SHUTE BRANCH

by Edward Musto

“I read books, I read people, I have eyes in the back of my head,” said the librarian. “That's how I'm able to know who's here to read and who's here to raise the devil with the books . . . who's here to study and who's here to socialize . . . who has dirty hands and is likely to smudge the innocent pages of our books and periodicals and who is always thoughtful enough to put books back on the shelves in the exact spot from whence they came! There you have several reasons why you're my absolute favorite of all the boys who use the library! Seriously! Now without even checking the cards at the back of these books you've stacked so neatly in front of me, I know when you took them out, that you're now returning them, and that they aren't so much as one day late! Oh, here's one of the books I recommended. Did you find it as compelling as I did? All about bullying -- how to deal with bullies, what to do if one is being bullied, etc. Well, you know, they say half the population is bullied in school at one time or another. They leave scars, bullies do -- deep ones: psychological, emotional, physical. It's kill-or-be-killed, I think sometimes, kill-or-be-killed . . . which is not a nice atmosphere for a middle-class middle school like the one you attend! Why, when I went to junior high -- that's what we called middle schools in my day, back when the covered wagons were moving westward -- the new kids were ‘initiated' by the upperclassmen. The new boys were beaten and the new girls were defaced with lipstick. Imagine it! Some poor girl, about your age, twelve or so, held down on the ground, scribbled on, her face a coloring book for a gang of delinquent cheerleaders! Think of the shame she must have felt, running home, locking herself in the bathroom, recoiling at her own reflection in the mirror, repulsed by colors she used to love, colors that now signify her degradation . . . then scrubbing her skin raw with hot soap and water, though this does not eradicate the waxy smell of the lipstick that has found its way everywhere; in her hair, in her mouth, on her teeth, behind her ears, on the collar of her favorite white blouse that's ruined and must be thrown out! But that's part of growing up, I suppose -- at least that's what they say, for scars heal, trauma dissolves into nothing and self-respect returns! And so say I, the gate-keeper here at Shute Branch Library. Do you remember the first time you visited? I do! You were in the second grade. Your teacher brought your whole class here to introduce you to the public library: how it works, why it's important, etc. I was explaining the card catalogue and providing a general overview of the Dewey Decimal System when you raised your hand and asked me what a shute tree looked like. I asked what you meant by that. The shute tree, you said, the tree the library is named after. You were puzzled you because you could find no such word as ‘shute' in the dictionary! Ha, ha! Yes, the mistake you made -- not knowing that ‘Shute' referred to our benefactor and that ‘branch' could mean something other than the limb of a tree -- was, in itself, very cute, as children often are, but the fact you tried to find the answer yourself by looking it up? That impressed me! And didn't I say that whatever problem there was, or would be, could be answered by the knowledge stored within the walls of Shute Branch? And didn't I say it's just a question of looking in the right book to find the information you need? That's why I bend the rules and permit you to use the adult section of the library, not just the children's room! What else are we returning here? Books on self-defense, I see: judo, karate, boxing. Ah, yes, the way civilized men cause each other bodily harm! Yet these aren't self-defense measures as much as they are sporting events, are they? And we certainly know how popular sporting events are! That's why the library is so empty today. It's a Saturday afternoon and we all know what that means. ‘The big game.' And next Saturday? Another ‘big game.' Is there ever a game that isn't big? Sports! Now, sports as opposed to self-defense, let's take boxing. In ancient Greece it was a sport, included in the first Olympic Games. The Romans had it too. But are empires ever won by boxing or karate? No. Empires are won by arms, not fists. In fact, after the fall of the Roman Empire , boxing virtually ceased to exist. It wasn't until 18 th century England it was revived and then only in the form of bare-knuckle competitions in which the contestants fought for money and the spectators made bets. But is prizefighting -- that's what we called professional boxing in my day, back when the ink was still drying on the Magna Carta -- really a means of self-defense, given our age of gang warfare and dirty fighting? How could it be if a boy such as yourself is jumped by the entire football team, whose only objective is to victimize a boy they don't understand and in the process blacken his eye, bloody his nose and crack a couple of his ribs? School authorities always refer to this kind of thing as an isolated incident, don't they, no matter how many times it occurs? My, what a lot of reading you did this week! Well, of course, you had nothing but time on your hands, didn't you? Do they call it a suspension when the victim is told not to attend school because the powers-that-be can't ensure his safety? That's upside-down thinking, isn't it? How else can we describe it when it is the victim, not the perpetrator, who is removed from school, from the education he is supposed to receive, from the few extracurricular activities that give his otherwise miserable adolescence some purpose, some pleasure? Well, they can't keep such a boy from visiting a public library, can they? It pleases me so much you still come here! Oh, I know the school library is a big modern one. I've been there. The librarians charge out books by waving a wand over a bar code. We still use the Gaylord book charger, complete with the trademark faded purple ink and the Brodart 23-249 ‘due date' cards slipped into the book pockets. ‘This book is due on the latest date stamped.' How many years have I been here at Shute Branch? Well, let's say . . . many--but still my heart skips a beat every time I hear that metallic double-click that comes when I insert one of those manila cards into the book charger! I love that sound. It's so permanent, so . . . forever, like the click of a camera -- or a gun. Oh! Tell me I didn't steer you wrong with this book! I found it life-altering. It was, after all, my introduction to the concept of nihilism. Nihilism: ‘the rejection of all positive values and the belief in nothing.' People have a problem with that. Isn't it odd that this philosophy is always defined not by those who believe in it, but by those who oppose it? They don't understand, they who criticize. They fear that nihilism will destroy all possibility of orderly and purposeful existence and that it is directly contrary to actual human need. What they fail to understand is that sometimes disorder, even destruction, is a necessary phase in the development of the world, of the country, of the town, of the school, of anyone who's been reduced to nothing. But there's nothing to fear! You see, ultimately to believe in nothing is a liberating thing! It means your life can be whatever you want it to be, and that no action in and of itself is wrong! Once you come to believe that, why, there's nothing to stop you from doing anything you need to do. Now, you may ask yourself, if nothing matters, what's to prevent someone from, say, getting a gun, going to the stadium the day of the big game, and taking out the entire football team, one by one? Not that I suspect you're about to do any such thing -- or are even considering it! That was merely an example, albeit an extreme one, to elucidate the liberating effect of radical thinking. Our time is coming to an end, I'm sorry to say -- I've got your last return right here. My, my, my, you have such eclectic taste! Knowing your reading habits as I do, I never would have guessed you'd be interested in a book on firearms. That's something we have in common. When I was a mere slip of a girl -- this was eons ago, the only air traffic was pterodactyls -- my father brought me to the rifle range Sunday mornings and I remember with such fondness the accouterment: the cross-hairs on the scope, the dirty mattresses we laid down upon, the metal against my cheek, the lightness of my finger on the trigger, the gentle burst of the gun, the crack of the hit, and the pile of splintered wood that only moments before had been a target made of Popsicle sticks! Oh. Is this order form yours? It fell out of that last book. This is your handwriting, isn't it? Do you care to explain why you're ordering a Bushmaster Carbon 15 semi-automatic pistol at a price no twelve-year-old should be able to afford when there are ways to acquire that same piece of weaponry for much, much less? For example, you can purchase used gun parts, legally and without having to register them -- everything except the receiver, that is, that part into which the bullet fits and makes it discharge -- for, oh, half the amount you would pay otherwise. You see, the law says it's not a gun unless it has that one piece on the inside . . . that one trivial piece, which is easy to get hold of through a shady dealer or, better yet, a legal-age friend. Forgive me for rambling on like this. I just like to make the most of our time together. You're not in the second grade anymore and soon you'll move on to other libraries, other wellsprings of knowledge, other means of finding the answers you'll need to survive this mercilessly cruel life. Give my best to the football team when you see them. The cheerleaders too, should the opportunity present itself. What's this? A smile! How wonderful to see it again! But what's that look of surprise? Haven't I always said I read books, I read people, I have eyes in the back of my head?”