The Bad Book Affair: A Mobile Library Mystery (14 page)

“What? You think there’s a connection between what she’s been reading and her disappearance?”

“Possibly,” said Linda.

“Well, that’s ridiculous,” said Israel.

“When did she last come and borrow books from the library?”

“Erm. It was—”

“Friday,” said Linda.

“Right.”

“And she went missing on Saturday.”

“Well, that’s just a coincidence,” said Israel.

“It might seem like a coincidence to you, Mr. Armstrong, but I don’t want to become the subject of a witch hunt when it’s discovered that this young lady had been borrowing unsuitable books that influenced her to—”

“People don’t just read books and then run off, Linda.”

“Oh, really? And you know that, do you?”

“Well. No. But…I mean, if I play
Grand Theft Auto
I don’t suddenly go out and start stealing cars and shooting people, do I?”

“I have no idea what effect playing
Grand Theft Auto
might have on you, Mr. Armstrong. I’m talking about this poor young lady, who has perhaps been influenced by your poor choice of recommended reading.”

“I didn’t recommend her any books,” said Israel.

“Well, what books did she borrow?”

“Last week?”

“Yes, last week!”

“I think it was…
American Pastoral
.”

“
American Pastoral
?”

“Yes,” he repeated. “It’s a book, by Philip Roth.”

“Never heard of it,” said Linda, making a note. “How do you spell Roth?”

“R. O. T. H.”

“And what sort of book is it?”

“It’s a…a great work of literature,” said Israel.

“I’m not looking for a book review, Mr. Armstrong. I mean, is it a novel, or is it nonfiction?”

“It’s a novel.”

“Right. And what sort of novel is it. Science fiction? Crime?”

“No. It’s…a great work of literature.”

“Yes, you said. ‘Literary fiction,’ then?”

Israel huffed. “You know, I don’t really agree with the term ‘literary fiction,’ which seems to me—”

“Is there anything in this book,” said Linda, “that might have prompted this young lady to disappear?”

“Well, funnily enough—” began Israel.

“I don’t think ‘funnily enough’ is quite appropriate in the circumstances, do you?” said Linda.

“No, sorry, I mean…Oddly enough, the book is about a girl who…betrays her family and runs away.”

“Oh no,” said Linda. “You are joking?”

“No. I mean it’s a very complex book, really. I haven’t read it for a while, but it has all of Roth’s, you know, zest and elaborations and erm…it’s really a sort of critique, I suppose, of the emotional bankruptcy, and the…moral idiocy, and the intellectual dishonesty—the pure badness—which—”

“All right, that’s enough, Mr. Armstrong. I’m going to be contacting the police this morning with information about this girl’s borrowing record. They may want to talk to you about it.”

“Right, well. Of course, I’d be happy to help, but I don’t think—”

“Good,” said Linda. “We’ll leave that to the police, shall we? In the meantime, I don’t think I need to remind you, Mr. Armstrong, that we do not lend bad books to impressionable young people.”

“Bad books?” said Israel. “Bad books?”

Linda glanced up at the wall clock.

“Anyway, Mr. Armstrong. This meeting was scheduled for your appraisal.”

“Yes. Of course.”

“And apart from your irresponsibility in this particular area there are a few other areas we need to look at.”

“Right.”

“So, it would probably be helpful if at the start of the appraisal I explain to you exactly what an appraisal is not.”

“Right. Yes. Fine. Go ahead.”

“An appraisal is the time we get together to look at some of things you might want to do more of, or do differently, on the Mobile Learning Resource Center.”

“The mobile library,” said Israel.

“Resource Center,” corrected Linda.

“OK,” said Israel. “Fine.”

An appraisal was not about telling Israel how to do his job. Absolutely not, said Linda. What she was interested in, she explained, were solutions, not problems. She was interested in staff development, not staff underdevelopment. And she saw her role, apparently, as helping Israel to begin to implement Quality Control in preparation for the forthcoming Quality Audit. And in order to do so we—and here she moved almost, but not quite, imperceptibly from the first person singular to the plural—we need to make sure that all of the appropriate methods of Quality Assessment are in place, which requires the setting of certain Benchmark Practices and the aligning of Assessment Conventions. She saw her role very much, she said, as assisting Israel in clarifying the threshold standards for Mobile Learning Resource Center activities, which would allow us—by which she meant Israel—to apply the necessary Quantitative Performance Indicators in order to be able to rank the Mobile Learning Center’s effectiveness and long-term viability.

Israel was gazing out of the window, thinking about Philip Roth.

“Mr. Armstrong?” said Linda. “Mr. Armstrong? MR. ARMSTRONG!”

Israel brought his attention to the room.

“Yes, Linda?”

“I have been looking at your SAQs”—Israel had had to fill in
a number of SAQs (self-assessment questionnaires) in preparation for the appraisal meeting over the past few weeks, including SAQ31, SAQ554, and SAQ8A3, detailing the time he spent on various work activities and scoring himself on a scale of Excellent / Highly Satisfactory / Satisfactory / Unsatisfactory and suggesting any “Issues” he felt he needed to address. He had ranked himself, mostly, as Satisfactory; to have ranked himself any higher would have seemed like hubris. “I see you’ve not filled in the section asking you to describe,” continued Linda, “in your own words, a typical period of UCT.”

“Erm…”

“User Contact Time—”

“Ah…”

“—And nor have you filled in the areas asking about the NIF.”

“Erm…”

“—Nature of Information Flow—”

“Ah.”

“—Or what you think are new MAK—”

“Erm…”

“—Mechanisms for Acquiring Knowledge. Or the section asking you, through description and analysis, to provide suggestions for AICS.”

“Aches?”

“Actions for Improving Customer Service.”

“Erm. Yes. Well, some of those sections I found quite difficult to…”

“Well, let’s do them now, shall we?” said Linda, handing Israel a pen.

“Sure.”

Israel quickly did his best to counterfeit some answers
based around uppercase keywords such as FACILITATION and ENABLING and WIDER PARTICIPATION, and Linda nodded and listened as Israel read them out, and then she explained that she just needed to input this information into her computer, because the Education and Library Board, in cooperation with a number of leading software manufacturers, had developed some software that would enable her to instantly recommend some improvements in his librarian practice, based on his answers.

“Great,” said Israel.

“This’ll take a few minutes,” said Linda.

“Fine.”

As Linda typed, Israel tried to remember every Philip Roth novel he’d ever read.
The Human Stain
.
Sabbath’s Theater
.
Portnoy’s Complaint
.
The Ghost Writer
.
Operation Shylock
.

“Oh,” said Linda. “And while you’re here, I almost forgot, we also need a doctor’s note from you to cover your few days’ sickness.”

“I see.”

“You need to go and see your GP and provide me with a note. For the records. Unauthorized days off would of course lead to an automatic salary reduction.”

“Right. Great.”

“Good,” said Linda. “That should do it. We’ll get a printout in just a minute.”

“Right.”

“So, finally, training needs.”

“OK,” said Israel.

“Do you have any?” said Linda.

“Any what?”

“Needs,” said Linda, stressing the
knee
in “needs.” “Anything that would assist you in carrying out your duties?”

“Erm. No, I don’t think so. Unless you count an apartment overlooking Central Park and a holiday home in the Caribbean,” said Israel.

“Don’t be facetious, Mr. Armstrong.”

“I’m not being facetious.”

“I can offer you a storytelling course,” said Linda.

“A storytelling course?”

“Yes, a lot of people have found it very helpful.” Linda began reading from a brochure. “‘Using narrative-based techniques to broaden children’s horizons, participants will learn about—’”

“Storytelling,” said Israel.

“Exactly,” said Linda.

“I don’t think so,” said Israel. “Thanks, anyway. That doesn’t really appeal to me.”

“OK,” said Linda. “Fine. Face painting.”

“Face painting?” said Israel.

“Face painting,” said Linda.

“You’re joking,” said Israel.

“I’m not joking,” said Linda.

“You’re proposing we do face painting in the library?”

“No, Mr. Armstrong. It’s a course available through the Education and Library Board, which can lead to an NVQ in children’s entertainment. And which you may find useful in your work as Learning Support Facilitator—”

“Mobile librarian.”

“
—Learning Support Facilitator
.”

“No,” said Israel.

“Fine,” said Linda. “You do realize, Mr. Armstrong, that you are required to complete a certain number of hours’ training as part of your continuing professional development?”

“Yes, but I don’t think face painting is really the kind of professional development I’m interested in, Linda. Difficult to do the…lolling tongues and—”

“Lolling tongues?”

“You know, they always have sort of lolling tongues, with face painting, don’t they?”

“What is the kind of professional development you’re interested in, Mr. Armstrong?”

“I’m not really sure,” said Israel.

“Self-defense?” said Linda.

“Self-defense?”

“‘Designed especially for the council’s public-facing staff,’” Linda began reading again, “‘this course is designed to—’”

“‘Public-facing’?”

“Yes. That’s you, Mr. Armstrong. I’m sure you must sometimes encounter…difficulties with readers.”

“Ha!” said Israel.

“I’ll take that as a yes, shall I?”

“Yeah!” said Israel. “Right. The window lickers.”

“Sorry?”

“Window lickers. We call them window lickers.”

“Please do not refer to our customers as window lickers.”

“Fine,” said Israel. “Nutters, then.”

“And do not refer to them as nutters.”

“Freaks?

“Or freaks, clearly, Mr. Armstrong. Anyway, the course is called Minimizing Risk. I shall sign you up for—”

“The only way to minimize risk is not to let anyone on the library!” said Israel.

“Clearly,” said Linda. “Computing?”

“I hate computing.”

“Health and Safety?”

“No.”

“Fire Safety?”

“No.”

“What about your PSV test?”

“No, I don’t want to do the test.”

“It’s run by the Road Transport Industry Training Board, down at Watt’s Corner.”

“No, thank you.”

At which point the laser printer concealed under Linda’s desk on a little shelf hummed awake like a tiny tiger and coughed up a sheet of paper that Linda gratefully took, glanced at, signed, and pushed across her desk for Israel to countersign. The page was titled ISRAEL ARMSTRING and contained two columns, titled AKP (Addressing Known Problems) and AICS (Actions for Improving Customer Service), that listed problems and pointed out solutions, with dotted lines at the bottom asking for Israel’s signature and the date.

Israel signed and dated. And then he signed and dated another. And another. One for Linda’s records, one for Israel, and one for the Education and Library Board. This incriminating statement of failure and intent would be kept on file for future reference, Linda explained. Israel didn’t even know he had a file.

“Good,” said Linda. “Well, I think that was very helpful, wasn’t it?”

“Very,” said Israel.

“I’ll just be ringing the police and offering any assistance we can.”

“Super,” said Israel.

“And you’ll be providing me with that doctor’s note?”

“Absolutely.”

“Immediately.”

“If not sooner.”

“Good. Well, I think that’s all.”

“Thank you, Linda.”

11

“I
srael,” said George. “I’m sorry.”

“You’re sorry?”

“Yes.”

“You’re saying sorry to me?”

“Yes. I…I’m afraid I have some bad news.”

They were in the Devines’ kitchen. Israel had been on the library all day after his appraisal meeting with Linda. After a long day, returning to the Devines’, for all its faults, felt like rejoining humanity. It was his little niche, his little place in among the Devines’ familial smells, and the mess, and the debris and decay. There was a kettle whistling on the Rayburn. The dogs. The long, placid sound of the clock. The floor, washed and scrubbed clean, and the hot, overrich
smell of cleaning products and of deep, deep grime; the smell of dishes having been recently washed. It wasn’t home, but it was the closest thing he had to home.

“Problems with the goats?” said Israel. He’d lived here so long now he couldn’t imagine worse news. And he couldn’t understand why George was saying sorry. She never said sorry. And certainly not to him. Sorry for what?

“Sorry,” she was saying again, stony-faced. She was wearing a white apron, the white apron she always wore in the kitchen.

“The chickens?” said Israel. “Pigs?” George looked down at the floor. Israel looked to old Mr. Devine, tucked up in his blanket on his seat by the Rayburn. “OK,” he said, not getting a reply, and he stroked his beard. He’d taken to stroking his beard; it gave him something to do with his hands. “What’s up? You’re not kicking me out of the chicken coop again?”

George looked him in the eye and held his gaze for a moment.

“I’m afraid it’s Pearce.”

“What?”

George paused, just for a moment, and Israel realized: it was the pause. The pause that everyone dreads, and that everyone knows ultimately is coming, and whose meaning is as clear as any outpouring of however many words; the total eloquence of a moment’s silence.