Burning the Midnight Oil

“Smack” The book was folded closed without marking the page. Another was grabbed and opened. The volumes on the table were stacked like a pile of fresh pancakes. People always picture scholars sitting there in a dim library with a stack of books, and although it’s almost exactly what the reality looks like for those pursuing law, the method of how these books became stacked differs entirely from what one might expect. The 25 year old graduate stufent named Anthony, couldn’t seem to find the exact case and year of a certain trial he was meaning to reference.

 He had scoured the ends of Wikipedia pages, came up short in several law databases, and had initiated five unresolved forum page postings, one of which ended in petty name calling, as most online law forums might. Being exhausted of all web based resources, he placed his last hopes in the dusty volumes of the university library. Every book in the stack he had amassed so far contained useful knowledge, as to whom it might be useful to, that would be everyone but Anthony. 

His hand was meshed inside his matted black hair, as the frustration was laid bare across his face. Having come up short once again, he closed a volume containing states law cases from 1955 to 1960 and slid it from him in disgust. Looking around, it was the first time he had noticed the emptiness of the room since sitting down some hours and a few cups of coffee earlier.  

When he begun in the afternoon, there were winter-dressed students dotted around the tables, some isolated to far desks typing on laptops while a few patrolled the aisles between tall book shelves, but as of now, the commotion had fallen to a night time stillness. The lack of windows in the old building, and the intricate dark maroon tapestry of the rug which was uniformly lit by amber table lamps made it hard to discern or keep track of time, forgetting the high hung clocks that marched onwards always. The modern computers, the colorful up to date textbooks, the flat screen which never turned on, and the fashionably dressed inhabitants, seemed eerily out of place with the rest of the interior, Anthony felt. The 21st elements in contrast to the antique of the crown Victorian molding, the green and red old books, the leather seats, and the copper rimmed lamps, gave the place an entirely nowhere-in-time aura. 

Just then, a voice from behind broke his reflections.

“I’ve made something you’ll like.” 

It was a pipsqueak of a voice, and when Anthony turned to face it, he was met with a short boy. His hair was light and flaxen, parted at a split carelessly in the center of his forehead, an undecided piece of it bobbing like a spring above his eyebrows. 

“I’m sorry what?”

Anthony leaned an arm backwards on the chair to face the pimply faced boy, who was standing there casually with his hands placed in his pockets. He didn’t know how he got there or how long he had been watching him for. The figure wore a hooded sweatshirt, not unusual for the overactive air conditioning of the facility, however he was also wearing tan cargo shorts and a pair of sandals. He looked like a California stoner on the way to the beach. What he was doing in the library of a prestigious East Coast university wearing shorts in winter was a complete mystery to Anthony. 

“I uh, I made something. You might get a kick out of it.” He answered, a little less confidently than before. 

Then he turned, and walked down an aisle of books, passing around the corner before popping his head back out with a gesture to follow it. The librarian, a pale older man at the far end of the room, was stationed at an accountant sized desk with his watchful eyes suspiciously upturned at the two. Anthony felt this was all very uncharacteristic of a student who might be attending the school, but nonetheless, desiring a break from study, he got up from the desk and reluctantly followed the sprightly apparition. 

Down several turns and splits in the shelves, they came to a clearing with a dead end and a dark lounge area. The subject stepped into it, disappearing momentarily, and before Anthony had time to stop and look around cautiously, a silver bead lamp was flicked on. In the middle of the lounge was a stack of books, assembled together to make a little arched bridge. 

“Ta-dah!” Said the little man, “do you like it?”

“What is it?”

Anthony stepped around to the flank of the structure with a sideways cocked head. The boy in the sweatshirt looked down at himself and then back up at Anthony with a puzzled look, wondering why it wasn’t obvious.

“It’s an abridged bridge.” he said as a matter of fact with his hands positioned on his

hips, looking like a proud architect.

Anthony picked up a hefty book from the top stack and inspected its cover. 

“Middlemarch by George Elliot, abridged” 

He looked at the rest of the bridge, which he realized was entirely made of abridged novels. 

“But why?” he questioned aloud, more to himself really, as the completion of such a task as creating a bridge made of abridged novels seemed so peculiar of one. 

“Well, I got to thinking-“ The boy started out delighted to have been asked, 

“that if I were to build a bridge out of books or any structure that is out of books, I’d need a sturdy enough copy, a hardback definitely. Well I tried textbooks at first but realized they were too heavy for the task. Stack enough of them and it will collapse under its own weight, so finding the right kind of book with a good balance of dimensions and weight was important. Novels that were around 600 to 800 pages long served perfectly, but I went a step further to only select abridged versions of the books, because the end result would be a bridge made entirely of abridged novels! It’s more funny that way, don't you think?” 

He concluded and reached out a hand to shake, which Anthony reluctantly did. 

“Paul. I’m studying English, if you haven't gathered that yet.” 

Paul the English undergraduate looked about 21, but also strangely familiar, yet Anthony wasn’t sure where he had met him before.

“You sure it’s not an art or engineering degree you're after?” Anthony teased. Paul looked genuinely displaced at the question, but flashed back into his former lightheartedness with a chuckle.

“Sometimes I don’t know myself. I hope you don’t mind by the way, I had to use some of those law books you weren’t using for a support beam while I completed the center.” 

He pointed to a pile of law books scattered to the side of the cubby room. Anthony picked up the first and read it. 

“You're kidding? When did you grab this off the shelf?”

“About 4 hours ago” Reported Paul.

Anthony flipped through greedily and found the reference material he had been searching for unsuccessfully for the last 5 or so hours. His melted heart iced back over. 

“Well if I had found this book earlier, maybe I could have finished my work hours ago.” He glared at Paul who shyly put his hands back in his pockets.

 “Oh…” is all he could say.

“Yeah, oh. Nice to meet you.” Anthony tucked the book under an arm and grumbled off down the aisle he came.

“Sorry about the book, but I can maybe show you something else I found.” The hooded boy called after him.

“No thanks, I’m busy.” Countered Anthony just as he rounded the corner. 

“Have you seen the Masonic room?”

He stopped halfway down the shelves, turned around, and returned to the corner looking into the cubby space. “What room?” He asked, only slightly annoyed now.

Paul’s face constricted in focus. Putting a finger into the air, he tried to remember where he had placed something. He skimmed the various piles of books around him in a hurry, even knocking over his newly christened bridge in the process before retrieving a large dark book and holding it up. 

“Here it is.” 

He flapped through its pages while he expounded his findings to Anthony, who had by that time walked closer into the messy floored alley. 

“I found this book when I was looking for larger abridged novels, it’s called ‘Librarian’s Records’. At first I thought it was a guidebook for navigating libraries of the day, but then I realized this is actually a manual that was used as a sort of policy reference for THIS specific library at the university. It has maps of the early layout of shelves, the guidelines for placement of genres and authors, a list of books that were banned from the library that year, it goes on.” 

By now he was speaking in a higher whisper bordering talking, and the keen eared librarian sent his regards from 6 shelves away. 

“Shh!” 

Paul looked in the direction of the hiss, and back at Anthony with a bashful smile and shrug before continuing quietly. 

“There’s a picture here of the original founders of the library, also some Latin bit below it. I can’t read Latin yet, but I found a section regarding the hours and dates meetings would be held in the second floor ‘Masonic temple’.” 

When he finished he spun the book around to show a dusty page featuring an image of 10 or so grim looking older gentlemen wearing cupped hats, posing around a long oak table.

The Latin bit written under it read “Fraternitas super omnia”. Anthony recited it aloud, and then translated it:

“Brotherhood above all”

He said, happy to finally put his lawyering understanding of Latin to some good use.

Paul squinted, “Woah. Well, see then? It’s like some room these old farts met up in secretly, cloak and dagger type stuff. The building has had restorations, but I think the room still exists. According to the map in the book, it should still be behind where they currently keep the bibliographies, just to the second wall from the right.” 

They moved off towards the stairs which wound upwards to the second floor. No better lit than the first floor, it held the same musty century old appearance, despite the addition of a glass walled room called the study lounge, which blasted its beams of fluorescent light around the jungle of shelves that surrounded it. Coming to the shelf containing the bibliographies, the two young men stared at it stupidly from top to bottom. Paul was the first to make any move, as he started pulling on different books, hinging them out one at a time before sliding them into place. 

“What are you doing?”

“I’m seeing if there’s a book that might be like a lever or something, you know? Pull on the right one to open a door.” 

“You realize this isn’t Scooby-Doo? How would that even work Paul?” 

“I don’t know? Do you have a better idea?” 

Paul backed off again to examine the shelf. They looked along the wall for a seam but there were none. Behind the shelf was a plastered concrete wall, with no visible markings. They were stumped, as the little treasure hunt came to a standstill. By then, Anthony was beginning to feel a little ridiculous, and his thoughts wandered back to the work he had left incomplete back at the desk down stairs. He sighed and took leave of his adventuring partner for good. 

“It’s probably been demolished long ago with the building restorations, like you said. Anyways, I have to finish my work and go. It’s getting late. This has been… fun.” 

Paul watched with hands in his pockets as the lawyer in training walked away, starting down the stairs. 

On his way down, Anthony looked up and studied the floor by the railing above. He noticed then, that there was an unnecessary part of it, an extra wall that was jutting out from the left of where the bibliographies were shelved. With no explanation for the space, it stood out like a sore thumb. He walked back up 5 or so steps until he was just about eye level with it. Paul watched him, and followed his fixed gaze until he too was by the railing looking back at the same angle. They exchanged a silent glance after a couple seconds before walking back over together to the bibliographic section, this time orienting to its left wall, the one third from the right.

Obstructing it partially, there was a tall box of books, waiting to be returned to their places among the shelves, a ladder, and an empty mop bucket. Moving these aside, they found a door labeled: “Maintenance storage”. 

Anthony snorted, “You first. It was your discovery after all.” he said sarcastically.

Paul smiled to hide some disappointment and clicked the door open. A light switch was flipped on revealing a room with an oak table in the center, like the one from the photograph. Some older paintings and framed maps adorned the walls, and a ship in a bottle sat on a nearby shelf, giving the room the appearance of a reclusive dean's office. 

“What did I say? It’s a Masonic room, just like I said.” 

Paul had walked in and was waving his arms around in a spectacle like a man whose wild theories were confirmed. Anthony cautiously strolled about the room and looked at its contents. To note, it was clean, like it had been recently dusted, and there was an overwhelming smell of leather polish. At the far end of the long table was a large leather bound book, which resembled a logbook, curiously opened on a page. Paul sat down and read through a few random pages. 

“Now this IS a funny one. Are you pulling my leg here?” He looked up with an uneasy smile.

“What is it now?” Said Anthony in a tired tone without turning. He was too busy fiddling with some pens and coffee-stained papers inside a desk to pay any attention to the easily excitable boy.

“This book, it’s talking about you. How you’re studying law, and walking about the library with me.” Paul said in amazement. 

Anthony turned. “What do you mean? Let me see.” 

Paul shifted the book to the table's edge to show Anthony. He read a page from the text with strained eyes: 

" 'You sure it’s not an art or engineering degree you're after?' Anthony teased. Paul looked genuinely displaced at the question, but flashed back into his former lightheartedness with a chuckle- "

“What is this? Tell me who the hell thinks this is funny Paul? Why would you go this far just to mess with a stranger!” 

Paul became defensive, “Me? I didn’t write this, you did! If anyone should be mad it's me!” 

He got up from the table with the book in hand, and moved to the other side of the room. Flipping through it rapidly to where it was marked halfway through by a red cloth string, he stopped and trailed a finger along the printed text. His eyes became wide, as he took to thoroughly gnawing at a fingernail. Suddenly, he turned it around in his hands to show Anthony. 

“Look man."

It read:

 “ ‘What is it now?’ Said Anthony in a tired tone without turning. He was too busy fiddling with some pens and coffee-stained papers inside a desk to pay any attention to the easily excitable boy.”

Anthony felt a knot in his stomach, and his head pounded. 

“This is crazy.”

Paul turned the book back around, “I know. Wait, you don't really think I'm easily excitable do you?”  

“Wait wait, let’s just think-” Anthony broke in, pleading for some rationale, but Paul continued ranting. 

“It’s all here, everything we’ve done and said in this library today, but it never gets past this mark up here. The other pages are blank, see?” He let the pages flip as he held the book sideways.

Anthony was churning a thought while he sat, dead frozen, looking at the table. 

“I’m going to close the book.” Said Paul finally.

Anthony snapped into reality. “What? Why?” 

“Because we found it opened, the writing never goes past this page here at the end, just some garbage about us arguing back and forth. If I close it we can leave this room and never see each other again.” 

Anthony shot up suddenly, knocking his chair over. 

“Wait no! Give me the book, that’s not it!” 

Paul backed away apprehensively with the book held in both hands like a shield. The red cloth marker fell free from it's page. 

“Why not, it’s just a book buddy? We can just close it and leave it alone.”

“You’ll doom us Paul,.” Anthony whispered in a horrified voice, "DONT."

Paul smiled with a calm resolution, “It's ok, relax.” He grasped the cover as if to close it just as Anthony lunged forward like a madman, screaming,

“No don-

“Smack!” The book was folded closed without marking the page. Another was grabbed and opened. The volumes on the table were stacked like a pile of fresh pancakes.