Tales from Beyond (continued)

She had been inexplicably attracted to this house, inspite of its bedraggled, forlorn appearance. The agent had tried to dissuade her from renting it, offering other bungalows nearby- modern, shiny and tasteless. She yanked open the huge cupboard built into the wall. It was made of quality rosewood, the reddish tinge of the wood radiating a soft glow in the morning sunlight. There stood before her a huge library of books. Row upon row of them. Sushma gasped in delight and surprise. Her eyes took in the works of Shakespeare and Dickens. Of Jane Austen and the Bronte sisters. Of Kant and Hume, and Bertrand Russell. Science, mathematics, philosophy and the social sciences and just about every subject seemed to gaze back at her. Drama,and poetry sat at the far end of the cuboard. There was a dank, musty smell emanating from the books, but Sushma parked herself on the floor and pulled out the volumes until there was a big heap in front of her. The books sadly were in various stages of disrepair and neglect but she eagerly went through the heap hoping to find a clue to its ownership. Was it the man in the portrait? She felt a strange bond and comfort in the musty volumes. She felt she had known these books. Grown up with them. How fanciful could one get? She must have read some of them sometime in the past since reading was what she enjoyed the most. Continued in next post