The hand of the tiny clock reached 12 and it screamed loud enough for the lanky man to stir. His wooden bed, a bit short for him, just like his thin blanket, shrieked as he moved. He raised his weary hand and searched for the round item on the table lamp. His hand found the fine-toothed comb first and missed an inch while trying to return it. It fell to his left worn out slipper on the scruffy floor and he peaked from his bed to see what happened. He got a better sight of his son's gift for his 51st birthday, 29 years ago, and took it. The clock with a couple of tapes on showed 6:15 am. He yawned and got up after resetting the alarm and picking his thick glasses. As usual, the clock fell on its back just as he made his fourth step to the kitchen due to its missing leg.
The kitchen is just a few breaths away from his bed, all squeezed in a room that smells of soil and morning grass. The man's glasses moved closer to his small eyes as it rolled from his wide nose, while he was reaching the top cupboard for some bread. With a thick layer of strawberry jam from the village's farm, he enjoyed his breakfast. The dampness of the rocking chair, beside the only window in the room, welcomed him as he sat. Silence covered the room again but was shortly interrupted when the bell chimed.
He headed to the door with his mouth still busy with the second bite he had, the rest of the bun clinging on to his right hand. He walked out from the room and entered the rectangular library. His room rests with one of the shorter walls. From his view, he can see the first reading section, its five towering wooden shelves and two long tables illuminated by the giant glass windows on both sides of the wall. He trailed his left hand in the front desk as he walked and opened the door.
He looked down to his right and was not disappointed to see a cold bottle of milk and the newspaper for the day. The nippy weather that greeted that morning, like any other, reminded him of the comfort that made him stay in this village his entire life. There haven't been many changes since then, just more people. Everything would still be covered by mists just before sunrise, would still be serenaded by native birds throughout the day, and would still be awed by the sunset. But he did notice that very few people use the carriages now than before.
The wooden floor sang as he took each unhurried step. He reached his room and let out a sigh as he shut the broken door. After removing his hand from the knob, the door swung back and made a small gap again. Meanwhile, in the second reading section, separated from the first by another set of tables and chairs, a quarter-inch thin book with timeworn pages entitled 'Where Cats Came From' was climbing the fourth row of the fourth shelf.
"Excuse me - oops - sorry - coming through - thank you." She mumbled as numerous books complained.
"Nice record Miss Knots." She added, as she passed by 'Knottling's Weekly Mishaps', a simple printed pocketbook composed of the nearby capital's folktales. She was read for 32 straight days excluding Sundays. The passing book finally managed to squeeze herself between the left and right rows facing the third and fifth shelves.
"Are you alright?" asked the tall, pale gray, thick book with a male child-like voice.
"Oh. Hi. Yes, I am." She replied.
"Why are you there?" the book asked and caused a small laugh from around.
"You're new, are you?"
"How did you know?"
"Well, you asked me why I am here. Only the new ones would ask that."
"Oh, sorry. I - "
"No, no. Don't get me wrong. I mean - "
"She's a trespasser. That's who she is." A voice from a distant shelf said and another controlled laugh erupted. The book didn't reply and focused on being comfy on her space.
"I don't understand. Shouldn't you be lining up with us? No one will see you nor read you if you're there."
"Because I'm not supposed to be here. At least that's what they say. I don't believe it. I know Mr. Basil. I used to be - "
"His favourite book." The 'Introduction to Biology' textbook beside the newbie finished.
"Don't believe any word from her. She's a liar." Another textbook by a different author, with a half human body on its cover, added.
"No, I'm not."
"Oh yeah? Then why did Mr. Basil got mad when he saw you? Why did he throw you back to the restricted section?" A neighbouring book argued and didn't receive a reply, for the book in question already left.
"See?"
"What's a restricted section?" the newbie asked.
"Huh, you never heard of it?" the 'Introduction to Biology' book asked. More and more books from the same shelf were secretly listening to the conversation.
"Where are you from anyway?" the second text book asked.
"Um, I'm not really sure mister…"
"Ogie. No mister, just Ogie. The one on your right is Bio. He's not motivated with names." Replied Ogie with disappointment.
"And I'm Carol. So, who donated you?" said the other neighbour with 'Advanced Chemistry' on her cover.
"Um, I'm not sure if I was donated. I had an owner before. They transferred to a new home. I was supposed to be there, but last night, when the box opened, I saw an old man's face and here I am."
"That would be Mr. Basil." She replied.
"Son, let me translate to you what just happened. You've been - " Ogie started with a menacing smile.
"Ogie!" Countless of books yelled at once.
"What's your name?" asked Carol with a smile, trying to change the subject.
"Momo." He smiled back.
"And your genre?"
Momo showed a confused look again, so Carol decided to help. "Come on guys, move. I'll read his cover." She ordered and the nearby books like Ogie followed. She tried squeezing herself in but failed and told Ogie to read instead. He began reading Momo's title out loud at first but was confused midway. He read to himself instead until he finished. He shushed the impatient Carol on his side and read it again for the second time. On his third try, he read it out loud, "Clarinet Classic Music Sheets Grand Collection."
Gasps echoed. The book 'Where Cats came from', who was halfway through the top row of the same shelf, stopped. One history book from the first section tried to move as much as he can to find the source of the trivial conversation. He has a moustached man dressed in heavy garment on his cover. He tried to take the man's binoculars, but the man resisted and drew out his sword. The book flicked it and made a face.
"Is something wrong?" Momo asked.
"No. Nothing. It's just that you're the first of your kind here." Carol replied.
"Really?"
"Yeah. Which intrigues me, may I see your pages?" She asked with sparkling eyes.
Before Momo could reply, Mr. Basil's door turned fully open, and they became quiet. Gone were his thick, panda-printed pyjamas. Now, he's wearing his usual clothes that comes with; black sandals, showing his untidy nails; mahogany brown pants that he used from Monday until yesterday; dark blue shirt, decorated with dried toothpaste; a dark grey jacket with broken zipper; and an oversized black coat covering a few inches above his knees.
He checked the wall clock in the front desk which showed 7:00 am. He then replaced yesterday's newspaper with today's. He threw the old one in a box beside the used computer set donated three weeks ago, which his seven years old grandson seem to understand better than him. He's unsure if it still works but given that nobody really uses it; he didn't bother himself.
He randomly cleaned several items and swept some areas starting from the front desk. He steadily climbed and checked each of the five detachable ladders and dusted the bookshelves before heading to the walls. Three glass windows extend up to the high ceiling on both sides of the library's long walls and crowd in the middle of the building. Mr. Basil decided that only when the lamps and daylight wouldn't suffice, will he use electricity.
Despite his tall stature, almost half of his body can be seen from the outside, wiping each window's surface that's within his reach. When he was satisfied, he returned the broom and rug to the bin and took a match, some newspapers, and a pile of wood. He loaded each of the three furnaces in the library and lit them, casually scratching his balding head as he opens and closes each lid cover.
These furnaces were donated, back when the library just opened fifty years ago, by his merchant friend, who died last year. Its exhaust, towers over the library just like the rest of the village's buildings. A covered pail of water can be found near each furnace. The first furnace was near the entrance, the second was between the two tables of the second reading area, and the last one was at the far left of the room, also known as the restricted section. This room, found inside the other short wall of the library, has no window and has a low ceiling. Its upper half is an open area with few more bookshelves and can be accessed using the spiral staircase on the right.
After Mr. Basil's routine, he switched the 'closed' sign in the front door into 'open'. He returned to the front desk and started his inquiry to the newspaper. As the clock struck 8:00, Mr. Basil's library opened. Adding one more to his collection of a usual day.
"Say Momo," Carol whispered.
"Yes?"
"What it's like to be a music sheet?"
"And why are you here in the textbook section?" she added before Momo could reply.
"Well, I guide people on how to play a song. Since my forte is clarinet, I show them the notes, so they'll know which hole to press. They have to learn how to read my language first of course. As for your second question, I have no idea."
"So, you have a different language inside you? You're like the guys over there?" Ogie joined in the conversation and was talking about the English-Dutch and other pocketbooks in the left window shelves.
"Ah no. I have notes and bars and symbols. Each of them has different meanings."
"Awesome." They chorused. Bio tried to get Ogie's attention with his hand and began mouthing the phrase 'What is a clarinet?'. He kept on staring at Momo and made sure he wasn't looking. Ogie opened his mouth, but the bell chimed again, and they stopped their whispers. Footsteps entered the library. Some heavier than others. Some hurried. Several voices blended in. Momo moved forward to peak but decided not to risk it.
"Don't worry kid, they're the regulars. They have their own places here. It's the visiting folks that you should worry about. Most of them wander around because they don't have a certain destination in mind." The thick book entitled 'Geometry' with a printed 'complimentary copy' on its edge from the third shelf said.
"Yeah. Even if we can't see the first reading corner from here. I can tell you, the little girl with a purple head band is Julie. She answers one of Mia's puzzles, the book over there, every Saturday and holidays, shows it off to Mr. Basil, then goes home." The green book entitled 'Advanced Calculus' added.
"That's Getty and Ced, they arrived here two years earlier than me." Bio identified.
"Oh. Hello Ms. Getty and Mr. Ced."
"You can drop the Miss, Momo." Getty winked.
"Look, it's the good-looking kid." Ced identified the kid who came out from the fifth shelf.
"Nice kid. Quiet. Smart. We think he's a year older than Julie or two. He's a regular you know, but we still don't know his name." Getty described.
"Sometimes we fool around and shout any boy names we can think of." Ced added.
"Never been successful. What do you think his name is?" Getty asked.
"Have you tried just shouting hey?"
"More than I can count. Didn't work." Ced bragged.
"Perhaps he's deaf. Or maybe, just maybe, he has a girl name? And what's a regular?"
Momo replied and the surrounding books tried their best to suppress their laughs as the boy passed by carrying an 'Introduction to Chemistry'book.
"A regular visitor. I really hope he will read me next. He's nine chapters away." Carol whispered fast.
"Anyway, let us introduce you to the other regulars." Getty started. "There are nine of them. You heard about the first and you saw the second. The third and fourth are best of friends, the clean cut is Hugo and the heavier one is William. High school students. They both like fiction books so they spend most of their time in the first reading corner."
"And then there's Nina. She always comes here with an umbrella every Monday before sunset. Must be skipping afternoon class, that young girl. But since the school ended last week. I think she'll frequent here more. Later in the afternoon, you'll see the Junior and Senior Felippe, they look the same." Ced added.
"And if Ms. Zach stick to her usual schedule. She should be here by 10:30. She lives with her routine. She always sits on the second chair from the left on our reading corner. The last one would be Mr. Pax, he's the only living friend that Mr. Basil has. If we don't count his family. He visits every Wednesday, riding his good old bicycle, and eats lunch with Mr. Basil. He works at the biggest of the three strawberry farms and lives close to the Basil's house." Getty finished.
"Wow, you guys really know them well. You must have a long history here."
"Been donated here for quite a long time."
"Donated by whom?"
"Government. Other schools. Organizations. People. You know the Ilkrook School near the river? They're the priority, we're the leftovers. That's why most of us are solo or dual copies, but there are few with many duplicates." Ced answered.
"Do you know everyone here?"
"Most but not all of them. There are five shelves in each corner. In the first group, the line-up is this: Children's, Non-fiction, and religious, the remaining three shelves are fiction. In the second, that's us. We're pretty random. There are cookbooks, this new thing called 'computer', branches of science and math, like me, literature, law, business, health, history, and philosophy." Ced explained.
"The books that came before us, said that Mr. Basil used to organize everything. That he even comes up with games. That every borrowed book was closely monitored and checked. That he's sociable. Now, it's so much different. After his wife died, he changed. It's William and Hugo who tidy us sometimes, the old man doesn't seem to mind." Getty said.
"How did his wife die?"
"Heart failure." There was a short silence until Ced continued, "Anyway, the small cabinets below the left windows are language dictionary pocketbooks, few encyclopaedia and almanac, compilation books, and some mixed up pamphlets and notebooks. On your right, magazines and old calendars. Oh, and there are damaged calculators and staplers at the back. Dictionaries are on the small shelf near the stairs.
The entire classic and some research papers are upstairs. Same for the Ilkrook map."
"But, I don't understand. If there's a library at school, why is there a separate library here?"
"Not everyone can afford to go to school, you know. And it's far from here. Some adults haven't been to as well. I heard Mr. Basil didn't go to college. He worked in the strawberry farm until he had ample donations and savings to build this." Getty replied.
"I see, but don't you miss them?"
"Who?" Ced asked.
"The one who donated you."
"It depends on who you ask. Some like their previous owners. Me and most of the textbooks who came from bigger libraries, don't mind. But there are others who like it here better." Getty explained.
The light of day passed by just like the visitors in the library. Apart from the familiar faces, three more persons visited in the morning. Indeed, Junior and Senior Felippe arrived in the afternoon, as well as five others. Mr. Basil added more firewood to each heater twice that day. Some kids received a reprimand from Ms. Zach for running down the staircase. And as 6:00 pm came close, the library began to vacate again.
"Say Ogie, should that number of visitors be my expectation every day?"
"That's about it during Saturdays. During weekdays however, you can narrow it down to two or nothing." Ogie replied.
"Time has changed, there are fewer visitors today than before. I heard this computer thing is cool and interesting, so people visit us less. Saturday used to be a busy day for us. Now, we can talk even if the library's open." Bio added.
"Don't be so dramatic. There's a feast, surely the people are busy preparing." Ogie argued.
"What feast?"
"The Ilkrook village day. It's a celebration. People would be dancing and singing. Dairy and strawberry products everywhere. Decorations all around. Games and activities. People from nearby villages and from big cities, even, would come. It is a great chance to encourage people to live or do business here. You see, our village is small and remote. Mr. Basil must be having a difficult time getting dona - "
"Stop it Ogie, it's not the festival. You know it." Bio snapped.
"Listen Momo, 40 years ago a terrible accident happened he - " Bio continued, but stopped when they heard two female voices, who seemed to be arguing, near the end of the fourth shelf in the first reading corner.
"No they didn't, because he died." Said the higher pitched voice.
"He didn't. I just read it, they got together." Said the other.
"I've read that book twice Nikki. The boy died in the end!"
"Oh yeah? Then you must have read it wrong because it says here, 'Adman pushed the luggage cart and Leslie followed holding a small hand'."
The girl with braided hair took the slight shabby novel and read the last page and frowned. She rummaged the shelf, and after a while, found another copy, which was in a better condition. The girl took it, sat on the second section, and read the last chapter again.
"See? Adman died." The braided girl, Paula, raised the book for her friend, who's standing behind her, to see.
"What?" The other girl sat beside her in disbelief, and they scrutinized the books cover to cover. They went to the front desk and shoot their heads up to accommodate Mr. Basil's height.
"Mr. Basil, I think there's something wrong with these books. The last chapters are different. And the epilogues." Said the girl with a too steady hair bangs.
Mr. Basil's tired eyes blinked with interest for the first time that week. He took the books and flipped the pages to see the last chapters. Before he could talk to the expectant kids, the bell chimed again, and he was beyond happy to see the faces that showed up. It was his 39-years old son Charlie, with his daughter-in-law, Sam, and his grandson, Luigi.
"I'll check the books and tell you on Monday." Mr. Basil said. He pointed to the clock which showed 6:00pm and ushered the kids to go home. He stood and knelt to hug his running grandson, who has a fresh band aid on his left knee.
"But we won't be here on Monday." The braided girl reasoned.
"Saturday." The old man replied with his grandson on his arm. The tip of his white hair being the only visible from the girls' view. The girls left with disgruntled faces.
"You know why we're here father." Sam said with a smile, making her well-chiselled face all the more beautiful.
Ever since Charlie and Sam got married, Sam has been convincing her father-in-law to stay with them. She can't just let him live in that nearly dilapidated library, as opposed to her husband who's not an inch concerned about his father. Mr. Basil, however, always decline Sam's invitation. So, two years ago, Sam came up with a non-negotiable bargain, that on the week of the village's feast he will live with them.
Mr. Basil headed to his room to pack and get his bag as a sign of surrender, while Sam began tidying the front desk. She instructed the boys to clean up while waiting. Luigi arranged the chairs in the two sections and, after a few rounds of running up and down the stairs, he stayed behind his father and observed him clean the last furnace.
"What was that earlier about father?" Sam asked as the four of them left.
"Nothing." Mr. Basil replied, as he placed the empty milk bottle on the ground, locked the door, and turned the sign into 'Close'. Luigi, on his side, looked up anticipating for more.
"Kids think their books have different endings." He added while patting Luigi's head.
"Huh? Is that possible Grandpa?"
"Of course not."