The Librarianist

THE PROBLEM WITH KEEPING ETHAN AND CONNIE SEPARATED WAS that they both came to the library regularly. First there were the close calls, with Connie leaving just before Ethan’s arrival, or vice versa. Then there was the unhappy instant of the both of them being in the library simultaneously, only each wasn’t aware of the other’s presence, and Bob said nothing about it, and so they somehow avoided commingling. But then one day at the Information desk, early in the evening and to Bob’s ripe horror, Connie and Ethan came into the library together, and Ethan was guiding her by her elbow, and they were laughing. They approached and stood before Bob, presenting themselves; Ethan did not let go of Connie’s arm; Connie’s face was flushed with pleasure. Bob instructed himself to play along, to mimic their mischievous gladness, but the unpleasant surprise he knew was so thorough that the best he could do was offer up a blank look. “What happened?” he asked.

“Do you want to tell him?” Ethan asked Connie.

“I’ll tell him.”

“Tell him if you want to tell him,” Ethan said.

“Let me tell him.” Connie spoke to Bob while looking at Ethan: “Well,” she said. “I was riding the bus and minding nobody’s business but my own when I realized the man across the aisle was staring at me. And everyone likes to be stared at from time to time, but after a while I’d had enough of it and asked him, you know, to please stop. And he did stop — for about three and a half seconds. But then he’s back to staring and I’m starting to get a little worried, because for all I know I’m dealing with an active pervert, and so I’m looking around for another seat to sit in but there aren’t any, and finally I take out my book and start reading, or pretending to read, because this way he can see that I’m busy and not interested, right? So a minute goes by, and now I’m really reading, and I’ve pretty much forgotten about the pervert peeper across the aisle when he reaches over and he taps his finger on the open page of my book. And when I look up he’s all leaned over, his face serious, and he says to me—”

“You’re not telling it right,” said Ethan.

“I’m not? Sure I am.”

Ethan told Bob, “She’s not telling it right.”

“Why don’t you tell it, then,” Connie said.

“Okay, I will.” Ethan took a minute to locate himself. “Well, look Bob,” he said, “I was staring at her. And I’m sorry. But when I got on the bus I noticed her sitting there all upright and prim, and how could I not stare. And I was staring for the normal boy-girl reasons but there was also another reason underneath the normal ones, which was that there was something funny about this person, some sort of question hanging in the air around her. Had I met her before, or seen her somewhere else? There was just this… thing about her, but I couldn’t place it. Then she reaches into her bag and pulls out a book, and I see that it’s a library book. And not just any library book but Crime and Punishment. And not just any copy of Crime and Punishment, but the very same one I had checked out, with the title smudged and the stain on the spine. And the minute I saw that, then the mystery was solved because I knew absolutely who she was.”

“And he leaned over and he said to me—”

“Let me tell it. It’s my punch line. I leaned over and said to her, ‘You’re Connie, and I’m Ethan, and I think we need to have a discussion, because we’re both in love with the same man, and I can’t go on sharing him like this.’”

The pair resumed laughing, and here Bob wished to vanish, or for Ethan to vanish, or Connie, or all three of them. He also wished Ethan and Connie would stop enjoying each other, and he strongly wished Ethan would take his hand off her elbow. Connie’s laughter trailed away, and now she was watching Bob with a crooked, curious expression. “What’s the matter, honey?” she asked, and Bob answered that he was fine, just that it had been a long day.

Ethan and Connie decided they should all three go out to dinner, and they waited together on the sidewalk outside while Bob began the process of shutting the library down. He stole glances out the window as he righted the chairs and turned off the lights; Connie was laughing again, and she and Ethan were standing close to one another. Bob locked the door and walked down the path toward the sidewalk. Connie was facing away from him but Ethan looked up as Bob approached. When he saw Bob, his smile faded and his face softened into a look of concern, or kindness, as if he suddenly understood that Bob was in pain, and why. Bob felt an ache of shame but wished to keep it private.