‘Yes,' I said.
‘What’s it about?’ she said automatically like a gentle human phonograph.
‘It’s about growing flowers in hotel rooms.’
I put the water on for the coffee and sat down beside Vida who curled over and put her head on my lap, so that my lap was entirely enveloped in her watery black hair.
I could see one of her breasts. It was fantastic!
‘Now what’s this about growing flowers in hotel rooms?’ Vida said. ‘It couldn’t be that easy. What’s the real story?’
‘By candlelight,’ I said.
‘Uh-huh,’ Vida said. Even though I couldn’t see her face, I knew she was smiling. She has funny ideas about the library.
‘It’s by an old woman,’ I said. ‘She loves flowers but she doesn't have any windows in her hotel room, so she grows them by candlelight.’
‘Oh, baby.' Vida said, in that tone of voice she always uses for the library. She thinks this place is creepy and she doesn’t care for it very much.
I didn’t answer her. The coffee water was done and I took a spoonful of instant coffee and put it out in a cup.
‘Instant coffee?’ Vida said.
‘Yes,' I said. ‘I’m making it for the woman who just brought the book in. She’s very old and she walked a great distance to get here. I think she needs a cup of instant coffee.’
‘It sounds like she does. Perhaps even a little amyl nitrate for a chaser. I’m just kidding. Do you need any help? I’ll get up.’
‘No, honey,’ I said. ‘I can take care of it. Did we eat all those cookies you baked?’
‘No,’ she said. ‘The cookies are over there in that sack.’ She pointed towards the white paper bag on the table. ‘I think there are a couple of chocolate cookies left.’
‘What did you put them in the sack for?’ I said.
‘I don’t know,’ she said. ‘Why does anyone put cookies in a sack? I just did.’
Vida was resting her head on her elbow and watching me. She was unbelievable; her face, her eyes, her…
‘Strong point,’ I said.
‘Am I right?’ she said, sleepily.
‘Yup.’ I said.
I took the cup of coffee and put it on a small wooden tray, along with some canned milk and some sugar and a little plate for the cookies.
Vida had given me the tray as a present. She bought it at Cost Plus Imports and surprised me with it one day. I like surprises. ‘See you later,’ I said. ‘Go back to sleep.’
‘OK,’ and pulled the covers up over her head. Farewell, my lovely.
I took the coffee and cookies out to the old woman. She was sitting at a table with her face resting on her elbow and she was half asleep. There was an expression of dreaming on her face.
I hated to interrupt her. I know how much a dream can be worth, but, alas… ‘Hello,’ I said.
‘Oh, hello,’ she said, breaking the dream cleanly.
‘It’s time for some coffee,’ I said.
‘Oh, how nice,’ she said. ‘It’s just what I need to wake me up. I’m a little tired because I walked so far. I guess I could have waited until tomorrow and taken the bus here, but I wanted to bring the book out right away because I just finished it at midnight and I’ve been working on it for five years.
‘Five Years,’ she repeated, as if it were the name of a country where she was the President and the flowers growing by candlelight in her hotel room were her cabinet and I was the Secretary of Libraries.
‘I think I’ll register the book now,’ I said.
‘That sounds wonderful,’ she said. ‘These are delicious cookies. Did you bake them yourself?’
I thought that was a rather strange question for her to ask me. I have never been asked that question before. It startled me. It’s funny how people can catch you off guard with a question about cookies.
‘No,’ I said. ‘I didn’t bake these cookies. A friend did.’
‘Well, whoever baked them knows how to bake cookies. The chocolate tastes wonderful. So chocolatey.’
‘Good,’ I said.
Now it was time to register the book. We register all the books we receive here in our Library Contents Ledger. It is a record of all the books we get day by day, week by week, month by month, year by year. They all go into the Ledger.
We don’t use the Dewey decimal classification or any index system to keep track of our books. We record their entrance into the library in the Library Contents Ledger and then we give the book back to its author who is free to place it anywhere he wants in the library, on whatever shelf catches his fancy.
It doesn’t make any difference where a book is placed because nobody ever checks them out and nobody ever comes here to read them. This is not that kind of library. This is another kind of library.
‘I just love these cookies,’ the old woman said, finishing the last cookie. ‘Such a good chocolate flavour. You can’t buy these in a store. Did a friend bake them?’
‘Yes,’ I said. ‘A very good friend.’
‘Well, good for them. There isn’t enough of that thing going on now, if you know what I mean.’
‘Yes,’ I said. ‘Chocolate cookies are good.’
Vida baked them.
By now the old woman had finished the last drops of coffee in her cup, but she drank them again, even though they were gone. She wanted to make sure that she did not leave a drop in the cup, even to the point of drinking the last drop of coffee twice.
I could tell that she was preparing to say good-bye because she was trying to rise from her chair. I knew that she would never return again. This would be her only visit to the library.
‘It’s been so wonderful writing a book,’ she said. ‘N0w it’s done and I can return to my hotel room and my flowers. I’m very tired.’
‘Your book,’ I said, handing it to her. ‘You are free to put it anywhere you want to in the library, on any shelf you want.’
‘How exciting,’ she said.
She took her book very slowly over to a section where a lot of children are guided by a subconscious track of some kind to place their books on that shelf.
I don’t remember ever seeing anyone over fifty put a book there before, but she went right there as if guided by the hands of the children and placed her book about growing flowers by candlelight in hotel rooms in between a book about Indians (pro) and an illustrated, highly favourable tract on strawberry jam.
She was very happy as she left the library to walk very slowly back to her room in the Kit Carson Hotel and the flowers that waited for her there.
I turned out the lights in the library and took the tray back to my room. I knew the library so well that I could do it in the dark. The returning path to my room was made comfortable by thoughts of flowers, America and Vida sleeping like a photograph here in the library.
The Automobile Accident
This library came into being because of an overwhelming need and desire for such a place. There just simply had to be a library like this. That desire brought into existence this library building which isn’t very large and its permanent staffing which happens to be myself at the present time.
The library is old in the San Francisco post-earthquake yellow-brick style and is located at 3150 Sacramento Street, San Francisco, California 94115, though no books are ever accepted by mail. They must be brought in person. That is one of the foundations of this library.
Many people have worked here before me. This place has a fairly rapid turnover. I believe I am the thirty-fifth or thirty-sixth librarian. I got the job because I was the only person who could fulfil the requirements and I was available.
I am thirty-one years old and never had any formal library training. I have had a different kind of training which is quite compatible with the running of this library. I have an understanding of people and I love what I am doing.