The Bookbinder – Part 2: The Spine

The album was ready on a Friday in the rain. Eliska had stitched the spine and pressed each page, and the cracked cover was new leather, dark green, with a thin gold line along the edge. The stuck photographs were separated, their faces softly intact.

Dana held it with both hands and could not speak.

"Your mother is on page three," said Eliska. "She is laughing. I did not know her, but I was glad to meet her."

"Thank you." Dana's eyes were bright. "How much do I owe you?"

"Nothing. Well." Eliska took off her glasses and cleaned them on her apron, which she never did. "One thing. Have dinner with me. Not as a customer."

"Yes," said Dana, before she had even finished the sentence. "Yes. Obviously. Yes."

They ate at a small place near the river with candles in wine bottles. They talked about books, mothers, the city in winter and the strange loneliness of people who work with their hands bent over tiny things. Afterwards Eliska walked her home along the cobbles under one umbrella, shoulders touching.

At Dana's door they stopped. "Would you like to come in?" Dana asked. "I'd like that. Only if you do."

"I would," said Eliska. "Very much."

The flat was warm and cluttered with dictionaries. Dana lit a lamp and took Eliska's face in her hands, ink-stained fingers on a cool cheek. The kiss was slow and unhurried, like the stitching of a spine. Eliska's hands, those clever, careful hands, found the buttons of Dana's cardigan and undid them one at a time. Dana laughed softly against her mouth.

"Don't tear anything," she whispered.

"I never tear anything." Eliska smiled. "I only repair."

The rain drummed on the roof. The lamp burned low. Under a patchwork quilt they learned each other, unhurried, tender and a little shy, until the only sound was breath and the city's old clock somewhere in the distance.

In the morning Dana found the green album on her desk, with a small note tucked inside the back cover: Page forty is still empty. Fill it with us?

She picked up her pen and began to write.

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