Chapter 2

Worried about her chances of being hired after delaying her interview to attend to her father's funeral, Babette couldn't sit still while she waited so she began reshelving books and dusting the shelves with a tissue. Her morning interview at the George Peabody Institute Library on Washington Square left her feeling unhopeful. They only wanted someone in person working on Mondays and Thursdays and as needed for special projects and pulling documents for interlibrary loans. The pay wouldn't cover a week's worth of rent in the city of Baltimore. As she moved to another shelf within sight of the director's door, she noticed an elderly woman come in and sit in the chair near her bag. Shaking her head at the fact no one spoke to the woman, she walked over.

"Can I help you find something, ma'am?"

The elderly woman's eyes were keen and intelligent as she asked, "Yes, can you recommend a good book?"

"What kind of stories do you like? Or do you prefer non-fiction?" Babs asked as she easily fell into the role of librarian.

She had been her Aunt Ouisa's library assistant before college and spent her entire time at Harvard helping those who did not know how to use a card catalogue or read the Dewey Decimal System identifiers to find books. Half an hour later, the woman named Mattilda had a stack of five books. Two were contemporary P.O.C. fictions, one was a mystery, and the last two were out-of-print books on cats, including a 1920 edition of Cats, Librarians, and Libraries, a collection of essays about the library cat culture by Phyllis Lahti.

"So what do you think about cats in libraries, Babette?" Mattilda asked as she checked out her books.

"I am certain people would love them as long as they didn't damage the books. Cat Cafés are all the rage."

"Oh, have you visited one?" Mattilda inquired.

"No ma'am," Babette admitted, then thinking about her own allergies, she added in politically correct wording, "However, many people are allergic to animal dander, and it would be unfair to deny them access so part of the patrons could enjoy reading with a cat on their lap."

"You are so right, my dear. I think you'll do nicely. Come with me." Mattilda walked back to the director's office and went in. Sitting behind the desk, she smiled at Babette who stared at her in shock. "Forgive my deception, Dr. Bland, but this library was started by my family, and we take great care in who we hire. Most of your coworkers have Computer Information Technology or English and Writing Degrees. Many teach virtual classes and, since the start of the previous pandemic, only come in person one or two days per week. We need someone here daily. The hours are long, ten to eight on Monday through Thursday, and ten to five on Friday and Saturday. We are closed Sunday, but I will allow you to pick Friday or Saturday off as long as we have staff coverage."

"Thank you, ma'am." Babette wanted to collapse in relief, but she held herself as professionally as she could. "I am so excited to work for such a prestigious and historic library."

"Tell me dear, have you found a place to live yet?" Mrs. Pratt asked curiously. "How will you arrive to work each day?"

Babette shook her head. "I have a few apartments to look at and then I will be taking mass transit to and from work."

Mattilda held out her hand. "Show me the addresses." She tutted as she looked over the paper Bab's pulled from her bag. "No, these won't do it all. They are too far away, and the Metro train and CityLink buses have not been reliable since the second pandemic. Besides, the crime in these areas would have me worried for you every day."

Embarrassed, Babs admitted, "I can't afford to live closer and pay my student loan debt."

"How much is that?" Mattilda scowled as she asked.

Babs repeated the amount over three-hundred thousand dollars, and Mattilda gasped, then she frowned, muttering, "The cost of a good education means a lifetime of debt now." She stood up and moved much less feebly than when Babs helped her select the books. "I may have a solution. We had a custodian's apartment in the basement, it is just used for storage now, but I will let you use it while you work for the library."

Mattilda led Babs to the underground level. There were boxes in the small studio apartment, but the kitchenette and three-quarter bath were clean and in good condition despite being as old as she was.

Babs asked, "How much would be deducted from my pay to stay here?"

"Nothing," Mattilda insisted. "To be honest, you are the only qualified candidate I have had interview for this position since your predecessor passed away. The only restrictions is no guests and no candles. And of course, you will have full use of the library's electric car for errands and book deliveries."

"Your library does book deliveries?" Babs was shocked.

"Yes. I know technology and ebooks are all the young people want but over half our patrons are elderly. I would like to begin the deliveries again and we have a machine to sterilize the books using ultraviolet light and aerosolized disinfectant. If you are willing to pull the books for delivery and sanitize them upon pick up, that is."

"Oh yes, ma'am. I think it is wonderful that you still deliver books," Babette responded as she paced the length of the very long but narrow room.

"Very good. I will get you keys and keycards to the library. Get some movers to put these boxes elsewhere and on Monday, we will introduce you to the rest of the staff." Mattilda seemed satisfied. "Dr. Bland, let's go back to your office and we will sign the contract paperwork."

Glancing around the room one last time, Babette breathed out in relief. This was more than she could hope for. Upstairs, she signed the paperwork. There was a noncompetition clause so she wouldn't be able to work part time at the George Peabody Library but that was fine, she would find something else to do to earn a little extra. She was also grateful that Mattilda offered to let her stay with her until the movers and painters were finished. The meager inheritance she received from her father's life insurance would buy some furniture and when added to the things in storage from her Harvard Dorm Room, she could settle in quickly. Returning to the train station, she got her suitcases from a large locker and headed back to Mrs. Pratt's home. She was surprised to learn the entire block was part of the library and even had its own power and water source in case of natural disaster. Over dinner, she and Mattilda shared a lovely conversation about the need to protect printed books then they talked about how the city functioned during the pandemics and ordering groceries and such things. By the time, Babette went to bed, she felt more hope for her future than she had in a very long time.

^..^

Two months later...

Babette looked at the list of requested books and frowned, most of them had already been pulled and were tagged to go out. Ancient Egypt fever had hit with the arrival of a touring museum collection and the announcement on the news of a lost city discovered. Everyone wanted to know everything.

"There's a call about that Egyptian Prince Ba-something again," Keisha huffed.

"Uhm, I'll look it up," Carl offered as he pulled out his phone.

Babs finished filling a simple paper bag and responded with the information she had researched the week before, "Prince Pharaoh Bakare or Bau-ef-ra, or Bikheris as is the Hellenized name of the ancient Egyptian forgotten pharaoh. He may have ruled for two years starting in either 2532 or 2498 BC during the Fourth Dynasty. He was the son of Khafre, grandson of Khufu, and preceded his half-brother or cousin Pharaoh Menkaure. His name was stricken from all Dynasty records and Egyptologists theorize it was possibly because he was a worshiper of Ra the sun god. His tomb was found barely started in the royal acropolis with only a broken cartouche at the bottom and filled with trash from the construction of other tombs."

Keisha looked at her hatefully, as Carl shook his head and demanded, "How could you possibly know all that?"

"I'm the head librarian, it's my job to remember things without having to google them every day, or week." Babs sounded bored as she said it, with a glance at Keisha, then she put the last bag of books on the cart. "I'm going to put the deliveries by the backdoor."

Keisha flipped off Babs to her back as she walked away. Carl pulled her hand down as one of the elderly patrons glared at her, slamming his books on the counter in front of Carl who scanned his card then the books.

"Listen, Miss," the gentleman scolded, "I was standing here last week when Dr. Bland told you that same thing. If you can't remember information for a week, how are you working in a library? Why I can remember how to..." And he lectured them for twenty minutes on repairing engines and how he learned to do it decades earlier just watching his father. He ended with, "You need to listen to Dr. Bland when she tells you something. She can find information better than your phone and find the real information and not the fake stuff."

"You're absolutely right, Mr. Smith. Dr. Bland is a good resource," Carl responded patronizingly. After he walked away, he snapped at Keisha, "Are you trying to get fired?"

"They won't fire me. I have a degree in language arts and a teaching certificate," Keisha retorted then reminded, "Why do have to do what she says anyway? She's ten years younger than me."

"She also graduated from high school a year early and had her PhD by twenty-three, and you only have a bachelors. Don't put her down because she is younger than you."

"She looks older, with her pale hair and those white streaks." Keisha sat down hard in her chair and waved her hand, "Why is this place even still open? Those dusty shelves should all be replaced with computers and..."

"You're fired," Babs' voice silenced her rant.

"You can't fire her, she's the only one who can work on Thursdays," Carl refuted Babs as the head librarian glared at the online teacher.

"But she doesn't work when she is here on Thursday. She doesn't reshelve books or pull for pickup orders. She can barely be bothered to answer patron questions more than to type on the information terminal and wave her hand with a rude, it's over there somewhere," Babs mimicked her voice and gesture. "I would rather do it all alone than spend my time apologizing for her rudeness... And her ESL class only has a twenty percent enrollment quota with a ninety percent drop or incomplete rate. I have had three people besides myself monitoring her last class, currently we are her only four students. She just says difficult to pronounce words over and over while making the class repeat them."

"You are not taking my ESL class," Keisha refuted her.

"I grew up in Sacramento and learned Mandarin from my aunt's best friend," Babs announced in lilting Mandarin and a high falsetto. Then in English she added, "Mr. and Mrs. Tran are your Tagalong-speaking students. And my friend Bill, goes by his Russian name, Vil'yam."

"You bitch!" Keisha snarled.

"I'm not a canine. Maybe if you engaged with your students like Carl, Angela, and Deshawn do, you wouldn't be looking for a new job tomorrow," Babs retorted.

The woman's eyes turned hard with hate as she spat, "At least, I'm a real black woman and not some mixed blood who doesn't even know who her people are."

That hurt but Babs knew better than to flinch or even look away. She had dealt with this kind of hate her whole life, especially from her mother's other children. "I know exactly who my people are, and the color of their skin does not matter as much as their intelligence. They aren't ruled by racism and hate because someone else is a few shades paler. Your little racist remark and the prejudiced way you treat your non-black students will be noted in your dismissal summery, I suggest you don't use us as a reference. Now, get out of my library."

Keisha pulled her bag out from under the desk and threw her ID and keycard on the floor as she stormed out shouting profanities, insults against Babs' father being white, accusations of being unfairly treated, and threats of suing. Babs didn't realize she was shaking until she saw a pale strand of hair hanging in her face. She pushed it back and turned to face Carl.

"Do you have anything to add to her tirade about those like me who aren't enough black?"

"I... I'm sorry," Carl stammered. He looked like he was flushed under his dark skin. "I didn't realize that..."

"That people like me face racism from both colors?" Babs shrugged, "My mother's other children are two decades or more older than me and refused to accept that she and my father got married and had me late in life. I've learned to deal with it."

"I'm sorry," Carl said again.

"Thank you. Can you please write up what you heard and saw? I will need to pull the surveillance and having a witness statement will protect the library from a lawsuit." Babs hated to think that Keisha would do such a thing to the community icon, but she knew it was better to be safe than sorry.

Carl nodded then asked sheepishly, "Are you working overnight at the pharmacy tonight?"

"Yes, do you need your dad's medications filled?" She pulled out a postie and scribbled a note when he nodded. "I'll put the order in when I get there."

Working the ten p.m. to six a.m. overnight shift on Friday, Saturday, and Sunday, at the twenty-four-hour pharmacy allowed her to earn some extra money to pay her student loan debt without violating the non-competition clause in her contract because the pharmacy no longer sold books or magazines of any kind since the third pandemic.

"Thanks, Dr. Bland."

"You know you can just call me Babs or Babette. I'm still paying off my PhD." She smiled as she said it, trying to lighten the mood.

He looked at her in confusion for a moment, then started, "Dr. Bland... I mean, Babette, why did you get a degree in library science? I mean why books, when everything is going digital?"

"First, I got the same degree from the same school as my aunt, so you see, it's a family thing. Honestly, my father would have made a great librarian and archivist, but his dyslexia made school difficult for him. And second, because printed books are a physical and tactile representation of our knowledge, mythology, and history as civilized people." Babs waved her hand to the building full of books. "If the internet crashed tomorrow, if an EMP caused by terrorists or a CME solar flare wipes out our power grid and electronic networks... then these dusty shelves will hold the wealth of our knowledge and history. Google and Wikipedia both can be altered by pranksters and the government just by changing a few lines of code, but changing the printed word is much harder because they can never be certain they got rid of all the copies. Look at what the Catholic Church did to the Bible, and then they found the Dead Sea Scrolls. The Gutenberg Bible and following use of printing presses made the written word available to the poor, just like this library. Information is power, and so is the lack of it."

"Wow," Carl looked surprised by her response. "I never thought of it that way. I always figured they would just reboot the internet if it went down."

"They could do that, but it might take years, and, in the meantime, people would still need to know how to grow crops or fix something or diagnose and treat a disease. As much as everyone loves technology, we still need printed books." She patted his shoulder. "We are closing in five minutes; would you mind writing up your statement while I do a walk through and check the bathrooms?"

"Yes, Ma'am." He watched her going up to the top floor and shook his head. She was young enough to be his daughter but suddenly the things his grandmother said about some people having old souls made so much sense. He realized the Mallen streaks in her hair fit her personality perfectly.