A Book Dragon

by Donn Kushner

  “So many books,” he remarked. “They’re so crowded you can scarcely pass through.”

  Mr. Gottlieb picked up the books and looked politely at Huberman’s girth.’ “There’s more room on the other side,” he observed.

  ‘ ‘Oh, but space is definitely a problem here; I can see that. You really need more space. You should expand, even. There’s a lovely shop on Brick Street, next to the bank. You could get it for a very good rent; the owner is in trouble, as I happen to know.”

  “Who are you?”

  • ‘Huberman’s the name. Already I’m a customer.” The fat man held out a sticky hand.

  Mr. Gottlieb ignored it. “Are you working for the man who wants to buy my shop?”

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  “I have that honor,” Huberman said fervently. “That man is a genius!” he added.’ ‘I’m not worthy to touch the hem of his garment, as the Book says.”

  ‘ ‘Are you speaking of Mr. Abercrombie?”

  “Shh,” Huberman warned him, “no names, please.” He looked soulfully at Mr. Gotdieb. “You really should sell.”

  “Thanks for the advice.”

  “No, honestly.” Huberman’s voice became very earnest indeed. “You should see the plans for his hotel.”

  “So it’s at the planning stage already.”

  “And far advanced. It will be a palace! Three towers, the middle one fifteen stories high, flanked by others of ten stories. A revolving restaurant at the highest point. A beacon for ships in the harbor! On this very spot will be a glass-fronted promenade, so that the guests can lounge or stroll in all weather and enjoy the view. You should see the plans yourself: you’d be proud!”

  “No thanks.”

  “But really,” Huberman said, “I must tell you that construction of such a hotel on such a hill is a major engineering feat. It requires untold skill and imagination. This is why you have all been left alone so long.”

  “We’ve been grateful.” Then Mr. Gotuieb added, “Fifteen stories! That will cut the light from the houses above. What does the building code have to say about that?”

  Huberman shook his head and swept his left hand back and forth.’ “This whole section is in process of being rezoned, restructured, reorganized. I won’t bother you with the details. What is today a senior citizens’ home tomorrow may be a parking lot, and vice versa. This is progress. You wouldn’t stand in the way of progress, surely?”

  Mr. Gottlieb looked at the harbor and the old houses on the

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  hffl. “This edifice, this monument we are discussing: do you plan to call it the Hotel Abercrombie?”

  “There is certainty no thought of that. In fact, my mere suggestion made his lip curl. No, it’s sufficient that he knows it is his. My employer is a very simple man, basically.”

  “I’m sure,” Mr. Gotdieb said.

  Huberman looked very sad and flicked a speck of dust, which might have been a tear, from his eye. “But you are making him unhappy. You should agree to sell. Perhaps the offer was too low; if so, that is a problem that can be overcome. Money heals all griefs, as the old saying has it. Confidentially, what was offered to you is less than it will take to furnish one floor of the hotel. Name your price.”

  “But I like it here.”

  “Of course,” Huberman told the bookseller sympathetically, “but we all have to give up something.”

  “I’ve given up enough already,” Mr. Gotdieb told him. “I’ve moved around enough, too. I’B stay here.”

  Huberman sighed.’ ‘Such obstinacy! You know,” he added confidentially, “there win be a small bookshop at the hotel itself.” He looked around and shrugged. “Of course, lighter reading than your present stock.”

  “I imagine.”

  “I could arrange for you to have that concession. You would sun be a bookseHer, in practicaHy the same spot; but with no financial worries.”

  Mr. Gotdieb merely smiled.

  Huberman nodded sadly. “That was my suggestion. My employer didn’t think you’d be interested, but he said I could always ask you. He’s reluctant to take more direct action.”

  “What direct action does he have in mind? More garbage or a better bomb?”

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  ‘ ‘What are you saying!” Huberman raised his hands, as if in horror, and stepped backwards, crashing against the shelf on which Nonesuch was crouching. His coat pocket pressed back, an inch from the dragon’s nose. On an impulse, Nonesuch slipped inside it. It contained lint-covered gumdrops, an old pencil, a rubber band, and a grimy notebook. What was he doing here? the dragon asked himself. The fat man might put his hand in his pocket at any moment. Then he saw a hole in the lining and put his head through it. Daylight shone beneath, where the lining had become detached from the fabric. If he remained quite still, he could travel wherever the fat man went, in the pocket or hidden between the lining and the fabric. The conversation continued over his head, muffled but still clear enough to guide him.

  ‘ ‘We admit no knowledge of any such incidents,” Huberman told the bookseller. “But, in any case, we’ll soon have the restaurant next door.”

  ‘ ‘If the other owner agrees to sell.”

  “We have her sister’s signature. We have made commitments on that basis, heavy financial commitments. Mrs. Eliza Pickersgill will be responsible if Mrs. Amanda Pickersgill per-sists in not agreeing. Mrs. Amanda is a very strong-minded lady, a very admirable relic of the old school, but she has a weakness for her sister. She would not want to see her financially ruined.”

  ‘ ‘Did you think of all that?” Mr. Gottlieb asked.’ ‘Or was it your employer?”

  “I give him full credit,” Huberman said.

  “So do I.”

  Huberman mopped his forehead. “Why do you make me talk this way? Do you think I like it? I’m a kind person, basi-

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  calty. If afl those concerned considered their real interests, there would be no conflict.”

  Mr. Gotdieb nodded, thinking. • ‘Well,” he said at last, “a wanner climate might be more suitable for both the Mrs. pickersgiDs. So perhaps we’ll be neighbors.”

  Huberman looked surprised. “Unquiet neighbors, however. We’ll tear the restaurant down. The dust and noise wffl be very disturbing. I was told to mention this. We might rebuild the whole place from the inside, making new foundations, which would generate an incessant pounding. I should imagine your customers like a quiet atmosphere.”

  ‘ ‘Yes, and I’ll see that they get one!” p “But what can you do?” Huberman asked, genuinely |curious.’ ‘Everything on our part wfll be done with strict legality. j’As you will find if you bring the matter to court.” He had “^aopened his hand and was studying a note in his sweaty palm. “You have heard of ‘the law’s delays,’ but probably have not yet experienced them first-hand.”

  Mr. Gotdieb saw him reading. “Are those your employer’s words?”

  “He does have a gift for words.” Huberman returned the note to his pocket. It touched the head of the dragon, who did not stir. Huberman looked around the shop again. “So many books! I hope you are wen insured.”

  “Insured!” Mr. Gotdieb said.

  “Against fire. All these dry, inflammable objects might be thought to be a fire hazard. Can books be insured against fire? But, even if so, could they be replaced?”

  “You’d better go,” Mr. Gotdieb told him.

  “Smoke detectors?” Huberman asked anxiously. “Do you have smoke detectors? You should. My apartment is tiny, but I

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  have three of them. You must keep the passage to the outside door clear, too, in case you have to leave suddenly.”

  “Get out!”

  Huberman sighed again. “Such hostility! Why do you direct it at me? I’m only a messenger.”

  “I got your message,” Mr. Gottlieb told him.

  Huberman looked at the bookseller’s white face. “Yes, 1 think you did. We hope to have your message soon.” He looked at the table and hal
f drew out a book about luxury automobiles. He glanced at Mr. Gottlieb as if to ask the price, then changed his mind, sighed for the last time, and walked out of the shop.

  Both Nonesuch and Mr. Gotdieb had thought they were alone in the shop. However, shortly after Huberman had left, Professor Ash shambled in from a dark corner where he had been quietly sleeping. He watched the bookseller, whose eyes were passing over each volume in turn as if he could thus protect them. “I didn’t see you,” Mr. Gotdieb told him.

  Professor Ash scratched his head and began to search the shelves labelled “Myths and Legends.” “Where is it?”

  “What?”

  “I’m sure I read it,” Professor Ash said. “Among the dragon myths. I’ve been thinking about dragons recently. Those that hold back the waters, and release them; those that hold the earth together but could very easily let it be destroyed. In fact, some of them may want to do this.”

  “I know the legends,” Mr. Gottlieb said.

  “But I read another one somewhere.” Professor Ash’s voice was puzzled. “That some dragons are thinking of destroying the universe but that they refrain because that would make other dragons, who still live among humans, unhappy. Have you heard that one?”

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  “No, I don’t think so,” said Mr. Gottlieb, his mind on more important matters.

  ‘ ‘I’m sure I’ve seen it somewhere.” Professor Ash continued to search the book shelves.

  Mr. Abercrombie sat on the terrace of his house, overlooking the sea by Butcher’s Point, which had taken its name from the slaughterhouse that had been there years ago. Times change, he thought:

  this would be the theme of the talk he would give to the Chamber of Commerce when his hotel was opened. He would recall the very humble beginnings of his own estate, now located on some of the most valuable property on the coast. New roads, which had permitted one to drive to the city in a quarter of an hour, had brought the value, a sure sign of progress. He made a note in the leather book at his elbow on the glass-topped table.

  His speech would depict himself as an agent of change, of progress, a good citizen who had replaced three piddling businesses employing two waitresses and a drunken chef, in addition to the owners themselves, with a modern hotel, the pride of the city. He could picture the faces of the city council members, their eyes shining with greed. He had arranged that each one would profit from the hotel. How they would be edified to think that they, too, were good citizens!

  His smile faded as he thought of his last conversation with Huberman. It might have been a mistake to use him at all, though the man was energetic, could follow instructions, and was too stupid to be disloyal. But his manner was gross, it must be admitted; and that dreadful suit, which before had been another sign of the man’s inferiority, had now become disgusting. He even picked up insects, it seemed! After he had

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  arrived two weeks ago, to report on the success of his hints about a fire, some large green bug had emerged from a hole in the tail of his coat and flown swiftly into the bushes. Since that time, Mr. Abercrombie had carried out all his business with Huberman by telephone.

  In any case, it was better to keep his distance from Huberman from now on, in case the strong-arm stuff brought repercussions. Violence could be useful. It had, in fact, showed the weak side of the two sisters and given him the foothold he needed in the property. Though the others had dug their heels in. He had been surprised to see them offer this much resistance. It was just as well that he himself had visited the bookseller. How surprised the old man must have been to find that another literate man would want to take his little paradise away. And what a joke that Mr. Abercrombie’s interest in books had brought him to the shop in the first place and shown him this fine opportunity.

  Well, other steps would have to be taken soon. Mr. Abercrombie made a few entries, in code, in his notebook. It was unlikely that either the bookseller or the shoemaker were heavily insured against accidents on their property. Such peo-ple usually looked on the bright side of things and trusted to human nature. Huberman had already hinted at reliable peo-ple who could take a fall inside a shop, trip over an obstacle - say a crate of bargain books on the sidewalk-or dart in front of an automobile on the way to the post office: all accidents that could lead to ruinous lawsuits. He, Mr. Abercrombie, had also spoken briefly to the inspector from the fire department, who was dissatisfied with his present position and was extremely interested in a post in the new hotel. Both buildings could easily be declared fire hazards, to be set right at greater cost than their owners could afford.

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  Mr. Abercrombie sighed. To have to step around so, when it really wasn’t necessary! Sooner or later these people would have to bow to the inevitable.

  Raoul, the gardener, passed by with a wheelbarrow. Mr. Abercrombie called to him. He stopped, bowing respectfully. his face turned aside. Mr. Abercrombie had thought to put mirrors here and there so that he could see the hidden look of hatred on that face. “Have they found the sheep yet?” he asked.

  “No, senor,” Raoul answered. “Not a sign of them.”

  “Not a sign? That’s too much to believe. Even a rustler would have left some sign. Your friend must have stolen them.”

  “He is honest, I swear!”

  ‘ ‘Of course he is.” Mr. Abercrombie smiled and dismissed Raoul with a nod.

  • But it was a mystery, he had to admit to himself. Where had all those animals gone? There was, of course, no chance that Raoul’s friend, Henri, the old French herdsman who worked for the gentleman farmer in the next estate, had stolen them. This neighbor had a fine flock of Nova Scotia sheep. A week ago they had started to vanish, that was the only word for it. At first, one, then another; then two, then three, then six in one night. The fences had been triple-checked. The watchdogs would have been on guard, too, but they had vanished as well as the sheep; the first one when two sheep were taken, the next on the following night. There were a few scraps of wool where the sheep had disappeared, but there was hardly any blood. It was almost as if something had flown off with them. And not only from his neighbor’s farm. The same thing had been happening in farms all along the coast. First one or two lambs, then an older sheep, then more. The newspapers said that as many as fifty full-grown sheep had disappeared.

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  Where could they aB have gone? Someone must be having a fine feast, the reporter concluded.

  And the mystery had not begun with the sheep either. Now Mr. Abercrombie recalled hearing Raoul and Henri talking together in the kitchen before all the troubles began. All the mice had disappeared from the barn; the rats were no longer prowling around the garbage dump. “All God’s little creatures have fled,” Henri said. “The Devil must be ranging.” Both men had crossed themselves, trying clumsily to hide the motion from him.

  Mercedes, Raoul’s wife, appeared on the terrace and gathered a basketful of logs from the pile by the wall. He had told her to light a fire in the stone fireplace just inside, in the library, against the cool evening. She was a squat Indian woman from Guatemala, who had entered the country illegally, with her husband, a year before. She never smiled. From what Raoul, that excellent gardener, had said, she kept thinking of her sister, whose husband had disappeared and who had refused to travel north with her; Mr. Abercrombie had stored this piece of information away, if only to warn himself that to ask about her family, in ordinary politeness, would evoke a flood of tears.

  He had been right to keep his distance, he realized again suddenly. Mercedes came running out on the terrace. “Un dragon en el fuego!” she cried. “Un dragdn entre las llamas!”

  Mr. Abercrombie looked at her until she controlled herself “A dragon in the fire?” he asked.

  “Yes, senor,” she gasped, becoming overwrought again. “A small dragon, in the flames. She is laughing at me!”

  Mr. Abercrombie shook his head patiently. “Have you been drinking again?”

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  • ‘I don�
��t drink, senor.” Mr. Abercrombie continued to smfle, shaking his head, until Mercedes began to sob and ran from the terrace. He knew that she would control herself soon enough. Perhaps she would even want to apologize for her fit of hysterics, as she had tried to do before for bursting into tears when he had called her in to a dinner party to meet the guests who had enjoyed her excellent cooking. Now, as he had done at that time, Mr. Abercrombie would remain scrupu-lously polite, as if nothing had happened, as if he could not understand why she was becoming upset again.

  Neither she nor her husband could leave him. They knew, for he had told them, that the immigration authorities would investigate them more closely than they could stand, if they tried.

  He recalled that his fourth wife had referred to this couple when she had left him, to the fact that he kept their salaries so low, even though he himself was relatively indifferent to money. “You could pay them so well that they’d never want to leave you,” she had said. “All these manipulations, an the wheeling and dealing, all your activities on the fringe of the law. That horrible goon of yours, Huberman, who tracks mud on my carpet! You’re a bright man. You could be completely ethical and still rich. Does it give you any pleasure? You just want to see people dance to your tune!”

  He had looked at her with more respect than at any time in the year they had been married. He had almost asked her, ‘ ‘What else is there to do?” If he had given himself away, he would have added that people bored him. They held no more surprises for him. He knew how they were motivated, how they could be forced to act. It was better to be one of those who called the tune, not one who danced.

  A trace of wood smoke had passed through the open door.