The Inferno Collection

by Jacqueline Seewald

  Don pulled his Buick up in front of the main entrance to the humanities library and Kim unfastened her seat belt and prepared to depart.

  “Let me get the door for you,” he said.

  “Please don’t bother.”

  “All right. I’ll be around to see you soon,” he said.

  She should have felt happy and flattered by Don Bernard’s behavior, instead she was surprised and just a tad suspicious.

  THREE

  Wendell Firbin was at the reference desk when Kim returned from lunch. It seemed she was destined to work with him this afternoon as well. She would have preferred to be on the desk with one of the other women, but working with her supervisor was, she supposed, to be looked on as a further learning experience. With that in mind, she decided to bring up the question Lorette had put to her the other day.

  “Wendell, is there an inferno collection in this library?”

  At first he looked surprised, then upset. He seemed to quickly compose himself. His charcoal brows lifted as if he considered the question totally absurd. “Not that I’m aware. What made you ask such a question?”

  “A patron inquired. I found I couldn’t answer her.”

  “Which patron?”

  She shrugged uneasily. “I have no idea.”

  “Can you describe the woman?”

  She found his tone of voice to be unusually sharp. “What difference does that make?”

  “None. I would just like to know if it was a library student doing a paper for a course. It seems to me that you should have asked. How can you help a patron if you don’t ascertain the intent?” Now he was accusatory as well as patronizing, looking down his long, aquiline nose at her.

  How stupid! When would she learn her lesson regarding Wendell? He could smell out any sort of lie like a bloodhound. Any form of mendacity was grounds for verbal abuse on his part, which he relished with uncommon zeal. He was forever finding fault. But she was of the firm conviction that he did know something, and that Lorette was right. There was an inferno collection somewhere in the humanities library.

  She was grateful when a student came to her and asked a question that took her away from the desk and Wendell’s watchful eye. Students usually came first to her because she looked friendlier than the others. In fact, she really did like helping them find what they needed. She took great satisfaction in being useful, in putting her talents to a good cause.

  The afternoon passed quickly, with Kim spending minimal time around her supervisor. But several times she caught Wendell looking at her with a speculative glint, as if he were trying to decide something about her. Kim felt distinctly uneasy. The only thing she disliked about her work was being under Wendell’s vigilant eye.

  Wendell was lean as a rake and always dressed impeccably in a neat suit, shirt and tie. He was the epitome of professionalism. There was no doubt in her mind that he would be advanced to Executive Director shortly. If there was any form of passion in the man, it was his burning ambition to get ahead in his chosen field. She shuddered when she noticed him watching her again, a dark, almost sinister expression on his face. Asking him about inferno collections had really been a big blunder.

  * * * *

  Kim walked quickly, aware of the sudden chill in the air. Winter would arrive early this year. T. S. Eliot had been wrong: April was not the cruelest month; it had to be October. There was something painfully sad about seeing all those beautiful leaves dying, falling from their respective trees in a final agonizing blaze of colorful glory, like fighter bombers shot down in flames.

  She observed the ancient buildings covered with ivy that crawled parasitically along their sides, unnaturally uniting with the sepia brick walls. She wondered in a bemused way what the walls would say if allowed to speak. Had they listened to the learning within? Could they discourse on Aristotle’s Rhetoric or perhaps speculate on whether or not Wolfe ever did go home again?

  She was in a strange mood. It was her lunch hour, but she wasn’t really hungry. She decided to take a walk around Kinley Hall and see what was going on in the English classrooms these days.

  Dr. Barnes was droning on. He always did run over. She was glad that he was no longer one of her professors. But Lorette had mentioned that Barnes was in contact with her. Kim stayed at the rear of the room, observing students swaying restlessly, some glancing surreptitiously at their wristwatches.

  Richard Barnes was a tall, imposing figure, dressed in an austere black suit, immaculate white shirt and blue silk tie. His straight black hair was balding on the top and graying at the temples. He had a certain distinguished air, and his voice was deeply resonant. As everyone knew, he was a former minister who held degrees in divinity and philosophy as well as literature. A slight tremor was in evidence in his richly cultivated voice. For someone who spoke so well, it seemed a shame that he always muddled literature, philosophy and religion together as if each were part and parcel of the other; yet no matter what he spoke about, he always turned it back to damnation.

  “An incident occurred this morning, something which I believe has a crucially direct bearing on the point of today’s reading and discussion. As I entered the building to come to this classroom, I opened the outer door and held it open for a student to pass through. The young woman hurried by without even so much as a thank you. Can you imagine?” His eyes bulged like those of a bullfrog. “I simply do not understand what is happening to the values of today’s youth. I decided to bring the matter to your attention because this class does, after all, represent the current generation of young people. And what better time to discuss values than in conjunction with our study of the Bible as literature, since the Bible is the source of ethics and morality.”

  He looked from one person to the next. “How many of you have given thought to your philosophy of life? We all have one, you know. In this age of shocking moral decadence and degeneration, how many young people are taking drugs that will ultimately destroy them, body and soul? As you must know, sexual intercourse is flagrant among single, young people. The newspapers tell us that AIDS and venereal diseases have reached epidemic proportions. And the extent of sexual deviation and perversion is staggering. Many parents are too busy playing spouse-swapping games themselves to become concerned about the activities of their progeny. Our society is a veritable Sodom and Gomorrah. I believe that the judgment of God is upon us, when we will be held accountable for our sins. Our entire civilization is doomed to hellfire and damnation.”

  Kim groaned; she could see him in the role of Jonathan Edwards, spearheading the great reawakening of Calvinism, reducing grown men to whimpering like dogs. A pity he had not lived in an earlier time when Bible-thumping was de rigueur.

  A dubious hand was raised in the third row and the professor-minister nodded.

  “Do you actually believe that there is such a place as hell?” The student sported a lion’s mane of tawny hair and beard.

  “Such a place as hell?” Dr. Barnes’s voice repeated the words with scornful emphasis, as if the heresy were obvious and shocking. “No, there is no hell if we are thinking of physical place. However, I do believe that hell is a state of being that the damned will enter into after death.”

  “You can’t mean to imply that most of our society is doomed to damnation.”

  The comment made Dr. Barnes angry and his face reddened, reminding Kim of a waxed apple. He finally dismissed the class and the students left quickly. He closed his briefcase with an air of finality and lifted it from the dark wood podium. Kim could have easily told him that she knew him for the hypocrite he was, but she held her tongue. He walked past her, showing no sign of recognition.

  At that moment, Lionel Forbes, the renowned scholar in the field of writing theory, entered the classroom and floated toward the podium. There was an ethereal quality about him that made Kim shiver. He was white-haired and small, but agile as a trout. His slender, diminutive body was fixed at direct center. Electric blue eyes charged nervously from one student’s face to
another as they filed into the classroom. His hair, as pure and perfectly white as fresh snow, was set off by a striking pink complexion. He made her think of the white mice used in laboratory experiments. This was an undergrad course, but Lorette was in one of his graduate classes. With that in mind, Kim decided to remain inconspicuously at the back of the room for a bit longer.

  The professor made eye contact with his audience. A silence descended over the assembled group that stared at him in a kind of awe akin to dread. He smiled to himself, as if enjoying some private joke.

  “I would like to discuss some of the work you produced for our last meeting.”

  An overweight young man leaned over to whisper something in the ear of the girl sitting beside him.

  “Don’t slobber over her, you worthless blob of protoplasm! I am the most fascinating object in this room. Your eyes must perpetually be riveted to mine. Do you understand?” Forbes spoke with fanged ferocity.

  The student was too mesmerized with fear to respond. That seemed to amuse the professor; his blue eyes twinkled like January sunlight reflecting on a frozen lake. He continued to speak without pausing.

  “Acceptance is the kiss of death. I want you all to remember that and start to think critically about your own work as well as what you read. We are the chosen few, the elect. We’re all going to hell in a hand basket together. But what a ride we shall have.” The professor looked from one student to the other. Then his gaze fixed on Kim and he smiled, showing an expanse of shark-like teeth. His glistening eyes had a strangely diabolical glow about them.

  Kim shuddered with distaste. After that, the professor launched into a detailed discussion about what the student papers specifically lacked. Kim left quickly.

  Outside, the day had turned even colder; the wind cut across her cheek like a switchblade. Thick, dark clouds hung ominously overhead. She felt as if the total malice of the universe had turned against her and she shivered, cold inside and out.

  * * * *

  “I got a call that my book was in. You’re certainly efficient.” It was him, Michael Gardner. She hadn’t forgotten his name, couldn’t forget it.

  He was looking at her in a way that suggested he knew her intimately. The look felt like a caress. A frisson of awareness rippled between them. Her blood heated and she turned away, awkward and embarrassed. It was as if he had the ability to reach into her very soul.

  “We don’t hold books here at Reference. You have to ask at the circulation desk.” She hoped her voice sounded calm and professional; she certainly didn’t feel in charge at the moment.

  “Right, I’ll do that.”

  * * * *

  Michael Gardner studied her intently. Of course, he’d known the book wasn’t behind the reference desk. That was just an excuse to talk to her again. They shared a psychic awareness. He’d sensed it immediately. But his innate sensitivity told him that she repressed hers, just as she clearly repressed her sexuality.

  He scrutinized her with his typical thoroughness, studying the chestnut hair highlighted with auburn brilliance and pulled back severely, forced into a tight bun that negated her liveliness. No make-up, dowdy gray suit to hide what was clearly a slim but womanly figure. A disguise if ever he’d seen one. But she couldn’t hide the flush in her cheeks or those moist, kissable lips. He sensed a passionate nature in hiding. Now why was that?

  Mysteries always intrigued him. This librarian was an exciting puzzle. He was aware of a need to reach out and touch her. He wanted to fully explore her essence. He wanted to lie naked with her, to have sex with her. It could be wild and wonderful. He would get her to open to him and she would ignite in his arms. He wondered what would happen if he told her that? But he recognized that she wasn’t ready for such revelations; not yet. She was eyeing him nervously, like a skittish animal ready to bolt.

  “Excuse me,” she said. “I have other duties to which I must attend.” Her backbone was stiff as a poker.

  His gaze followed her as she walked away from him. They were most certainly going to make contact. It was something he knew in his bones. He didn’t know the details. It wasn’t a question of how or when, but a matter of destiny. He could have told her, but she would discover it for herself.

  For just a moment she turned back and stared at him. Then she hurriedly quickened her pace. He clearly frightened her; the question was why. He wondered what she was hiding.

  FOUR

  Kim pulled her Toyota onto the highway only to discover that traffic was very heavy—but then, it always was around this time of the day. She stopped off at a supermarket to pick up some basic staples and then contended with the traffic once again. She was very glad to be going home; small as her studio apartment was, it was hers, her sanctuary, far from the madding crowd’s ignoble strife.

  Soon she was passing the small, man-made lake in the heart of the complex. On impulse, she stopped for a moment to watch the ducks and geese that populated the lake. It made her feel peaceful inside to see them. How nice it must be to live entirely by instinct alone, no worries, no cares, no fears. There was a family of Canada geese she’d been watching since the spring. At first, the goslings had been tiny balls of fluffy gray feathers. There were six of them who swam two abreast, the father and mother protectively swimming nearby, one at the front, the other at the rear. She envied those small, innocent creatures. How wonderful to have a safe, secure childhood, to be cared for in a normal, natural way. Each day, the goslings had grown a little larger and a little stronger, until now they looked just like their parents. She supposed they would soon fly away.

  Kim sighed deeply as she pulled up in front of her apartment. It was as neat, sterile and empty as when she’d left it. The sounds of silence greeted her entry. She ought to get a cat or a goldfish, she supposed, but she fought against the stereotypical old-maid image. She put away her groceries, sat down on the cream-colored couch that opened into a bed and kicked off her shoes. She didn’t really mind being alone. People needed time to themselves, just to think, to relax. She closed her eyes and visualized the geese and ducks gliding on the water. A moment later, she was jarred by the ringing of the telephone. She was even more disturbed by the caller.

  “Karen, honey, how are you?”

  “It’s Kim.”

  “Yes, Kim. Well, I’m not comfortable calling you that.”

  “I’m not Karen anymore. I haven’t been for a long time.”

  The voice at the other end was low-pitched and husky for a woman, just as it had always been.

  “That’s right. Karen would have called me once in a while.”

  The accusation was an accurate dagger to the heart.

  “I’ve been very busy lately.” The lie sounded exactly like what it was. She regretted it the moment it passed her lips.

  “I really miss Karen.”

  “Did you call about something in particular?” To her own ears, her voice sounded unnaturally shrill. She felt like a recalcitrant child and didn’t much appreciate the guilt associated with the image.

  “Matter of fact, I did. Cousin Mary’s been asking me for some time to come live with her in Florida. She’s all alone now too. We always did get along well. I’ve decided to rent our house with an option to buy. If it works out, I’ll be selling the old place. I thought you’d want to know. Maybe you’d like to stop by and take a look in your room. There are things here that are yours.”

  Kim hesitated, not wanting to commit herself.

  “Well, you can suit yourself, of course. I won’t beg you. If you hate seeing me that much, that’s your right.”

  She could hear the hurt. God, she hadn’t meant to cause that! “Ma, it’s not what you think. It never was.”

  “I wish you’d explain. I don’t understand.”

  “I believe we talked about it,” Kim said carefully.

  “Maybe not enough.”

  No, they hadn’t really talked all those years ago, so what was there to say now? Still, she ought to make the effort. Then at least he
r conscience would be clear.

  “You’re much stronger than I am. You handled it differently. I couldn’t face the shame, the humiliation.”

  “It wasn’t your shame,” Ma said in a quiet voice.

  “I felt as though it were. Look, I’ll come by.”

  “When?”

  “As soon as I can.”

  “Don’t wait too long. I’m giving the furniture to the needy, taking what I can, and most everything else I’ll have hauled away.”

  “I want to go through the things in the attic.”

  “As you choose.”

  The strain of the conversation had grown too much for her; with a lump in her throat, Kim quickly said goodbye. She wouldn’t think about Ma or any of the rest of it right now. The sense of sorrow could too easily be conjured if she allowed her mind to associate freely without constraint. Depression could suffocate her like a soft pillow.

  No, she wasn’t Karen, not anymore; she was Kim. She wouldn’t let Ma make her feel sorry about her decision. Yesterday was dead. Kim was a person free of the past, whole and self-sufficient. The ghosts no longer remained, except in her nightmares. Kim Reynolds was who she was now and who she would remain, a new person with a new name and a new identity. There were things Ma hadn’t wanted to tell her, hadn’t wanted her to know, and she’d accepted that. Why dredge everything up now?

  Kim felt no real appetite. After heating up a can of chicken noodle soup, she took only a half bowl and promptly put the rest away. Although she had walked on campus at lunchtime, she was too edgy to remain in the apartment. A walk around the lake soothed away some of her ambivalent feelings.