Violists Part 1

Violists.

by Richard McGowan.

PREFACE TO THE FIRST EDITION

"Violists" began to germinate early in December last, as Christmas approached. I originally intended that it be ready before the new year, but alas, it came in behind schedule, and was not completed until January. It is still winter in some places--the right season for such morsels--so rather than let the work languish upon the shelf for another year...

Somewhere out there on The Net, I hope there is a solitary reader settled comfortably in a warm study with a nice cup of tea. Perhaps the lights are out, and the amber glow of the terminal spreads faint warmth through the room; overstuffed bookshelves loom behind in the darkness. If the evening air is crisp and a soft snow is falling outside the window, so much the better--a view of icicles would be a magical touch.

-- Richard McGowan San Jose, California January 22, 1994

GRETCHEN IN THE LIBRARY

In winter the interior of the university library was hardly warmer than the outside, and it was terribly drafty. The sole difference between the interior and exterior, Gretchen often remarked to herself, was that the latter received an occasional snow. The library at least was dry.

On most days in the unfrequented areas--the closed stacks on the second and third floors--one could see one's breath in the middle of the afternoon. Gretchen thought it hardly the sort of climate she would have chosen for her own books. But the cost of heating such an enormous building--well, she decided she could hardly imagine so extravagant a sum. On the coldest days, she often wore two petticoats.

She found the best method of staying warm, though, was to bustle as quickly as she could. Primarily, she worked in the stacks, extracting books for the library's patrons and reshelving books that had returned--and keeping the shelves in good order.

Gretchen's twenty-ninth birthday had arrived--quite too quickly--the day before, and she bustled with an excess of alacrity to relieve her mind from the brooding that had occupied her for several days. She had spent the evening alone, though she knew it did her no good to seek solitude. To accept being past her prime of life would be simpler perhaps, and productive of less anguish, than fretting over what could not be changed. She was nearly thirty, though--and she knew what lay in store for her a few years hence. She had only to look at the a.s.sistant reference librarian, Miss Sadie, to see how she herself would be in but a few more years. The thought nearly made her shudder, and if she allowed herself to think too deeply upon the matter, might have brought her to tears. Thankfully, Gretchen told herself, she could grow old among the books, where at least she had the company of great minds--or their legacy--rather than spend a life straining in a factory--or under the yoke of an old-fas.h.i.+oned man.

She had been estranged from her family for six years and rarely given them serious thought since fleeing Connecticut. A simple enough row it had been to start--what should she do now that she had finished university? Of course her father recommended marriage and settling into the domestic life--a pretty girl like her. Him and his antiquated ideals--a pretty girl in the kitchen, indeed! At twenty-three she had finally come to her senses and refused to marry the young man to whom she had been betrothed, no matter how well matched her father thought they were.

Her mother had frequently confided to Gretchen her views on the varied pleasures--and trials--inherent in marriage, admitting that as the years pa.s.sed she found the pleasures perhaps not worth the other hards.h.i.+ps--the outward subjugation of her own feelings and the constant deference she was required to display within the confines of that marriage, as if she had no independent mind. Gretchen had long since determined that would not be her fate. She had come to believe that no suitable man could be found, yet she remained unsatisfied. The only true regret she had about casting off her family ties was that she had disappointed her mother. It was her mother who had worked so hard, really, to see that Gretchen had an education; her father only begrudgingly went along for the sake of domestic tranquility when all efforts to dissuade her had failed.

At university Gretchen had imbibed the rarefied intellectual atmosphere with increasing eagerness and found herself drawn irresistibly up the slopes of Parna.s.sus. She had always intended to work after completing university--and work she did, though she had difficulty making due with what employment she could find. Even a superlative education, she had learned in six years, did not buy one certain rights or reasonable wages. She hoped that she would yet see the flowering of an age that she could call an enlightened one. She might have been bitter had she higher material aspirations, but she was content with little in the way of physical comforts. Why the privilege of spending nearly all her days in the library would have been worth almost any sacrifice--what need had she of wages!

It was lamentable, she decided, that she should have to forgo marital companions.h.i.+p if she were to retain her individuality--for the price of her freedom was a monumental sort of loneliness that only the severest mental discipline could overcome. She had seen so many of her school friends smothered in the clutches of bad marriages, worn out beneath their husbands' heels--almost like doormats. To be truthful there were those who seemed to prosper in the state of matrimony, but she thought them few. Yet, she still had an abiding fear that she would grow old alone--and soon enough become as obdurate as Miss Sadie--a pitiable spinster with none of the finer sensibilities left to her. Was there no man, Gretchen wondered, with whom she could share her life and interests--a man with progressive ideas? Not a man that she, like a tiny moon, would orbit eternally, but one with whom she could find a state of mutual orbit. Well, she thought, something of that nature anyway. Her knowledge of astronomy was not up to the task of finding a better a.n.a.logy, and she resolved to remedy that as soon as she was able. She added another volume--'something concerning the heavens' she called it--to the list of books she thought she really must read.

Gretchen bustled, thinking these thoughts, dreading her next birthday.

She blew softly on a wisp of auburn hair that had somehow escaped from the green ribbon with which she tied it back that morning. Several strands had somehow got into her mouth but her arms were too full of books--heavy tomes, all--to pull them away with her fingers. She was on the verge of setting down the burden and tending to her hair for a moment when, as she turned a corner into the next row, a shadow fell across the topmost book in her arms. She glanced up in surprise. A man stood mere inches in front of her--and looked up to find her bearing down upon him with a full head of steam--even as he stepped toward her.

"Oh!" she cried, attempting to stop herself. The books slid irretrievably from her grasp, their pages flying open with a flutter.

The man's arms shot out. "The books!" came his cry of astonishment as they tumbled about him. He tried to catch a few, left and then right, but alas they fell--all but one--to the floor with a dull clatter.

"Oh dear," Gretchen whispered, looking down. She feared she had bent a few pages, and putting a hand to her mouth knelt immediately to gather them all. "I'm terribly sorry, sir," she continued in a rush as she piled books one after the other. "My clumsiness..."

"Think nothing of it, Miss," the man replied lightly. "It's my fault.

I do hope _you_ were not harmed by _my_ clumsiness..." He knelt then, and began to place books upon her stack, starting with the volume he had saved from falling. The lucky book was one of the late Mr.

Darwin's, and when he glanced momentarily at the spine she blushed deeply despite herself--for she had that day finished reading it, and was returning it to its rightful place. She knew that he had seen her cheeks color.

Gretchen looked around, and seeing there were no more stray books, prepared to pick up the stack again. She stood up to catch her breath and smooth her wool skirt, arching back her shoulders. Looking down at the man, she finally remembered to blow the wisp of hair from her face.

He was looking up at her and positively beaming--clean-shaven and light complected, she noted--but the smile faded almost instantly to a faint curling about the corners of his lips.

"Please accept my apologies," he stated, still kneeling upon the floor.

"I will have to be more careful." His hair was dishevelled--great curly locks of jet black, and he laughed nervously as he brushed it from his eyes. He peered at her with eyes so black, yet so kindly, that Gretchen found herself blus.h.i.+ng again and put a hand to her chest.

The man stopped for a moment to adjust his s.h.i.+rt and coat, then stood slowly, and with the hint of a bow, swept past her and away.

Unaccountably, she felt suddenly light-headed and sat down upon the floor by her books. His eyes! she exclaimed to herself with an outrush of breath. She felt that in an instant they had devoured her; had known all about her. She could not recall ever having seen such lively and intelligent eyes--so deep and black they seemed like windows opening onto a starlit sky. And his hand! when he placed the last book upon the stack--the nails so trim. His hands were almost feminine, and finely wrought. Gretchen gradually composed herself, then picked up her books and continued about her work.

Several times thereafter in the course of a fortnight Gretchen saw the same young man about the library, and they developed an acquaintance that began and ended with nodding pleasantly and wis.h.i.+ng each other "good day". She thought him quite the most interesting patron she had seen in the library for... she knew not how long--perhaps never in the two years she had been there. He was flamboyant, certainly, Gretchen decided, but he had not that rakishness or arrogance that so often accompanies one who is as smart a dresser as he seemed. Her thoughts chanced to light upon him sometimes, and within the fortnight, she decided he must be attached to the university. Perhaps a professor--well certainly not a full professor, he was far too young and had not grown into that masculine stuffiness that comes with long tenure--and his physique was trim. No, she decided, he was probably a fresh young a.s.sistant to an elder professor.

"Gretchen, dear." Miss Sadie's voice crackled behind her in a very strange manner and Gretchen looked around. "I do fear I'm catching some contagion, dear," Miss Sadie continued in a whisper, "can you possibly mind the desk until closing?"

Gretchen hesitated for a moment. She had worked long enough in the library to feel at ease, and with cla.s.ses already in recess for the Christmas holidays, there were few patrons. "Of course, Miss Sadie,"

she answered. "I do hope you're feeling better tomorrow."

"If not, I shan't be in," Miss Sadie replied in a very weak tone.

"I'll--I'll try to send word."

"I'll see to everything, Miss Sadie--just take care of yourself." She paused. "And I'll inform Mr. Johnson--it's no trouble at all." With a smile and a pitying wag of her head, she added, "Take good care of yourself."

Miss Sadie thanked her, and took her leave. Gretchen was alone, at last, if only for an evening, as temporary queen of the reference desk.

Well, it was about time she was asked to do something besides fetch books, she thought airily, and took a seat at Miss Sadie's desk. Miss Sadie was not very neat for a librarian, she thought, wiping a finger across the desk, so she began to tidy a few things up. She put down a fresh blotter and arranged the papers in a more orderly manner, then opened a drawer in search of a cloth. Really, Miss Sadie is the epitome of disorganization, she muttered, seeing the jumble. It's a wonder that a woman like her can retain such a position.

Bing-bing! Gretchen looked up suddenly when the bell upon the front counter sounded. Standing there with his hand poised above the bell was the young man.

"May I be of a.s.sistance?" Gretchen asked, in her most librarian-like tone.

The young man smiled. "I sincerely hope you can. I wonder if you might be able to help me find this book?" He held out a small slip of paper between two fingers. "It doesn't appear to be in the open stacks."

Gretchen glided to the desk and took the slip of paper from him. A glance at the number was sufficient. "You're correct," she told him, handing the paper back. "It's in one of the special collections."

"I wonder, then, Miss..." He paused, drawing out the word into a silence, until Gretchen felt obliged to fill the audible gap.

"Haviland," she offered in a whisper.

"Miss Haviland. Could you help me locate it?" He smiled with the slightly curling lips he always wore. Not condescending, she decided--perhaps amused, or even flirtatious.

Gretchen stood fl.u.s.tered for a moment. Patrons were not allowed into the special collections--they were under lock and key. Should she leave the reference desk unattended while she fetched it for him? In the interim, what if another patron had pressing business? A preposterous quandary, Gretchen then told herself. "Of course, Professor," she replied crisply. "Let me bring the key."

The young man laughed then, with a toss of his head so that his black curls flopped into his eyes. He suddenly sighed, with an exaggerated look of defeat, brus.h.i.+ng back his hair. "Do I appear so like a professor, Miss Haviland? How did you know?"

It was Gretchen's turn to be amused, and she smiled as she went to Miss Sadie's desk drawer to bring the key. "You have not the air of a student, Professor..." she drew out the word in a manner imitative of his previous query, until he had to break into a wondrous smile.

"Bridwell!" he exclaimed, and rapped four fingernails once upon the desk. "Employed only this year--in the English department."

"Professor Bridwell," she continued, imparting a certain air of coquetry to her words, "your dress is frankly too punctilious for a student; and if I might be so tactless, you seem... more evolved, shall we say."

Having drawn out the key, she beckoned him to follow. They ascended the back staircase--likewise taboo for patrons. All the while Gretchen thought how to exonerate herself should she be caught by one of her superiors while leading a patron--alone--into the inner sanctum. She decided the best approach would be to plead ignorance--"Oh," she could say, "I had no idea that professors were considered ordinary patrons."

Would that be sufficient excuse?

The book was easy to find, and Gretchen put herself to no particular difficulty--but nevertheless, Professor Bridwell's thanks were profuse.

He consulted the book--which could not leave the library--for an hour or more. On departing he returned the book to the counter. He inclined his head, with the now-familiar flop of his curly hair, and said, "I do hope to have the pleasure again, Miss Haviland."