The Librarianist

While the senior attendant lapped the tent to shore up the poles, the junior attendant had returned with a ball-peen hammer in his hand. He approached the winch by wide strides, paused to square his feet, and began bashing indiscriminately away; and before the senior attendant could get to him the winch became unstuck, the coffin loosed, dropping the remaining feet in a free fall, and a column of dust shot up from the grave. The junior attendant turned to the mourners, his audience, and he was breathing heavily, and his face told his truth, which was that he was doing his best. There was defiance in his eyes but also a measure of apology. It was clear he suffered both from poor luck and authentic stupidity. The senior attendant stepped forward and took the hammer away from the junior attendant, and now he too faced the small crowd. Bob had a fleeting wish that these two men might join hands, raise them up above their heads, and bow.

MR. BAKER-BAILEY WANTED TO DINE WITH BOB. BOB DIDN’T WANT TO do this but Mr. Baker-Bailey left no room in the conversation to allow for Bob’s wishes, and so it was that they met at a steakhouse downtown. When Bob entered the restaurant he discovered Mr. Baker-Bailey had already finished his first drink and was fitting the second into his hand. A waiter stood by the table, hugging a tray flat against his chest and leaning in to receive Mr. Baker-Bailey’s instruction: “I want you to pay attention so that I’m never without a fresh drink. I don’t want to have to ask, you understand? Because I buried a saint today, and it’s your job to keep me in bourbon until I can’t speak to say stop.” The waiter was turning to go as Bob took his seat; Mr. Baker-Bailey hooked the waiter’s arm and told him, “Not so fast, we’re ready to order.” He told the waiter they would have two rare T-bone steaks, two baked potatoes, and two sides of rice pilaf. The waiter made a note of the order and went away. In explanation of his behavior, Mr. Baker-Bailey told Bob, “T-bones are the specialty of the house. It’s reliable.” Now he relaxed in his seat, looking out the windows at the citizens passing by on the sidewalk. His breathing was slow and measured and Bob suspected the man was preparing to address the life and death of his mother, which was what he was doing. He asked Bob, “What a day, huh?”

“Yes,” Bob said.

“Were you happy with the ceremony?”

“I think so.”

“You think so? I should hope you knew one way or the other, for what it cost, good God.” Mr. Baker-Bailey squinted at the glass of water in Bob’s hand. “Where’s your drink?”

“Water’s fine.”

“Are you kidding me? You don’t drink water on a day like today.” He raised his hand and began snapping his fingers in the air.

Bob said, “It’s all right. I don’t want a drink.”

Mr. Baker-Bailey’s hand came down slowly to rest on the table. “Why don’t you drink?”

“I do drink, only I don’t want one now.”

“Why not?”

“I just don’t want to feel that way.”

It took a moment for Mr. Baker-Bailey to accept this; it seemed he thought Bob was being a poor sport. But eventually he shrugged it off and said, “Well, I’ll tell you what, that priest was top shelf. He didn’t come cheap, but I figure he was worth it. It was as important as hell to your mother that she get that particular priest, and I made a promise, so there you go. It costs what it costs, no point grousing about it now, is there? Did you know that she and I worked together for more than twenty years?”

“Yes.”

“Twenty years! That’s a long time, after all.” He paused, and said, “It’s funny, isn’t it, that it took you and me this long to meet?”

“I guess it is,” said Bob. “Though, actually, I did see you once before this.”

“Oh yeah? And when was that?”

“I was eleven years old and you were slow dancing with my mother in our living room.”

A little flash of panic came over Mr. Baker-Bailey, and he finished his bourbon in a long swallow. Looking at the ice cubes in his glass, he began to rattle them around, then raised up his head and called across the restaurant, “What did I tell you?” The waiter came hurrying over with a fresh drink and took away the empty. Mr. Baker-Bailey glared at the waiter’s back in retreat. He told Bob, “I’m upset. Do you know what I mean by that?”

“You’re upset,” said Bob. He was starting to wonder how he might get away without causing a fuss or disruption.

Mr. Baker-Bailey took another long drink. “So what’s your line these days?”

“I’m just starting out as a librarian.”

“That’s good, good. That’s a functional position.” He held his finger in the air, as if checking wind direction. “Somebody wants a book but they don’t know if they want to buy it. Well, here you go, pal, take it home and read the hell out of it. And free of charge to boot. I support the practice. I mean, you’re never going to get rich, but I guess that’s not the point, is it?”

“I guess it’s not.”

“You must have got the book thing from your mother, huh?”