Confiscation Day

Not the original, said Old Peter. I mean last year. A sequel. The book that made him out to be a gay hippie.

Confiscation Day

Most people thought confiscations were Monday or Friday. That’s what the announcements said and what had been on the schedule for over a year, but at their last meeting the Library Court had agreed to expand the program.

We need an element of surprise, said Old Peter, head decider. People hide their books under sinks.

Sarah Blue, youngest member of the body, raised her hand, but then her face seized itself uneasy.

Never mind, she said.

No, go ahead Sarah, said Old Peter. I’m sure we’d all like to hear what you have to say.

Well, I just wonder if we’re taking this too far.

Some laughs erupted. A chair scraped. They weren’t taking it too far. That kind of talk mismatched their agenda. There were still a lot of dangerous words running free, some with very sharp teeth. Rabid rabbits, Old Peter liked to say. They looked innocent, but made for some  nasty infections.

Do you remember Jesus? asked Old Peter.

Of course, said Sarah.

Not the original, said Old Peter. I mean last year. A sequel. The book that made him out to be a gay hippie.

Yes, I remember. But he still spoke of love.

The wrong kind, Sarah. That’s why we had to root it out. Chop it down.

Really?

Yes, Sarah. Really. Old Peter leaned back.

Sarah closed her mouth and studied her hands. She still had a lot to learn.

Wednesday next. The door knock caught the family off guard. Short had a notice in his hand.

What do your want? asked Elder Fred, family father, boss of his castle. All that old school stuff.

Short waved the notice. Approval to enter and confiscate books, he said.

Today isn’t Monday, said Elder Fred. Or Friday.

New rules, said Short. It says so right here.

In a quick mental inventory, Elder Fred cataloged their remaining books. They had some Immanuel Kant and a paperback copy of Bury My Heart At Wounded Knee. A few dictionaries. Most of the novels were gone.

Mother Denise came to the door. You again, she said to Short.

Yes ma’am, me again, said Short. He looked at his feet. His shoes were still tied.

Short was short but not unaware. He knew that people disliked him. But he needed a job. He lived with his sister who had fallen on the subway tracks and lost a leg. She could no longer work at the bicycle shop.

Aren’t you ashamed of yourself? asked Mother Denise.

Short looked up. I know I’m a burden, he said.

Maria, the wise child, appeared at the door. We don’t belove you, she said.

No, I suppose not, said Short.

She means we don’t believe you, said Elder Fred.

Yes, that, said Maria. We know you’re not a bad lad. Come in and get it over with.

Short hesitated. He had forgotten his tack hammer. All notices were to be attached to the door. It helped intimidate the neighbors. And the Library loved its rules.

But Elder Fred knew the routine. That’s okay, he said to Short. You can use mine. It’s in the kitchen.

Short came in. You would forgive me? he asked.

Yes, said Maria. Elder Fred bit his lip, then nodded. Everyone walked to the kitchen. Young Fred sat silent at the table, his eyes nailed to the cross of his phone.

Sit, said Elder Fred. Short sat.

You want a drink?

No thanks, said Short. I’ve got to look for books.

What is it this time?

Short searched the notice. They say you’ve got For Whom The Bell Tolls, he said.

Damn it, Short.

Sorry Mr. Fred. It’s not allowed.

Elder Fred knew that. Maria knew that. Even Young Fred, under viral video sedation, somehow knew that. The lists were published weekly and any appeal to have the Library Court clarify why a particular title deserved confiscation was answered with decidedly desultory nondescript statements that vaguely referenced an ongoing need for morality, security, or both. If it was answered at all. Sometimes, especially when Old Peter drafted a response, they just said: Book Not Good and let it go at that.

We’ll give it to you next time, said Elder Fred. Maria wants to finish it.

Maria stood by the cupboard and turned when she heard her name. Unlike her brother, she liked to read. She went to school outside the fence.

Look, she said to Short. We know you don’t like your job.

Short shrugged. It’s okay, he said.

No, it isn’t.

Short looked at the spaghetti stains on the wall. He didn’t know what to say. Once he had hidden a confiscated book under the seat of his truck and lied to the Library Court. Wasn’t there, he said, but he was pretty sure Old Peter suspected. Later he had tried to read it but someone had torn out the pictures.

You’re right, he said. It isn’t okay. But I need the job.

Young Fred looked up from his phone. The word job had made him anxious. What’s the matter, Short? he asked. Can’t get work stocking the high shelves?

Shut up, said Elder Fred. Young Fred climbed back on his phone.

But Young Fred had hit the mark. Short was also short in smarts. He could read a list and follow simple instructions, but many things were out of his reach. It wasn’t his fault, though. On the day he was born, God had run out of gray clay and whenever Short had asked his mother why his skies never turned blue she always said: That’s how it goes, child. That’s how it goes.

Look, said Short to Elder Fred. Keep the book for now. I’ll tell them I even looked under the sink.

Thank you Short, said Maria. We never thought it would come to this.

Nobody had. The whole world had once inscribed their dreams on the wings of beautiful birds. Then trees burned, and the smoke made everyone blind.

Short stood. Mr. Fred? he said.

Yes?

I didn’t mean to hurt you.

We know that, Short.

And I’ll have to come back next week.

We know that, too.

Short picked up the notice off the table. Can I borrow that tack hammer now? he asked.

Elder Fred went to the junk drawer, slid it open. The hammer lay inside next to a book.

Here you go, said Elder Fred.

Are you sure?

Yes, Short. Take them both.

Thank you for your kindness, Mr. Fred.

You’re welcome.

Short went to the front door, opened it. His truck sat at the curb. The light reflected from the windshield and for a moment, before he brought his free hand up to shield his eyes, he saw a brighter world in the afterimage of his startled sight.

— — —

Thanks for reading Dynamic Creed, home of odd stories about books, or something like that. I’m back after a short break, and will be bringing other new stories your way in the coming weeks.

I’ve been writing a lot, and publishing on a place called Reedsy. I’ve got a few stories up there at this point. It’s been a lot of fun. Check it out:

https://blog.reedsy.com/creative-writing-prompts/author/victor-david/

Many thanks for your support, and may all be well at your end.

Victor David

All my stories are free but if you’d like to do a paid subscription, you’d not only be supporting me but helping veteran and animal causes. I donate 25% of all proceeds. Thanks for considering it, and stay blessed.