“The book shall be returned!”

By Jason Catizone

An adventure extreme to return a library book long overdue

Stanley Hernocklin grew up in a well-to-do family in a small town in Montana. But despite the plentiful riches in which his family bathed, young Stanley was never happier than when he was able to sit for hours and hours in the local library, eagerly devouring tales of adventure, hidden treasure, and danger. A quaint library it was - and yet, for Stanley, it was a vibrant room of teleportation into worlds beyond number. Adding to the romance and exhilaration of it all, the library was only accessible by means of a small wooden bridge which spanned the narrow river below.

He was a peculiar child - the kind of kid who saved each gum wrapper, just in case he were one day questioned regarding just how many pieces of chewing gum he had enjoyed in his lifetime. Stanley was also, well, a stickler for details. The example for which he was most famous occurred when he was in fourth grade and his teacher had asked her pupils to keep a journal over the summer break of their weekly activities; Stanley wound up filling 83 notebooks, accounting for nearly every breath he took during those three months. He even recorded how many seconds he brushed his teeth for each morning and night; Stanley thought it a shining example of timeless literature, but his teacher was of a different persuasion.

One day when he was eleven, he checked out a book from his beloved library. It was the story of a sea voyager who lost his way and eventually wound up establishing his own floating empire; the maritime adventurer became leader supreme, and permitted no man to encroach upon his territory. Stanley was never able to return that book, much to his dismay, for his father was transferred to Sweden in a whirlwind rush, and the family had but four days to pack up and cross the great sea. 

Young Stanley, however, never forgot the solemn regulations to which he had submitted himself when he signed up for his library card, and thus - he knew that he himself was responsible for returning the borrowed book. This explains why the boy rejected every suggestion of mailing it back to Montana, or entrusting it into another’s care. The book was his responsibility, and he was not one to shirk from tasks which he was bound to perform. Yes, his family was living now in Sweden indeed, but the peculiar child never forgot about the book for which he remained a debtor. 

The years passed, and Stanley grew into a young man. Tragically, a devastating economic crisis threw both Sweden and his father’s country into a horrific tailspin, and his family lost everything. Their finances were practically non-existent, and thus a return to Montana abode in the realm of utter impossibility. And therefore, in Sweden they stayed. 

But Stanley made it his life’s calling to return to the country of his birth, in order to finally deliver up the book for which he was such a villainous criminal. When friends and family periodically asked him what his plans in life were, he would firmly clutch his left shoulder with his right hand and declare, “The book shall be returned!” His was an odd calling in life - but then again, few things about Stanley ever said, “normal.”

The young man gladly took upon himself two full-time jobs, and as he began scraping his pennies together, his savings began to blossom one petal at a time. It was amazing how “friends and important relatives” began popping up now that he had attained a certain measure of wealth. But each time such self-assessed figures of importance requested financial benevolence from him, Stanley would firmly clutch his left shoulder with his right hand and resolutely declare, “The book shall be returned!” 

Finally, after a five-year period of most intense labor, the big day arrived: the young man had earned sufficient money to journey back to Montana! Stanley packed his bags as numerous hometown sites waltzed around in his head - places which he longed to revisit while there. Of foremost importance, though, was naturally his beloved library, in whose eyes he believed himself to still be a fugitive on the run - and an international one at that. Notwithstanding his present feelings of guilt and shame, Stanley fondly recalled the happiness of his childhood, and how he would gleefully zip across the small wooden bridge to reach his treasured house of books. He could not wait to be back!

The expedition was a dreadfully long one, as Stanley’s finances had permitted him no other option than booking the cheapest route possible. A lengthy train ride surrounded by squawking chickens - crossing the Atlantic on a bobbing cargo ship - and then a terribly long haul across the US with a less than stellar bus company… it was, in truth, a rather tortuous journey. But each time Stanley felt as though he could go no further, he would pull himself up by his own bootstraps, stand confidently tall, and boldly declare: “The book shall be returned!” His fellow passengers - most notably the chickens - found him to be quite peculiar indeed, but the young man was far too resolved to let such pettiness deter him. 

The long trek proved to be too much for him, though, and two hours out from Montana, Stanley came down with a horrible cough for which he was hospitalized. Upon examination, the doctor revealed that it was a severe case of bronchitis which was assailing the traveler, and informed him that he would have to remain under close monitoring for the next five days. Stanley violently shook his head “no,” and stood up resolutely, firmly clutching his left shoulder with his right hand and declaring, “The book shall be returned!” (The doctor annotated his patient’s medical chart, albeit secretly, advising that a mental examination be performed the following day.) Stanley, however, escaped under cover of darkness, fleeing the hospital at 3AM. 

With little more than an antiquated cell phone, the self-labeled literary felon managed to successfully walk the remaining distance to his birthplace, a spectacular feat which took him two full days. They were hard days. Especially when a drifting car being navigated by a heavy-eyed driver had sent him diving into a patch of thorns for safety. But he had done it; Stanley had reached his hometown!

Standing victorious under the banner of welcome which greeted visitors, the traveler loudly proclaimed, “The book shall be returned!” Several people enjoying a picnic nearby thought him to be a most odd fellow, but Stanley had no time to be preoccupied with the shallow opinions of others; he was a fugitive from the world of humanities, and he needed to free himself of the crushing burden which was smothering him day by day. 

Stanley made his way to the library by stealth, for he felt quite certain within that a “wanted” sign with his mug on it was hanging in the town center close by. Profusely sweating in the noonday sun, Stanley inched closer and closer to erasing the infamy attached to his name. With wobbling knees and aching back, each step seemed harder than the last. But accompanying the weary man’s gasps for air, a single proclamation continued to quietly echo forth from his lips: “The book shall be returned!”

Finally, having conquered odds unfathomable, Stanley Hernocklin reached the street which was home to his beloved library. His heart was racing, and his perspiration would not subside. He reached into his bag with trembling hands, and pulled out the wanted book. “Yes, my literary classic,” he whispered softly, “it is time for you to retake your place of glory there inside the glorious house of books!”  Truth be told, Stanley couldn’t keep himself from weeping.

As the beautiful library came into view at long last, the exhausted traveler fell to his knees with a joy that no words could ever express. An all-consuming vigor rushed through his veins, and he hoisted the long overdue book into the air. Stanley sprang to his feet, and broke into a thunderous gallop. “The book shall be returned!”, he cried at the top of his lungs.

The small wooden bridge which spanned the narrow river below was now just a few feet ahead of him, and tears of joy streamed down his face. He held the book up high and laughed boisterously at the victory which he was mere moments away from enjoying. 

As Stanley began his dash across the bridge, he closed his eyes so as to relish the surreal experience which was now enveloping him - one which overwhelmed the young man with a tidal wave of satisfaction. But running blindly ahead, the electrified traveler failed to notice one of the wooden boards below, now a bit elevated following years of subjection to the changing climate. Stanley tripped and hit the bridge hard; the library book went soaring through the air in slow motion, as if from a dramatic movie scene, and then plunged into the river below with a splash.

Stanley lay there for what felt like an eternity, utterly aghast. He was inconsolable, and cried like a baby. All of a sudden, he felt a gentle tap on his shoulder. Looking up, he gazed into the kind face of the librarian, Mrs. Paldor - she had aged quite considerably, but the graciousness which sparkled from her eyes had not diminished one bit. “Stanley Hernocklin?!”, she exclaimed in amazement. “You still owe us a book!!!”

© Jason Catizone, April 2021             

contact@jasoncatizone.com