It Had the Power of a Thousand Scorpions

A scene from The Name of the Rose:

The refectory was illuminated by great torches. The monks sat at a row of tables dominated by the abbot’s table, set perpendicularly to theirs on a broad dais. On the opposite side there was a pulpit, where the monk who would read during supper had already taken his place. 

The abbot was waiting for us next to a little fountain, with a white cloth to wipe our hands after the lavabo, following the ancient counsels of Saint Pachomius. The abbot invited William to his table and said that for this evening, since I was also a new guest, I would enjoy the same privilege, even though I was a Benedictine novice. In the following days, he said to me paternally, I could sit at table with the monks, or, if I were employed in some task for my master, I could stop in the kitchen before or after meals, and there the cooks would take care of me. 

The monks were now standing at the tables, motionless, their cowls lowered over their faces, their hands under their scapulars. The abbot approached his table and pronounced the “Benedicite.” From the pulpit the precentor intoned the “Edent pauperes.”

That picture on the right is from the corresponding scene in the film adaptation, showing a precentor reading aloud from Regula Sancti Benedicti during the monks' meal.  Or rather, in that moment, licking his finger to better turn the book's pages.  In the movie, he is not the only cleric shown doing so (e.g., the assistant librarian, Brother Berengar, does as well), which is important to the ultimate resolution of a terrible mystery that grips the unnamed abbey.

I bring this up is because yesterday my beloved USPS brought me a paperback copy of Eco's Reflections on the "Name of the Rose" (got it for 10 bucks, which I see was much cheaper than what's now available at the company store).  These days I typically go for the convenience of e-books - usually purchased, often borrowed from the King County Library System - so it is a true rarity to have an actual, tangible, real paper book in hand.

It's a 30-year old edition, with dry, yellowed pages you'd expect in an older tome, which made for a warm, cozy time reading last night.  Reminded me of when I was a kid, reading in bed until Mom would yell, "lights out!"

Anyway, as I was consuming this short literary snack, I realized that I, too, was licking my finger to facilitate turning each leaf.  Happy to report there were no deleterious effects.

In conclusion, here I am spending quality time with my precious books as the world burns:

Pax vobiscum.