the capitals.
Sweeping the card away and reversing it, she added “atthew” to the M and “ans” to the G: Matthew Gans. After a hesitation, she put in “Jr.,” then assigned him a member number, dated and signed the card herself, and handed it back to him explaining that he was allowed to check out one book for a week from the children’s section. When she asked whether he knew what “check out” meant, he made no sign in response, so she explained how a lending library worked. It became evident to her, after a time, that she sounded high-handed, a little mean even, in giving a long explanation. And she was doing it because the boy was not likable, seemed slow. So she brought the library lecture to a sudden end by asking him what sort of book he would like to check out first.
Atop a low bookshelf next to her desk, the bookshelf she reserved for recent publications that she recommended to patrons, Mildred had propped several volumes for young adults and children. She pointed to the books on the shelf and prompted, “Do you like any of these?” The question made the boy appear suddenly closed, as if his eyes actually retreated into his head. It could have been a trick of the light. When the boy followed Mildred’s gesture and looked at the books, he was also facing away from sunlight flooding in through the high window behind Mildred’s desk and toward the comparatively shadowed area of the bookshelf; the pupils of his eyes dilated. Nothing so mundane and mechanical occurred to Mildred, though. The boy seemed, all of a sudden, furtive. Creepy.
He nodded slowly but did not point to any specific book. So Mildred removed the nearest and set it before him on the desk. However well the boy could read (if at all, Mildred wondered), the book was profusely, beautifully illustrated and would prove educational.
“Here,” she said, trying to soften her voice some. “This is brand new and lovely and part of the famous Every Child’s Omnibus series.”
She stopped herself again. The name would mean nothing to the boy. In any case, he simply fixed his eyes on the book until she flipped open the cover, took out the checkout cards from their stiff paper pocket, stamped in the due date on each, and re-inserted one into the pocket, while laying aside the second for filing. When she picked up Every Child’s Omnibus of Wisdom and held it out, he raised his hands to receive it readily enough. Just then the phone rang.
The phone stood on a half-size file cabinet behind Mildred and, still offering the book, she twisted round to reach for the receiver. The caller was not, as she hoped, Will Dubykky, whom Mildred dared think of as a possibility, but Deputy Sheriff Dodd. He wanted a book about Wyatt Earp, because he had heard that Wyatt Earp had actually served as a lawman in Mineral County. Mildred was familiar with the subject. She informed him crisply, because he was not a man she wanted to encourage through long conversation, that Wyatt Earp had indeed been a marshal in Nevada, but it was in Nye County, not Mineral County. In the course of her remarks, she felt a little tug at her extended hand, and released her hold on the book. The deputy’s questions disposed of a minute later, she swiveled back. Matthew Gans, Jr., was gone.
Mildred looked around her library. It was a long single room of tables and wall shelves where there was nowhere to hide. The boy had vanished, and with him Every Child’s Omnibus of Wisdom. He was the first to check it out. Mildred’s smooth, powdered forehead creased. And, Mildred realized, the list of names was gone, too.
Did she smell something musty, like decay? She sniffed deeply. Yes … maybe, but she was startled out of that line of thought. A gust of wind swiped at the windows, scratching and rattling the panes. She pressed a palm to her heart to calm it.
That door bell, Mildred mused, disgruntled and more than a little spooked now, I’ll have to get it replaced with something louder or people will be sneaking in on me all the time. Like that boy.
Now, what nice man should do it for her?
TO MILDRED’S DELIGHT, Will Dubykky did call later in the day. He was calling, he told her, simply to be sure that everything was all right with her. Such an attentive man! Of course, everything was all right, if a little lonely.
What else?
He took the hint. They agreed upon dinner in the restaurant of the El Capitan, the biggest casino in town. To Mildred, this was daring, just a little. The El Cap boasted the county’s only fine dining and was beyond her means except for really special occasions. But not beyond Will’s. Like her, he was of the professional class, yet unlike her he was a type of professional who actually made a lot of money. An attorney-at-law. Also, it was a Thursday night, not a day that Mildred normally allotted to dining out, yet again this was Will, and so the departure from her routine moved Mildred to romantic thoughts. Maybe Will was finally getting interested in being something more to her than an ersatz uncle.
On the way to the El Cap, after locking the library’s front door, having carefully negotiated the three concrete steps to the sidewalk, she nearly toppled off her high heels. The wind was becoming especially fierce. One glance at the mountains to the west of town and it wasn’t so hard to imagine a hurricane about to strike. The Wassuk Range rose straight up thousands of feet from the desert floor like gargantuan waves about to overwhelm the feeble human settlement, an illusion enhanced by the cap of snow on them, like foam on breaking surf.
Mildred hurried downtown, unable to stop herself reflecting on what a shame it was that Will was not more like Matt Gans, the teacher. Matt was handsome, lively. Dashing, even. Such a big wide smile he had, she had been all but blinded by the whiteness of his teeth. Will posed a contrast. Not that Will was a bad-looking man. Not at all! But where Matt was muscular-manly, Will was slender. Where Matt was animated, Will was impassive. Where Matt glowed with health, Will hinted of having some disability that diminished his vitality, perhaps related to wounds he had received in Korea. Pizzazz was not a word she could associate with him. Unflappable, maybe: the unflappable William Dubykky. Not so romantic, that.
Mildred sought the protection of the commercial buildings on Main Street, squinting against the grit in the air while gusts manhandled her. Once in front of the hardware store, she slowed her pace, enjoying the relative calm and the air’s May softness. The snow in the mountains was beginning to melt. This meant that the winds carried some moisture with them, bringing an unusual fullness and tactile intimacy to the otherwise chalky high desert air.
She glanced at her watch, then checked it against the clock in the window of the jewelry store. She was a little early for the date, so she stopped and examined the rings and necklaces in the window display. She tried to keep her eyes off the earrings, especially the ones that were real earrings, the ones on slender posts, naked and silver, as opposed to the clasps. How her mother had ranted when Mildred returned home from the University of Nevada two years earlier. Pierced ears! Oh, horrors! The memory still made her blush. But it had been a little funny, too, when her mother, transported by rage, lost control of her syntax. “No daughter of mine—tricked out like a floozy—painted toes next—clasps like a good Lutheran woman—sitting on men’s laps—hophead beatniks!” Overcome by the shame of it, her mother retreated to the recliner oppressed by a headache. Really, it was 1960. Tastes were changing. Couldn’t she see that?
Mildred’s only set of earrings, modest silver maple leaves on posts and not at all anything racy like gold hoops, disappeared from her dresser soon afterward. Mildred had not dared buy anything else like them. The piercings in her ears had all but closed up.
Still, she could—she thought of Misty Gans, Matt’s wife. Misty had pierced ears and wore little garnet earrings. Very elegant. But of course the Ganses came from Los Angeles. They were sophisticated. The image of Matt came back to her, the twinkle of interest in his soft blue eyes.
Stop it, she chided
