Scar Island(24)
“Ah. Hamlet. A play, that is. By Shakespeare, of course. A good one. Dark. A prince. A ghost. A murder in a castle. And poor Ophelia. Hamlet loved her. But he thought it was his fault. Her dying.” The librarian sighed. “To be. Or not. To be.”
Jonathan pursed his lips and kept walking. He suddenly didn’t feel like any book at all. He felt like being back where all the grown-ups were dead.
“I’ve gotta go. Thanks.”
“But ye’ve got no book!”
“It’s all right. I don’t need one.”
The librarian gave him a long, steady look. “We want you to. Take a book. Don’t worry about the Admiral. And his rules. These books are for reading.”
Jonathan’s mind raced. The old librarian didn’t know about the Admiral. About the lightning.
“Are you always here, just — by yourself?”
The librarian smiled his fleeting smile again. “Oh, yes. Yes. We are always alone. We don’t like them. The Admiral. The others. And they don’t like us.”
“When’s the—last time you saw them?”
The old man shrugged and looked away, scanning the shelves. “Don’t know. Three. Four, maybe.”
“Four days? Without seeing anyone?”
The librarian smiled a wide, staying smile. He looked up at Jonathan in his strange, sideways way.
“No, no. Four years. Four years without seeing. Anyone. At least.”
Jonathan’s mouth dropped open.
“What … how … don’t you get—lonely?”
The man cackled a dry, coughing laugh. “No. We have our books. We have our stories.”
“What do you eat? I mean … how do you get food?”
“We go down. In the very dark middle of the night. And we bring back. What we need. The Admiral leaves us alone. And we leave him alone.”
“Oh. Okay.”
The librarian pulled a book from the shelf and pressed it into Jonathan’s hands.
“Here. Start. With this one.”
Jonathan looked down. The book was thick, with a red, pictureless cover. In plain gold script on the cover was the title: Robinson Crusoe.
“It’s about getting stuck. On an island.” The librarian winked at him. “With bloodthirsty natives.”
“Uh. Thanks.”
The old man just nodded.
As they walked back toward the door, the man stooped down to pick up a large cat off a chair. He held it in one arm and stroked it with his other.
“Read it. Bring it back. When you’re done. And then you can have another. Book.” He patted Jonathan on the shoulder and left his wrinkled hand resting there. “We’ll be here.”
“Okay. You and your cat?”
“No. Me and Ninety-Nine, here.” The old man smiled and held the cat out toward him.
“Right,” Jonathan said, reaching out to pet the cat. “You and your c—” Jonathan gasped and jerked his hand back. The animal he’d been reaching out to pet was not a cat at all. It was a rat. A beady-eyed, pink-tailed, black-coated rat that was bigger than most cats he’d seen. Its eyes glittered up at him above two huge top front teeth that poked sharply out of its mouth.
“God! It’s a rat! It’s huge!”
The librarian laughed, a deeper laugh than before. His eyes closed when he laughed.
“Yes. Yes,” he giggled and stroked the rat gently from its head to its naked, ringed tail. “My big, beautiful boy. Ninety-Nine. Is his name.”
“That’s the biggest rat I’ve ever seen. By a long shot.” Jonathan was backing toward the door.
The librarian giggled again and nodded. “Yes. Very big. Years and years. It took me. A lifetime. Always bigger.” The monstrous rat leaned back into the librarian’s scratching fingers.
“You … made him that big? How?”
“Oh, time. Patience. Attention. Years. I found the very biggest. Rats. One boy. One girl. And I put them together.” The rat’s tail curled lovingly around his arm. “I let the babies grow. Just a little. To find the biggest. And I let the others go. After I cut off their tails.”
“You cut off their tails?”
Another smile spread across the librarian’s lined face. “Of course. So I would know. Who they were. Brothers and sisters can’t make babies. You know. And I would find another. Big one. With a tail. And make more babies. And again. And again. So many times. So many tails. And always bigger.” A cloud passed over the old man’s face, erasing his smile. “I almost lost it all. With Seventy-Six. She wouldn’t. Have babies. Couldn’t, I was afraid.” His smile returned and the cloud lifted. “But then she did. And they were beautiful. And big.”
Goose bumps rose on Jonathan’s arms.
“You mean—this is your ninety-ninth rat?”
“Oh, no,” the man chuckled. “Much more. Than that. I just stopped. Counting. One Hundred sounds so ugly. It’s no kind of name. For a beautiful rat.”
“Oh. Right.” Jonathan put his hand on the doorknob and turned it.
“You’ll come back? To us? And another book?”
“Yeah. Sure,” he answered, opening the door to the inky blackness of the passageway.
“We hope so. How are things going? Out there?” The librarian’s white eyebrows cocked out at the darkness looming past the doorway.