Suddenly her momentum stalled. She started again, much slower. “What was he doing?”
“It had to do with Derek,” Charles said. “He thought I had Derek’s papers.”
“And he burned down a whole building to get them? Oh, Mr. Beale! I can’t believe it. He could have killed people.” She stopped again. “He killed himself.” She lurched forward. “Do you think he did it on purpose?”
“I don’t know,” Charles said. “No, he wouldn’t. Not like that.”
“What about your books?”
“The showroom was destroyed. The basement may be salvageable.”
“Oh my. Oh, Mr. Beale. If there is anything I can do, anything, I will. Anything.”
Dorothy handed her a coffee cup and she took it without noticing.
“We’re only getting started,” Charles said. “I need to go back and look. I need to get the books out as quickly as I can. Congresswoman-”
“Please call me Karen. You already have, once.”
“Karen. Would you stay with Dorothy and Angelo?”
“I’ll go with you,” Dorothy said.
“No, you stay and get some rest. There won’t be a lot to do yet. I’ll take a flashlight.” He went up the stairs to the bedroom and took a flashlight from the nightstand. Then he opened the John Locke and took one paper from the card box.
He looked into the kitchen. “Angelo, I’m leaving. Take care of Dorothy for me.”
“Take care how?”
“If she needs anything.” He turned back to Dorothy. “Goodbye, dear.”
Charles stepped out onto the brick sidewalk that he walked so many times, and so many others had walked before him. He looked for a moment at the old townhouse and the lace curtains in the windows.
Then he chose a quick pace, down two blocks, over one block, past the firemen carrying away barricades and people clotting the way. He squeezed through.
In the full light, the ruin of the building was entire and terrible, but only pitiable, not profound as it had been in the night. Charles stood and pitied it. The face was intact but charred with great black stains leaking upward from the blank holes of the windows. Just from the way it stood, it was obvious that it was hollow and dead inside.
There was one sign of life, a man in a hard hat coming out of what had been the doorway, and Charles hurried toward him.
“Excuse me,” he said. “I’m Charles Beale. I own the building. Are you inspecting it?”
“Yeah. Good morning. They said you want to get books out of the basement?”
“Yes, very quickly. May I get them?”
“Okay, look, Mr. Beale,” the man said. “This place isn’t safe. But how much did you say the books are worth?”
“About ten million dollars.”
He nodded. “I’m going to let you in. It’s not going to fall in today, I don’t think, but you’re doing this at your own risk. I’m giving you one day.”
“Thank you. I’ll go down now and look.”
He walked in and stopped. There could never have been anything like books in such a place. There were no shelves, no counter, nothing to make it a room. There was only black, enough to suck the light out of air. There was no ceiling. He looked straight up to where the office had been and it was only more of the same black, lightless space.
He walked down the stairs. The splintered door was the first thing visible, and he pushed it aside with his foot. The water was mostly gone. He turned his light onto the walls.
The books stared back at him and their thoughts were unknowable, whether it was relief or reproach or resignation. He took a volume from a shelf and gently opened it. The cover was strong and straight and the pages were dry. Now, as they went on, Mr. Great-heart drew his sword, with intent to make a way for the pilgrims in spite of the lions. Then there appeared one that, it seems, had taken upon him to back the lions; and he said to the pilgrims’ guide, What is the cause of your coming hither? Now the name of that man was Grim, or Bloody-man because of his slaying of pilgrims; and he was of the race of the giants. MR. GREAT-HEART: Then said the pilgrims’ guide, These women and children are going on pilgrimage, and this is the way they must go; and go it they shall, in spite of thee and the lions. GRIM: This is not their way, neither shall they go therein. I am come forth to withstand them, and to that end will back the lions.
“Yes, Pilgrim,” Charles said. “Keep making your progress. I will fight for you all that I can.”
He stood for a very long time looking, at shelves, at books, at the room, and at the precious value of everything, everything at all.
“I’ve so enjoyed knowing all of you,” he said.
Slowly he climbed the stairs, back into the light.
Morgan was standing in the street, gape-mouthed, wide-eyed and blinking.
“Good morning,” Charles said.
“Oh.”
“Yes. It’s all right, Morgan. There’s a lot of work to do. The basement looks good. Everything’s down there.”
“What happened?”
“We’ll talk about it later. For now, we need to get the books out. Do you have boxes?”
“Some. Alice is getting everything.” Morgan blinked once more. “I should just start?”
“Yes, get started. Take them to my house, we’ll find room. I need to go out for a while.”
But he had only turned when a taxi blocked his way, and its door opened, and a walking stick jutted.
“Get me out,” a voice said, and Charles reached down and gently lifted. It didn’t take much force.
“Jacob,” he said. “We’ve had a bad accident, I’m afraid.”
“Bad accident? That’s nothing. I’ve seen plenty worse.”
“It’s bad enough.”
“You think you’re trying to get free advertising? It’s all over the television.”
“Oh. I haven’t been watching.”
“Of course not, there’s work to do. What’s left, anything?”
“The basement came through, Jacob. Everything’s still down there. Morgan has already started and Alice is coming.”
“Then it’s not bad at all. Just work, and I know you don’t mind that. Buck up, Charles.”
“Thank you. Thank you very much. I’m glad you’re here, Jacob. Would you like to go over to the house for the morning? When is your flight?”
“I cancelled it. I’m here to take care of your books, and someday you’ll learn how to yourself and keep your store from burning down. Stop there! Let me see!”
Morgan had just emerged with his first box and Jacob scuttled over to him.
“Leave the top off,” he commanded. “Let them dry. Not too many to a box. Now you’ll pack them special to let them dry. I’ll tell you how.”
“Oh, Mr. Beale!” Alice had arrived.
“Everything is fine,” he said. “We won’t sell much today, but everything’s fine.”
She burst into tears.
“Leave the boxes,” Charles said, “and go over to the house to see Dorothy. Everything will be fine. Come back and help when you’re ready.”
“Yes, sir,” she sniffed.
“And thank you so much,” he said. “For everything.” Her lip was too stiff to talk so she just nodded. “Morgan. Just keep working, slow and steady. Angelo could help, and Alice will too when she’s calmed down.”
“Will you be back soon?” Morgan asked.
“When I can. I need to take your little telephone.”
“Yes, sir. Here.”
“Thank you very much, Morgan. You’ve been such a help over the years.”
Morgan set the first box next to his car and went in for the second.
