The Book (14 page)

“Yes. There were people who understood and, unfortunately…they were dealt with before they could organize.”

“What do you mean?” Marion asked, needing an answer.

“Well-read people who caught the source of the line before the media started pretending it wasn’t spoken, went directly to their Books and searched for the story. Those who did were quickly tracked by the Publishing House and…without knowing what happened after that, I can only tell you what I was told. They were recycled.”

Holden lost his balance and threw an elbow into the couch to steady himself. This was too much for him to take and he found himself eyeing the leftovers of Marion’s cigarette in Winston’s designer ashtray. Instead of breaking his vow to never smoke again he asked the question that was gnawing on his mind. “How could you possibly know all of this?”

Winston slid his hands to his knees and sat on the stone bench before the fire, a drawn expression on his face as he remembered things dear to his heart. “My mother. They worked together.”

“With Conrad?” Marion confirmed, as she pulled her legs up to the couch and sat on them in sudden interest. “You’re kidding. She knew him?”

“Where did they work?” Holden asked, feeling that this was the main constituent of the story.

As the thunder tumbled over the drenched world beyond the windows. Winston replied, “My mother, like Conrad, was one of twenty Editors for the Publishing House.”

“Your mother edited The Book?” Holden confirmed in shocked disgust.

“Yes, sadly. It was her job to erase information from valuable novels and update The Book with the corrections. Dennis Wayne Conrad was so discrete in his plan that my mother had never heard a whisper of what was going to happen. When Conrad was missing from work, she assumed he was quitting. And after the news storm hit, it started to make sense. She looked back at her interactions with Conrad over the past few years and recalled instances where he may have been trying to recruit her through random chit-chat. But my mother was smart. She always played it safe and never gave any inclination that she thought things were wrong. She simply did her job, kept her judgments to herself and came home. It was a good job, with excellent benefits. To my mother, the safety of our family was paramount, but the events that took place with Conrad were simply too much for her. I came home one day from work and found her on this very couch, crying her eyes out. And it was that day…a Thursday, I believe…when I came to learn about The Book and what my mother had done for a living.”

Winston paused, unexpectedly emotional, and Marion stood to put an arm around him. Holden went to the closet off the kitchen, where he knew Winston kept his liquor, and returned with a bottle of twenty-year-old whiskey and three glasses.

“That must have been hard for you.”

“Yes, but not anymore,” Winston replied, taking the glass with thanks and sipping from it happily. He knew they were confused by the glisten in his eyes. “I just miss my mother.”

When Marion felt enough time had passed, she asked, “So, is that where all these books came from? The Publishing House?”

“No. I suppose I should explain that.” He finished his drink and Holden poured him another as they found new seats around the shimmering glass of Winston’s
Noguchi
coffee table. “As the both of you, I grew up in a digital world. This home and everything in it is the result of greed in my family. My father was a reader, and while I would like to say that my collection of books were saved for their content and merit, the truth is that they were saved for their value. My father went to his death bed unaware of our government’s control over The Book. Before he passed away, he told me about the boxes of books he had hidden away. My inheritance. That is what you view in the cellar. See, when The Great Recycling was taking place, my family decided that they would keep their collection in hopes that the laws would be overturned one day and their unlawful library could be sold at a premium. Those books avoided destruction for selfish greed. Nothing more. Our joy and our future, born through the expectation of outrageous profit. How funny.”

“So what happened?” Holden asked, sipping his whiskey. “You started reading them all?”

“No. I only saw them as my retirement and kept them hidden, even from my mother. And on that day, when I found her weeping and she confessed everything to me…I did the same.” Winston stood, took a framed photograph from the mantle and handed it to Marion.

“This is your mother? She was beautiful.”

Winston smiled as he continued. “She kept repeating that she was going to quit. My mother was so ashamed of what she did for a living and wanted to tell others. That was when I told her about the secret collection of books my father had kept. That night, we left the house together and dug them up, right where my father told me they were. We pulled up so many waterproof boxes, there were almost too many to count. It was a night I knew I would never forget…and I haven’t. Covered in mud and carting a van full of illegal material back to our home, my mother and I made a silent pact that we would do something to fight back. We knew there was nothing we could do to stop the government ourselves. Conrad had gone to such extreme lengths and yet he had failed…but we knew we had to do something. We decided that she would stay at her job and gather as much information as she could until the day she retired. Throughout that time, we built the library you saw downstairs and read every single book that my father and his father and his father and his father had collected.”

“Every book?” Holden asked, surprised.

“We read every book…together. And each time we began a new story, my mother would gain access to the master files at work and search the contents for recorded alterations. Since money was the only item the guards didn’t check when she exited the building, she would write out the revisions on dollar bills using makeup as ink, then put them back in her purse. And, as you saw, sometimes all she had was a hundred dollar bill. But the information she gathered was always worth the money. We were marking these books for the sake of the future. At the same time, she began to keep a digital log book here at the house. Each day she came home from work, my mother would list out everything she had been forced to change. She memorized book pages and entire strings of words, just to record them into the log book without knowing at all how future generations would use them.”

“That’s how you knew to remove the chip from the back of my book.”

“That’s right, Holden. And when she retired, our link to information ceased. We realized that there was no use trying to stop anything and spent most of our time reading. When my mother passed, this was some years back, I resolved to fix things myself, if I could. I didn’t get very far before a group of people disappeared. The only reason I escaped intact was because I had spent quite a long time prior to that developing an alias for myself. I spent a fortune and no less than a decade of my life, and succeeded by barely denting the issue. All this effort makes me certain enough to say, as I stand before you, that all the feelings you have will pass. Over time, despite how depressing the reality is, that fact remains true. There is nothing we can do to stop them. You must bear your fate and enjoy what life you have left. Enjoy this world. Enjoy each other. This is a harsh reality, but it is the one we were born into. Accept it. We do not have a choice.”

Holden glanced over at Marion and she was nodding with admission. Unable to dam the waters of his own disappointment, he rose from his seat. “I’m gonna head out. I got work tomorrow.”

“Holden, I didn’t mean to upset you.”

“Nah…forget it, man. This is messed up, though. You know that, right? I don’t mean to be rude, but I can’t sit here and listen to this. You can’t expect me to just roll over and give up before we’ve even started.”

Holden agreed and waited by the front door, pacing in uncontrolled aggravation. Winston took his time. Once he reached the foyer, he turned and headed toward the cellar. Marion looked at Holden and put her arms around him again. He knew in his heart that he should comfort her, to leave her with something affirming and hopeful, but he was just too frustrated and selfish. It wasn’t his job to take care of Marion. It was his job to take care of himself. And right now, he felt that someone, somewhere was doing a number on him and he just couldn’t have that.

He released his hug abruptly and stepped back. “Marion, watch out for this guy. I know he’s got a good head on his shoulders, but something isn’t sitting right.”

“I’ll be fine, Holden,” she said. “Will you come here tomorrow?”

“Yeah, I’ll stop over after work. We’re gonna figure everything out, okay?” Marion nodded, holding her emotions behind moist, tired eyes. Still stewing in disbelief, her whole body appeared exhausted and overwhelmed.

When Winston returned to the top of the stairs, he was holding a book. Marion assumed he would want privacy, so she hugged Holden once more and went to the dining room to clean up their dinner. Winston shuffled to the door and gently handed his guest a paperback book. But before Holden could read the title, a hand, speckled in age spots, flapped onto the cover.

“I knew,” his tired voice began, “when I first saw you in a café one spring morning that our meeting was destined.”

Holden shook his head, disbelieving. The senile old man was putting far too high an importance on their relationship. For the sake of courtesy and kindness he put it aside. “Is that right?”

“Yes. See, at birth…I too was named after quite a famous literary character, of whom I was supposed to emulate.”

“Is that character from the book you’re giving me, here?”

Winston removed his hand and Holden could see the title. “No…no. I’m afraid that book would be a little big for you at this point.” He could see his words were insulting, but he didn’t care because they were true. And truth was hurtful nowadays. “You need to slow down. And you also need to be reminded of our freedoms and how easily they can be taken away. To learn of the inevitability of certain things. The book you’re holding was written quite a long time ago. But the story within its pages will resonate with the situation at hand and, ironically, with you and your profession.”

Holden glanced down at the intriguing cover to see a man standing in an awkward, yet triumphant position. He was made of paper and there were flames coming off of his arms and his legs in striking shades, matching the title that blazed across the top. The book was called
Fahrenheit 451
and had been written by a man named Ray Bradbury.

“It looks interesting,” Holden began, wishing the man had brought him
The Catcher in the Rye
instead. Winston knew he wanted to borrow it.

“What is most interesting is that you can’t find this story on The Book. It was completely banned about sixty years ago. Along with other priceless novels, the government destroyed the only remaining copy on route to The Library of Congress. They used a mock data corruption at the Publishing House to completely remove the story from The Book. Not something that happens often.”

“Why would they erase the whole thing?”

“You’ll see,” Winston said, with a smirk. He glimpsed as a new fascination came over Holden and it was a delight to witness. “Have you ever read a book like this before? From a bound stack of printed paper?”

“No. I haven’t.”

“Well, enjoy it. The experience is a unique one. I look forward to hearing your thoughts.” Winston smiled and adjusted his weight on the cane he had been using that evening. “I know how hard this must be for you Holden. Just realize that, for right now, we have one another and we can get through this time together. You are quite strong. Your heart. Your will. Might I ask a personal question?”

“Well, I do. Age does that to a person. I believe in God and I also believe he has brought you into my life for a purpose. And I believe that purpose involves books like the one you are holding. I commend your ability to fight me on this. It’s a breath of fresh air. There is so much going on here Holden…things that will be revealed to you over time. But for now, I will leave you to your life. I look forward to speaking with you again.”

With that, Holden left. He returned to his van and to his simple life, only this time holding the full, unedited manuscript of an original book that the government didn’t want him to read. Holden was suddenly delighted to be leaving early because that night he would allow that book to take him away from everything. He was going to devour every page, leap into the chapters and discover all that they could reveal to him.

* * * * *

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Holden drove to work the next morning more tired and more alive than he had ever been in his life. The clouds beyond the city were murky and the sky as foreboding as ever, but he couldn’t care less. He stuck true to his decision and read
Fahrenheit 451
in its entirety. Beginning to glorious end. Paper page after paper page. Cover to brittle cover. After completing the book, he reviewed it again, leafing through each chapter in search of something that would explain the many feelings running through him. It would make him late for work again, two days in a row was a red flag, but it didn’t seem to matter to Holden. This was bigger. He needed to find whatever elements had been in the work that made him feel so free.