ONCE ONCE I WAS CALLED A LIBRARIAN I accidentally came across one catch phrase from Andre Maurois on the Internet. The instant warmth that spread brought me back to memories when I was called a librarian for a whole year. Being still quite young, I could not boast of the abundance of books I had read. Unexpectedly, the job I was offered as a librarian turned out to be a portal to another world. In the newly organized center of culture and education at the enterprise, I was entrusted with purchasing books “required by every decent library” and organizing the great process of civilizing the masses. I didn’t have the excellent student syndrome, but it seemed to me that I had a conscience. I sincerely believed that a real librarian must know all the works. At a minimum, what are they about? In order not to be ashamed in front of the cultural masses and the trade union committee, which allocated a round sum, I decided to take the advice of a school librarian I knew and bought “more used great Russian classics” and “a little foreign literature.” Masses of men came to me, a young, smiling beauty, mostly one at a time. Neither Russian nor foreign classics interested them. They asked me about popular detective stories and what I do after work. The masses were dissatisfied with the cultural assortment and my plans for the evening, although some, for the sake of decency and an excuse, still took books “to read.” The library began to smell of book dust, and guilt and melancholy settled in my soul. With excess energy and free working time, I had no choice but to read at least 7 hours every day. I admit, I have never had such luxury again). Hugo, Mine, Maurois, Stendhal, Byron, Dumas, Maupassant, Dreiser, Selinger... The more I read, the more interesting it became. And then “ours” went. What seemed completely boring at school turned out to be charm and admiration. Gogol drove me crazy. Chekhov brought me to hysterics. Pushkin made me fall in love with him forever.. Then I did not yet understand all the changes that were happening to me and in me. I was sad and angry that my inner circle was changing and it seemed to me that I was unhappy. I got hooked on books. Favorite ones were stored on the most convenient shelves. Silently and patiently they awaited my new request. Going to work, I already knew which of the authors was more important to me today, which of them I wanted to be in silence with, what questions I was looking for an answer to. I felt their energy, I was familiar with the character of each. I felt their inclusion in my experiences. And the internal dialogue with the book was always alive. And in all this there was a lot of sympathy for me. It became easier for me to understand my tastes and form desires. Then I did not yet realize that day by day my experiences, knowledge, values, and views on the world were being formed into something holistic. Gradually it became me relying on myself. Time has passed. Now I already know what is behind the small door, the size of a book leaf. And when I have questions for myself or the world, I open the book: - Hello. It's me. © Irina Muller