BY THE BOOK

“Miss Emily, you can't keep rapping kids’ knuckles.”


“Who complained this time? It was Billy Hathaway, wasn't it, Officer Rooney.”


“If you were their mother, or even Mother Superior, that would be one thing. But you're the town librarian, which means you can't rap kids' knuckles.”

It was near the end of Rooney’s shift. He was tired and not relishing another visit with the elderly little white-haired lady who seemed to pay closer attention to children’s reading habits than their own parents.

“Did you know that little Billy Hathaway tried to check out Ulysses? The very least I could do was to rap his pudgy knuckles. For your information, that book has been banned,” she said, emphasizing the point by thumping the counter with her twig-like finger.

“It was banned a long time ago, but it’s not any longer. That's why it's in the library,” he explained patiently.

“It’s in this library because she wanted it, not I! Oh, I can assure you that I opposed its acquisition, but I was overruled. ‘It's a classic!’ she squealed.”

“Who squealed?”

“Mizzzz Dixon. Lord, the fuss that woman put up,” the old lady said as she straightened the cuffs on her long sleeves.

“Ah yes, Loraine.” ‘Sweet Loraine,’ thought Rooney as he bowed his head ever so slightly to conceal his grin.

“Beneath that pile of peroxide is dead air space. Loraine Dixon has never really read Ulysses, only certain parts. Pure hedonism. That's what that book is about, Officer Rooney, pure hedonism!”

“Why Miss Emily, you haven't read Ulysses, have you?”

“It's my duty. I must know what these books contain in case young impressionable minds ...”

“Like Billy Hathaway's.”

“Exactly like Billy Hathaway's! ... in case young impressionable minds try to check them out.”

“Look,” Rooney began gently as he played with his hat. “I doubt that Billy, who's maybe all of twelve, could read enough of James Joyce to even find the juice ... er, the objectionable parts. I just don't think he's that determined. Reading Joyce is not like reading the Sunday funnies, y’know. He'd get bored real quick and give up.”

“I couldn't take that chance, so I ...”

“So you rapped his knuckles. I know.”

“That's correct!”

“And that's where you made your mistake, Miss Emily. It’s not like the old days any longer. You just can't be rapping knuckles,” he explained sympathetically.

“Then I confiscated the book and suggested a nice Hardy Boys mystery instead.”

“Hmmmm. Sounds like Billy is a bit beyond the Hardy Boys.”

Standing there behind her impeccably organized counter, with her perfect posture and her hands demurely clasped, she looked up at him with her fluid blue eyes. She inhaled deeply, then asked, “What are you going to do, Officer Rooney, haul me off to jail?”

He had to suppress a smile as her choice of words caught him off guard. “You've been rapping knuckles for decades and nobody has ever turned into a psychopathic killer yet, least of all me.”

“Mickey Spillane, wasn't it,” she declared rather smugly.

“You've got some memory, Miss Emily. I The Jury. Boy, that takes me back. That Mickey Spillane sure can write. It’s been a long time since I read one of his books. Too long.” Rooney sighed, then continued. “Personally, I think a good knuckle-rapping is needed now and then. I know you mean well, but times have changed. There are some in this town who think it's child abuse. No, I'm not going to haul you off to jail,” he said trying not to smile. He paused, then added somberly, “But you will be jeopardizing your job if you continue.”

“So it's come to that, has it.” She bowed her head and sighed ever so softly.

“’Fraid so.”

She straightened her shoulders and said with determination, “Well, all I can promise is that I'll do my best. But who will watch over these young minds?”

“You know, Miss Emily, trying to plow through Ulysses is not the worst thing that a kid can do these days.”

“I suppose it isn't.”

Rooney meticulously fitted his hat on his head and adjusted his belt. “I've got to go now. You take care. I’ve got to stop by the book store before it closes.” Then he turned he leave.

“The book store? If you’re getting a book, why not check it out of the library and save yourself some money?”

He stopped, tipped his hat to her and replied with a grin, “Cuz I don't want to get my knuckles rapped.”

Originally published at Zinos.com.

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