فصل ششم

chapter-6

Dr. Yanina Zinchenko, the world-famous librarian, dragged a lumpy mail sack to the far end of the Rotunda Reading Room, where her boss, Luigi Lemoncello, was flying up and down in front of the three-story-tall fiction bookcases.

“I’m looking for a good book,” said Mr. Lemoncello as his hover ladder jerked vertically, then skittered sideways. “But I’m not exactly sure what I’m looking for.” The hover ladders were floating platforms with handrails, book baskets, and ski-boot safety locks that allowed you to float up to retrieve any book you wanted simply by entering the book’s call number into a computerized keypad. The system worked with the same magnetic levitation technology used in Germany and Japan to propel bullet trains with magnets instead of wheels.

“Perhaps I can be of assistance,” said Dr. Zinchenko in her thick Russian accent. “Do you have the call number?” “No need,” Mr. Lemoncello said, laughing. “I wanted to test-drive our new ‘browse’ function.” After several patrons had complained that the hover ladders’ demand for a specific book code eliminated the ability for patrons to leisurely peruse the shelves, the imagineers at Mr. Lemoncello’s game company had come up with the new and improved hover ladders, which featured a browse button.

Once you pushed it, the hover ladder randomly flitted in front of the shelves, using advanced biofeedback technology, heart-rate monitors, and complex algorithms to figure out what sort of story you might be interested in.

“But we have a very important matter to discuss.” Dr. Zinchenko pointed to the mail sack. It was the size of an overstuffed duffel bag.

“Oh, dear. A V.I.M.? I don’t know if I have the vigor for a V.I.M.” “We also have visitors….”

“Visitors and a V.I.M.? I’ll deal with both as soon as I finish browsing.” “Mr. Lemoncello?” bellowed a voice below.

He glanced down and saw a very properly dressed lady flanked by six other very properly dressed ladies and one properly dressed man in a bow tie.

“I’ll be right with you!” shouted Mr. Lemoncello as his hover ladder caromed across the wall of books like an out-of-control Ping-Pong ball. “I’m busy browsing.” “My name is Susana Chiltington,” the lady said operatically. “Mrs. Susana Willoughby Chiltington.” “Hello, Susana. Don’t you cry for me. The doctors say they can easily remove the banjo on my knee.” Mrs. Chiltington wasn’t amused.

“Perhaps you’ve heard of my brother?” she said. “The head librarian for the Library of Congress? James F. Willoughby the third?” “What happened to the first two?”

“I beg your pardon?”

“Never mind. I am finished browsing. Pull me down, Captain Underpants.” The hover ladder gently lowered the happy billionaire to the floor.

“Now then, how may I help you, Duchess Susana Willoughby Chiltington the third, Esquire, PhD?” “I’m not a…Oh, never mind. My colleagues and I represent the recently formed League of Concerned Library Lovers. Winthrop?” The gentleman in the bow tie opened a leather briefcase. “As a public library, Mr. Lemoncello, this institution needs a board of trustees to oversee its finances and champion its mission.” Mrs. Chiltington snorted a little. “It is quite customary.” “So is pumpkin pie on Thanksgiving, but I prefer pineapple rhubarb,” said Mr. Lemoncello.

“As concerned library lovers,” said the gentleman, brandishing a thick document, “we are here today to volunteer our services.” Mr. Lemoncello ignored the man and focused on Mrs. Chiltington.

“You’re Charles’s mother, aren’t you?”

“Indeed.” She snuffled and adjusted her clothes to make certain all the seams were lined up precisely the way they were supposed to be.

“Might I humbly suggest, Mrs. Chiltington, that your considerable concern might be better spent on your son instead of my library? Now then, Dr. Zinchenko, I believe we have a very important matter to discuss?” “Yes, sir.”

Mr. Lemoncello walked over to the wall of bookshelves and tilted back the head on a marble bust of Andrew Carnegie, revealing a red button hidden in his neck.

“Mr. Lemoncello?” trilled Mrs. Chiltington. “A public library requires public oversight—guardians who will safeguard the institution’s well-being and stability.” “I know! I’ve been thinking about that very fact for months. I’ve also been thinking about lunch for at least fifteen minutes. I thank you for your time and concern.” He bopped the red button.

A door-sized segment of bookshelves swished sideways. Mr. Lemoncello and Dr. Zinchenko disappeared with the mailbag down a dimly lit corridor. The bookcase slammed shut behind them.

“Mr. Lemoncello?” Mrs. Chiltington called after them. “Dr. Zinchenko?” She banged on a row of books as if she were knocking on a door.

“Mr. Lemoncello!”

A burly security guard—maybe six four, 250 pounds, his hair in long, ropy dreadlocks—came up behind her.

“Ma’am? I’m going to have to ask you to leave the library if you keep punching the books.” Mrs. Chiltington swung around.

“I’m not…Oh, never mind.”

She glanced at the guard’s name tag.

“Clarence?”

“Yes, ma’am.”

“Well, Clarence, don’t worry. We’re leaving. But kindly inform Mr. Lemoncello that we shall return.” “Wonderful,” said Clarence. “Mr. Lemoncello loves it when people come back to visit his library.” Mrs. Chiltington gave Clarence a frosty smile.

“I’m sure he does. And next time, there will be more of us!”