The Infinite Library (48 page)

“A little friendly terrorism according to one man, and an act of preservation to another. We're performing a necessary purge.”

“What for?”

“These fabulous books are corrupt. They simply must go. I really wish you hadn't closed that door behind you since my people could surely have been spared this infinite labour if only we could get to that blasted machine. Setzer left nothing to chance, and these heavy, locked doors are a real corking difficulty. It was only by dint of some bizarre fortune that we were able to penetrate this far into the territory. Alas, my plans dashed! If only I had known your progress in this maze, I would have posted someone to catch the door as you entered. But, as you can see, there is far too much work to be done.”

“Why are you intent on destroying Setzer's books? He had told me that you two were merging library contents.”

“Is that what the fool – may he rest in peace – told you? Do you actually think I would have seriously consented to such a preposterous idea? It would contradict the very idea of the Library. No, it must be preserved from the likes of such saboteurs. Your dearest and most departed friend, Anton Setzer, trebled his nefarious production, causing all sorts of havoc... books from the Library being pushed out so grievously into the open. But this is of no concern to you at the moment. For now, let me say that I am impressed with your progress in this labyrinth. Setzer had a habit of making intricate locks, and not all locks as you have discovered are on doors, and not all doors are literal.”

I was piecing this together. “You feigned cooperation with Setzer as a means to contrive the destruction of his text-producing machine.”

“Your powers of deduction are gaining in keenness.”

“Did you have Setzer murdered, too?”

“On that, I must plead innocence. Not that the vile act didn't serve a coincidental benefit for me, of course. I wouldn't have gone about things in such a crude way. Rather, it is the work of the crudest variety of codgers that harp on purity like the most obstinate of clergymen. Not that I disagree in principle with their efforts – at least not entirely.”

“The Devorants,” I added.

“Yes. They had as much reason to despise Setzer's actions as I did, but for different reasons, of course. I am entrusted in maintaining the integrity of the Library while they are fortifying against impurities in knowledge. They see the Library with envy since they would love to access it, but their public front is to declare it – and me – an aberration of the laws. They have the arrogance to believe that knowledge is the birthright of humans, but I think differently on the matter. Scholars are testy about their access to knowledge, but they are powerless in the face of aggression by those who care not about books. The Library of Alexandria was burnt to the ground in 48 BC, living on only in legend or restored to a pale shade of its once illustrious renown. Shortly after the Great Fire that annihilated from the historical record so much knowledge now lost to us forever, a league formed with the purpose of preserving knowledge and books against unfortunate accident. It was decided that the only safe way to protect books from harm was to deny any and all access to them, regardless how well-intentioned the scholarly seeker may be. Hence, my role, for although the scholar may well regard the books, when one person comes, there may come others with less favourable intentions. Don't think this textual protectionism is designed to punish humankind through some greedy hoarding...

“But this is just one tracing on the map of my purpose. Do not ask me how it happened, but there appeared a rift where those entrusted with safekeeping the books came upon the infinite nature of the Library. All possibilities began multiplying the number of books in the collection, all possible worlds. It is as though every possible world contrived to perform the same function in preserving the books; so, the collections were merged. In each possible world, there was some catastrophic event that destroyed a great hub filled with books, and each possible world there emerged the necessity to protect them. I am the Head Librarian, the one chosen to protect the books.”

“Why did you decide that I could keep the books I had taken from the Library?”

“Library recalls are such an inconvenience,” he said with a toothy grin. “Besides, there are reasons why certain books must fall into certain hands at certain times. There is some degree of determinism in the universe, but it is always revising itself in the face of changing circumstances and free will. I know my manner may seem odd to you, but what you have to realize, dear Gimaldi, that I preside in so many possible worlds, each with their differences. You're not the only Gimaldi I speak with, for instance, for in another possible world, there is a Gimaldi much like the one you have doubtless read about in those books. As the Librarian of all possible worlds, I am extremely busy. But, yes, reasons, reasons... Some books are predestined to come into one's life at certain times. We all know that feeling if we are sensitive to it. Have you never by chance picked up a book in a store or in your own personal library and discovered that it was exactly the book you needed to read right then?”

“Yes, it does happen on occasion, sometimes with mysterious frequency.”

“Books and life are imbricated, a great braid of destinies, an intertwining of purpose. Do the books live for us, or do we live for the books? I would not demote books as merely being useful for us... No, I think the purpose of human life is to produce and advance the lives of books. We are but the agents and servants of books.”

“If what you say is true, then books are alive, and we are little more than the means of their survival.”

“Just like many of us consider animals: merely as a means for sustenance. We may depend on animals, could not live without them, yet we subjugate them to our needs. Books treat us no differently.”

“What is the purpose of the
Backstory
?”

“That? You would know better, I'm sure. Far be it from me to lay down some singular and absolute interpretation. Take from it what you will.
Absit omen
– may it not be a predestination. Of course, it could be, or something similar in a figurative register. There are big things happening, Gimaldi, very big things, but very big things are
always
happening. It only seems so vitally important to you since nothing very big has happened in your relatively short life. The meta-narrative is much older than us all, and will outlive us. All I can say is that things will be unpleasant for a while, but moments of unpleasantness are nothing new in history.”

“How long will this go on?” I asked, indicating the row of tireless workers.

“Forever if need be, or until we can get to that infernal machine. It is hard to find good employees, as you can well imagine, so this will just be another concern I must add to so many others. As Setzer's machine produces, my people will destroy – an endless and epic cycle worthy of myth. I must ask: where is my faithful Angelo?”

“We parted when the labyrinth forked. He is through a door marked
timor
.”

“What was written on your path?”

“
Amor
.”

“Ha! For the love of production, for the love of destruction! More fitting than Setzer could have realized. How we all play our parts in a narrative whose ultimate meaning we only gain small snatches of. Excellent. You have no idea how this tickles me.”

I was certain that tucked behind his smirk was much more than he was willing to give. He retreated further behind a pall of cigarette smoke. Whatever he had to tell me – my dollop of the script – had come to an end, and once more he would go silent like some daunting monolith carved by a civilization long gone. Despite this, his eyes were searching me, reticently observing if I would give some information in kind. I met his gaze steadily with what I hoped was a look of obstinateness rather than confused petulance.

“Will that be all?” I asked, fishing out a cigarette of my own.

“No, that's never all. You are holding out on me, Gimaldi. Give me something to chew on. I've been so gracious that I would expect such a gesture in return. I find no joy in engaging in the lecture mode as I have done here, strictly for your benefit. We are not enemies, whatever you may think. I have no enemies – only amusements.”

“Everything seems to amuse you, especially the most serious matters. The rest of us do not have the secret knowledge or the luxury to laugh as you do.”

“You'd do well to embrace life's innate humour, Gimaldi, instead of twisting into silly knots. You'll give yourself an ulcer, old boy. You've seen fit to consider me a kind of tyrant, which is almost hurtfully untrue... I am no tyrant of the Library– I only simplify its regulation. So, what's it going to be?”

“I'm going to push past and get to the end of this labyrinth. I have questions you cannot or are not willing to answer, and so I must take matters strictly in hand.”

“Ah, self-reliance! How relieving, actually. I hate to spoon-feed. Independence... I'm so happy to see you take such bold initiative,” he said with a wink. “Although, I sincerely doubt you will relish what lies beyond that door.”

“I'll take my chances.”

“As you were, soldier.”

Castellemare didn't budge from where he stood, obstructing me.

“Let me pass,” I said.

He blew smoke in my face and laughed. “Let you pass, let you fail. We have just one little nasty bit of business to clear up, dearest Gimaldi. According to my accounts, you still owe me something.”

“What can I possibly owe you? You've given me only mysteries on top of mysteries, crypticisms over direct answers, peril instead of safety. Is that what you wish me to repay you for?”

Castellemare's face clouded over in a sudden anger. “Ungrateful little whelp! I've given you far more than you deserve. Give me my due, and give it immediately.”

“I am not in the habit of taking orders from those who are not my employers. Get out of my way,” I said, nudging past him. He collared me just as I passed, getting hold of my jacket. I struggled free, but he was quick and so nabbed me once more, this time with surprising strength knocking me off balance.

He stood over me, leering, that devilish grin creeping back. “This is no way to repay a debt, Gimaldi.”

“What could I possibly owe you? You told Angelo that I could keep the books!”

“I've changed my mind.”

I attempted to scramble back onto my feet, but Castellemare pushed me down gruffly with his shoe. I found it strange that none of his workers were taking notice of any of this. I knew if it came to blows, I'd be outnumbered. Perhaps they knew that their boss could manage fairly well without assistance; despite his scrawny appearance, he was indeed quite strong. I feigned that peace was my desire with two raised palms. He backed away slightly to allow me to stand. He thought that I was going to give him as he demanded, but was shocked to receive a hard cuff to the mouth, right in the centre of his ridiculous grin. I watched him stumble back a few steps, waving off any offer of assistance from the workers that were certainly not paying any mind to anything outside their task anyway. His eyes widened as a toothy and bloody grin spread across his face. I was certain that this insubordinate act amused him as well. A lazy trickle of blood pooled around his bottom lip, beading there. He looked at me as if I had become incongruous, a surprise falling out of my own character.

“For you, death by back catalogue, and your fortunes falling stillborn from the press,” he hissed, but I was through with being strung along, with being obstructed at every turn, with being bullied by the designer mysteries of others. Sick of it all. “Go on, then,” he called after me as I was about to open the next door. “Meet the prototypes! Greet the future! This won't be the first drawing of blood!”

His demonic laughter followed after me as I hurried into the next room. I was greeted by a gravelly 'hello' from someone whose face was partially under shadow.

“What is your name?” asked the voice with no hint of malice or even an abundance of curiousity.

“Are you one of Castellemare's agents?” I replied.

“I don't know this name. I am of my own agency.”

“A tall, thin man passed through here. He is on the other side of that door. You must have seen him.”

“So many men pass. I know only myself.”

“How did you come to be in Setzer's labyrinth?”

“I don't know this name either. You speak of passing men I do not know. But then, my time is not just as yet... Soon, however. I am only waiting for my host.”

“Who are you?”

“I am Dr Edward Albrecht, or I will be. I am waiting for my host. Will I come to know you, or of you, when my time of occupancy is come?”