III + 

But Maddalena felt terribly afraid, and now she would never leave her husband; when he went out she must always go with him. He had not the heart to oppose her in this, yet he knew that he needed solitude, for he who had always so feared loneliness now craved it with all his being. He tried to make some sort of plans for their future, but somehow he could not think clearly. The noise of the traffic, the presence of people, the constant presence of Maddalena, these things bewildered; so the weeks slipped by and still he had come to no decision. He would walk about the streets with his wife at his side, or sit gazing out of the window; and a great urge would rise in him, filling him with longing⁠—an urge so insistent that he wanted to cry out⁠— + 

“I am coming!” he would mutter, and then grow afraid, not understanding his own words. + 

He was filled with an intolerable, homeless feeling⁠—he felt like an atom cast into space⁠—he wanted to stretch out his hand and grasp something that was infinitely stronger than he was. + 

He would think: “There is something greater than life⁠—perhaps even greater than death⁠—” + 

And then he would wonder if this thing might be God, and then he would wonder how a man might find God who was greater than life and death. But when he tried to think of God in this way, he would always grow appalled by God’s vastness, for his heart was aching for simple things; yet the simple things were terribly finite, or so it seemed to Gian-Luca. + 

There were days when his mind would be clouded and numbed by a deep sense of personal failure; when he saw his past life as a road that had led nowhere, when he saw his present as a kind of chaos in which he was involving Maddalena; and even more hopeless did he feel about the future, for when he looked forward he could not find the future, and this made him terribly afraid. + 

“What must I do?” he would sometimes mutter; and then again: “What must I do?” + 

He grew anxious about money and would sit for hours poring over his account books; yet all the while he would feel strangely detached, as though none of this mattered to him. Maddalena, it was, that was always in his mind, and how best he could provide for her; even his savings were not his, he felt, nothing was his any more. His clothes were growing shabby, the time had arrived when he usually ordered a new suit, but nothing would induce him to go to his tailor’s, for in all sorts of personal ways he was saving, depriving himself of the small luxuries to which he had been accustomed. And seeing this, Maddalena protested almost crossly. + 

“You cannot wear that suit, Gian-Luca!” For she took a great pride in her husband’s appearance, and she felt like weeping to see him these days, so disheartened and hopeless and shabby. + 

Gian-Luca would be thinking: “It is Maddalena’s money, I must spend as little as I can.” But to her he would pretend to take the thing lightly: “Ma guarda, mia donna, this suit is almost new⁠—there are years of wear in it yet.” + 

But quite apart from the question of money, he felt bored when he thought of his tailor; bored too when he looked at his personal possessions⁠—quite a number they were, he found to his surprise⁠—for such barnacles collect on the keels of most ships as they plough through the sea of life. + 

“Too many useless trifles,” he would think. And one day he started giving them away to beggars that he met in the street, avoiding Maddalena and slipping out alone, intent on this unusual proceeding. + 

Maddalena might exclaim: “Your silver cigarette case⁠—I cannot find it, Gian-Luca!” Or: “Those little gold cufflinks, where have they gone? I see that you are wearing your mother-of-pearl ones.” + 

And then he would look sheepish and would have to confess this new folly that he had committed, wondering as he did so why he had not sold the things and given the money to his wife. + 

She would say: “But, amore, what are you doing?” + 

And he would not know how to answer, for when he saw the surprise on her face he would suddenly grow very shy. + 

One possession, however, he still clung to firmly, and that was his collection of books; for he felt that his books should be able to help him⁠—they were so wise, his books, and their range of subjects was so varied, so wide and so learned. He began to turn more and more to these friends, asking them to solve his problems, yet somehow the problems remained unsolved⁠—a new cause for fear in Gian-Luca. + 

“I cannot find it⁠—” he would say, bewildered, staring up at Maddalena. + 

“Find what?” she would ask sharply, and then she would sigh, knowing that he could not answer. + 

He said that he must see the Librarian again, because he would tell him what to read; so one day they walked to the public library, but when they got there Maddalena stayed outside. + 

“I do not want to come in,” she remarked firmly; “you will talk about things that I cannot understand⁠—I would only be in the way!” + 

The Librarian was sitting with his arms on his desk; the library was quiet and empty. + 

“So you have come,” he said rather gravely. “I have waited a long time, Gian-Luca.” + 

And Gian-Luca remembered that he had not been near him or written for more than two years. + 

They talked for a little, then Gian-Luca said: “I want you to tell me what to read⁠—there must be some books that explain our existence, that explain all the sorrow and the suffering around us⁠—I cannot be the only creature who sees it, others must have seen it before me.” + 

“So you have seen it at last!” said his friend. + 

“Too much I have seen it,” frowned Gian-Luca. + 

“It was bound to happen,” the Librarian told him. “I have known that for a long time past. Why, I knew it when you were quite a little boy⁠—” Then he smiled at his recollections. “You were rather a greedy little boy, I remember⁠—Swiss roll with apricot jam⁠—” Then he said more gravely: “You ask me for books that will help you to face your life; well, the world is literally snowed under with books, and nearly all books are written about life⁠—but not one of them can help you with your life, Gian-Luca; that book you’ll have to write for yourself.” He saw something very like terror in the eyes that were eagerly searching his face. “Why are you so much afraid?” he inquired. + 

And Gian-Luca answered irrelevantly: “Because I am feeling so terribly lonely⁠—and yet I want to be alone.” + 

“No one is ever alone,” said the Librarian, “but of course it needs solitude to prove it.” He got up stiffly, for now he was old, and he found a few well-worn volumes. “Take these,” he said; and Gian-Luca stared at them⁠—he had given him fairy tales. The Librarian laughed softly: “The wisdom of belief⁠—the wisdom of children⁠—” he murmured, “learn to believe in a fairy tale and the rest will certainly follow.” + 

But Gian-Luca had laid the books down on the desk and was turning slowly away. + 

“You don’t believe me?” the Librarian said gently. + 

“No,” answered Gian-Luca. “I do not believe you.” + 

“Oh, well,” sighed the Librarian, “perhaps you’re too young⁠—or not yet young enough, Gian-Luca.” + 

Then Gian-Luca held out his hand with a smile, for he thought that his friend might really be in earnest; but he could not help wondering whether the Librarian was approaching his second childhood. + 