida inter.

    I locked t, returned t to tairs back to bed, book in gloved hand.

    I didn’t intend to read. Not as suced. Sometrong enougo still tter t kept going around in my  fire ences, a page maybe, and to sleep.

    I removed t jacket and placed it for safety in t be too careful. Opening taste it.

    t a few words.

    But my eyes, brus line, were snared.

    All c is a universal trait. You  to knoell you about   be trut ory. And notelling tory.

    It o er.

    Peasants and princes, bailiffs and bakers’ boys, mercs and mermaids, tely familiar. I ories a imes before. tories everyone kne gradually, as I read, ty fell arange. ters  ture books, mecing out tory one more time. t fell from touc, and it left tang of metal on ongue o ears left salt burns on ories ’s desire—ter restored to life by a stranger’s kiss, t ed of  naked as a man, t only oo late did t pay for escaping tiny. Every er ainted. Fate, at first so amenable, so reasonable, so open to negotiation, ends up by exacting a cruel revenge for happiness.

    tales al and sbreaking. I loved them.

    It ale—t I began to feel stirrings of an anxiety t ed to tory itself. I racted: my t index finger  many pages left. tently until I tilted to c rue. teentale must be a very s one.

    I continued my reading, finisale turned the page.

    Blank.

    I flicked back, forhing.

    teentale.

    t too fast to the surface.

    Aspects of my room came back into vieill s t o creep in tains.

    It was morning.

    I  away.

    teentale.

    In tting at tairs and looked up, we-faced.

    ‘ever is it?“ I darted forward.

    oo so speak; o a mute gesture of desperation before slohemselves over his horrified eyes. he groaned.

    My  I am not in t of touc fell instead to t he back of his chair.

    ‘Is thing I can do?“ I asked.

    o pe. In a minute…”

    ‘t’s happened?“

    ‘A break-in.“  sound like the world.

    I looked around t and in order. t been forced, t ransacked, t broken.

    ‘t,“ o understand.

    ‘teen tales.“ I spoke firmly. ”Upstairs in my flat. I borro.“

    Fat me. ter astonis. “You borro?”

    ‘Yes.“

    “You borro?”

    ‘Yes.“ I he shop, as he knew.

    ‘But Vida inter…?“

    And I realized t some kind of explanation was called for.

    I read old novels. torations, tragic separations and un falls and dreams fulfilled; titute an ending . ter adventures, perils, dangers and dilemmas, and ly. Endings like to be found more commonly in old novels than new ones, so I read old novels.

    Contemporary literature is a tle of. My fataken me to task on topic many times during our daily talks about books.  more  for iful desolation  t to  are muted, but  ambiguity touc more nearly tyle of finis I prefer.

    During talks, I listen  attention and nod my  I alinuing in my old s. Not t . too many books in to read in a single lifetime; you o drahe line somewhere.

    Once Fatold me about Vida inter. “Noer w you.”

    But I er. ers I ill not discovered?

    Except t noo take teen tales from t. My fath good reason, was wondering why.

    ‘I got a letter yesterday,“ I began.

    he nodded.

    ‘It er.“

    Fat ed for me to go on.

    ‘It seems to be an invitation for me to visit o ing her biography.“

    ed by anoters.

    ‘I couldn’t sleep, so I came doo get the book.“

    I ed for Fato speak, but . er a time I spoke again. “ kept in t?  makes it so valuable?”

    Fatrain of t to ansly because it’s t edition of t book by t famous living er in t mostly because it’s flaion is called tales of Cion. No mention of teen. You’ll iced tories?”

    I nodded.

    ‘Presumably to be teen, tted. But t design and ted itle and only tories. to be recalled.“

    ‘But your copy…“

    ‘Slipped t. One of a batc out by mistake to a s, o pack ty years ago  t be and sold it to a collector. tor’s estate ioned in September and I boug. ithe Avignon deal.“

    ‘t aken to negotiate t  lucrative successes.

    ‘You he gloves, of course?“ he asked sheepishly.

    ‘ake me for?“

    inuing. “All t effort for nothing.”

    ‘ do you mean?“

    ‘Recalling all title  people still call it teen tales, even t’s been publisales of Cion for ury.“

    ‘?“

    ‘It’s ion of fame and secrecy does. it , fragments of information like tory of t edition take on an importance beyond t. It  of ery of teentale. It gives people someto speculate about.“

    t silence. ting o tance, and speaking lig I could pick up  ted.”

    I remembered tter, my fear t its er  to be trusted. I remembered tence of tell me die truteen tales t took possession of me s first o be age again.

    ‘I don’t knoo do,“ I told my father.

    ‘It is different from . Intervieead of archives.“

    I nodded.

    ‘But you  to knoe teen tales.“

    I nodded again.

    My fat  reading is.  takes you.

    ‘ you to go?“

    ‘Monday,“ I told him.

    ‘I’ll run you to tation, shall I?“

    ‘thank you. And—“

    ‘Yes?“

    ‘Can I ime off? I ougo do some more reading before I go up there.“

    ‘Yes,“  didn’t hide his worry. ”Yes, of course.“

    ** *t glorious times of my adult life. For t time ever I able a pile of brand-ne and Beter; ter; ings by Vida inter; Out of ter; Rules of Affliction by Vida inter; ter; t Ser. tist, glo and po, gold and deep purple. I even bougales of Cion; its title looked bare  teen t makes my faturned to t.

    Of course one aler’s books gave me tance. But it . I  every stage of my life, and time est joy. And yet I cannot pretend t t years matcs impact on my soul till believe in stories. I still forget myself  is not t must be said, t important t I cannot forget is t time ial t. algic yearning for t pleasure of books. It is not a yearning t one ever expects to be fulfilled. And during time, t, erpane streo read again—t joys of reading returned to me. Miss inter restored to me ties of tories she ravished me.

    From time to time my fat t top of :airs. ared at me. I must  dazed look intense reading gives you. “You  forget to eat, will you?”  of milk.

    I ay in my flat forever  if I o go to Yorkso meet Miss inter, to be done. I took a day off from reading and  to t tional neer’s recent novels. For every ne came out, ss to a el in e, ely,  ories in existence,  ty  looking very hard.

    After tion of Bet and Beter in t publicity for ings by telling esan. For t S, a street creets of t End and tifled only girl in a family of ten boisterous boys. I particularly liked tally separated in India from tiss, s an existence for reets of Bombay, making a living as a storyteller. Sold stories about pine trees t smelled like t coriander, mountains as beautiful as taj Mareet-corner pakora and bagpipes. Oiful it defied description. er so return to Scotland—a country s as a tiny baby—sed. trees smelled notasted flat. As for the bagpipes…

    ry and sentimental, tragic and astringent, comic and sly, eacories erpiece in miniature. For a different kind of er, t be t; for Vida inter taken truth.

    ture  ternoon at y parents’  never cion could re-ice it to rubble.

    My motaut smile and talked brigea. to  , empty c, produced to keep since at bay, silence in o reveal t so leave t t minor unexpected event gave  s read a book for fear of t find in it.

    Fated until Mot to make fresea before talk-g about Miss inter.

    ‘It’s not old  o trace ried  of information. No one kno fact about her.“

    ‘how curious.“

    ‘It’s as if ser s exist at all. As if sed  time as her book.“

    ‘e kno reveal someted.

    ‘Vida. From vita, Latin, meaning life. t oo.“

    Vide in Frency. t  ;e s’  it for o infer.

    ‘Quite.“  about inter?“

    inter. I looked out of tion. Beer’s g, dark brancretcection against te t did er mean to me? One th.

    t became necessary to say somet to burden tolerable er. Very spiky.”

    My motea, salked on, ig of life as t were seven acres.

    My attention el over t in t migive. A pograpen my motalks about putting it a. But my fato see it, and since o ure are a youtly ful eyes; t caneous smile, laug my father. She looks happy.

    tragedy alters everything.

    I o disappeared.

    I looked out into t t, my so t did s did stempts to persuade ourselves t t ?

    ARRIVALI left er day, and for miles my train ran . under a gauzy rains, and ted, as I traveled nort any moment I expected to  scattering of ?ops on t t come.

    At e, Miss inter’s driver, a dark-o talk. I  me free to study t unfolded as soon as  too London and, once or to libraries and cy I kneury at t. Once  to o believe I raveling into t at time as into tryside. t, one cottages; t, ter tance betil isolated farmerruptions to ter fields. At last  even t gre a vergeless road and eac, vague undulations of darkness.

    ‘Is the moors?“ I asked.

    ‘It is,“ to t all I could make out erlogged sky t pressed doropain distance even t from our inguished.

    At an unmarked junction urned off tony track. e stopped to open a gate and close it be, jolting and sher mile.

    Miss inter’s - seemed to merge into eac revealed t t turn of t croucepped out to see t o pull a of an unlit porcters blacked out t a single sign of ation. Closed in upon itself, to sors.

    I rang ts clang ed in ted I c till no one came to the door.

    About to ring for a time, I he door was opened.

    ting. At first sig, neat  it  made ion in ted,  seemed to me, as sciny lance for glance, t sained y only by deliberate effort.

    ‘Good evening,“ I said. ”I am Margaret Lea.“

    ‘ting you.“

    is it t alloendings? For I understood quite clearly in t moment t sions aste; perransmit em unknoions in tever t as surely t it  me in particular t alarmed  only t t I ranger.

    Surned t a sound and t a squeak as ts o place.

    Standing t in t time t profound oddity of ter’s irely silent.

    told me  s my journey and mentioned t times to get  er.  of silence t descended and extinguisfalls, and muffled ter anothe music room.

    t -furnis did it. Overstuffed sofas  cusered footstools, capestries ered furniture, every floor ed, every carpet overlaid  draped t as blotting paper absorbs ink, so all t absorbed sound, ting paper takes up only excess ink, to suck in the words we spoke.

    I follourned left and rig and left,  up and doairs until I  all sense of ed interior of ts outer plainness. tered over time, I supposed, added to ension invisible from t. “You’ll get t,” tood urned from a o a . S opened into a sitting room. t. “Batudy.” tains and  of the house.

    ‘ill you take your meals in ting table and a single che window.

    I did not knoing ess, and unsure of my status in t or an employee?), I ated, er to accept or to refuse. Divining tainty, to overcome a  of reticence, “Miss inter als alone.”

    ‘t’s all to you, I’ll eat here.“

    ‘I’ll bring you soup and sandrain. You’ve to make your tea and coffee just o reveal a kettle, tiny fridge. ”It o tc, for not ing me in chen.

    S me to my unpacking.

    In t e to unpack my feoiletries. I pusea and coffee to one side and replaced t of cocoa I  from  enougime to test tique bed— tress and I  kno—before turned ray. “Miss inter invites you to meet  eig to make it sound like an invitation, but I under-stood, as I  meant to, t it was a command.