TEXTUAL NOTE: In this edition words of French origin in the text arespelled without their customary accent marks, due to the limitations ofthe ASCII medium. It is the author's intent that they be spelled withaccents whenever possible (e.g., gateau, tête-à-tête).
"Violists" began to germinate early in December last, as Christmasapproached. I originally intended that it be ready before the newyear, but alas, it came in behind schedule, and was not completed untilJanuary. It is still winter in some places—the right season for suchmorsels—so rather than let the work languish upon the shelf foranother year...
Somewhere out there on The Net, I hope there is a solitary readersettled comfortably in a warm study with a nice cup of tea. Perhapsthe lights are out, and the amber glow of the terminal spreads faintwarmth through the room; overstuffed bookshelves loom behind in thedarkness. If the evening air is crisp and a soft snow is fallingoutside the window, so much the better—a view of icicles would be amagical touch.
— Richard McGowan
San Jose, California
January 22, 1994
1. Gretchen in the Library
2. The Hungarian Lightbulb
3. Christmas Concert
In winter the interior of the university library was hardly warmer thanthe outside, and it was terribly drafty. The sole difference betweenthe interior and exterior, Gretchen often remarked to herself, was thatthe latter received an occasional snow. The library at least was dry.On most days in the unfrequented areas—the closed stacks on the secondand third floors—one could see one's breath in the middle of theafternoon. Gretchen thought it hardly the sort of climate she wouldhave chosen for her own books. But the cost of heating such anenormous building—well, she decided she could hardly imagine soextravagant a sum. On the coldest days, she often wore two petticoats.She found the best method of staying warm, though, was to bustle asquickly as she could. Primarily, she worked in the stacks, extractingbooks for the library's patrons and reshelving books that hadreturned—and keeping the shelves in good order.
Gretchen's twenty-ninth birthday had arrived—quite too quickly—theday before, and she bustled with an excess of alacrity to relieve hermind from the brooding that had occupied her for several days. She hadspent the evening alone, though she knew it did her no good to seeksolitude. To accept being past her prime of life would be simplerperhaps, and productive of less anguish, than fretting over what couldnot be changed. She was nearly thirty, though—and she knew what layin store for her a few years hence. She had only to look at theassistant reference librarian, Miss Sadie, to see how she herself wouldbe in but a few more years. The thought nearly made her shudder, andif she allow