The Book (8 page)

“
The Catcher in the Rye
, by J.D. Salinger.” His shining, false teeth broke through the sly, enigmatic grin. “How ironic…that
this
is the book.”

Holden didn’t know how to respond, so he stood quietly and allowed Winston to continue.

“Did you know that, at one time, a printed copy of this book could be found in every school, book store, and library in the world? Shame…I don’t think many people read this book these days.”

“Listen, I didn’t mean to…”

“You have a good name, Holden. It makes me think that it called you to this book and the revision you found. Funny that most of this happened because of a name. It’s one of the reasons I trusted you with the act of protecting my library,” he claimed, with a glacial stare. “The other reason is parked in my driveway.”

“My van?”

“I had seen you in the café a number of times that week. On one of these occasions I was privy to an argument between you and another customer over your
willful denigration of the planet
. I doubt you recall it because I would think this argument happens on a regular basis. Your work vehicle is a gas guzzling hybrid.”

Holden rolled his eyes. “I know.”

“And yet you don’t care that this politically incorrect machine on its death bed, with laws against its constant use, may be one of only thirty hybrid vehicles in the city limits…maybe the state.”

Winston pulled the novel to his chest and closed his eyes. “Which is precisely why you were the only one I…the only one in so many years, that I felt I could risk inviting into my home.”

Holden shrugged. “I don’t understand.”

“When I see you, young man, I see someone who is willing to stay put when everyone else in the world feels required to move…to disobey the law and do what you want, regardless of the punishment threatened against you. Someone willing to deal with the daily insults and self-righteous glares, simply because it is your right to do what you want. A free-thinking man who persists even if it means he has to run his vehicle on individual quarts of gasoline bought under cover at the back door of a filling station. An anomaly of the socially acceptable.”

“It’s just a work vehicle, man.”

“No,” he whispered, with deepest conviction. “No, it is so much more than that. Now, I would love to get into this, but there is no time. We must act quickly.”

The blunt honesty in the man made Holden relinquish himself. With reluctance, he found a comfortable spot on the couch within the dark recesses of the reading nook and waited. Winston neared the desk and looked down at the ragged scrap of frayed paper Holden had ripped from the wall of Marion’s bar. He put his weight against the side of the desk and studied the torn edge of the page with a frail finger.

“Now, I can assume that wherever you got this…the source either has no knowledge of its absence or was fine with you taking it?”

“Yes.”

“And to have recognized such a minute difference in the story, you must have read it multiple times. I’m assuming by your name that I am correct.”

“It’s my favorite story,” Holden admitted with pride, unsure of where the man was leading him.

“That is to your benefit. But do not assume your luck will last much longer. For now, I think it’s safe to say that they aren’t aware of what you’ve realized.”

“Who are you talking about? And why would they care if I found out that a few words were changed in a book?”

“Please, let me finish. Time is crucial.” Winston adjusted his eyeglasses and neared closer to the page from the wall of The Library’s bathroom. “The first thing I’m going to ask you is very important. Depending on your answer, they may already be on their way.” He glanced down at the watch that hung loose on his thin wrist. “Where you came upon this page is important…
very
important. But, for the moment, there are more important things to discuss. What I need to know is, when you went to The Book to judge your discovery against the digital version…did you go directly to the corresponding page or did you use the
Explore
function to perform a search within the entirety of the story?”

“I went to the page and…it was different. Most of what was on the page had been deleted. It doesn’t make sense…”

“Right now, it doesn’t need to.” He waved Holden’s concern away with levity. “Might I also assume that you did not search the internet for an explanation of what you discovered?”

“No, actually…I didn’t. I really should have.”

“More luck, I suppose. The important part in all this is that you
didn’t
blindly search for answers,” he confirmed, before returning the book to its proper place on the shelf. “If you had, we wouldn’t be having this conversation. An average reader skimming to a random page in their favorite book doesn’t register as odd behavior and no follow-up searches online means no one is tracking the query about alterations. You’re okay so far, but not out of the woods entirely. ”

“Hold on a second.” Holden opened his jacket and pulled The Book out from his pocket. He lifted the leather cover and watched the screen flash to its dull hue of swamp green before Winston leapt over and slammed it to the table with shocking speed.

Winston looked down at his hand as if it had been contaminated by touching The Book, but left it there as he continued. Holden didn’t respond. He could see in the man’s eyes that something of greater significance was taking place. “I understand your need for answers. I do. But this is a time to be very brief.” Winston removed his glasses and replaced them with a different pair before unclipping a very fine screwdriver from his pocket and unscrewing the back of Holden’s Book. “You went directly to
The
Catcher in the Rye
when you got here, so I can also assume that it’s the only story you’ve found an inconsistency with…and only on that page. Is that true?”

“Yeah.”

“And once you noticed the inconsistency, you did your best to track down an original copy of the book, which is how you came to arrive at my doorstep this morning. Because when you were installing my sprinkler system, you recognized, at some point, that I am a man with books.”

“Yeah, sorry. I did.”

Winston nodded as he removed the back cover of The Book and rested the device on the table, revealing the network of chips, plates and blinking lights. He turned The Book over in his hands and began reviewing the digital contents before replacing his glasses and walking over to his shelves. Holden watched in expectation as Winston carefully removed a few books from their resting places and stacked them upon his feeble arms, seemingly at random, before limping his way back to the writing desk. “I guess I will take this time then, to thank you for not telling anyone about the enormous secret I am keeping here. This assures me that I can not only trust you, but that I may be able to rely on you in some fashion.”

Holden couldn’t keep it in any longer. He had to speak up. “Really, sir. I was only…I mean, I just had this need to find out what the difference was and that’s it. I know you believe what you say, and that’s good and all, but as long as I’ve earned your trust, I’m glad. Because that means I can ask you what I came here to ask. If I could simply borrow this book, I would be forever grateful. I’m not looking to get involved in anything or put myself at risk here by being…you know…in league with someone who…no offense or anything…” Holden stopped when he noticed the look on Winston’s face; it was like a father watching his child attempt to tie a shoelace for the first time.

“Oh, boy. You really have no idea what you’ve walked into. You found that page. You found one of the last libraries, if not
the
last library in the entire world that isn’t controlled by our government. Holden, you
are
at risk.” The crackle of his raspy words was like the resounding gong of the Liberty Bell. Holden wanted to protest, but knew the man was right and watched as Winston, very lightly, laid each of the books he had gathered from the shelves at the center of the circular coffee table.

One of the books had a cover that had been taped together and was gripping onto the spine like eight fingers digging for dear life into the fragile dirt of a cliffside. Winston sat on the cushioned chair and beckoned for Holden to take up The Book, as if the man desired not to touch it any more than he had to. Holden did what was asked, completely unaware of what was about to take place, but certain that the lasting memory of the moment would be monumental. As Winston tilted The Book in Holden’s grasp, he removed a square chip from the back and rested it onto the table with trembling hands.

“You have eighteen minutes,” he said, rising from his seat. He walked across the room and began trudging up the stairs, without another word.

“Eighteen minutes for what?”

A moment later Holden was alone in the cellar before a dismantled digital reading device and five books that he had only read digitally. They were lying flat and unopened, but Holden could see that each of them had dollar bills inside. Some of them were large bills. This completely confused him until he opened the first book to where the bill had been resting. Over the face of the president were details written in a sloppy hand about what had been altered on the page the dollar had bookmarked. Holden could only assume that Winston had chosen these from his collection so that he could look up the corresponding versions in The Book and check the digital printing against the original.

Holden returned the bill to its home and looked over the five titles before reaching for the most perplexing. The book was
Winnie the Pooh
by A. A. Milne. He flipped to the correct marker and moved quickly with The Book to find the corresponding page. Before searching for the inconsistency, he read the note on the twenty dollar bill that was marking the alteration. In scratchy red handwriting was a simple, yet profound, statement:

“
One word can change the world.”

The difference between the written copy and the digital was one word. Nothing extravagant or even legitimate. Just a single word that had been replaced with another. Holden couldn’t make sense of it. He shook his head, closed the children’s story unhurriedly and moved on to the next. It was a murder mystery novel; wherein many of the pages were lined with dollar bills. Apparently it had been heavily altered. Holden discovered, after only a few pages, that this had been for one reason alone: each of the alterations was the same. A singular revision ran the course of the story. For some unknown reason, the murderer was given a different first name.

Thus far, everything he had discovered was pointless and unpurposeful. He had been expecting obvious changes and deductions, but he closed each book more confused than before.

The third book,
Of Human Bondage
by W. Somerset Maugham, was, ironically, the novel in bondage. Holden carefully lifted the tape-coated cover and noticed, with excitement, that it had multiple entries. Each time he looked them up in The Book a phrase had either been altered or removed. On one page, an entire paragraph that seemed garish and unnecessary had been added and then he reached a section where an entire page had been removed - page three-hundred and ninety-nine.