The generous archive

The new archive promised to give the town its past back. Its director disliked the old reading room, where a visitor had to ask a clerk for a box and, in asking, admit ignorance. Now every catalogue entry was available on a screen. Visitors could search without being overheard. They could also search without being answered. My grandmother typed the name of the street in which she had grown up. Nothing appeared. The catalogue used the name bestowed by a councillor thirty years later. The director explained that the system could not be blamed for an inaccurate query. Grandmother accepted this with the politeness she reserved for people who had mistaken an explanation for an apology. I volunteered to add the old street names. The director welcomed community participation, provided that volunteers used the approved vocabulary. He was not a cruel man. He had fought hard for free access and longer opening hours. It was precisely because he wished to admit everyone that he found it difficult to imagine anyone still outside. At closing time, Grandmother asked whether the clerk had retired. I said I did not know. This was the first answer all afternoon that seemed to satisfy her.