An Imperfect Librarian - Elizabeth Murphy [20]
I shake my head. “I’m not counting.”
“You’re not doing anything worthwhile. Francis is chasing after you. Meanwhile you’re too busy crawling on your hands and knees after your Scandinavian princess to care about anything else.”
“I do care. I simply have to deal with Elsa first.”
“You don’t have time. Francis is rallying the troops. His war-cry has a distinctive anti-Brunet tone. Haven’t you heard his privacy ditty? It goes to the tune of ‘Yankee Doodle.’” Henry abandons his usual slouch. He sings the ditty with his hands on his waist, elbows pointed out to the sides. “Biblio Brunet spies on us, using a computer. Hide your files, watch your back. He’s an information looter. Or do you prefer something to the tune of ‘Camptown Races’? I always liked the Doo-da, Doo-da in the song.” For this one, he sways side to side to mark the rhythm.
“Don’t let Brunet spy on you, on you, on you. Don’t let Brunet see your files, any time of day. He’s a bumbling fool, drowning in his drool. Don’t let Brunet see your files, any time of day. What do you think, Carl?”
“I think you shouldn’t joke about it.”
“What would you know about joking?”
“My project is not proposing anything anyone has to fear.”
“Francis’ prime strategy’s making people afraid. What’s your strategy? Or are you going to watch him undermine you while you waste away after your princess? What exactly are your priorities again?”
“They’re fighting with each other, scrambling for first place.”
He raises his fingers in my face. “Priority number one: deal with Francis.” He raises a second finger. “Priority number two: deal with Francis.”
“I did a search of his name in the database. Information not found. Try refining your search. That’s all I got.”
He laughs. “Try refining your search. There’s a meaty morsel of advice for a man in your condition. Search for a miracle, or, at the minimum, for some sense to sort out the mess you’re in.”
“Half or quarter of a miracle would do. Anything for Elsa to contact me. Once she does, I’ll manage from there.”
Henry shakes his head before he rises from his seat. “Why do I bother? Especially on a day like today when the view is below average and the coffee has the texture of sandpaper because you’re too cheap to buy proper filters. If you want to waste your miracle on Elsa instead of Francis, I don’t give a shit what happens to you.”
“Thanks for the reassurance of your friendship.”
“No additional charge,” he says.
CHAPTER THIRTEEN
robinson crusoe revisited
IT’S THE END OF A dragged-out day that started late. Most people have gone home. The Reading Room is dark. I sign out of the databases then put the lid on the cookie tin. I count them first because I have a suspicion that the night cleaners, security, whoever, are pilfering them when I’m not around. The phone rings. It can’t be Henry. He wouldn’t call this time of day. Tatie and Papa would be in bed because it’s four and a half hours later there. Edith usually emails me or knocks on the door. It could be Mercedes calling to invite me to join them on the weekend for their regular meatloaf and red Jell-O with bananas followed by a game of 120s.
“Hello?”
“It’s Elsa. I’ve been meaning to call you for so long. How are you?”
It has been so long. Every time the phone rang for the last year, I hoped it would be her. Every time I opened my email, I searched for her name in the addresses.
“It’s Elsa calling you from Oslo. Hello? Carl?”
I haven’t forgot how her voice sounds – confident, clear, soft with a sing-songy intonation. I always liked her English accent and the way she pronounces my name as if it has no vowels.
“Carl? Are you there?”
“Hello, Elsa. Yes. It’s me.”
“I’ve been meaning to call you but things have been hectic here. How are you, Carl? What have you been doing? Tell me your news about your new job, your flat, everything.”
“Flat’s nice. Job’s great. I’m getting used to the weather. How have you been?”
“There’s not too much to tell. Thank you for the birthday gift. I was going to send you a note. Mother and Father gave me new ski equipment.