The Librarianist

Bob did as June instructed while Ida sat quietly fuming and complaining. This went on for some length of time, so that June finally reached up and covered Ida’s mouth, at which point Ida’s eyes became wide with high emotion; but, when June removed her hand, Ida no longer spoke. She curled up against the window and shut her eyes. The bus was rattling and hissing and now was away.

They were traveling in a southerly direction on a strip of winding two-lane highway with the ocean on their right and the sun angling toward the horizon. June crossed the aisle and shooed Bob over that she might sit beside him. She pulled a Baby Ruth from her coat pocket, opening its wrapper with care so to produce as little noise as was possible. Holding out the exposed candy bar, she made a questioning face at Bob; he broke off a piece and slowly ate it while June consumed the remainder, nodding that she agreed with the taste of it. After, she dropped the wrapper on the floor of the bus and swept it beneath her seat with the toe of her leather boot.

“Well, now,” she said, “what’s your name?”

“Bob.”

“And your surname?”

“Comet.”

She watched Bob as one not understanding a joke. “Spell it,” she said, and Bob did, and she glanced at Ida, but Ida was sleeping, as were the dogs. Speaking at half-volume, June said to Bob, “Tell the truth, Bob. You are following us, aren’t you?”

Bob shrugged.

“But why are you?”

Bob shrugged again.

“Well,” she said, “I truly don’t mind it. Actually I find it somewhat flattering. But I hope you’re not under the impression we’ll look after you?”

Bob shrugged a third time, and here June set her hand upon his shoulder. “Bob, the shrug is a useful tool, and seductive in its way; but it is only one arrow in the quiver and we mustn’t overuse it lest we give the false impression of vacancy of the mind, do you see my point?”

Ida mumbled something unintelligible from her slumber. June said, “I do hope you’ll forgive my friend. It’s nothing personal, just that she suffers from an incurable affliction, and its name is grumpiness. She finds strength in hostility, and joy in strength. But at any rate, and as I was saying, it would be foolish to assume we might be in a position to help you. If you want to know God’s truth, Ida and I can just barely keep ourselves clothed and sheltered.” June’s face went blank with waiting. “Perhaps you’d like to ask me some questions,” she ventured.

“What questions?”

“Oh, you know. Who we are, where we’re going, why we’re going there, why we have twenty-three unique pieces of luggage, why my pockets are filled with musical instruments, how it is that our dogs can waltz.”

“Yes,” said Bob, because he did want to know these things.

“Well,” she said, “I’ll tell you, since you feel so strong-burning a curiosity.” Her voice dropped further, and she gave a look around, as if to be certain none of their neighbors were listening in. “Ida and I are thespians, Bob.”

Bob wasn’t certain just what the word meant, but the way June had said it alluded to something shameful, so that he blushed to hear it. “Yes,” she said, pointing at the red of Bob’s cheek. “It shocks, I know. But let’s not pretty it up: we’re a pair of desperate thespians seeking out any small venue where we might engage the cursed inclination without causing overmuch unpleasantness. Certainly we hope to avoid imprisonment. Sometimes it has happened we are given monetary reward for services rendered; but it’s a hard life, and that’s mildly put. Both our families have disowned us, naturally. And it has been a long while since we were barred from polite society. But it’s not as if we had a choice in the matter; one is born a thespian or one isn’t, and one cannot deny the needs of her own mind, her flesh, after all, can one?” She looked away, over the top of Bob’s head. “I won’t take offense if you wish to change your seat, Bob. I’d hate to bring shame upon the house of Comet.” But Bob did not leave, and June squeezed his arm and told him, “I knew you’d stay. You wear your heart in your face, your eyes.”

“You’re actors,” Bob said.

June said, “We are dramatic stage performers. We are also playwrights and producers and directors and designers and stagehands and prop masters and dog trainers and dogs. We are not all these things at the same time owing to ambition, but because we are alone in our work. Yes, my little running-away friend, that is truly and finally what we are.” Bob asked if they were traveling to perform somewhere, and June brightened. She reached across the aisle and poked a finger in Ida’s stomach. Ida’s right eye opened very slightly. “Bob Comet interrogates,” June told her.

“Who’s Bob Comet?”

“The foundling, Ida. His name is Bob Comet, and it’s all I can do to keep up with his queries.”

“Leave me my rest,” Ida said, then shut up her eye again.