The Man Who Read for Eternity

There was an inscription in Koine Greek above the door to Hernando's library: "Unto the age of all ages," it read, more commonly phrased in today's liturgy as "forever and ever." Underneath was the biblical reference Philippians 4:20. Twenty plus four equals the number of hours in a single day…

The old man's personal library was monstrous. When I walked through the door, both walls were covered with towering bookshelves. It was a narrow chamber, however, with a barrel vault roof, and stretched towards a curved wall at the back where a wooden desk sat. I had the impression of a church, with the end of the room forming the apse.

"You're thinking of a lingam," Hernando rasped, as if he had read my thoughts.

"Of course...the Hindu abstract representation of Shiva."

"Not only of the great Lord himself, but the very entirety...of creation...the beginningless endlessness...of eternity." He spoke in a languid, almost catatonic, and dragging voice as he eased his bony dimensions into a leather ergonomic chair that he adjusted with a remote device. Its place in the library was like that of a robot in baroque Italy. An antique grandfather clock ticked behind him, though I noticed after a minute or two that none of the hands moved. Each tick sounded like a tired, grumpy tut of disapproval. On Hernando's desk slept a neat pile of papers and an old marine hourglass. The trickle of sand from one bulb to the other was frozen, as if it had been intentionally crystallized or solidified.

"So," I said. I squeezed into the tiny chair facing Hernando, taking out my recorder, notebook and pen, eager to start the interview. "Shall we start?"

"Have we met before?" Hernando interrupted.

"Pardon?"

"Have we...met...before?” Each word enunciated with escalating emphasis in his draining, mumbling voice as he twirled his long, curling white beard.

"I don't believe so. At least not before our phone call."

"Oh," Hernando cooed. "I see. Hmm...suppose...let me think...ah-ha, yes...that would make sense."

I had been warned he was a bit strange, mainly by university colleagues who had interviewed him about his life in Revolutionary Catalonia, then Francoist Spain and later Peronist Argentina. A musty smell of stale tobacco, worn books and cough sweets flickered about his being. He leaned back into his chair, fidgeting with his thin fingers and cracking his sharp knuckles. The cracks rhymed with the ticking of the broken-handed grandfather clock.

"Let's start, as I know you are a busy man."

Hernando stared blankly at me.

"Shall we?" I offered.

As soon as he nodded, I switched on the recorder, made my usual remarks of the date, time and location of the interview, the subject and the topics to be discussed. I had pored over this for hours, even days.

"When were you first approached to debate H. Forrest Stephenson?"

"Well...I was working at the university. I used to rise at six in the morning, but now I wake up whenever I wish. I lived in a small apartment near the train station on the hill, and every lunchtime I used to go for long walks along the river. On both sides of the bank it was just trees, endless trees..."

He answered questions like this, full of random details about his daily life from the time he got into his office. He told me about the type of correspondence he received, his administrative duties, then his teaching, his interactions with his students, his favorite students and his colleagues. What felt like half an hour had passed before he finally told me it was on such a day that the mail man delivered a letter from the office of Professor H. Forrest Stephenson.

"It invited me to a debate at a university or public forum of my choosing with this Stephenson. I must confess I had never heard of this fellow before. I despise so-called public intellectuals."

Invisible minutes passed as Hernando spoke of receiving the invitation, considering it, finding out more about Stephenson and then deciding against the debate. "I could not sully my reputation and betray my principles by debating such a man."

I asked him about the state of academia if two renowned scholars, in their respective fields, could not sit in a room and civilly debate the issues of the day.

"Well, this is the problem with your generation," he sneered, folding his arms. His voice sharpened, becoming accusative and lecturelike. "You are blinded by the misapprehension that all views and opinions have equal validity in academic fora, even those that ought to be confined to the scrap heap like flat-Earthism and race science."

"Shall we take a short break?" I interrupted, feeling that perhaps I had upset him.

"Yes," he mumbled, and then I switched the recorder off. The clock ticked but stayed at midday. There were no windows in the library, only the dim lamps from the arched ceiling. Hernando meanwhile reached into a drawer and took out a smoking pipe and tobacco. "I assume you will not mind me smoking in my own home."

"Not at all," I said. I didn't want to agitate him further. I jotted a few notes in silence just so I did not have to look at him.

"Let me be frank with you," Hernando said. "Are you listening?"

I looked up at him.

"Your 'research'...if you could call it that...on, what did you call it...'modern debates in academic settings'...it is a waste of time."

I blinked a few times. I didn't know what to say. The timeless ticks of the clock gave me time to think of a reply.

"Well, I would have to disagree with you. I find the work fulfilling, and I think it will contribute to an area of study that covers the works of Plato, Cicero...even Confucius."

He stared agape, the pipe just hanging from his withered lips. His eyes, milky white and blankly distant, now felt like they were aiming arrows at me. I should not have said anything, but I thought Hernando was baiting me, a bit like how Stephenson and his wealthy backers had once baited him into the public debate that had caused so much controversy. His body trembling, he stood up so fast I thought he might keel over, grabbed his walking cane and hobbled over to the book shelf on his left. One-handed, with an extraordinary feat of strength, he hauled out a dense book, biblical in size and appearance, and lumped it on my lap.

"'A Universal Guide to Reading the Entire Manuscripts, Collections and Archives at Alexandria' by Hernando S. de Ruy," I read aloud. "You wrote this?"

"I did."

"I have never heard of this text."

"That is because no-one else would publish it...but I needed to put the truth into print before I was...unable to do so." His gestures and tone were less hectoring and more pleading now. "You think my debates with charlatans and frauds are so interesting? This," he said, pointing at the book with his cane. "This is my magnum opus...the magnum opus, and I am bequeathing it to you, along with my house, fortune, and all 6,791 books in this library."

"Excuse me?!"

"On one condition...you must agree to read every single book in my collection...and to read every book in existence."

"Professor de Ruy." I pondered how to say no. He was obviously not in a fit state of mind.

"Do not say no to me," he snapped. "Do not refuse this. If you say no to me, I will not ask you a second time."

"Perhaps we should return to the interview, Professor."

He slammed his fist on the desk. "Blazes! I am offering you infinite knowledge!"

His shouting made the room echo. Normally, in such a situation, I would have excused myself and asked to rearrange the interview for another day or to postpone it indefinitely. Despite his blindness and his age, Hernando had become animated and agitated. I could see it in his quivering form.

"I apologize if I have upset you, Professor. Perhaps it's best if…"

"No," Hernando whispered. "No, no. You have no need for apologies. Do you not believe me? I know you do not. But I am going to share you a secret. With the Guide, you can read not just all the books in my collection, but every…single…book…ever…written."

I shifted in my seat. The clock continued to click, but I had no idea how long we had been together. I had turned my phone off, and was now afraid to turn it on in Hernando's presence.

"Every book that has ever been written…and even to know all the books that ever will be written...before they are written."

"How?" I asked. It felt uncomfortable to give him the impression I was actually interested, but perhaps if I listened to him, then I might earn his good graces for another interview. He was obviously disturbed, but I did not want to leave him in an agitated state that might affect his health.

"Years ago," Hernando began. "Years ago, during my archaeology days...I discovered the remains of the Library of Alexandria."

I nodded.

"Now, I know you don't believe me. I can read your mind, but you must believe me when I say this...I found the actual Library of Alexandria...the famous library of the ancients. I discovered all seven hundred and seventy thousand scrolls in its collections...and I read them all, one after the other. After I had read the last one...an eternity had passed."

I nodded, for that was all I felt I could reasonably do at this point.

"By then, I could not contain my hunger. It was as if I had been appointed to become a collector and receptacle of the entirety of human knowledge…but there was a price," he said in a hoarse whisper. "This knowledge, this secret that I am gifting you is the greatest curse that any human being has ever borne. Not even the Great Deceiver could think of a punishment so vile."

I had listened to Hernando tell me his tale for what felt like hours. My back had begun to ache from the chair, and my eyes felt dry. I blinked a few times, feeling at times I was nodding off. Whilst I was listening to him I felt as if I were floating in some lucid sky above the clouds.

"This is the true Alpha and the Omega. This is what I offer you, vast, eternal, unending knowledge. To know past, present and future. All you have to do is say yes."

Only a fool would have said the opposite of what I said next.