I had never really considered the idea of falling off the face of the earth. But, today…today it seemed plausible. Even, enjoyable, perhaps. It had been raining in sheets; spattering against the window in violent bursts. It seemed even the rain, nor the ivy pressing fervently against the glass, could bear the thought of being a part of the world outside my flat. With the explosion of each drop, a loud echo sounded. I sat there staring, utterly unmoved. I wouldn’t pity the elements, not today. It had threatened rain for the past week, and each day men and women, armed with various umbrellas of red, black, and floral prints, called its bluff. It was only a matter of time before the impregnated clouds burst in a fury. I sighed, a grieved heavy sigh for my overstuffed brown chair as I pulled a ripped another rogue thread from the arm. It would only be a matter of time before I would have to replace the furniture as well. It seemed a shame to change the furnishings after Allistar Hadley had disappeared six months ago. Well, perhaps disappeared hadn’t really been the word for it. No, been reclaimed, I would think. Of course no one knew about him per say, and he was in fact a quiet, gentle sort of man. He’d been a fine scholar; A member of The College. I’d only seen him from a distance, and every now and again at the history library rummaging around the A section. I’d felt a sort of connection to the man. Two days before his “death”, I walked to the history library in search of a critical essay concerning the fall of Lucifer. It had, of course, been categorized within the A section. So naturally, there would be an off chance Dr. Hadley would be riffling through, pursing his lips, making the enormous silver mustache he sported, profound. I made my way down to the corner of Broad Street, and allowed myself one found glance towards the pub just beyond the bookstore. Perhaps later, I comforted myself as I walked through the large wooden door and handed my id card to the old guard.
“Mr. Bode,” he nodded as he handed me back my card. “Haven’t seen you in a few days. Though I believe I mighta seen ya over towards the White Horse. Like a good ale myself now and again. Though I think maybe I ought not to keep ya waiting. Got a lot of books to read I’m sure. I remember when I was a scholar here, not too long ago it was. Parked my bike just over there,” he said, looking fondly at the black metal bike rack. The sun glimmered off the red rust the chipped black paint couldn’t cover. “Yes, my young lad, I was an Oxford scholar. Studied Milton in fact. Don’t remember why I decided to quit on day. Just didn’t seem important anymore. That business with Lucifer…angels and demons…silly nonsense. I go to church, I do. I’m a good man, but..silly nonsense really. I reckon if God saw fit to really create angels and demons…well, I might not say anymore.”
I realized later I probably smiled a little too gratefully. I took my card in my hand and began to climb the winding metal staircase to the top floor. Even in my youth I had a fascination with winding staircases. It was a pity they didn’t build them as often. I began to frown, and step a little slower as I ran my hand along the rail. The old man had studied Milton. That wasn’t improbable, just strange. I hadn’t declared my scholarly intentions necessarily, but I was tampering with Milton at the moment. Though I never found it taxing, nor would I have left the college as he claimed. I rather, had been drawn to it by a lecture taught by Dr. Allister Hadley. He was mad as a hatter, but he’d painted quite an interesting world with his ideas. His lectures had always been full to the brim with students, taking courses on religion or not. Sort of a revolutionary I suspected; though most professors wrote him off as brilliant but over taxed. My mind fell back to the old man again. He’d also said he couldn’t remember why he’d left the university. In fact, he didn’t seem to be upset by any of it at all. I shook my head. This really wasn’t the time to go on pondering about some old man’s misguided attempt to be nostalgic. I was here to work, and work I would.
I finally reached the top of the stairs, surveying the mass array of books that littered the tall shelves. It was actually funny of all of it. I had been at Oxford for three months and I’d hardly seen any other of the one hundred libraries than this one. Of course I knew every pub for a ten mile radius, but that was another matter all together. Hardly what one would call surprising knowledge for a student. I pushed my way passed a line of five students, their arms bulging with biographies, and other leather bound facts. I turned the corner into a familiar room. It smelt musty and old. I liked it. I quickly grabbed what I was looking for. I had scouted the books out the day before, and felt no desire to haul them back to my own study. As I placed them in front of me, quizzically looking at their covers, I heard a grunt. A tall, well built man with thick waves of silver hair rumpled his mustache as he paced back and forth between the rows of books.
“Suppose it’s gone,” he spoke to himself in adamant whispers. “If I could only remember what I had written.” His frustration softened. “I suppose I remember soon enough.”
With that, he smiled at me and began to walk away. I hadn’t meant to watch him, or eaves drop as it were; though I hadn’t realized he had seen me. The whole process had been fascinating. I had realized half way through the man’s search; it was his book he was looking for. He couldn’t remember what he’d written? More so, I had just seen him with that book the day prior as I recalled. How does a man forget what he not only studied, but wrote himself? An image of Dr. Hadley holding a pen suddenly sprang into my thoughts. There had been no notebook of any kind beside him. Students often, against all policy, underlined, or wrote notes in the margin of books. A useful tool passed down which guided future students to the proper citations, even the proper supplementary materials. It was a noted and worthy practice I often engaged in myself. However this had been different. The author had begun writing in his own book. To himself? To the students? Still turning the pages of my own notebook, I continued to stare at the bookcase where Dr. Hadley had just been. Luckily, my eyes reverted down to my watch, noting the time at almost exactly a quarter to three. I had fifteen minutes to walk to the lecture hall, and presumably would be sitting on the floor. Consequently it would be Dr. Hadley’s lecture I was headed toward. I wonder if I would be able to focus, or rather would he?
I pushed myself out of my slumped state in the brown chair. The vanilla scented pipe smoke I had now been in the habit of using (after the several severe complaints from the house keeper of cigarette smoke being “too nasty a smell for a respectable home”) billowed throughout the room. I had been so lost in thought I hadn’t noticed myself puffing away. I looked down at the papers in my hand. I obviously wasn’t going to finish scanning the materials this evening. Damned shame really. If I had had the wherewithal to remove myself from this all consuming state of pure laziness, I might in fact venture into the pub fray with my work. There was heat, and moreover, there was beer; A good tonic to an apparently useless afternoon. Though, perhaps the study of Milton was not entirely useless, but rather tiresome. I did not need to further my knowledge of a fictional Satan. I lifted myself and hurriedly shoved my arms into my coat, grabbing my umbrella from the stand. The trip to the Eagle and Child was uneventful to say the least. It was raining too hard to walk, the bus was filled with the usual characters: students making a last minute trip to the assorted libraries, women grumbling about the weather as they held their Sansbury groceries close lest anyone steal them away. I suppose I had paid more attention to it than I realized. People watching was an obscure habit of mine. One I was told often enough in school was a rude undertaking, and should immediately be stopped. Several years and threatenings later, I still hadn’t kicked the habit. Ah, well. I ran through the rain and pulled at the large door to the pub. I was immediately bombarded with the stark smell of beer, baking grease, and firewood. I readily had to admit the heat and the smell were already working in my favor. I hadn’t realized I was hungry I watched a plate of fish and chips pass me by to the room directly to my right. A group of men, scholars of some sort no doubt, sat aggressively arguing. One man’s brows knit in a ferocious manner as he shouted.
“Tolkien was not writing merely fiction! He was demonstrating truths I tell you. Not your simplistic “small t” truths either. I mean absolutes! And what are we gentleman, but interested in the absolute!”
As the server placed the sizzling plate before him, the only absolute he appeared to be concerned with was the displacement of the malt vinegar by one of his colleagues.
I shook my head, and made my way through the narrow corridor to the bar.
“Hello Sam. I’m starving. You think I could order a beer and a big plate of fish and chips? Smells fantastic.”
A lanky arm shoved a tall glass of beer my way, and Sam smiled a wide, mocking smile. “Haven’t seen you since last night, mate. All but given you up for dead.”
I scoffed. I wasn’t entirely amused. I was working nonstop, but that didn’t mean I had to do it completely sober. The study I and Dr. Hadley had been so fond of was unfortunately a very dull, uninspiring place to work. It was a miracle he had formulated his theories there. Perhaps that’s what drove the old Crocker mad in the first place. I hadn’t planned on living in his home, but I suppose no one expected him to leave it either. They had all said, and I agreed, there was nothing more fitting than having one of his own students (though I’d only known the man from a distance) keeping the place up. It had proved an entirely satisfactory home. And, other than this afternoon I had been completely engrossed in the idea of Milton’s personification of Satan to care where the previous owner had vanished to. I shook my head, no; it wasn’t the personification necessarily, but the humanization.
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