An Imperfect Librarian

An Imperfect Librarian Read Free

Book: An Imperfect Librarian Read Free
Author: Elizabeth Murphy
Tags: Fiction, General, FIC000000, FIC019000
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dog who’s come visiting from the farm. It’s when he goes to bed that the boy really misses him. He gets through the night because he knows he’s going to find him the next day. In the morning, he cleans and shines the dog’s bowl before he fills it with fresh water. He sprinkles some cheese on top of the dog food, the kind Marcel likes best. He rides his bike past the school all the way to the creek where they go swimming together on lazy summer afternoons. Later, he visits the town’s main road where he sometimes brings Marcel on a leash, proud to show off the smartest dog in town.
    He goes to bed again, this time convinced that Marcel will appear the next day. He knows he’ll want to scold him for misbehaving, but he’ll hug and scratch him behind the ears and Marcel won’t run away anymore. In the morning, he opens a fresh tin of food then fills the bowl with an extra helping because Marcel will be hungry when he returns.
    Then, one night when it’s so cold the bedroom radiator is making popping noises, the boy reaches over to cuddle into thedog. The cold, empty space that should be warm tells him what he doesn’t want to know. If Marcel were there, he’d lick the boy’s salty face and the pillow wouldn’t be wet in the morning. The boy doesn’t fill the dog’s bowl that day. On his way to school, he decides that he’ll never own another dog.
    I never had a dog. I didn’t even have any friends with one. But I felt better for the boy after I hid that storybook behind a shelf in the school’s library so no one else would read it. I’m certain it was after that incident that I decided I wanted to be a librarian.

CHAPTER FOUR
cyclops and binoculars
    H ENRY STANDS UP TOO FAST and triggers the nerve problem in his back. He winces, then limps over to the coffee stand in the corner of my office. He’s wearing his red shirt with the built-in air-conditioning around the waist. He pours another cup, wobbles past my desk, then settles into his chair. He inhales the steam and sighs. “Imagine a library within a library, collections within collections,” he says. “Imagine centuries of maritime documents, correspondence, logs, journals, maps, letters, diaries. You should consider it a privilege to own an office overlooking the Reading Room, Carl. If it were mine, I’d do nothing but gaze down there all day long.”
    â€œSome of us have work to do.”
    â€œAnd others have more important things to do than work. Open your eyes, man! Look!” He jabs his arm upward like he’s stabbing the air with a sword.
    â€œIt’s the same every day.”
    â€œThat’s where you’re wrong. Always on Wednesday and Friday, always at 3:45, always in the same reading carrel, bag byher left side every time. Watch her more closely. She just put something in her bag. She’s up to something for sure.” Henry wipes his lips with his hands then pokes my shoulder like he’s trying to tip me over. “I said she’s up to something for sure. Are you listening, Carl?”
    â€œMore or less. I was half thinking about something else.”
    â€œThere’s not much point in your company if there’s only half of you in attendance. Not to mention your famine version of biscuits and coffee. I might as well go to the cafeteria. Watch. See how she slid something into the bag?”
    â€œMaybe.”
    â€œWhat you need is a pair of binoculars.”
    My binoculars were a goodbye gift from friends who’d heard Newfoundland was an ideal location for spotting rare birds. “Look for the white tufts on their heads,” they told me.
    I go home later that day and dig them out of a suitcase I haven’t got round to unpacking yet. They’re wrapped in a multi-coloured summer shirt that’s too tropical for the Newfoundland climate. I bring them to the office the next morning where the plan is we’ll

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