An Imperfect Librarian - Elizabeth Murphy [10]
I arrived to give my talk. The Chief introduced me. I was about to speak when a hand went up. It was a comment for the Chief from Francis. “Before any more money is spent on digital systems, a committee needs to be created to set a strategy and goals for what we want this library to look like in five or ten years time...” When he finished talking, others joined in. Someone said the committee needed to determine the duties and role of the Head of Digital Systems. Another person asked if we really needed a digital systems unit. I looked at my watch. There were twenty-five slides, two minutes per slide for a fifty-minute talk. Their discussion evolved into a debate about policies and procedures, whether the Chief really had the authority to advertise the digital systems position in the first place. Francis sat back with his arms folded. Within less than a week, he formed People for Privacy.
“My project isn’t designed to catch thieves. You know that, Henry.”
The nerve is acting up again. He darts his hand to his back so quickly you’d think he’d been stung. He squirms in the chair. Then his face relaxes and he continues. “I don’t care what your project is designed for anymore than do the People for Privacy. I doubt if anyone cares besides you. Show that your project can stop library theft and people might start to listen.”
“You seem to know Blumberg well. Invite him for a visit, have him steal a few hundred books while he’s here, why don’t you?”
“Wednesday and Friday at 3:45? Same reading carrel every time? Ding, dong, ding, dong. Little Miss Reading Room. You know what’s so grand about using her for an example? She’s stealing from the Room that Francis Hickey manages. Nab her, and you’ll nab him. Then you can advise Mr. Hickey to roll up his petitions, pull down his trousers and wipe his arse with them.” He laughs, then coughs up crumbs.
“How were the cookies?” I ask him.
“You mean the chocolate chip biscuits?”
“They’re cookies, not biscuits. Biscuits have nowhere near the number of calories.”
“You’re the one who does all the counting and what bloody good has that done you?” he says.
CHAPTER SEVEN
april’s grudge
ALWAYS ON WEDNESDAY AND FRIDAY, always at 3:45, always in the same reading carrel. Henry and I skip our afternoon coffee for one day so I can pay a visit to the Room. Other reading rooms I’ve visited or seen in pictures have wall-to-wall rows of tables and chairs. They should call them study halls. The Special Collections Reading Room isn’t a study hall. It’s more like four cozy salons without walls between them. Each one has chairs, a couch, table and a large secretary that Henry and I call reading carrels.
WELCOME TO THE SPECIAL COLLECTIONS READING ROOM,
KING EDWARD UNIVERSITY LIBRARY
1. No food, drinks, chewing gum, talking, rubbings of bindings, corrector fluid, highlighter pens, cameras, cellphones, headsets or personal scanners.
2. Patrons may consult no more than one item at a time.
3. Maximum reading period: three consecutive hours.
4. Materials may be consulted only in the Room.
3:45. She passes in front of me, leans on the main counter, picks up a request slip then fills it in. She’s much taller than I thought. From my office, I hadn’t noticed the rusty-coloured freckles, blue eyes, wind-burned face or the single purple streak in her silky black hair. She’s dressed for April weather that’s behaving like the middle of winter. Makes me think of someone holding a grudge for too long.
She completes the slip then slides it across the counter to the clerk. He swivels round and disappears into the stacks. While she waits, she sheds layers of windbreaker, scarf and woollen sweater. Strands of her hair stand on