Chapter Two – The Librarian
Walter Merrell sat patiently in the traffic on Commonwealth Avenue. It was always this way in the late afternoon. Normally he liked to conclude his business by lunch and be home to the relative quiet and serenity of his house. While not shunning people, his years at the university library and the time he spent in post graduate work over in Cornell, had given him a division in life. A division of being with people and being without them. Lately it was leaning to the latter.
Still he played the odd game of golf and accepted invitations to dinners and lectures, but there was always his books to go home to. To think about when life with others got boring. Walter read endlessly and was an intellectual partner on many subjects including art, sculpture and surprisingly, finance. He inherited the last item from his father who had a consulting business in New York and became well known and respected. There was a place for Walter in that empire, but the classics seem to draw him. Finally he started to formalise his passion and enrolled in Columbus University in Ohio. From there it was ever upward.
The years spent in Ithaca rounded off his education and his respectability. His final academic career at Boston, particularly in the university library as it’s head, earned him much respect. Still he yearned for something that the ordered society did not give. Walter would be striving ever upward, in his quiet and unassuming way, until the Angels came for him.
Finally the traffic moved and he selected another compact disc of Baroque to help him change lanes and move to more leafy streets, finally to reach the haven of his dwelling. The houses were separate two story dwellings of some substance and in existence for a long time. Brick to withstand the cold winters and still in good condition to support the builders craft, something that was not so true today in the large housing developments. Originally an area some 150 years back that was the refuge of thousands of Irish immigrants who escaped their homeland and the Potato famine to find a new world. It was not all milk and honey but when you have nothing, then anything is better.
The car was garaged and the supper laid out by his housekeeper eaten in the den whilst he listened to last year’s Prom concert, again. Tonight he would start on something oriental to balance the completed reading of The Crusades that still left wondrous images of valour and dedication in his mind. First it was necessary to plan some details for the coming year. About ten o’clock he had a sherry and stood gazing at the shelves that stretched up to the 12 foot ceiling, deciding what would be appropriate to start. The front door bell rang and startled him to reality. He ignored it, for this hour was too late for visitors. It rang again and he sighed. Perhaps it was John, his golfing partner for tomorrow. No, he would ring. Not even that. John would just wait until tomorrow.
Annoyed yet mystified, he was torn between going up for the book that had flashed into his mind and answering the door. When it rang again he shrugged his shoulders and left the room. On the other side of the locked screen door stood a thin man in a suede jacket and greyish hair.
“Yes? Can I help you?” Walter peered through the gauze at the man’s face. There was something that stirred his memory but that was all.
“I think so, Mr. Merrell. I have a book for you.”
Walter peered again. The face nagged him but he still couldn’t place it. “Who are you? It is pretty late. If it’s from the library that’s where it needs to go.” He stepped back and made to shut the door.
The man held the book to the door. “I think you should look at it now. The name is Brinks. Harold Brinks.” He paused a bit then continued. “Huntington College and Antiquities Repository. Two years ago. Remember Mr. Merrell.”
It came to him where he had seen the face. “Oh yes. You left or something.” Walter looked at the book but it meant nothing.
“We need to talk Mr. Merrell.”
Walter looked again at the face and felt a need to help this man. Slowly he unlocked the security screen. He was never street wise, growing up in a sheltered world. But he was methodical and saw discussion as a quick and easy way to move on. Then he could think about oriental mind appreciation. Already he knew what book to get down and he was anxious to start. “Of course. Into the library, straight ahead. That’s where books need to be discussed.”
Brinks smiled and walked ahead to stand with his back to one of the walls. Behind him were rows of books reaching far up towards the ceiling. The librarian stood behind his desk, unsure of what may unfold.
“Nice place Mr. Merrell.” His eyes surveyed the room. “I was sacked because of you. I tried my best at anything I did but apparently it was not good enough. On your word they gave me my marching orders.”
Walter was tense. Would this be a physical confrontation? He hoped not. The memory came back to him. Brinks was a repository assistant, or ‘wormer’ as they were called here. Brinks was hopeless at his job and had to go. “Not only me, er Harold. Three of us came to the same decision. Huntington was not for you. We were helping you find something more appropriate.” He now realised that this confrontation had to end but the book had him intrigued. “What is it I can do for you?”
“Money. Pure and simple. Life hasn’t been easy since then. Now I’m sure you will tell me to clear out but to cut a long story short, this book should be enough. For a long time I came back to Huntington at night. Just to drive past or sit and contemplate revenge. Then I let it go when I moved to New Jersey. Two months back I returned and do you know whose car I saw driving away from the rear of the repository late one night? Yours Mr. Merrell. After I saw a figure in black drop down on a rope and get into it. I remembered your Mercedes.”
Walter looked dumfounded. “Me! You must be on happy pills or something. I couldn’t climb the spiral staircase to the repository’s belltower without having a heart attack. On a rope? You certainly have the wrong person.”
Brinks narrowed his eyes. “I saw your car. Only you have a silver Merc with fancy black GT lines. You were the talk of the library.”
“Harold, you’ve been away too long. All senior staff have a similar car as part of the salary package. I took mine with me when I left. I believe those black lines were part of a deal Huntington had with the Mercedes dealer for the fleet.”
Merrell felt more at ease. He now hoped this confused man would just leave. Then he remembered the book. “What is the book?”
Brinks had forgotten it momentarily also. “This? I found it where the car was parked. As though it was dropped.”
Walter moved around and held out his hand. The book was placed in it. He looked at the title and shook his head. “Not mine or my taste. Nor Huntington’s from memory. ‘Beyond the Acropolis’ by Beaton was never considered to have depth or character necessary for such introspection. Most book academics would agree.” Already Merrell’s mind had drifted to a far better treatise and he remembered where it was in his collection. “Beaton was an opportunist. He would create ten facts and five theories from one unrelated item.”
Brinks just shook his head. He said nothing.
“Look. You worked as a wormer. There is no comparison between Beaton and Professor Anderson-Peers. I Have two of the professor’s works here. Read a page and you will agree.” He moved slowly and pulled the big step ladder along the wall. Then he laboriously climbed the steps, one at a time until he was at the top. Brinks just stood with his back to the book case turning his head to look at him. Merrell pulled out a small volume and waved it at him. “Here it is.”
The other man had lost interest. His reason and demand seemed to be fading. He just stood there and looked straight ahead. Walter realised there was no interest and put the book back into it’s place. Then glancing along the shelf, he saw Arnold’s ‘Seas and Lands’ and realised that this was what he had planned to read. All focus of the current situation receded and he instinctively leant to the side to grab it whilst up here.
The ladder moved on it’s little wheels like a pendulum as his weight was extended to reach the volume. It was just too far for a physical reach and next moment he felt himself coming off the ladder into thin air. He tried to grab the top of the book shelf but his fingers slipped and Walter felt himself falling.