Vida trailed over to the desk and moved behind it with me and put her arm around me and read the entry over my shoulder after I finished reading it.
"I think it sounds pretty good," she said.
Gee, the handwriting of a different librarian lay before me on the desk. It was the first book I hadn't welcomed and recorded there myself in years.
I looked over at Vida for a moment. I must have looked at her kind of strangely because she said, "Oh, no. No, no, no."
Foster
FOSTER arrived at midnight. We were in my room, sitting around drinking coffee and talking about small casual things that are never remembered afterward, except perhaps in the twilight moments of our lives.
Foster never bothered to ring the bell on the front door. He said it made him think he was going into some kind of church and he'd had enough of that to last him forever.
BANG! BANG! BANG! he just slugged the door with his fist and I could always hear him and was afraid that he would break the glass. Foster couldn't be overlooked nor forgotten.
"What's that?" Vida said, jumping up startled from the bed.
"That's Foster," I said.
"It sounds like an elephant," she said.
"He never touches the stuff," I said.
We went out into the library and turned on the lights and there was Foster on the other side of the door, still banging away with that big fist of his.
There was a large smile on his face and he was wearing his traditional T-shirt. He never wore a shirt or a coat or a sweater. It didn't make any difference what the weather did. Cold, wind or rain, Foster always wore his T-shirt. He was of course sweating like a dam and his buffalo-heavy blond hair hung almost down to his shoulders.
"Hello!" he said. His voice came booming through as if the glass door were made of tissue paper. "What's going on in there?"
I opened the door for him and could see the van parked out in front. The van was big and strange and looked like a prehistoric animal asleep in front of the library.
"Well, here I am," he said and threw an arm around me and gave me a big hug. There was a bottle of whiskey in his other hand and half the whiskey was gone.
"How's it going, kid? Cheer up. Foster's here. Hey, hello there!" he said to Vida. "My, aren't you a pretty girl! Damn, am I glad I drove down here! Every mile was worth it. My God, ma'am, you're so pretty I'd walk ten miles barefooted on a freezing morning to stand in your shit."
Vida broke up. There was a big smile on her face. I could tell that she liked him instantly.
My, how her body had relaxed these few months we'd been going together. She was still a little awkward, but now instead of treating it as a handicap, she treated it as a form of poetry and it was fantastically charming.
Vida came over and put her arm around Foster. He gave her a great big hug, too, and offered her a drink from his bottle of whiskey.
"It's good for you," he said.
"All right, I'll give it a try," she said.
He wiped the mouth of the bottle off with his hand in the grand manner and offered her the bottle and she took a delicate nip.
"Hey, kid. You try some of this stuff, too. It'll grow hair on your books."
I took a drink.
Wow!
"Where did you get this whiskey?" I said.
"I bought it from a dead Indian."
The AD Standoff
"LEAD the way," Foster said.
He had his arm around Vida. They were like two peas in a pod. I was very pleased that they were getting along so well together. We went back to my room to relax and make our plans for Tijuana.
"Where have you been all my life?" Foster said.
"Not on the reservation," Vida said.
"Wonderful!" Foster said. "Where did you find this girl?"
"She came along," I said.
"I should be working down here at the library," Foster said. "Not up at the caves. I got up on the wrong side of the map. Hey, hey, you're the prettiest thing I've ever seen in my life. My God, you're even prettier than my mother's picture."
"It's the whiskey," Vida said. "I always look better through amber-colored fluid."
"Damn, it's the whiskey. You're pulling my 86 proof. I think I'll take over this library for a while and you kids can go up and dust off those God-damn books and live at the caves. It's real nice up there. But don't mention to anyone that you know me. Jesus Christ and old Foster wore out their welcome at the same time. I only survive on my good looks these days."
The Plan for Tijuana
WE went back to my room and we all sat down on the bed together and drank a little whiskey and made plans for Tijuana. I usually don't drink but I figured the present condition of our lives merited a little drink.
"Well, it's a little abortion, huh?" Foster said. "You're sure now?"
"Yeah," I said. "We talked it over. That's what we want."
Foster looked over at Vida.
"Yes," she said. "We're too immature right now to have a child. It would only confuse us and this confusion would not be good for a child. It's hard enough being born into this world without having immature and confused parents. Yes, I want the abortion."
"OK, then," Foster said. "There's nothing to be afraid of. I know a good doctor: Dr. Garcia. He won't hurt you and there will be no complications. Everything will be just fine."
"I trust you," she said.
Vida reached over and took my hand.
"The arrangements are very simple," Foster said. "You'll take a plane down there. There's one that leaves at 8:15 tomorrow morning for San Diego. I've got you both round-trip tickets. I called the doctor and he'll be waiting for you. You'll be in TJ before noon and the thing will be over in a short while.
"You can come back in the evening on the plane if you feel up to it, but if you want to stay over in San Diego, I've got a reservation for you at the Green Hotel. I know the guy who runs the place. He's a good guy. You'll feel a little weak after the abortion, so it's up to you if you want to stay. It just depends on how you feel, but don't push it if you feel too woozy, just stay over at the hotel.
"Sometimes Dr. Garcia tries to speculate on the price of the abortion, but I told him you were coming and you only had 200 dollars and there was no more and he said, 'OK, Foster, will do.' He doesn't speak very good English but he's very kind and very good. He's a regular doctor. He did me a good turn with that Indian girl last year. Any questions or anything? Damn! you're a pretty girl."
He gave Vida a nice hug.
"I think you've probably covered it all," I said.
"Vida?" he said.
"No, I can't think of anything."
"What about the library?" I said.
"Whatabout the library?" Foster said.
"Who's going to watch it? There has to be somebody here. That's a big part of this library. Somebody has to be here twenty-four hours a day to receive and welcome books. It's the very foundation of this library. We can't close it. It has to remain open."
"You mean me?" Foster said. "Oh, no. I'm strictly a caveman. You'll have to get another boy."
"But there has to be somebody here," I said, looking hard at him.
"Oh, no," Foster said.
"But," I said.
Vida was awfully amused by the whole thing. I was fully aware that Vida did not share the intensity of my feeling toward the library. I could understand that it was a rather strange calling that I had answered, but it was a thing I had to do.
"I'm a caveman," Foster said.
"This is our job," I said. "This is what we were hired to do. We have to take care of this library and the people that need its services."
"I was meaning to bring that up," Foster said. "This is a kind of slow-paying operation. I haven't been paid in two years. I'm supposed to make $295.50 a month."
"Foster!" I said.
"I was just joking," Foster said. "Just a little joke. Here, have some more whiskey."
"Thanks."
"Vida?" Foster said.
<
br /> "Yes," she said. "Another sip would be just wonderful. It's relaxing."
"It's the old Indian tranquilizer," Foster said.
"You can take care of this place for a day or so while we're down in Mexico getting the abortion," I said. "It won't kill you to actually put in a day's work. It's been years since you've turned a wheel."
"I have my work up at the caves," he said. "It's quite a responsibility lugging books up there and putting them away, guarding them and making sure cave seepage doesn't get to them."
"Cave seepage!" I said, horrified.
"Forget I said that," Foster said. "I don't want to go into it right now, but OK, I'll stay here and take care of the library until you get back. I don't like it but I'll do it."
"Cave seepage?" I repeated.
"What do I have to do around here?" Foster said. "How do I deal with the nuts that bring their books in? What do you do here, anyway? Have some whiskey. Tell me all about it."
Vida was very amused by what was going on. She certainly was pretty. We were all very relaxed lying there on the bed. The whiskey had made us mud-puddly at the edges of our bodies and the edges of our minds.
"This is delightful," Vida said.
Foster's Girl #1
"WHAT'S that?" Foster said, almost moving on the bed.
"That's the bell," I said. "Somebody is out there with a new book for the library. I'll show you how we honor a book into the library. 'Welcome it' is the phrase I use."
"Sounds like a funeral parlor," Foster said. "Damn, what time is it?" Foster looked around the room. "I can hear it ticking."
I looked over at the clock. Foster couldn't see it because of the way he was lying on the bed.
"After midnight."
"That's kind of late to bring a book in, isn't it? Midnight? That's twelve."
"We're open twenty-four hours a day, seven days a week. We never close," I said.
"Good God!" Foster said.
"See what I mean?" Vida said.
"Do I," Foster said. "This boy needs a rest."
Then he looked over at Vida. He appraised her in a classic computerized masculine manner without being obvious or sensual and he liked what he saw.
Vida looked at him smiling gently without disturbing her mouth. It remained unchanged by her smile. I believe this thing has been gone into before.
She was not the same girl who had brought her book in a few months before. She had become somebody else with her body.
"Yes," Foster said, finally. "Yes, maybe we had better go out and see who's bringing in a book. We don't want to keep her, I mean, them waiting. It's cold outside."
Foster had never been aware of cold in his entire life, so he was a little drunk and his imagination had just gone into full gallop.
"What do you do out there?" Foster said. "Maybe I'll just go out there and take care of it myself. You kids can sit here and relax. No reason to stop being comfortable when old Foster's around. I'll take care of that book myself. Besides, I have to find out what's going on here if I'm going to run this asylum while you're in TJ."
Vida's smile had opened until now you could see the immaculate boundaries of her teeth. Her eyes had small friendly lightning walking across them.
I was smiling, too.
"What do you do out there? You write down the title of the book and the name of the writer and a little something about the book into that big black ledger, huh?"
"That's right," I said. "And you have to be friendly, too. That's important. To make the person and the book feel wanted because that's the main purpose of the library and to gather pleasantly together the unwanted, the lyrical and haunted volumes of American writing."
"You're kidding," Foster said. "You have to be kidding."
"Come on, Foster," I said. "Or I'll bring up 'cave seepage' again. You know 'cave seepage.'"
"All right. All right. All right, cuckoo," Foster said. "I'll be on my best and besides, who knows: I might want to be on my best. I'm not such a bad guy. Come to think of it, I've got a lot of friends. They may not admit it, but I'm a big place in their hearts."
The bell was still ringing but it was growing weak and needed immediate attention. Foster was by now off the bed. He ran his hand through his buffalo-heavy blond hair as if to comb it before going out to the library.
Blank like Snow
WHILE Foster went into the library to welcome his first book, Vida and I continued lying there on the bed taking little nips from the bottle of whiskey he had graciously left behind. After a while Vida and I were so relaxed that we both could have been rented out as fields of daisies.
Suddenly, we had lost track of time, Foster came slamming into the room. He was very angry in his overweight T-shirt sweating kind of way.
"I think we'd better close this nuthouse while you're south," he said, demanding whiskey with his right hand. "Come to think of it, we should close this God-damn place forever. Everybody go home. Pick up their marbles. That is, if they have any left."
Foster gobbled down a big turkey slug of whiskey. He grimaced and shook when it hit his stomach. "That's better," he said, wiping his hand across his mouth.
"What happened?" Vida said. "It looks like your library vaccination didn't take."
"You're telling me. More whiskey!" Foster said, addressing the bottle as if it were a healing hand of balm.
"I hope you didn't frighten them," I said. "That's not the purpose of this library. It's a service, not a demand that we perform here."
"Frighten them? Are you kidding, kid? It was the other God-damn way around. Hell, I usually get along with people."
"What happened?" Vida repeated.
"Well, I went out there and it wasn't exactly who I expected would be there. I mean, they were standing outside and—"
"Who was it?" Vida said.
"A woman?" I said, a little mercilessly.
"It's not important," Foster said. "Let me continue, damn it! Yes, there was a woman out there and I use the word woman with serious reservation. She was ringing the bell and she had a book under her arm, so I opened the door. That was a mistake."
"What did she look like?" I said.
"It's not important," Foster said.
"Come on," Vida said. "Tell us."
Ignoring us, Foster continued telling the story in his own manner, "When I opened the door she opened her mouth at the same time. 'Who are you?' she demanded to know in a voice just like a car wreck. What the hell!
"'I'm Foster,' I said.
"'You don't look like any Foster I've ever seen,' she said. 'I think you're somebody else because you're no Foster.'
"'That's my name,' I said. 'I've always been Foster.'
"'Haa! but enough of you. Where's my mother?' she demanded.
"'What do you mean, your mother? You're too old to have a mother,' I said. I was tired of humoring the bag.
"'What do you want done with that book?' I said.
"'That's none of your God-damn business, you impostor Foster. Where's she at?'
"'Good night,' I said.
"'What do you mean, good night? I'm not going anywhere. I'm staying right here until you tell me about my mother.'
"'I don't know where your mother is and frankly, to quote Clark Gable in Gone with the Wind, "I don't give a damn."'
"'Call my mother Clark Gable!' she said, and then she tried to slap me. Well, that was quite enough out of her, so I grabbed her hand in mid-flight and spun her around and gave her a big shove out the door. She went flying out that door like a garbage can on the wing.
"'Let my mother go free!' she yelled. 'My mother! My mother!'
"I started to close the door. It was getting kind of dreamlike about this time. I didn't know whether to wake up or slug the bitch.
"She made a threatening motion toward the glass, so I went outside and escorted her down the stairs. We had a little struggle along the way, but I laid a little muscle on her arm and she cooled it and at the same time I gentlemanly offered to break her chicken neck if
she didn't take out down the street as fast as her clothes-hanger legs would take her.
"The last I saw of her she was yelling, 'It isn't right that I should end up like this, doing these crazy things that I do, feeling the way I do, saying these things,' and she was tearing pages out of the book and throwing them over her head like a bride at a wedding reception."
"Like a bride at a wedding?" Vida said.
"The flowers," Foster said.
"Oh, I didn't understand," she said.
"I don't understand either," Foster said. "I went down and picked up some of the pages to see what kind of book they came from, but the pages didn't have any writing on them. They were blank like snow."
"That's how it goes here sometimes," I said. "We get some disturbed authors, but most of the time it's quiet. All you have to do is be patient with them and write down the author of the book, its title and a little description in the Library Contents Ledger, and let them put the book any place they want in the library."
"That's easy enough with this one," Foster said.
I started to say something—
"The description," Foster said.
I started to say something—
"Blank like snow," Foster said.
The Van
"I'LL sleep in my van," Foster said.
"No, there's room in here for you," I said.
"Please stay," Vida said.
"No, no," Foster said. "I'm more comfortable in my van. I always sleep there. I got a little mattress and a sleeping bag and it makes me cozy as a bug in a rug.
"No, it's already settled. It's the van for old Foster. You kids get a good night's sleep because you have to leave early on the plane. I'll take you down to the airfield."
"No, you can't do that," I said. "We'll have to take the bus because you have to stay here and watch the library. Remember? It has to remain open all the time we're gone. You'll have to stay until we get back."
"I don't know about that," Foster said. "After that experience I had a little while ago, I don't know. You couldn't get somebody to come in from one of those temporary employment agencies to handle it, a Kelly Girl or something like that, huh? Hell, I'd pay for it out of my own pocket. They can take care of the library while I go down to North Beach and take in a few topless shows while I'm here."
Revenge of the Lawn, the Abortion, So the Wind Won't Blow It All Away Page 16