An Inherited Card
When Marek's grandfather died, what Marek inherited was an old, soft, blue library card.
Other people inherited bigger things. His mother inherited the house. His uncle inherited the small painting of the harbour at Gdańsk. Marek, who was nine and had loved his grandfather more than anyone in the world, inherited the library card and a pencil his grandfather had always kept in his shirt pocket.
His mother said he could keep using the card. The librarian, Mrs Soltan, knew them. The branch library was a tiny one, two streets from the bus stop, in an old brick building that had once been somebody's house.
Marek went on the Saturday after the funeral.
He stood at the small wooden counter and put the blue card down.
"Hello, Marek," said Mrs Soltan. She had grey hair pinned up in a bun and very kind eyes. "I am sorry about Karol."
"Thank you," said Marek. His grandfather's name was Karol. Hearing it said by the librarian made Marek's throat go tight.
He looked round the library. He had been here many times with his grandfather. The same shelves. The same yellow light. The reading table. The biography section, where his grandfather had liked to browse for hours.
"What did he borrow last?" said Marek. "I want to read what he was reading."
Mrs Soltan turned to her record book. (The branch was small. They still kept a paper book.) She read out three titles.
"He took out *The