Throwback Thursday: ‘The Library Giant’ by Shashi Bhat

He worked at the printing counter of the university library, ordering supplies, replacing printer toner, and helping students clear the jammed copier. He was precise, reading the instructions that flashed in the small digital window, then lifting and unlatching the indicated compartment of the machine, seeking out the trapped, crimped paper with his oversized hands. You had to be silent in the library, especially if you were a giant.

He tried to stay on the carpet and wore rubber-soled shoes to minimize the sounds of his steps. When people were in the elevator with him, he stifled his breathing and hunched and curled his upper body, holding his hands together tightly in front of him — like a child wishing for something — to appear smaller, to leave the others more space.

But when the elevator halted abruptly, he was the only passenger inside. First, he waited. He tapped his toes but stopped when the elevator began to shake. He measured his options. He could press the alert button and ask for help. “It’s me,” he would say politely, “Martin. Please let me out.” But he couldn’t help how loud his voice was — his whispers were like the Halifax wind that rattled your windows and pushed you backward, turned your umbrella’s spine inside out.

He decided to be patient, because someone would eventually need the elevator and realize it was paused somewhere between the first floor and the fourth floor, where he had been headed to find a book to read during his break. He had a particular book in mind; it had won some big prize years ago, but more importantly, it came in large print for his tired, giant eyes.