Night Life

“Anything? Have you noticed that this age of viruses and communal distancing is making our lives considerably more difficult. They used to leave, if not entire meals, crumbs at least. But now, nothing. I don’t see how we can continue to stay here if things don’t change.”

“You may be right, but need I remind you; we are just a link in the chain of Scotts that have inhabited this building for the past 100 years. If you remember correctly, it was here almost sixty generations ago that Billibond Jeffries learned to read. It has all been good from that time on. We had no concept of being able to relay ones accrued experiences to another other than by verbal communication until that fateful time. And you must remember what was said about the story telling before that, and how that went.

 Now that we have taught ourselves to read, the world is not only more understandable, but far less dangerous. No, we mustn’t forget the majesty of this place and what it has done for our clan.”

“You are right of course. I didn’t mean to imply that this is not a grand institution, I just meant that food reserves are all but gone. All I can do now is think about the good old days when food was abundant, Twinkies, Ho Ho’s.”

“Aye, I remember only too well. Remember Bobby Campbell, that oversized kid who sometimes wore his shoes on the wrong feet. He’d show up here, his pockets bulging with the goodness only a grandmother could provide. And that girl Shirly, the one who used to hide those finger-like puffy things filled with that creamy stuff, in her purse. Those were the days. Do we dare to hope they will return?”

“I am afraid that it may be too late by the time they do. Even the head mistress of this place no longer eats lunch here. And she was like a Godsend when it came to oafs who couldn’t manage to eat without half of it ending up on the floor. I get light headed just thinking of those times. So what do you think we should do? Is there anything we can do?”

That is what it has been like around here, this past year. I know about depressions and recessions; the books are full of accounts of those times. But this is different. All the usual attendees have been so frightened over the past year that they are afraid to leave their homes, let alone bring forbidden fruit to our wing of the repository. They say there are nearly a million books here, some fifty thousand having to do with nothing but food. How to prepare it, how to flavor it, but it does little good, except to make us notice the lack of it. 

Adolphus just the other day, in a fit of delirium no doubt from hunger, began to eat one of the glossy pictures of a wedding cake they claimed was for the Queen of England’s eightieth birthday. I, we, had to remind him of the rules. We do not allow the marking or destruction of the foundation of our societal hopes. I think he got the hint; we took the book away and made him read about the history of the nineteen-twelve pandemic, which in turn no doubt led to the book burnings of 1914. 

Our ancient forbearers I know suffered so we could be here, and enjoy a better life. When they chanced crossing the sea, having to hide in amongst the grain sacks and pickle barrels, they too dreamed of a place where famine would not exist for their children. And for so many generations it had disappeared. But now it is back. The shortened hours, the lack of visitors, the people who were willing to break the rules so that we could unintentionally benefit from their slovenly co-ordination in finding their mouths.

I worry most about Adolphus; he has never fully appreciated the purpose of this place. The amount of knowledge stored within these walls. Now with the addition of technology there is no place in the world you can’t see or experience in one form or another. 

Just the other night I was watching this documentary someone downloaded, and forgot to turn off. It wasn’t their fault really. Someone started carrying on about someone without a mask trying to breach the guard post. Things like that used to be laughable, but now have become a mater of life and death. Fear of dying from the touch of the invisible assassin seems to be everywhere. 

I suppose I should, we should, be grateful we are not susceptible to this new disease, whatever it is. Our only regret is that it has changed the stability and sustainability of our food source. Even though we are dependent upon others to survive, it isn’t as though we don’t give back. I mean we think about giving back, and someday I’m sure we will. Evolution one must remember, takes time. Who knows, it may be us that find a solution for a good portion of the world going to sleep hungry. 

Even our homes behind the walls are beginning to suffer from the lack of care. Abraham Fish, he was the custodian here for the past ten years, nice clumsy man. I heard the desk clerk saying they were worried; Abe would not be coming back. I didn’t catch the entire story as some kid was screaming about wanting to get home so he wouldn’t miss some stupid cartoon show. The world all around him, and all he can think of is an artificial world, programmed to make him want to purchase more junk.

I guess I shouldn’t be so judgmental.  It was Greggory after all who brought candy bars to the reading circle on Mondays. He used to hide the candy bar in the sleeve of his jacket and during the story he’d pretend to cough, turn his head and take a bite of the bar, he’d let surreptitiously slide into his hand. That kid could eat more during one half hour period, than I could eat in a week.

Adolphus is young. I know he can learn to adapt, but it will take sacrifice. He isn’t going to be able to hang out in the basement by the office where the snack machines are, and expect the miracles that used to occur, continue until this famine ends. People no longer are as impatient as they once were; slapping the machine a few times, cussing at the ineptness of a better world, and then marching off into the sunset disappointed no doubt, by the lack of caloric intake. Leaving behind of course the cellophane wrapped concoctions of an ever changing world. 

I know this time too will pass. There are abandoned sandwiches and discarded candy bars on the horizon, I can feel it. But until then I guess I’ll have to do what the others are doing, hope the new custodian leaves his lunch box open.