What Librarians Do With their Summers

Every summer —and sometimes over Winter and Spring Break— it was the same story. Sonya’s mother and sister would pack their bags and head off to someplace no-one had ever heard of before. Least summer it had been Lahore. The summer before it had been Kodiak Island. This summer they were, quite literally, headed to Timbuktu. Like IRL. And every trip went more or less the same. They almost always stayed with “friends,” of which Sonya’s mother seemed to have an endless supply, though none of them were ever people she had heard her mom mention before and none of them seemed to be people she knew really, really well. And even if they didn’t stay with a “friend,” there was always someone who they met early on and who ended up caring for Sonya and her sister and showing them around while her mother went on what always ended up to be incredibly long spa sessions or took a cooking course the girls couldn’t be a part of because the new dishes she was learning to cook were supposed to be a surprise or, increasingly, for a stay at a monastery or convent to learn some new meditation technique. Except that she never came back looking the least bit rested. That came afterwards, on the second or third stop of their vacation, when she spent literally all her time with Sonya and her sisters and gradually went from being on the verge of a nervous breakdown to totally in love with life again. Thankfully the “friends” Sonya and her sister stayed with were always super fun and interesting. They saw incredible things and had great adventures and had tuns of free time as well.

It had been this way since Sonya’s father had died when she was eight. I had worked for the government and was away on business and was killed, she was told, in an automobile accident. Now Sonya was 17 and her sister Eliana 19 and while they still remembered him those memories were becoming more and more distant. Their mom worked for the government too, but she didn’t travel much on business. She was a librarian in the paleography section at the Library of Congress and only went on one business trip each year, to the Academy of Paleographic Librarians. And Sonya and her sister never got to go on those trips, which was alright since they were always to boring places like Boston or LA. 

Sonya and Eliana were both really close to their mom. It was, after all, just the three of them after her father died. And their mother’s interests had rubbed off on them, albeit in different ways. Eliana was in her first year at the School of Oriental and African Studies at the University of London and had already mastered Arabic, Amhara, Coptic, Bambara, and Koyra Chini. She was likely to become a paleographer like her mother. Sonya, on the other hand, was more the one to search out mysterious manuscripts than to decipher them and had, now on the eve of her final year at Sidwell Friends, uncovered three of archeological significance at masjid right at home in DC. All of which explains why the first part of her vacation was going to suck. Eliana was going to accompany their mom on her private trip, translating for her at a library in Timbuktu while Sonya was, of all things, grounded for letting her explorations and curiosity get entirely out of hand. 

To be precise, Sonya had broken into a home —well more like a mansion— in Chevy Chase, which she had become convinced held yet another manuscript of archeological significance, and been caught and arrested along with several of her friends, who she had persuaded to assist her in the undertaking— for breaking and entering when she failed to dismantle the alarm system. She identified the target off a list of families allegedly connected to antiquities trafficking by a certain arts and crafts store. Her mother’s “friends” were able to get the family not to press charges on condition that she be “properly disciplined” at home, and also perform several weeks of community service when she returned from her trip. Her mother rarely punished either of the girls and was certainly not going to administer the sort of discipline which the family in question had recommended to her. But she had to do something, both to ensure that the deal to not file charges did not fall through and because, frankly, Sonya’s explorations, much as she appreciated the driving curiosity behind them, were getting out of hand. 

And so while Eliana and her mother went directly on to Timbuktu, Sonya would stay back in Bamako with a family “friend” for a week, during which she would be on a very short leash indeed. Then, after a week the friend would bring her up to Timbuktu for the rest of their stay. 

Still in the throws of adolescent rebellion though she might be, it was hard for Sonya to deny that she had screwed up. And being grounded for a week was hardly a particularly severe punishment for what was, technically a felony. Her friend and closest confidante, Akili, who she told about her situation with great embarrassment, had reminded her that she was benefiting from white privilege. 

“If it were one of my brothers,” she said, “there is a good chance the cops would have just shot him dead. So no, I don’t feel sorry for you and I hope that the embarrassment and frustration teach you a lesson.”

The “friend”in Bamako was a woman quite a bit younger than her mother, who was 42. Her name was Xuan Xue, she was of Chinese descent, and was on her first assignment as a cultural attaché. She lived in the embassy compound, so there were gates and guards which would make it very difficult for Sonya to … escape or anything. But the night they arrived her mother spend a good half hour reminding her of the rules to which she was subject. She was to spend at least two hours a day working on an essay exploring the reasons for her … misbehavior … and was to be allowed to leave the compound only with Xue or an other embassy official. But she also overheard her mother telling Xue not to be too hard on her …

***

The first few days of her punishment were hard. She couldn’t get her mind off where she wasn’t and working on her punishment essay made her think hard about what she had done. Part of her wanted to just lash out and argue that what she did was not only alright, but praiseworthy, because if no one did this people would just traffic in antiquities with impunity. But while the manuscripts probably did belong in a museum rather than in some rich family’s sealed vault, it turned out that they had not been illegally acquired. And how would she feel if someone, knowing her family’s interests, broke into their house at night searching for trafficked antiquities. 

Xue, however, was wonderful. She sat with Sonya for hours listening to her raging emotions and sharing stories of her own … misadventures … when she was younger —and some when she was not so young. And their outings, while limited enough that Sonya couldn’t every really forget that she was being punished, were amazing. In addition to the National Museum and the Zoo they wandered through open markets selling everything imaginable (which is where Sonya would have gone alone if she was not being punished) and tasted nearly every West African delicacy imaginable. Xue even took her out to hear a performances by Fatoumata Diwara and Oumou Sangare. 

Then one morning after she had already left for the office, and Sonya was taking a “bio-break” from working on her essay, she heard the apartment door open and Xue calling her name. 

“I will be a few minutes,” she answered.

When she emerged from the bathroom Xue was sitting on the sofa looking very nervous. An older woman, presumably another embassy official, was sitting net to her. 

“Sonya, this is Elizabeth. She is our Political Counselor. She has some … difficult news … for you.” Then Xue broke down crying. 

“Sonya, there is no easy way to say this, but your mother and sister have been taken prisoner.”

“Taken prisoner? For what? She is a librarian.”

“I would think you would know,”said Elizabeth, ”from your own … recent adventures … that library work can become controversial. In any case, the embassy is doing everything it can to secure their release and I will let you know as soon as we hear anything. In the meanwhile you are going to have to stay within the embassy compound, not as further punishment, but for your own safety. Do you understand?”

By this point Sonya was sobbing. Xue reached over to hold her and to try to comfort her. 

“I’m sure we will get them back soon. In the meanwhile Elizabeth has been kind enough to let me work from the apartment here so that you don’t have to be alone.”

“Thanks,” said Sonya. “I really appreciate it.”

Sonya spent the rest of the day locked in her room imagining the worst. Eventually she fell asleep. When she woke up it was dark and Xue was knocking on her door.

“Would you like some dinner? I made some congee. I know that when I am feeling down I sometimes need something simple and comforting.”

“Thanks. I will give it a try.” 

The congee was not exactly simple. It had been prepared with pork belly and while bland itself, it was served with preserved vegetables and fermented eggs and soy sauce and sesame oil.

“Its really good, thank you,” said Sonya, not really knowing what else to say. 

They sat in silence for a long time. Then Xue got up to use the bathroom, leaving her phone sitting on the kitchen table. Not long after Xue had gotten up, a notification came in. Sonya could not resist looking at it. Perhaps it had to do with her mother?

What she saw left her absolutely stunned. It was headline from a local newspaper:

Un officier du renseignement américain se faisant passer pour un paléographe arrêté dans le meurtre d'un responsable de Tombouctou soupçonné de liens avec Al-Qaïda. Fille tenue pour complice.

Then she heard Xue calling her.

“Sonya, was that my phone? Could you bring it to me.”

Sonya took the phone and approached the bathroom. Xue had put the door slightly ajar so she could hand it in. Sonya flung it wide open and, staring right at Xue, held the headline up for her to see.

“You have lied to me. You have all lied. Then she ran out of the apartment, taking the phone with her. 

***

It took embassy security more than five hours to find her —or rather to happen on to her by accident. She had holed up in a rarely used men’s toilet in the basement of the building which housed the antiquities section. The janitor who found her tried to coax her out but she decked him and tried to run. It took five guards and Elizabeth’s promise of “the whole truth and nothing but the truth” to restrain her and then get her calm enough to return to the apartment. Once they got her there there were lots of calls back and forth which, she assumed correctly, had to do with getting permission to come clean with her. 

“The girl already knows the basics already. Everyone in Mali does. And she is going to figure out the rest sooner rather than later. If we tell her we might be able to prevent her from breaking any federal laws or, worse still, being recruited by interests …. Hostile to our own.”

It was Elizabeth, obviously trying to convince someone still higher up, that it was best for them to come clean. 

“Yes, I understand,” she said. “We will have to keep the girl here for now anyway. I am guessing that her relationship with Xue has been damaged, but they seemed to be getting on quite well. I am sure that it can be repaired … Yes, OK.”

Elizabeth hung up and motioned for Xue to join her in the other room. They chatted quietly for a few minutes and then called for Sonya to join them.

“So? What? My mom’s a spy? I have to confess that I always wondered if she was doing something more … than she let on.”

“She is not a … spy … exactly, though she is an Intelligence Operations Officer,” Elizabeth began. “She belongs to the Special Activities Division, which handles certain very delicate matters.”

“Delicate as in … assassinations?”

“We don’t all them that anymore,” said Xue, “though I won’t be offended if you call bullshit. We call them extra-judicial killings. There are some people who we … can’t stop from doing … horrible things …. Any other way.”

The irony did not escape Sonya, who had gotten in pretty serious trouble for trying to her own “extrajudicial” antiquities repatriation operation. But they had, almost certainly kept their end of the deal and come clean with her, so her mood softened. 

“Do you have any idea when or even if you will be able to get my mom and my sister back?” She asked.

“No,” said Xue. “It is my understanding that you don’t have any really close family left back in the states, so if you would like you an stay here with me and finish your studies at the embassy school, while we try to … negotiate … their release.” 

“I would like that. I’m sorry I … barged in on you … and then … ran …. And for sneaking a look at your phone in the first place.”

“Thanks,” said Xue. “I accept your apology and certainly understand the … unusual circumstances, especially after you took that first step. But I do need for you to promise to respect our security protocols, and I am going to add the incident to the topics you are to cover in your … essay.”

“That sounds fair,” said Sonya. “I’m starving.”

***

It was early December when Sonya, returning late from class, walked into the apartment she was sharing with Xue to find her mother and sister sitting on the couch. She nearly fell over herself rushing to embrace them. The three held each other for what seemed like an eternity. Then Sonya stepped back, crossing her arms across her chest, and said:

“Now, as for your punishment ….” And they all embraced again, laughing.