Fahrenheit 451 (Part II)
This is fiction inspired by a recent case where a 56-year old woman was taken to court for stealing books from the library where she worked …
I have never missed a single day from work in my 34-year career. What had this brought me? Nothing! Zilch! Nada! At first I liked my job, in this village of 998 people. I have always loved books, and must have read two books a week. Mainly history and fiction. It did not take me long to become aware of the fact that as far as status was concerned, I didn’t even register on the Richter scale. I don’t think anybody remembers I am called Freya. The elderly would twitch a smile at you as you stamp their books, but as a rule, the borrower approaches your desk, and sullenly thrusts the book at you and their thank yous sound like “ tyoo.” When you go to the shops or wherever, you often come across people who use your library, but hardly anyone will beam a smile of recognition at you. No, a librarian is a nobody.
I never married, someone had to look after her. I was no more than her domestic. She hardly spoke to me when I came back from the library, except to moan about the food I serve, about keeping the house cold in winter. Because you want me to catch me death so you can be rid of me. In 34 years I only had one holiday, and that was at Blackpool. But I will never understand why I did not rejoice when the old bat died.
I was at a loss. My life now had even less purpose than before.
This was when I learnt about e-Bay. I had often thought of of those books which no one has even touched in the 34 years I’ve worked. If I took them away no one would miss them. It was so easy to open an account on e-Bay. It surprised me that books which no one would look at for free, seemed to fetch more than twice their original published price on e-Bay. Mind you I had no need for the money really.
Someone must have grassed on me. Two men I had never seen in the village came in one day, and stayed over an hour looking round, saying nothing to me. I knew they were on to me. That afternoon I rushed home and decided that I was going to burn the fifty three tomes that I had at home. I put them in the coal stove, but books put a fight, they don’t burn so easily. I hadn’t gotten rid of more than half a dozen when they knocked.
I was sentenced to six months prison. To my surprise, my fellow prisoners looked at me in awe. I was someone at last.
