“It is a deterrent threat.”
“But for the one who isn’t deterred?”
“I suppose it prevents them from stealing another loaf, at least for the next ten years. And, Derek, time is one thing everyone has. They might not have money for you to take from them, but they do have time.”
“Bentham said that prison should be for correcting the individual, not punishing them. The Enlightenment had found its way into prison.”
“I don’t think he knew how to correct a person.”
“If you had to decide a person’s punishment, Charles, how would you do it?”
“I don’t think a person can be corrected, Derek. I think he can only be redeemed.”
SATURDAY MORNING
Charles wandered down the stairs to the showroom. Dorothy was behind the counter talking with a middle- aged, upper-class lady with a large middle and larger upper.
“Mrs. Stratton,” he said. “Good morning.”
“Good morning, Mr. Beale,” the woman said in a properly fruity voice. “Dorothy and I are discussing the banquet this evening.”
“We’re looking forward to it.”
The front door opened.
“Good morning,” Dorothy said in a bright greet-the-customer voice, and Charles turned to look toward the door, and then down slightly.
“Congresswoman Liu! What an honor!”
“Good morning, Mr. Beale.” She nodded toward the ladies at the counter. “Good morning!”
“Dorothy!” Charles said. “Roll out the red carpet. This is her! An honest-to-goodness congresswoman!”
“Oh, Mr. Beale. Please!” Karen Liu beamed her searchlight-strength smile and without any hint of embarrassment. “Thank you!”
“This is my wife, Dorothy.”
“Good morning, Mrs. Beale!”
“And our dear friend, Mrs. Wilhelmina Stratton.”
“A congresswoman?” Mrs. Stratton said. “How do you do!”
A few tangled moments passed, of ebullient greetings and fulsome praises and self-effacing protestations, and of Mrs. Stratton seizing opportunity with both hands. But finally the air cleared and extraneous personalities realized they were no longer needed. Only Charles, Dorothy and the fully introduced congresswoman were left.
“And what an interesting shop!” she said as she finally had a chance to see it.
“Oh, it is,” Charles said, “and I’m so glad to have you here. Let me show you around.”
“Let me just look at it all first.” They stood for a moment in the room’s center, Karen Liu completely inflated, her eyes sharp and darting; and Charles and Dorothy respectfully silent.
“Now show me something.”
“Of course,” he said. He led her to the shelves under the stairs. “Books,” he said. Dorothy watched from the counter.
“May I look at one?” Karen Liu said.
“Please.”
She touched a spine and then a few more, reading the titles. “I thought you sold old books.”
“These are a little bit old,” he said. “The very old ones are downstairs. But even middle-aged books can be very interesting and valuable.”
She slid one volume out. “Fishing?”
“A popular section.”
Then her eyes got very big. “Two hundred dollars?”
Charles nodded. “ Fishing Salmon and Trout, 1889. It’s a fifth edition and the leather is still in excellent condition. Cholmondeley-Pennell is a standard for people who collect in fishing.”
“What makes it worth two hundred dollars?”
“That people are willing to pay two hundred.”
“There are people that would.” She handed it to him. “But I wouldn’t.”
“It depends on what a person values,” he said. “But books can be valuable in so many ways.”
“The only use I would have for a book is to read it.”
“Some people use, and some collect.” Charles opened the book in his hand and softly turned the pages. “It means something to own a book. If a person enjoys fishing, this book can re-create that enjoyment. And this book, with its own collectible value, adds to the enjoyment. Some people collect antiques as an investment, but most do it because it enriches them in deeper ways.”
Suddenly the charm and smile turned off. The change was striking.
“Do you have any books that are valuable because of what they say about people?” She was looking at him, not the book in his hand.
“What kind of things would they say?” he asked.
“Things they wouldn’t want said.”
Dorothy busied herself at the counter, actively not participating in the conversation.
“I have books about human nature,” Charles said. “Some of them come to very bleak conclusions, and many people would rather not hear what they have to say. Is that what you mean?”
“It might be. What books did you sell to Derek Bastien?”
“Classic authors of the Enlightenment, the seventeenth and eighteenth centuries. They were books about government and law and human thought.”
“Were they the kind you just described?”
“Some of those authors had a bleak view of mankind, but mostly they were hopeful.”
The congressional brows furrowed, but the hearing room atmosphere had eased. “What if I wanted to buy something? What would you recommend?”
“I’d have to know what you value, Ms. Liu.” He smiled. “I have to know who you are.”
“All right.” She was back to smiling, but a superficial one. “Pretend I wanted to buy something. Find out who I am.”
“Do you have any hobbies?”
“Hobbies! Me?” The indignity was genuine.
“That’s where some people start. Fishing, camping. Sports. Baseball is popular.”
“I don’t have time for hobbies.”
“Do you have favorite authors?”
“Mr. Beale, I don’t even remember the last time I read a book just to read it. I only read reports.”
“Let’s step back from reading. What would you like to experience?”
“Experience?”
Charles’s own smile had faded. “What drives you, Congresswoman?”
She answered as seriously. “Struggle, Mr. Beale.”
“For what?”
“For justice.”
“I prefer mercy,” he said.
She folded her arms and leaned her head. “Mercy is a whim. It is doled out by the powerful when they choose for a moment to lighten their oppression of the weak. Justice is equal and blind.”
“Justice means getting what you deserve,” Charles said. “I hope I don’t.”
“Some people just wish they could.”
“Well.” He sighed, and took a book from a different shelf. “You might like Sinclair Lewis. Or William Faulkner.”
“They’re old. The dead past doesn’t interest me. I live in the present.”
