Vanja followed him to the poetry section. The librarian ran his finger along the shelf. Between the books were gaps that Vanja hadn’t seen before. She peered around the room. In some of the bookcases, whole sections gaped empty. The librarian handed Vanja a small volume. The cover was stamped ABOUT PLANT HOUSE 7.
“Thank you,” Vanja said. “Have people been borrowing a lot recently?” she added, and waved her book at the shelves around them.
The librarian cleared his throat again. “No.” He walked over to his desk and picked up the topmost book, which he leafed through without really looking. “I’m culling.” He put the book back down, took his glasses off, and pressed his palms against his eyes.
Vanja stood very still by the poetry bookcase. It wasn’t proper to barge into other people’s private affairs. But the fact that he was alone in the library on a Sevenday, with tears running down his face… The librarian let out a long breath and sniffled.
“Are you all right?” Vanja finally asked.
The librarian drew a shaky breath. “I’m culling.” It came out as a whimper.
He breathed in and out a few times, then rummaged through one of his pockets, pulled out a wrinkled handkerchief, and wiped his face and beard. Then he blew his nose and put his glasses back on. “I’m culling.” This time, his voice was steady; only the tears in his eyes betrayed him. “The committee has ordered me to remove half of the books here,” he continued. “Anything not… essential… is to be destroyed and recycled. Because the committee needs good paper.”
Vanja frowned. “What for?”
“I don’t know!” The librarian waved his arm at the bookcases. “These books are going to disappear forever so the committee can have… forms or special paper to wipe their fat arses with.” He drew a shaky breath. “And I have to decide which ones to destroy. And they won’t be replaced, do you understand? They’ll never come back. Ever.” New tears trickled down his cheeks. “Everything that’s just… useless entertainment. Everything that only exists to make you feel good. It has to go.”
“That’s horrible,” Vanja said. Speaking the words aloud sent little shocks through her body.
The librarian stopped himself and slapped his forehead. “But what am I saying? I didn’t mean anything by it. You understand that, don’t you? That I didn’t mean anything by it. Of course the committee’s decision is for the good of the commune. You know that, right? I was just upset. Could we leave it at that? I didn’t mean what I said. Okay?”
“But I agreed with you.”
They looked at each other in silence. “So you did,” the librarian said slowly.
Vanja’s back was itching, as though someone was standing behind her. She looked over her shoulder. Nobody there, of course. But someone could be, at any moment. “I have to go,” she said, and held out her hand. “Brilars’ Vanja Essre Two.”
The librarian took her hand and shook it firmly. “Samins’ Evgen.”
“We talked about books today.”
Evgen gave her a sudden smile. “If you want to talk about books again, I’ll be here.”
Back in the street, Vanja shoved her hands into her pockets. About Plant House 7 was in the left one. She’d forgotten to register the loan. It would have to wait. A strange energy was running through her. What if someone had overheard them? She reminded herself to breathe.
The double doors of Leisure Center Two were wide open. Music and voices spilled out into the street. Inside, citizens were divided into groups, engaged in fun activites. It was a packed full-day program: sack racing, three-legged racing, ring tossing, ball games, dancing. The sound of an old dancing tune could be heard now: The farmer stands like so, watch her walk and watch her sow.
Soon, it would be time for the communal evening meal. Children without active parents would be seated among the other households. Everyone would stand up and sing “The Pioneer Song.” Then they would sit down to eat. The children would tell everyone what they’d learned at the children’s house during the week. Their elders would listen and praise them for their diligence.
Vanja stepped inside and gave the clerk by the entrance her name and designation. She continued into the main hall without bothering to hang her anorak up in the coatroom. The hall was long and narrow; high above, square windows close to the ceiling let in the last gray light of evening. Below each window hung posters adorned with quotes and words of wisdom from the Heroes. The long tables in the back of the hall were already set with plates and utensils. Cooking smells spread all the way from the kitchen doors by the stage at the other end of the room. In the space between the stage and the tables, children danced in a ring. Their parents stood around them, clapping a rhythm on their thighs. Vanja found a seat as far back among the tables as possible. She glimpsed Nina and Ivar, playing awkwardly with their daughters in the crowd. She sat still and let the cacophony wash over her until it was late enough to make absconding acceptable.
At home, it was as Vanja fumbled for the light switch that her foot landed in something with a wet noise. The sound traveled up her leg as a cold shock. She forced herself to lift her foot very slowly and then turned the light on.
It was the suitcase. It had been out of sight under the bed, and she hadn’t marked it for several days. It had been so worn, the text on the lid almost erased. She should have scrapped it. Now it was too late. The whitish gloop it had dissolved into had spread across nearly half the floor. It stuck to the sole of her boot. Nothing but her boot between her and that substance. She didn’t know what would happen if she touched it, but it would spread to other objects if she didn’t act fast. Vanja struggled to untie her laces and kicked the boot away. She rushed down the stairs and collided with Nina in the coatroom. She grabbed Nina’s shoulders to stay upright, sending her stumbling backward into the front door.
“What? What is it?” Nina shouted.
“Don’t go upstairs, don’t go upstairs.” Vanja’s heart beat out syncopes against her rib cage. “There’s gloop on the floor.”
Nina exhaled slowly through her nose. “You stay here. I’ll get a cleaner.”
Vanja sat down on the stairs. Ivar came in; he was alone. He glanced at her and then up the stairs. Vanja shook her head, and Ivar pressed his lips together. He went into the kitchen.
Nina came back with two cleaners in yellow overalls in tow. They carried shovels and boxes. She ushered Vanja into the kitchen so the cleaners could pass.
Nina motioned for Vanja to sit down next to Ivar. She poured her a cup of cold coffee.
“Are the girls at the children’s house?” Vanja said, just to fill the silence.
“We have to make sure we mark things here,” Nina said.
Vanja looked into her cup. “It was an old suitcase.”
Nina snorted. “Then you should have had the sense to scrap it.”
“I’m sorry. I didn’t think it would happen so quickly.”
“Maybe it’s different in Essre,” Ivar said. “Maybe you can afford to be a little careless there. Because there are more of you, I mean. More people who can mark things.”
“That doesn’t work here,” Nina filled in.
“I get it,” Vanja said. “Please, forgive me.” She pulled her unshod foot into her lap and warmed it between her hands.
They sat in silence, nursing their cups. The cleaners walked up and down the stairs several times. Creaking and scraping noises could be heard from the second floor. Eventually one of the cleaners came into the kitchen. Her face was sweaty.
“We’re done,” she said. “It had barely spread at all.”