The Clay Head Benediction

by Marty Rafter

satisfy your line of questioning you shouldn’t, but if you really want to know, it was covered in mouthwash because it became so during an effort to thwart a retail burglary”

  “I see” says Brian Folz, and he picks up a pen and begins to make a note in a yellow pad

  “What are you writing?”

  “I am documenting what you told me. Mr?”

  “Luke. You can call me Luke.”

  “Well, Luke. As I said, Mr. Coats mentioned that you are the person that has been vandalizing the library with these bizarre clay totems, and we of course, reserved judgment on that matter but the proof was on the video. You gave one to Ben. We all watched it.”

  “I’m not sure I would call it vandalism” I say

  “I’m sure you wouldn’t, and perhaps it isn’t, but at best, it is an unusual form of littering. “

  “This really seems this is outside of the boundaries of what would be included in the job description of an Assistant Library Director” I say

  “I assure you that it isn’t. This is a public building, and as stewards of this public asset, we have a responsibility to ensure a safe and welcoming environment for all of our patrons. Part of the nature of our work, is that we need to make accommodations for the members of our community who have issues related to their physical and mental health. Further, if we had a patron who was preying on our other patrons with some sort of financial scam, I can assure you that we would take some responsibility on that front as well.”

  “So, what you are saying is, I can’t bring any more clay heads to the library. Ok. Fine. You could have just said that directly, and we could be done” I say

  “If I was confident that was the extent of it, yes. But I also feel a personal responsibility to consider what is best for Ben and our other at risk patrons.” Brian Folz says

  “At risk? You were just telling me that your staff felt like they were the ones at risk”

  “Sadly, things aren’t always so clear.” Brian Folz says

  “So then what, Mr. Folz? You are going to make a citizen’s arrest for the crime of giving a small handmade gift to a schizophrenic?”

  Brian Folz spun around in his chair and loudly opened a file cabinet. With his back towards me, he said “When we had the previous incident, I had extensive discussions with Ben’s case worker. We worked together to find a solution that would be best for Ben, and that would allow him to continue to enjoy the library as, in the view of his caseworker, his access to the information housed here is a key part of his therapeutic process.”

  “Ok...” I say

  “And, as such” Brian Folz continued, “I feel an obligation to inform her that Ben may have encountered a person who is preying on his weakness”

  “You can’t be serious”

  “Oh, I am quite serious, sir”

  “First of all, you can stop calling me ‘sir’. And second, do you think that the best way to respond to an individual who has a perception that there is a vast evil conspiracy out to get him, is to construct a vast evil conspiracy out of whole cloth?”

  “You seem to have given this some thought, Luke.” Says Brian Folz

  “I really haven’t.”

  “Well, my recommendation is that you do so, and I’m saying this personally, and not in any authoritative capacity, but people like Ben are not to be manipulated. “

  “So, are you banning me from the library?” I ask

  “No. I actually don’t have the authority to do that. “

  “Do you have the authority to prevent me from meeting my friends here?” I ask

  “No, I don’t have that authority either.” He says

  “So, then this is a conversation to inform me that, in your perfect world, you would have some authority that you do not?”

  “No. This is a conversation to inform you that I have created a record of your actions and behavior, and that we may have identified you as a vandal who has disturbed library property, and...”

  “’Disturbed’ library property, Mr. Folz? “

  “I plan to record the specifics in the file”

  I stand up, and walk towards the door. Pausing before I leave, I say, “Do you want me to make you one of the heads, is that it? I can make you one if you want.”

  “No. I would also recommend that you confine your activities here to normal usage of the library facilities. Please consider this a formal warning, any further issues and we will take the steps necessary to issue a ban from this building”

  “I thought you didn’t have the authority” I say

  “We are in communication with the authorities, sir” Brian Folz says as I walk out the door.

  After I left Brian Folz’s office, I went down to the basement to try to find Coats. He is there, in his normal wing chair reading a hardback Louis L’Amour book, I watch him for a few minutes, but decide against saying anything. I’m tired of being in the library anyway. I consider going to the museum, but I figured it would probably best to avoid any additional bizarre interactions for the day. It is probably best if that whole thing doesn’t work out anyway, the realistic hope of a healthy long term relationship. Not that I wouldn’t welcome it if it happened, but I am not going to force anything. I got tired of it a long time ago. The weighted interactions, the language of glances, I used to love that, but I don’t anymore. Ultimately, it is a barrier, a wall separating normal human interaction, of really figuring out what another person is about. Instead of the museum, I decide to walk around for a little while. I go to the CoGos and buy a quart of chocolate milk. Then I go to the Pitt campus bookstore and buy two backpacks. After that, I walk to the grocery store and buy a small bag of cat food.

  At home, my apartment feels empty. I had thrown a lot of things away, but I can feel the weight of the missing magazines most deeply. I never saw them really, nor did I ever read any of them, but they were there, under the bed emitting all of their informational energy, all of the effort of the writers, and the layout people and the printers, all condensed into shiny paper, something honest and legitimate to show for all of their efforts. I like that, the feeling of the sense of earnest satisfaction that people put into the output of real physical things, like the carved wood walls in the cathedral. I go there sometimes and touch those walls, to feel close to all of that sincerity and patience. It was all hand tools then, or at least I think it was. My mind is too tired to mourn the magazines though, and ultimately, they are ephemeral by intention anyway, so I put it out of my mind, and I lay down and fall asleep.

  I sleep well. There are no dreams about Coats, or lions, or mice, or Brian Folz, there is only silence. When I wake up, it is 10pm. I eat two apples and consider taking a walk, but I decide that it would be better if I attempt to return my sleep cycle to some normal standard, so I try to read for a bit, but the only book that escaped the purge is Graham Greene’s The Lawless Roads, and I have already read it, and don’t really like it. The subject matter is good, but Greene’s genuine dislike of Mexicans is tiresome, and the world is full of mediations about bad food and foolish companions, so I sit for a while instead. Then I try to listen to some music, but I can’t. That comes and goes too, the music. I can really hear music sometimes, and it speaks to my soul and does what it is supposed to do, and sometimes it is just sounds, and today it is just sounds. So, in an attempt to sleep, I break my own rule and put on my earmuffs and lay on the bed, and let the rhythm of my breathing create a non-sensical mantra in my head that I repeat over and over again, and then there is Coats, and he is on a stage. One of those tiny wooden stages, like the type they use for marionettes, and he is moving like a marionette. Then, there is Brian Folz, and he joins Coats on the stage, and they start to fight each other with stubby wooden swords. At first they are angry, but then they start to have a wonderful time, and the stage disappears, and they are on a much larger stage. A proper stage, like at a music hall. And their sword fight turns into theatrics and they turn into dancer
s in ballet costumes, with Lycra tights and vests. Then the light of the stage comes on, and they begin to talk, but I can’t hear them. And another person, one who I have never seen moves in from the side of the stage and begins to narrate.

  “Mr. Coats is scorned” He says “Not scorned by a lover, or scorned by the world, but scorned by one man”

  And then I am in the balcony, and I am trying to listen, to learn the identity of the man, but the woman in front of me starts to talk, and I cannot hear, so I tap her on her shoulder, and her companion turns to me instead, but it is not a man, it is a cat in a tuxedo, and he says to me, “you know very well that we won’t eat a mouse that is already dead” So, I start to apologize, but I don’t just apologize once, I fall all over myself apologizing, explaining how little I really know about mice, and talking about how I just wanted to help, and I cannot control the sound of my voice, but then another voice drowns out my own as though it was coming from some sort of amplification system. And it says,

  “You there, in the balcony. Sir, I’m afraid we are going to have to ask you to remain silent during the performance. It is incredibly rude to the other patrons, and also to the performers” And then I notice that I had been standing, so I sit down again, I notice the source of the voice too, and it is the man on the stage, and he now has a microphone.

  “If you would like to be a