head hurt a little, but the boy who woke me served some juice that assuaged the pain. He couldn’t have been more than twelve, but carried himself as though he’d lived three dozen years. He would make a good boss when the current one departed. He had my bag in his hand, packed and ready. ‘There’s two days’ worth of food—it’s about all we could fit in there. Anymore’d go bad anyway.’ I took the bag and inspected the contents. The food was tightly wrapped and carefully packed among my things. Over my shoulder I could feel the heat from the morning sun, magnified by the window glass. ‘We’d better get going. Boss says you need to get to the city.’ He was all business.
“We walked from the bedroom into the hallway. He stopped and pointed to the bathroom door. ‘Why don’t you wash up first? I’ll wait.’ There was soap and water and even a towel. I could hardly believe my eyes. I washed my face for the first time in many days. It felt quite refreshing. The boss and the elders were waiting for me on the porch. They each shook my hand and wished me luck on my journey. The boss told me they would pray for me. I thanked him. It was a gracious gesture, however futile. The trip to the highway was a short one—I had not wandered that far from the road after all. ‘May God be with you.’ The scout wished me well before he disappeared into the bush. For him the day of toil had just begun. For me, I hoped, the journey was nearly done.”
Chapter XIII
After lunch, Shelley and I decided to explore the village. It was full of abandoned homes and shops. Some were built to be stores, but many of the shops were in old houses, just like in our village. There were houses with broken doors and windows, houses that had burned to the ground, and houses that were utterly deteriorated—the skeletons of the ancient times. But there were many homes that almost looked as though people still lived there, those houses with the farms and modifications.
In the center of the suburb were several very large houses, one with a sign that said “Meeting Hall” and another marked “Library.” These were not villages in the old days, but neighborhoods. They were quite different from the old cities and towns, and many of those ancient houses no longer served as homes. But they served their villages nonetheless.
“Let’s check out the Library.” I was dying to find out what was inside.
“Shouldn’t we be on our way?” She was hesitant, but I knew she was curious too.
“We must be close to the city. These old suburbs always are. We are making good time.” I thought we were, anyway.
She relented, so we pried the rotting doors open and crept in as if someone were watching. The first room was large with old, well-built shelves. They were mismatched and odd, but sturdy nonetheless. On these shelves were classics of poetry and prose, nonfiction texts from all disciplines, and tomes of philosophy and religion. This was the village’s library of literature, but not its Library .
Shelley found a shelf she couldn’t pull herself away from. “Drama!” she whispered loudly. She jauntily browsed the spines and pulled forward every book to glance at its cover, stacking a few select copies on a table in the center of the main room. Whispering again, she said, “Look how old they are.” She blew dust off of a copy, and it made me cough.
“Why are you whispering?” I whispered. We both giggled. Soon she was not paying any attention to me, and I became bored quickly. I snagged a copy of The Odyssey and stuffed it inside my bag. I browsed halfheartedly at the shelves near Shelley before finally announcing, “I’m going to look around.” She acknowledged me with a listless nod. I darted in and out of the other rooms. The rest of the house downstairs was more of the same, a typical library. I was looking for the Books.
“I’m going upstairs.” I wandered up the creaking staircase, where I found what I was looking
“We walked from the bedroom into the hallway. He stopped and pointed to the bathroom door. ‘Why don’t you wash up first? I’ll wait.’ There was soap and water and even a towel. I could hardly believe my eyes. I washed my face for the first time in many days. It felt quite refreshing. The boss and the elders were waiting for me on the porch. They each shook my hand and wished me luck on my journey. The boss told me they would pray for me. I thanked him. It was a gracious gesture, however futile. The trip to the highway was a short one—I had not wandered that far from the road after all. ‘May God be with you.’ The scout wished me well before he disappeared into the bush. For him the day of toil had just begun. For me, I hoped, the journey was nearly done.”
Chapter XIII
After lunch, Shelley and I decided to explore the village. It was full of abandoned homes and shops. Some were built to be stores, but many of the shops were in old houses, just like in our village. There were houses with broken doors and windows, houses that had burned to the ground, and houses that were utterly deteriorated—the skeletons of the ancient times. But there were many homes that almost looked as though people still lived there, those houses with the farms and modifications.
In the center of the suburb were several very large houses, one with a sign that said “Meeting Hall” and another marked “Library.” These were not villages in the old days, but neighborhoods. They were quite different from the old cities and towns, and many of those ancient houses no longer served as homes. But they served their villages nonetheless.
“Let’s check out the Library.” I was dying to find out what was inside.
“Shouldn’t we be on our way?” She was hesitant, but I knew she was curious too.
“We must be close to the city. These old suburbs always are. We are making good time.” I thought we were, anyway.
She relented, so we pried the rotting doors open and crept in as if someone were watching. The first room was large with old, well-built shelves. They were mismatched and odd, but sturdy nonetheless. On these shelves were classics of poetry and prose, nonfiction texts from all disciplines, and tomes of philosophy and religion. This was the village’s library of literature, but not its Library .
Shelley found a shelf she couldn’t pull herself away from. “Drama!” she whispered loudly. She jauntily browsed the spines and pulled forward every book to glance at its cover, stacking a few select copies on a table in the center of the main room. Whispering again, she said, “Look how old they are.” She blew dust off of a copy, and it made me cough.
“Why are you whispering?” I whispered. We both giggled. Soon she was not paying any attention to me, and I became bored quickly. I snagged a copy of The Odyssey and stuffed it inside my bag. I browsed halfheartedly at the shelves near Shelley before finally announcing, “I’m going to look around.” She acknowledged me with a listless nod. I darted in and out of the other rooms. The rest of the house downstairs was more of the same, a typical library. I was looking for the Books.
“I’m going upstairs.” I wandered up the creaking staircase, where I found what I was looking
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