An Imperfect Librarian - Elizabeth Murphy [39]
“The moral of your story?” Henry says.
“You could call the shop Tottle and Buggage: Booksellers. I always thought that would be a brilliant name for a book shop.”
“Took you long enough to make your point. I’ve already chosen the name: The Crimson Hexagon. There’ll be no other bookstore of its stature and quality in the country, perhaps across the entire continent. You never know, if business is swift, I might be needing an assistant such as yourself.”
“There’s a Crimson Hexagon on Norah Myrick’s property.”
“We’ll have to keep an eye on this woman, won’t we?” says Henry.
“Only a few minutes ago, you were warning me not to have anything to do with her. Now, you’re telling me the opposite. Then I suppose you’ll accuse me of being confused.”
“I’ll take no responsibility. Anyone who knows you is well aware of your ability to fog things up on the finest of days.”
“Who cares about a Crimson Hexagon anyway?”
“According to the writer Borges, it contains all-powerful, magical books.”
“Sorry, Henry. You’ve lost me. I don’t have your imagination. My native blood is Cartesian, you know.”
He raises a handkerchief to his forehead. “Cartesian? You? What’s your motto?I don’t think much, therefore I might not be much? ” He laughs. “Dust off your imagination, take it out of the closet, allow it to see some light for a change.”
“I’ll put it on my priority list.”
“Write at the top: find out about that hexagon and stop sitting around drinking coffee and staring down into Room.”
“You did tell me not to get mixed up with her. You may not remember–”
“There’s a difference between watch her and latch onto her. One’s a w and–”
“I get it, Henry. No need to explain.”
He rises up from his chair then heads towards the door.
“Before I forget, a quick question for you. I’m conducting an informal poll. You know Fahrenheit 451, right?”
“The destruction of collective awareness by the book burners. Author Ray Bradbury. Classification: dystopic science fiction. Appeared in serial form in Playboy magazine, later published by Ballantine Books, 1953. What about it?”
“If I responded with that much detail you’d say I was boring.”
“You are boring,” he says.
“Supposing you were in a Fahrenheit 451 situation and you could save only one book to memorize, what would it be?”
“That’s easy. The Joy of Sex.”
CHAPTER TWENTY-FOUR
culinary mutiny
ALWAYS AT 3:45, ALWAYS IN the same reading carrel, always out of the line-of-sight of the cameras. I visit the carrel where she used to sit. I turn my back to it the same way Francis did when I was watching him through the binoculars. One of the surveillance cameras points to the counter, the other at the front door, the final one at the other end of the Room. I show the clerk the notes from a scrap of paper in my pocket: Mainwaring, H.: Collected papers.
“That’s archival material,” he says. “I can get it for you but you have to sit at the table there. Material that old has a line-of-sight restriction on it. Oh yeah, and there’s also a glove restriction.”
“You must have it mixed up with something else. I saw a woman borrow the same thing not long ago. She took it to that carrel over there in the corner. I work here. I’m Head of Digital Library Systems.”
“The rules are the same for everyone. Doesn’t matter if you’re a head of lettuce, that material has a bunch of restrictions on it. Do you still want the gloves?”
“It was you. I remember now. You’re the one who served her. You let me look at her request slip.”
“You’re that bibliosomething guy.”
“Yes. You gave the woman a file that she looked at there in the corner carrel. It’s the same one you’re telling me is restricted.”
“I don’t make the rules.”
“I know. I’m asking why have the rules changed?”
“You’ll have to talk to Francis Hickey about that. Do you want me to see if he’s around?”
“I’ll wear the gloves. Forget it.”
He disappears into a room behind the counter. A woman walks up to the counter. I move out of her way.