The Librarianist

Bob didn’t disagree, or he didn’t disagree strongly, and he let the statement alone. He asked Ethan, “So is this to be your new-leaf moment, and now you’ll become chaste and worthy?”

“I don’t really know. Maybe this is just my lot in life. But I can’t claim that the violence against me was unearned, and I’ve decided to take my medicine without any gripes.” In a summing-up tone of voice, he said, “I’m not malicious, but I am careless. I don’t know that I know how to change, or if I even want to, but I’m thinking about the kind of man I want to be for the first time in my life, so there’s your silver lining.”

Roberta returned with the sugar for the flowers and news that it was time for Bob to leave Ethan to his rest. Ethan said he didn’t need rest but Roberta disagreed. She told Bob, “You can come back tomorrow.”

“I’ll come back tomorrow,” Bob told Ethan.

“Bring Connie,” Ethan told Bob.

“Who’s Connie?” Roberta asked Ethan, but he didn’t answer and neither did Bob. He waved and was away down the corridor. The next day he returned with Connie. When they entered the room, Ethan was sitting up in bed and reading from a stack of papers. “Well,” he said. Connie had been alarmed by Bob’s explanation of what had landed Ethan in the hospital; and though she was soothed by Ethan’s healthful demeanor, when she saw his knife wound, then did her alarm return, alarm that soon gave way to upset, and finally anger directed at Ethan and Bob both for treating a potentially fatal event as though it were only a lark or trifle. She asked what in the world was the matter with them, and they said they didn’t know what. She wanted to have Eileen arrested and said that if Ethan wouldn’t call the police then she would. Here Ethan held up the papers and said, “Even if I wanted to press charges, and I don’t, I couldn’t.”

“Why not?” Connie demanded.

“I’ll explain,” Ethan said, “but only if you’ll stop yelling at Bob and me.”

She crossed her arms and was silent. Ethan said that just before Bob and Connie arrived, Eileen’s father had come to visit, along with an associate of his, a funereal little man holding a briefcase. Eileen’s father’s attitude toward Ethan was cool at first; he was behaving as if he had just happened to be passing by and had paused to offer an impartial salutation. But soon enough he named the purpose of the visit, which was that he wanted to know what to expect in terms of legal repercussions so far as his daughter was concerned. Why hadn’t Ethan contacted the police yet? Ethan explained, almost reluctantly, as he didn’t like the idea of giving Eileen’s father what he wanted, his disinclination to bring Eileen to justice.

“Would you sign an agreement to that effect?” Eileen’s father asked.

“I don’t see why I should,” Ethan told him.

Eileen’s father looked to his comrade, who took an envelope from his briefcase and passed this to Eileen’s father, who passed it to Ethan. It held a cashier’s check for ten thousand dollars, made out in Ethan’s name. Ethan stared at the numerals. Eileen’s father said that he understood his daughter had misbehaved. Ethan told him, “There’s misbehavior and there’s misbehavior.”

“You signed?” asked Connie.

“Yes.”

“So you’re rich,” said Bob.

“I’m a little bit rich.”

“And now what?”

“I don’t know. I mean, this happened fifteen minutes ago. I guess I’ll make plans? Heal? They’re discharging me tomorrow morning. Can you come get me and drop me at my apartment, Bob? You’ll get your weekly cardiovascular exercise helping me up the stairs.”

“Sure,” said Bob.

Connie was shaking her head, her face descriptive of both amusement and contempt. “I’m asking again: What, in the world, is the matter with you two?” Ethan and Bob looked on, not understanding. Connie explained, “You’re coming to stay with us until you’re well again, Ethan.”

THE HOUSE ACHIEVED A NEW ASPECT BY ETHAN’S PRESENCE, WHICH for Bob took some getting used to. Each weekday morning while Connie and Ethan slept, Bob rose and began his preparations for the workday; only now he no longer lit his fire, or fixed himself a full breakfast, actions that Connie said would cause a disturbance and work at cross-purposes with Ethan’s rehabilitation. One evening Bob reached for his alarm clock and discovered its bells had been wrapped in cotton batting.

“What did you do to my clock?” he asked Connie.

“It wakes up Ethan.”

“It wakes up me. That’s its job.”

“It’ll still wake you up, maniac.” And it did, but Bob missed the instant of piercing terror the naked bells drilled into him.