The Dance Between the worlds

The Dance between Words

I was sitting in my chair writing in a page when Joy approached and covered my eyes with her hands. Smiling playfully she sat in my desk before me and asked:
- What are you writing ?
I moved one blank page over the top and answered:
- Nothing.
- Ah, that is not fair. I tell and tell you my stories and you hide ours?
- No, it is just your own story.
- Then I will stop telling to you my adventures and you will have to create it all.
- Oh, no. That is unfair…
- Then tell me a story! – She crossed her arms and looked to me imperious.
- Fine! – I said unable to resist her demand – I know a story about a saint, a venerable and wise man.
- Yes and ?
“…and for decades he barely talked. Every single day he wake up and went to the temple’s garden and spent the entire day meditating beneath a rose’s tree. It was a most notable rose’s tree , every single year several small roses would bloom. But one single rose, bigger than all others, with vivid red petals. All the disciples admired the wise man, because they saw that unique and seemingly perpetual rose as a signal of his devotion. The old man however was obviously to all this. One day, after all he was too old, and started to die. With the same serenity he lived he died. But before this a great number of monks, disciplines and average people traveled to pay to him his last respects. Amazed by that number of people that he did not remembered to knew he called the master of the temple and with a faint whisper asked him:
- Who are those people ?
- They are those who much admired your example and want to express their respects to you.
- Admired me ? But why ?
- Because of your example, living in deep meditation for years beneath the tree.
- But…
- You are an example of devotion to God.
- I am not. All this time I failed.
The master of the temple touched by that humble man called every present and revealed those words and everyone listening started to pray and praise that man. The wise man, who never noticed that the master of temple was no longer talking with him, answered with his low voice when the presents are all praising and shouting:
- I failed. I discovered that Red Rose was my youth lover reborn. I was not strong enough to leave her and everyday I stayed with her. Doing so, I failed to do my duties with the temple…I am a failure…
He said those last words and died quietly. Those present still celebrate him a little longer until one discovered he was dead.”
- Here is a story.
- Very pretty…but that did not happen with you and it is so short…I want more…
- More ?
- And one that happened with you! – She said smiling.
- Fine I said! But you remember, you that asked for it. – I  said and started:
“When I was still studying in the university, a long time ago, one of my favorite places of all was the bibliotheca. It was so huge and had so many books that I always considered me lost among the bookshelf. And such tall bookshelf they are. We had to use a stair with more than fifty steps. I love to wander there and discover a book that I never saw before even if I have looked there several times.
One day however we discovered that some books are disappearing and leaving to evidence of where or whom are taking it. At principle the teachers blamed a few students that had some notoriety. But even when they are under reclusion the books are still disappearing. The board of teachers then asked finally for the student’s help. We organized searching groups and another group of watchers. During the nights we surrounded the bibliotheca building. But in the next day more books are missing.
The board decided to close the bibliotheca and I was a little sad. So I decided to spend my evening there, in some short of goodbye. I went there and walked to the most hidden corners, almost like hoping to find the missing books and stop the closing of the bibliotheca. It was very silent, even more than the habitual, because most students avoided the place afraid to see their names related somehow to the book disappearing. I found a volume about the Roman Empire that was interesting and I started to read it. But I was very weary since last night I helped with the searching groups and didn't’t sleep much…Slowly but without denial, Sleep dominated me.
I opened my eyes again in the dark, just a very shy light coming from the moon illuminate the books. I have never been there alone and without light. I raised myself and went to the door and discovered I was locked there. It was likely that they did not notice me inside there when they locked the doors. With resignation I moved away into the direction of the large windows, hoping to open one and try to climb down using some close tree.
Only my steps are heard while I walked among the long bookshelf. I was careful because the lack of light, using my arm to probe the sequence of books and not get myself lost. I looked up and the bookshelf seemed to close around me like a gigantic hand. The air chilled down and I soon discovered why…
When I was near the windows, still covered by the books, I all the windows are open! A chill air entered, so chill that the air compacted and appeared to be an ectoplasmic milky fog spreading between the books. I tried to hide and I started to watch, certainly that I found the reason behind the book’s disappearance. So under a desk I saw the white fog go inside the books, making they jump in the air, dancing wildly, opening and flipping their pages. One by one the books started to form a circle and dance around each other. The white fog formed human forms above the books and they appeared to talk with each others…Even in dark room some forms I could discern…I could see an tall and gloomy form with a long beard discuss vividly with aristocratic and pale man…I could see a thin and timid foggy wander among the others while one with a eye patch talked with everyone…The reunion lasted all night when all the figures surrounded one of them and now, with an almost stern order embrace him. When they left he was gone and I do not needed to search; I knew that one book was gone also.
Tired and frozen I felt sleep before they left. I wake in the morning and in silence I picked the few books I really cared for – it was a hard choice. And I left and come back no more. What I heard? The bibliotheca still closed, they never dared to open it again. The books still disappear, one each night. There still a few of them left, so big that bibliotheca once was. There is still until they come after the books I took with me”.
And saying that, I patted, smiling, a few books in the shelf behind my desk. Joy was now very serious and looked me when I finished.
- It is over ?
- Yes.
- Ghost stories… - She shivered and jumped from the table and hugged me.
- Something wrong ? – I said and she answered:
- Nothing…oh, do not tease me…I shall tell you a real ghost story!
- Sure. – I smiled holding her waiting for her story…