2. The Library
811 Words
Chapter Two
The Library
“Spying is not an easy thing to do in a wheelchair, no matter how motorized.”—The chairman
1930s
When the elderly reader first produced Beryl to the Librarian, he huffed, pointed to a cubby hole of a room, and with a “the sheets are in that cupboard,” left her to make herself a bed.
Beryl opened her rucksack. It was pretty empty—a few measly bits of clothing, a dog-eared toothbrush, an old picture of her parents young and hopeful, and her mother’s diary.
She hid it under the bed.
“I have a feeling in my waters,” said the elderly reader.
“Better head to the loo then.”
“Seriously,” said the elderly reader.
“So am I,” said the Librarian. “The john’s the place for that sort of talk.”
“There is something about her,” said the elderly reader.
“She’s a she,” said the Librarian. “There is always something about a she, and it’s never good.”
“She’s Squirt’s daughter,” said the elderly reader.
Silence . . .
Beryl, mid fluffing a pillow, stopped . . .
“That man was a genius with a ledger,” said the elderly reader. “Give him a set of an account and he could make a minus a plus in minutes—seconds even.”
The Librarian muttered a “mmm . . .”
“Making money to him was easy,” said the elderly reader.
The Librarian nodded. “That’s true.”
The elderly reader gestured toward the poky room where Beryl was expertly making up a bed, taking in every word.
“She could be the same. The trick is to keep her a secret until we know.”
Manifesto the Great, a true leader, continued to ponder; civilization needed children. What was he to do?
He paced the corridors, lost in thought until he caught sight of a cleaner pulling out her mop; then it hit him like a wet flannel.
High on his idea, he raced to the room with a view and burst in to find the readers “studying” an old thirties film on their extra-large mirror perched high on a wall.
“Let’s free up the ‘fairer s*x’ for procreation,” he proclaimed.
The readers stared at the pint-size leader.
“You been on the caffeine again?” said the chairman.
“Give ’em robots, and they can bed-dive to their hearts’ content,” smiled Manifesto the Great at his magnificent idea.
“The last thing my ‘fairer s*x’ wants is more time to bed-dive,” said a voice from the back.
“Here, here,” mumbled a few.
Manifesto the Great, a man of pacing, circled the room, talking of how work and tiredness killed the desire for bed-diving.
“Tell me about it,” mumbled a reader.
“Bleach is as off-putting for a woman as, well, false teeth are for . . .” He stopped, stared at the mirror as a voluptuous thirties film star sauntered into view with the sort of comments that went straight to his groin . . .
“Who’s that?” he stuttered, watching her disappear.
The Librarian snapped, “You’re off your trolley. Women are on the verge of mutiny, and you’re talking of bed-diving and earth films?”
“Pfff, women,” said a few.
“Can’t even organize a shopping list, let alone a revolt,” said another.
“Too busy with their pots,” chuckled another.
Manifesto the Great stared at the mirror. “Does she come back?”
The Librarian fumed; he had a direct view of Fanny’s headquarters. He knew all about her “comings and goings.” He’d even seen that LM-2 leaving, and he was an expert lip reader.
“The underground hasn’t died as everyone believes,” he said.
No one listened; he was, after all, a man who could hardly steer his wheelchair, let alone put his wig on straight. What would he know?
Besides, their favorite scene was about to start.
“That Fanny is alive and plotting,” said the Librarian.
“Shhhh, she’s about to enter,” hissed a reader.
“Who?” said Manifesto the Great.
The chairman looked at his leader. “That woman . . . you know.”
“Again?” Manifesto the Great’s face lit up.
The Librarian eyed the ten men poised about the table, waiting for that woman to appear like she was the second coming.
If that lot thought they could pull the wool over the women’s eyes, they were stupider than the whole feed-women-mush idea.
“The women are educating themselves,” he said, “grouping together, and they are not going to take mush lying down.”
A reader yawned. “No one said anything about lying down.”
A few chuckled then stopped as that woman sauntered onto the screen again.
Manifesto the Great sighed; he had never seen anything like her before.
“She’s big on earth,” said the chairman.
“I can see that,” said Manifesto the Great.
“She says what others only dare to think,” said a voice from the back.
Manifesto the Great stared at the mirror as Mae West, brandishing a cigarette, eyed her man.
“What’s the good of resisting temptation? There will always be more,” she said.
Manifesto the Great sighed. “She can hang out my smalls any time.”
“Hang out your smalls?” snapped the Librarian. “The women will be hanging out more than that if you don’t take some action.”
“Why don’t you have a nice cup of tea?” said the chairman with a stiff smile at the Librarian.
- Writer
