McMaster University - 1964
Dr. Marshall Emerson lost his balance as a student brushed past him in the stairwell, almost knocking the withered, leather-bound text out of his hand. Clutching the book to his chest, Emerson fell to one knee, sending a sharp pain up his side. With a grunt of annoyance, he checked the precious book to make sure it had not been damaged; he would sooner fall down the stairs than let it come to any harm.
"Sorry Professor Prospero," the youth said over his shoulder as he vaulted up the stairs. "I'm late for class."
"Rapscallion!" Emerson watched the youngster with the t-shirt and bell-bottom pants disappear through the doorway to the main floor of the library. "Always rushing. Never pausing for deep thought or study."
Still on one knee, Emerson looked at the collection of Shakespeare's plays in his hand. The pain in his bones receded quickly when his eyes rested on the rare tome.
This single volume of Shakespeare's plays represented much of his life's work and focus. And though he thought his simple alliterative nickname was immature, he allowed a small part of him to warm with pride whenever he heard it.
"Professor Prospero, indeed," he said, shaking his head and briefly allowing a smile to cross his lips.
The stairwell door opened again and the smile left as fast as it had appeared as a library assistant, this one dressed properly for an academic setting, rushed to help him. "Dr. Emerson," she said. "Are you okay? Let me help you up."
Aksara