Ceremonies

he whispered, writing it down. 'Jeremy Freirs.' He pointed his finger at her like a pistol. 'It's the kind of name that ought to have 'Occult Detective' after it, don't you think? Once upon a time it was Freireicher, I'm told, but somehow it got trimmed.' He paused. 'And what's yours?'

This time she hesitated only a moment, though she knew that this person, unlike little old Rosie, could potentially do her harm. 'Carol Conklin. From an equally out-of-the-way place in Pennsylvania.'

God, why had she volunteered all that? What was the matter with her? It wasn't as if this man was going to call her; by Sunday he'd be far away. And why would she even want him to call? He wasn't her type at all.

He was looking up at her with a little half smile. 'Are you one of those farm girls I keep hearing about?'

She was wondering what sort of wise-guy answer he expected when, from the corner of her eye, she saw movement. At the front desk Mrs Tait, the supervisor, thin and turkey-necked, with dyed blond hair, was staring in her direction. As Carol turned toward her, she made a gesture of impatience.

'Uh-oh,' Carol whispered. 'I've got to go.'

He looked disappointed. 'Well, anyway, here,' he said, thrusting the sheet with his name and address at her. 'You'll need this.'

She was already preparing her story and trying to look busy as she approached the front desk. 'He needed some research material,' she explained, holding up the paper he'd given her. 'He'll be away and wanted me to copy it for him.'

'Fine,' the supervisor said, not at all interested. 'Let him fill out a request form before he goes. Now put that paper in your desk and come back out here; there's lots you should be doing. You don't get paid to stand around flirting with the patrons.'

Blushing and annoyed, Carol deliberately avoided looking toward the young man's table as she hurried across the floor, past the magazine racks and reading section toward the office in the back. It was empty except for Mr Brown, in charge of acquisitions, who looked up guiltily from his Post as she came in. He smiled when he saw who it was and continued to watch her, baggy eyes glittering with more than friendliness, as she slipped the sheet of paper into a clipboard she kept on her desk. She had suddenly begun to feel very resentful of Voorhis, of having to take orders from everybody in the place, and of the job itself, which had spoiled the one chance she'd had in – God, in months, it seemed, to talk with a man who seemed frankly interested in her. She felt the great grey mass of the library building overhead, a crushing weight bearing down on her shoulders.

Emerging from the office, she saw with surprise that the young man was gone; his seersucker jacket no longer hung over the back of the chair, and the desk was empty save for three or four library books that someone on the staff- probably Carol herself- would soon be replacing on the shelves. She felt a surge of anger, almost of betrayal; he had simply packed up and left, without even saying goodbye. She'd been no more than a servant to him, like a waitress or a clerk; just someone to mail him some research material. What an idiot she'd been to believe, even for a minute, that he was interested in her. And to think she'd actually gotten yelled at for it.

She was passing the high shelves and narrow aisles of the special collections, just beyond the card files, when she heard someone softly call her name. She turned. There he was, standing just within one of the aisles, like a fugitive loitering in an alley, reluctant to set foot beyond it. His jacket was tucked under one arm, his book bag by his side, as if he were about to make an escape. Grinning, he motioned for her to join him.

'Carol,' he whispered – it was somewhat flattering to hear him speak to her so familiarly – T was just thinking, since you seem to have a country background and all… ' She was about to correct him, she hadn't meant to give him that impression, but then she saw that he'd obviously rehearsed the next part. 'I thought you might be interested in the film I'll be showing tonight. It's all about growing up on a farm.'

'You're showing a film?'

'Yes, I teach down at the New School, one night a week. 'The Cinema of Magic.' Tonight's the last class. We're going to look at a film called Les Jeux Interdits.'

'Pardon?' He had switched languages so effortlessly that she hadn't followed him.

He leaned closer, as if imparting a password. 'Forbidden Games.'

'I've never even heard of it,' whispered Carol. 'Is it in French?'

He nodded impatiently, and she was afraid she'd sounded stupid. 'It takes place on a farm during the Second World War,' he said. 'Two little children form a secret club. They collect the bodies of animals – a beetle, a lizard, a mole – and bury them with elaborate magic rituals, using tombstones stolen from the local cemetery. The whole world is viewed through their eyes.'

'It sounds interesting,' whispered Carol. She was getting nervous about all the time this was taking; she was supposed to be reporting back for more work.

'Well, look,' he said, 'why don't you come tonight? You might enjoy it. And I can get you in free.' He smiled. Everybody else has already paid seven bucks for the privilege.'

'Well, yes, that might be fun,' she said hurriedly, thinking of the empty night ahead. 'I could just walk in?'

'Sure. It starts at eight. Room three-ten, at the end of the hall. Just follow the crowd.'

'You know, I just might. Only tonight's my late night. I don't get out of here till eight.' She wondered if she might be sounding too eager. Unthinkable to let him see she had nothing to do.

He shook his head. 'Oh, that's no problem. We never begin exactly on time. And the New School's what, only ten blocks south of here? That shouldn't take you long.'

'I'll try to make it,' she said. 'I really will.' She wasn't exactly sure where the school was, but she knew she could ask someone on the way. 'Listen, I've got to go. They're waiting for me at the main desk.'

'Oh, yes, of course,' he said quickly. 'I've got to go too.' He slung the red bag over his shoulder. 'Well, then… ' He shrugged. 'I guess I'll be looking for you tonight.' Without waiting for an answer or giving her time to change her mind, he turned and headed toward the door.

She took another twenty-minute break. Afterward, allowed to remain downstairs by the grace or mere inattentiveness of Mrs Tait, Carol found it hard to concentrate on her work – not that logging a stack of new acquisitions into the card file near the center of the floor required much thought. She was thinking about the evening ahead, wishing she had a chance to go home and put on something a bit more flattering than the blouse of her sister's she was wearing today. It was always that way: the important people came along when you were wearing hand-me-downs. Not that this would be a real date, of course, but it was the closest thing she'd have to one all weekend, and she'd have preferred to look nice for it. Her life had suddenly grown more complicated, richer in possibilities, a train back on the tracks and moving at last, building speed; between Rosie and Jeremy this had been a very special day, and she felt sure there'd be more like it ahead. When Mrs Tait reassigned her to the bookcase beneath the south window to arrange a bound and dusty set of Natural History, she took advantage of the solitude and lost herself in daydreams.

At last, knees aching, she stood up and smoothed down her skirt. Before her, just beyond the window, lay the garden, always wilder-looking at this level, a cool and silent world enclosed in glass and brick, the young trees swaying somewhere overhead in an unheard breeze; and wilder still at this hour of the afternoon, when surrounding buildings blocked the sunlight. It was like looking into the darkness of the woods; you could almost forget where you were.

And then, with a momentary chill, she remembered the small black shapes she had seen from the floor above. Rising on tiptoe, she leaned over the tops of the shelves and peered outside.

Yes, there they were, near the wall below the window, deep in shadow and half-covered by earth. There was something familiar about the things. She squinted into the darkness, then gasped at what she'd recognized: the charred remains of some small animal.

A hand touched her shoulder. 'I thought I sent you upstairs,' said Miss Elms, the assistant supervisor, standing beside her.

'I had to return a book down here, and Mrs Tait said I might as well see that these magazines-'

She paused. Her eye had been caught by a reflection in the windowpane. For an instant she thought she'd glimpsed a little pink face peering at her from the dim light of the hallway across the room. Could it be Rosie? Had the little man come back for her? She turned. The outer doors went swish-swish and the hallway was empty.

'Well, don't stand around here all day,' said Miss Elms. 'You seem to have this set put away, and there's a dozen other things you could be doing.'

'I was just trying to get a look at what's out there,' said Carol. She pointed toward the garden. 'See? Below the thornbush?'