--
the librarian


The books were stacked in disheveled piles, manuscripts sandwiched and spilling out from between them like the filling squeezed out of some crushed pastry. rows and rows of books, piled up, claiming the width of the room and having colonized the floors staggering upwards in halting fits, until a small city stood where once a man may have slept. this was the bedroom, the only room in the house. i mean it had been a bedroom, at one point, before this slow creeping transformation had taken hold. of Hector there was no sign besides the worn office chair, spun halfway away from what must have been a desk - now a foundation for some anonymous district of this paper city - as though he had hurried away with some unknown urgency.

i stood now in the doorframe gazing in with a mix of dread and awe. Dusk’s yellow light filtered in through cigarette stained windows, casting the room in a deep amber hue. light fixtures had been clumsily removed in an effort to conserve energy, though several melted candles suggested the room was still used. I drew a long breath and found the comforting old smell of books mingled with the acrid odor of mold and lifted my shirt to breath through the collar as though it were a makeshift filter.

I did not know how I was going to find the letter. I don't know how or if anyone could have navigated this space anymore. To even cross the threshold seemed to be an unjustifiable intrusion, to disrupt this cosmopolis and risk everything tumbling to a halt. although haphazard there was a certain grace to the stacks, a sureness of place and being that felt intentional in every infinitesimal detail. Even the thin layers of dust seemed laboriously applied in different thicknesses and gradations across the angled paper covers of books splayed open, teetering precariously at the tops of the narrow piles.

yet there was space between the stacks, enough maybe for a thinner man than I, and the floor was worn in these spaces to suggest that this small city still saw at least occasional visits from giants like myself. Motes of dust rushed into the air as I took my first cautious step inside and, as the floor dipped beneath my weight, winced and waited a breath or two in anticipation of some impending collapse. when none came, I readied myself, sighed deeply and lifted my foot to take a second step when i froze.

standing there dumbly with one foot in the air, precariously perched on one wobbling leg, i could not help but notice a change in the room. the dust i had raised with my first step had launched some particles of dust and decay in the air but now instead of faintly falling i could see them begin to rush with purpose. i heard then the humming of a fan, a noise that i must have somehow ignored or blocked out when i first entered the room? or did it just turn on now?

the floor creaked behind me and i felt the someone's weight settle in the doorframe i had just left.

"why have you come back? why won't you leave us alone?"

--

a blush began to blossom, a faint panic at the sudden shame of being caught someplace you shouldn't be. i quickly folded it away inside as i recalled the insignia on my jacket and willed myself to remember my duty. this was just a job.

i planted my foot back on the ground and turned to face the man who spoke. as i turned, my sleeve caught a jutting edge from one of the crooked towers to my side and i stared at him impassively - or as impassively as i could - as he cringed audibly in pain as several city blocks came tumbling down. he opened his mouth to speak further but no sound came out. instead his eyes just flashed through rage, fear, and finally drooped in despair. the man hung his head.

"please. please, son. i know i'm behind. i know and i'm sorry. but these. this. they're so important. you remember the times we used to spend here. you must remember how much you used to laugh in here, safe with me while the storms rattled outside. i know it doesn't matter to anyone else, not anymore. i know this is your job now. but they're just... these books are all we have left. i'm sorry. i love you. please don't take any more."

I felt a leaden lump in my throat. I wanted to cry. I felt small, and angry for being so quickly reduced to this, and the pressing in of the walls around me made me want to scream. I hoped that none of it showed.

"The letter. I need your signature on the letter or your full payment or else we will need to take more. This is not up for discussion, and this is not a surprise. This is simply the way things work in this block, the way things have always worked, and I would have thought such a wise man as yourself would have understood this. There's no way out, unless you really want to be -out--"

At this his breath caught and he interrupted - "No! No, this..." he trailed off. "This is all I have. No one has been by to visit in a very long time. Would you like some tea?"

Instead of replying, I walked over and snatched the pouch from his hand. It was far lighter than it should have been, and I stifled a sigh.

"Less than half. You know what this means, Hector. You are sure you don't have any more?" At this he started crying. He slumped back into the hallway and held his head between his legs, which I noticed now barely seemed to fill out his pants. I hadn't seen him this thin before, not even when I collected last months' payment.

Well, my heart broke, but what can you do?

As he slouched there crying I ran the payment through and waited for the chime on my phone that indicated it had processed. Tapping away several warning screens and signing Hector's name on waivers about the consequences of a third missed or incomplete payment, I then spent several minutes waiting for the page to load. Finally it did, and I confirmed the status of the payment and slipped the phone back in my pocket. I leaned over to him as the the moan of the gears in the walls began to thrum loudly. I put my hand on his shoulder as the first crash from the room behind me cascaded into an avalanche as the partition wall of his apartment began to constrict, shoving the book towers together, and then over, toppling into chaos as the library fell. I heard the groaning of some long-buried furniture as it tried to bear the weight of the walls and snapped without much protestation.

Of course, a half payment is preferable to none. Finally the walls grew silent and I craned my neck to peer through the doorway at the mess of junk left over from the repartitioning. Hand still on my grandfather's shoulder, I leaned in and whispered. "Of course I remember our visits, grandpa. I miss them very much. Please pay in full next month."

And with that, stood up and checked my watch. Just a couple more stops to make today. I remembered what I had waiting for me back home, and smiled, and kept smiling until I had arrived at the next apartment.