The Department of Rare Books and Special Collections(71)

“Many years ago when he was neither ill nor particularly old, I received in the mail a letter in which Christopher, ever the captain of his own ship, outlined the instructions for his memorial service,” Garber told the assembled mourners.

The line got a laugh, and Garber looked pleased about it. Liesl wondered if the use of that specific line, if that joke that was sure to draw a laugh because it called to mind just how controlling Christopher was, had itself been a part of the instructions. Her own portion of the program was a small one. Christopher hadn’t mentioned her by name in his instructions, but the poet that she would be introducing had been specifically requested. It was Garber who had suggested that Liesl should be involved in the event. Garber who thought always of continuity and the way things might appear to those who were paying attention.

The readings that Christopher had requested were from The Death of Ivan Ilych and The Brothers Karamazov. As if Christopher had been Russian. During the preparations, Liesl had joked that they should use the Auden poem “Funeral Blues” that Christopher thought was forever sullied through its use in a film. The suggestion had been received as appalling. Liesl quite liked Auden, quite liked the poem, quite liked the scene in Four Weddings and a Funeral when it had been read. No matter. The readings were from heavily bearded Russian novelists, just as Christopher had requested. A rhyming scheme is nice! Liesl wanted to yell from the podium.

“Beautiful service, wasn’t it, Liesl?” Percy asked afterward. “Very moving.”

“Yes,” she lied. She had hoped the umbrella would keep her concealed while she walked back to the library where the reception was being held. But Percy had found her.

“Did I hear old Chris designed the program himself?”

“You did.”

“Not a bad idea, that,” he said. “Maybe I’ll ask my assistant to do the same. The queen’s funeral is all planned and ready, did you know that?” He stayed on the sidewalk beside her.

He was not embarrassed to be comparing himself to the queen. As they walked, his umbrella bumped against hers, moving it over enough that the rain fell on the shoulder of her coat.

“I should go check on the catering,” she said when they arrived at the library. “Christopher left instructions for that too.”

Seeing that others had begun to arrive, he’d already lost interest in her, and she wandered off to leave her coat in her office. John and Hannah were waiting there for her.

“Hey, you,” Hannah said.

“Hope you don’t mind,” John said. “You seemed as though you might need some moral support.”

“The crowd is a bit much.” She hung her coat on the rack. The shoulder of her blouse was damp.

Hannah looked at her mother with her wide-open face and serious dark eyes, waiting to be asked to stay.

“How many are coming back to the library, Mom?”

“Only about a hundred, chickadee,” she said.

“Just the really fancy ones, huh?”

Liesl straightened her blouse.

“None as fancy as you.”

“Let us help,” John said. “No one does small talk quite like your daughter.”

“It’s true,” said Hannah. “And if nothing else, they’ll be distracted by my haircut.”

“I’ll be worried you’re bored or annoyed,” said Liesl.

“Never,” said Hannah.

“Go get yourself some noodles. I’ll be home as soon as I can,” Liesl said.

“Noodles without our third musketeer?” said John. He pulled Liesl into a hug. “Imagine that level of betrayal.”

“Dad,” Hannah said. “Mom and I get noodles without you all the time.”

“Well, that’s it,” said John. “Now I’m definitely leaving. It’s like I don’t know either of you anymore.”

“Come on, Mom,” said Hannah. “I know you hate this stuff. Let us stay here so you have a friendly face.”

“I’m fine,” Liesl said. “And I’ll be even better when I know you’re fed.”

“We can eat tiny canapés.”

“And very expensive cookies,” John added.

Liesl stepped away from them toward the door.

“Noodles,” she said. “And I’ll be home soon.”

***

“She can tell you all about Stockholm,” President Garber said. He had not stopped pulling her by the arm to introduce her to fancy people. She took a glass of chardonnay from a passing member of the wait staff. The Nobel winner was already surrounded by five celebrants.

Liesl was introduced, and they gave her a nod. She sipped the chardonnay. She hated chardonnay. Hated the vanilla, hated the oakiness. Chardonnay had been in Christopher’s instructions.

“Tell her what you think of her writing,” Garber said. “No need to be shy. The library has all of your first editions.”

The Nobel winner nodded. Liesl finished her chardonnay.

“Go on. Tell her,” Garber said.

The Nobel winner shook her head and smiled.

“Christopher,” she said. “We’re here to celebrate him, not me.”

Liesl’s estimation of the woman grew. “A toast to Christopher,” she said, flagging a waiter for a refill.