Alleluia
New Member
The British Museum had about eight million objects in its collection. It said so right on its website. Eight million! Imagine the work that goes into curating such a treasure trove. Eight million! More than a person can possibly see in a visit, or a prolonged series of visits for that matter. Eight million… so much to see. But you wouldn’t know it, from the way the man was behaving.
The man’s hazel eyes were fixated on just one of those exhibits. A small one, in fact, a single coin. A coin laid out by a meticulous hand, next to several other coins that resembled it in size, color and material. There were about a dozen of them, placed in a simple array that curators used when the display was of no significant importance. They were meant to convey a sense of richness of culture, to show layered work in a grander exhibition. People came to the British Museum to look at the famous pieces. The staff knew that, and for the most part did not resent it. People came for the treasures, the antiques. Some of the display cases standing in the wide halls were meant to show visitors the context in which those great treasures once existed in. This was one such case.
But the lanky man was staring at that single coin as if it was everything. He stepped back from the case, then move forward again, muttering to himself. He was shaking his head, so his flop of brown hair moved agitatedly from side to side. He reached a hand into his coat pocket, then withdrew it with nothing out, shaking it as if he changed his mind. He seemed to be rebuking himself internally for having reached in the pocket to begin with. “Fool,” he muttered, if anyone was close enough to hear would know “just let it be. For once in your life, just leave things alone”.
The man’s hazel eyes were fixated on just one of those exhibits. A small one, in fact, a single coin. A coin laid out by a meticulous hand, next to several other coins that resembled it in size, color and material. There were about a dozen of them, placed in a simple array that curators used when the display was of no significant importance. They were meant to convey a sense of richness of culture, to show layered work in a grander exhibition. People came to the British Museum to look at the famous pieces. The staff knew that, and for the most part did not resent it. People came for the treasures, the antiques. Some of the display cases standing in the wide halls were meant to show visitors the context in which those great treasures once existed in. This was one such case.
But the lanky man was staring at that single coin as if it was everything. He stepped back from the case, then move forward again, muttering to himself. He was shaking his head, so his flop of brown hair moved agitatedly from side to side. He reached a hand into his coat pocket, then withdrew it with nothing out, shaking it as if he changed his mind. He seemed to be rebuking himself internally for having reached in the pocket to begin with. “Fool,” he muttered, if anyone was close enough to hear would know “just let it be. For once in your life, just leave things alone”.
