Read Online An Imperfect Librarian by Elizabeth Murphy - Free Book Online Page A

we first married. I’d won a scholarship to go to graduate school. Elsa hadn’t gone touniversity. In school she excelled in the gym and slept in the classroom.
    â€œ...and I want to have the experience of giving birth. Do you understand me?”
    â€œOf course, you want to have the baby yourself.”
    â€œYou always said you’d do anything for me and I knew you were sincere. I remember when you said...”
    I had tried to be the way she wanted me: more talkative, more affectionate, more outgoing, more assertive, more athletic. I could be agile with a database. I was a power-lifter for numbers, flexible with scientific concepts. I could manoeuvre my way through the most complex electronic library systems, yet I’d trip over my own feet if I jogged or played ball sports.
    â€œThis is what I’m calling you about. You did say you’d do anything for me, right?”
    â€œYes, Elsa.”
    â€œOh, Carl. You are such a sweetheart. Marlene said you were like a puppy. Do you remember Marlene? She has two girls now. They’re adorable. By the time the first one was five months old...”
    Elsa had plenty of friends. I didn’t have much time for socializing while I was studying.
    â€œ...but I wouldn’t want to have two girls. A boy and a girl would be nice. What do you think?”
    â€œI haven’t really thought about it.”
    â€œA son with a father like you and a mother like me would be tall, intelligent, athletic. What colour hair do you think he’d have?”
    â€œWhat colour would you like?”
    â€œCan we do it?”
    â€œDo what?”
    â€œMake a child like this?”
    â€œYou mean hypothetically?”
    â€œI’m forty, Carl. You can’t imagine how much I want to do this. I think of nothing else–”
    â€œDon’t cry, Elsa. I didn’t know this was so important to you. I’m sorry.”
    â€œCan we make a child?”
    â€œYou mean you want to have a baby with me as the father?”
    â€œPlease, Carl. Don’t say no to me. Do it as my husband. Do it for me, please!”
    â€œYes, Elsa. We can talk about it–”
    â€œThank you. I knew I could count on you. I hope you won’t mind if Sophie shares in our happiness. She’s like you in many ways. She’d do anything for me. She wants a family as much as I do. We could arrange it for July. That means the baby would be born near Easter next year. What do you think?”
    I think, What will Henry say when he learns that after so much hoping, wanting, longing, wishing, all I have to show is an opportunity to share paternity with Brutus? Instead of responding with anger, I opt for reason. “I think what you’re asking me to do is screw myself. I decline the offer.” End of call.
    My computer screensaver alternates through an Elsa slideshow. A photo of the two of us on a ferry fades onto the screen. It was the day we moved from England to Norway. There’s a photo of Elsa’s athletic body sprawled the length of our divan. That was earlier in our marriage, before she stopped spending time at home.
    Segments of the conversation replay themselves like a refrain: impregnate me, family, baby. I activate the screen-saver controls, locate a folder named Elsa, then press delete. The message box responds with: Are you sure you want to delete Elsa? Yes or no? I press Y, wait three seconds, find the recycle bin, empty the recycle bin. End of instructions, end of Elsa. Next, I dispense with the honeymoon photo by sendingMr. and Mrs. Brunet sailing on a swift voyage across my office, smack into the wall.
    The fresh air on the walk from the library to the parking lot revives me. I feel less nauseated. The car coughs and chokes but doesn’t start. My breath condenses on the windshield. I trace the sum with the tip of my finger: -3 + -6 + -2 = -11 . Minus two equals the number of years (rounded off to the nearest black whole) that I