The Librarianist

“He believes it achieves God’s will.”

“That’s not very friendly.”

“No, but friendliness isn’t in his wheelhouse. I mean, it’s not so simple as his believing that someone dying of cancer deserves it. There are many, he says, who the Lord calls back because He wants them close by.”

Bob and Connie were smiling at each other. “How does your father expect you to check out books without identification?”

“He believes I’ll fail; but he was game for me to try.”

“So this was your idea?”

“Oh, yes. His history books give him something to do. He’s away for hours each day, reading himself blind. For me these are precious and necessary hours, and I honestly don’t know what I’ll do if I lose them, and so here I am.” She paused. “I don’t mean to put you on the spot. I understand you may not want to involve yourself. I wouldn’t have bothered to try for a card at all but I thought I saw some sympathy coming from your side these last few months.”

Bob understood by this that his presence was a requisite piece of the young woman’s plan, and he was so delighted to have been in her thoughts he would have given her the keys to his car if she’d wanted to borrow it. “Of course, you can have a card,” he said.

“Really?” said Connie. “You’re sure that would be all right?”

“Why not? I’d ask you to keep my part in it to yourself.”

“Oh, yes.”

“And, I’d advise you to leave the cape at home next time. Even with the hood down, Miss Ogilvie might make the connection.”

“Is that the woman who went after my father?”

“Yes.”

“She’s formidable. My father thinks she’s inhabited by Satan.”

“That’s a popular theory,” said Bob. “I myself don’t believe it.” He brought out the necessary forms for receiving a library card, filling them out on her behalf, which allowed him both to spend more time with her and ask her all manner of personal questions. This was how he learned her name: Connie Coleman.

“What is your age, Connie Coleman?”

“Twenty years of age.”

“I’m twenty-four.”

“Okay.”

He handed over the temporary card and watched her flipping it over. Bob wondered if her life was small in the way his was small. Knowing that he was crossing a boundary, he said, “I can’t tell if you believe any of this stuff your father believes.” Connie tucked her card away into the folds of her cape. “Well,” she said, “I live in an abnormal environment. So I must be at least a little bit abnormal myself, right?”

“Right,” said Bob.

“And while the partial truth is that I don’t believe, the fuller truth is that I believe just enough that I’m uncomfortable talking about my not believing.” Bob held up his hand, as if to say he understood, and wouldn’t follow the line of questioning any further. “My aspiration is to become a completely normal human being,” Connie said. “That’s my aspiration as well,” said Bob. Thinking this was the conclusion of their conversation, and wanting to end on a note of charity, he told her, “I’m sorry about what happened with your father.”

“Oh, yeah,” said Connie lightly.

“What I mean is — I’m sorry that it happened the way it happened.”

“Well, thanks,” she said. “But, that’s the way it always happens.”

Bob wished her a good-day and stepped tentatively away, watching as she looked over the list of titles her father had written out for her. Looking up, she stood puzzling over her position in the library. Bob returned to her and volunteered to assist in collecting the books, which she agreed would be helpful. “It’s a funny little list,” she said in warning. “I’m just the man,” he told her, and together they walked up and down the aisles. He soon found each of the books her father wanted, then checked them out for Connie. After, he walked her to the exit, and they stood together a little longer, awkward in their parting. Connie told Bob, “I’m not sorry my father was kicked out of here. Because it’s nice to get out and speak to people without having him around. Honestly, it’s nicer than I can say. Thank you very much.”

“You’re welcome.”

“I’ll see you again sometime, maybe.”

Bob pointed at the Information counter. “That’s where I like to stand.” After Connie was gone Bob walked to the restroom and locked himself in a stall to stand and relive his meeting with this new person, this young woman. He was confused and giddy and scared. At one point he wondered if he was charming. Was he? He had never been before. Or was it that he’d simply never had the chance to indulge?