dog whoâs come visiting from the farm. Itâs when he goes to bed that the boy really misses him. He gets through the night because he knows heâs going to find him the next day. In the morning, he cleans and shines the dogâs 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 townâs 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 heâll want to scold him for misbehaving, but heâll hug and scratch him behind the ears and Marcel wonât 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 itâs 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 doesnât want to know. If Marcel were there, heâd lick the boyâs salty face and the pillow wouldnât be wet in the morning. The boy doesnât fill the dogâs bowl that day. On his way to school, he decides that heâll never own another dog.
I never had a dog. I didnât even have any friends with one. But I felt better for the boy after I hid that storybook behind a shelf in the schoolâs library so no one else would read it. Iâm 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. Heâs 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. âImagine a library within a library, collections within collections,â he says. âImagine 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, Iâd do nothing but gaze down there all day long.â
âSome of us have work to do.â
âAnd others have more important things to do than work. Open your eyes, man! Look!â He jabs his arm upward like heâs stabbing the air with a sword.
âItâs the same every day.â
âThatâs where youâre 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. Sheâs up to something for sure.â Henry wipes his lips with his hands then pokes my shoulder like heâs trying to tip me over. âI said sheâs up to something for sure. Are you listening, Carl?â
âMore or less. I was half thinking about something else.â
âThereâs not much point in your company if thereâs 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
âMaybe.â
âWhat you need is a pair of binoculars.â
My binoculars were a goodbye gift from friends whoâd heard Newfoundland was an ideal location for spotting rare birds. âLook for the white tufts on their heads,â they told me.
I go home later that day and dig them out of a suitcase I havenât got round to unpacking yet. Theyâre wrapped in a multi-coloured summer shirt thatâs too tropical for the Newfoundland climate. I bring them to the office the next morning where the plan is weâll