Read Online The Shells Of Chanticleer by Maura Patrick - Free Book Online Page A
Authors: Maura Patrick
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on, pumpkin, it won’t be that bad,” Bing urged, squeezing my shoulder, trying to shake a smile out of my stiff face. “Chanticleer is a benevolent world, although it may not always seem so.”
Oh good grief, I thought. Not that claptrap again.
“Fine, I can see I have no choice here. But if that old windbag as much as comes near me again, I swear I will punch him in his fat gut so hard that he’ll .…”
“That’s the spirit!” Bing interrupted, and as soon as I relented and stepped through the gate, he slammed it shut behind me and headed back down the sidewalk towards the center of the town, yelling cheerily “Good Luck! See you soon.”
I walked up the steps reluctantly. The elderly maid said nothing to me. She only pointed up towards the second floor. I dragged myself up the stairs to the landing and entered the library. My grand mess was there untouched. The shelves were bare.
I sank into a chair and buried my head in my hands feeling sorry for myself. Taking all of the books off of the shelves hadn’t been my brightest idea. I sat there with my chin resting on my hand, looking around, considering my options. I noticed that there were no dust motes floating in the air. I remembered lying on the floor at home, looking at the dust motes and feeling sick, and I realized that my life hadn’t been any fun lately, at all. I glanced at the mess around me, frustrated. If I finished the job then maybe I would have some free time. I was tired of feeling sorry for myself. I wasn’t a dope.
I made a decision not to worry about how I did that job; my motto would be to get it done and get out. I promised myself that afterward I would see about getting out and going home, if I could get home from there. I had a bad feeling that the only way out was back through the hospital and I wasn’t sure which place was worse. At least I got solid food in Chanticleer. Lunch was delicious; I was already looking forward to dinner.
I decided to alphabetize the books according to the first letter of each title. I figured if I wanted to read a book, I usually knew what the title was, but wasn’t always sure about the author. If I came into that library looking for a specific book, I would prefer that the volumes be arranged by title and not by author. It might make the Prime Minister mad, but too bad for him. It was my best guess.
I had to climb the library ladder to reach the top shelf where I decided to place the A’s. It was fun at first. I could balance two, sometimes three books in one hand as I used the other to scale the ladder, developing a rhythm to the work. As the day progressed I would occasionally hear footsteps halt for a minute outside of the door and then continue on. When this happened I paused and held my breath, but the door never opened.
I worked nonstop the whole day. I thought I’d be finished by five o’clock as Bing said the town wound down by then, but when the time came I wasn’t finished, and Bing never showed up to retrieve me, so I kept going. The sun started to set; darkness closed in on the frisky lambs in the dome above me. I could smell dinner being prepared downstairs, but no plate was sent up for me. My stomach was making sounds and my mouth was parched and dry. My legs ached; my shoulder blades were stiff. Up and down, up and down.
It was well into the evening, about 8:30 I recall, before all the books were properly shelved. Then I went around and double-checked their order, just to be sure. I was good at spelling; they were all correctly placed according to their titles.
I peeked out into the hallway. Again, nothing but quiet. I could tell that dinner was over because I couldn’t smell the food anymore. I didn’t know what to do next. I sat back on the edge of an armchair, my chin in my hand, and waited. I got irritated. Did anyone care that I was still there? Would they go to sleep and leave me there all night? What about Bing? Didn’t he know that I was still there? Obviously,
Oh good grief, I thought. Not that claptrap again.
“Fine, I can see I have no choice here. But if that old windbag as much as comes near me again, I swear I will punch him in his fat gut so hard that he’ll .…”
“That’s the spirit!” Bing interrupted, and as soon as I relented and stepped through the gate, he slammed it shut behind me and headed back down the sidewalk towards the center of the town, yelling cheerily “Good Luck! See you soon.”
I walked up the steps reluctantly. The elderly maid said nothing to me. She only pointed up towards the second floor. I dragged myself up the stairs to the landing and entered the library. My grand mess was there untouched. The shelves were bare.
I sank into a chair and buried my head in my hands feeling sorry for myself. Taking all of the books off of the shelves hadn’t been my brightest idea. I sat there with my chin resting on my hand, looking around, considering my options. I noticed that there were no dust motes floating in the air. I remembered lying on the floor at home, looking at the dust motes and feeling sick, and I realized that my life hadn’t been any fun lately, at all. I glanced at the mess around me, frustrated. If I finished the job then maybe I would have some free time. I was tired of feeling sorry for myself. I wasn’t a dope.
I made a decision not to worry about how I did that job; my motto would be to get it done and get out. I promised myself that afterward I would see about getting out and going home, if I could get home from there. I had a bad feeling that the only way out was back through the hospital and I wasn’t sure which place was worse. At least I got solid food in Chanticleer. Lunch was delicious; I was already looking forward to dinner.
I decided to alphabetize the books according to the first letter of each title. I figured if I wanted to read a book, I usually knew what the title was, but wasn’t always sure about the author. If I came into that library looking for a specific book, I would prefer that the volumes be arranged by title and not by author. It might make the Prime Minister mad, but too bad for him. It was my best guess.
I had to climb the library ladder to reach the top shelf where I decided to place the A’s. It was fun at first. I could balance two, sometimes three books in one hand as I used the other to scale the ladder, developing a rhythm to the work. As the day progressed I would occasionally hear footsteps halt for a minute outside of the door and then continue on. When this happened I paused and held my breath, but the door never opened.
I worked nonstop the whole day. I thought I’d be finished by five o’clock as Bing said the town wound down by then, but when the time came I wasn’t finished, and Bing never showed up to retrieve me, so I kept going. The sun started to set; darkness closed in on the frisky lambs in the dome above me. I could smell dinner being prepared downstairs, but no plate was sent up for me. My stomach was making sounds and my mouth was parched and dry. My legs ached; my shoulder blades were stiff. Up and down, up and down.
It was well into the evening, about 8:30 I recall, before all the books were properly shelved. Then I went around and double-checked their order, just to be sure. I was good at spelling; they were all correctly placed according to their titles.
I peeked out into the hallway. Again, nothing but quiet. I could tell that dinner was over because I couldn’t smell the food anymore. I didn’t know what to do next. I sat back on the edge of an armchair, my chin in my hand, and waited. I got irritated. Did anyone care that I was still there? Would they go to sleep and leave me there all night? What about Bing? Didn’t he know that I was still there? Obviously,
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