Live
and let live. Most certainly didn’t see it that way, looking at a Black
Librarian. The thought, quite frankly, made Dorian furious, when it didn’t
depress him. With the chill in the air tonight, it was definitely a depressing
thing. Shelley had told him there was a rave; he figured now, feeling as he
did, would be the perfect time to go. But now, given how he felt, he decided
not to.
Instead, he decided to wander Wissen, something that had become more and more of a habit. With Kev hung up on the sermon, home was no place to be- and he who had nowhere to go wandered. That was the true nature of the Black- freedom. Something he exercised as often as he could. He couldn’t shake the words of Fucus- on some level, it made sense, and he agreed. He sorely wished Shelley were with him; she’d understand, as he understood. Yet, on some level, the words of the Father made less sense- or rather came sinister in their logic- and realizations like that made Dorian wish that Shelley were here, for she would recognize this as well, and they could discuss it as dark turned to light- things he could not say to Kev, lest they fall on deaf ears. But did he need to preach to the choir?
To serve the people made sense, after a fashion. On such grounds, he and Fucus agreed. At least initially. The more he thought about it, the more he realized that they agreed on the idea- but not the implication, nor implementation. From his view, Fucus, in his mentioning servitude, truly meant the service of others, lauding him and his followers with lavish gifts and unwavering loyalty- to serve the people by giving them something to serve.
To Dorian, service was just a job; one served others best by letting them make their own decisions, and interfering only when necessary. In essence, to serve the people by allowing them to serve themselves. Thinking about it like that, it sounded just as ugly as the White motivation. Dorian told himself that the difference was in the reward. As a Black, he sowed and reaped what he expected of mankind- freedom to choose, and freedom to live- by keeping to his own and interacting as he pleased, no agenda to push, nor quota to meet, wandering when he desired and wherever fate led him. To be an architect of fate seemed ludicrous; no one had asked for their help.
At first he found himself wondering why anyone wanted to change the world; but thinking about it, he wanted to change the world too, in his own way. Was his vision of the future any less selfish than that of say, Kev? Or worse, Fucus? In the end, he decided it was- not because it was his, but because it allowed the people their own freedom, instead of telling them when to be happy and how to employ themselves.
Instead, he decided to wander Wissen, something that had become more and more of a habit. With Kev hung up on the sermon, home was no place to be- and he who had nowhere to go wandered. That was the true nature of the Black- freedom. Something he exercised as often as he could. He couldn’t shake the words of Fucus- on some level, it made sense, and he agreed. He sorely wished Shelley were with him; she’d understand, as he understood. Yet, on some level, the words of the Father made less sense- or rather came sinister in their logic- and realizations like that made Dorian wish that Shelley were here, for she would recognize this as well, and they could discuss it as dark turned to light- things he could not say to Kev, lest they fall on deaf ears. But did he need to preach to the choir?
To serve the people made sense, after a fashion. On such grounds, he and Fucus agreed. At least initially. The more he thought about it, the more he realized that they agreed on the idea- but not the implication, nor implementation. From his view, Fucus, in his mentioning servitude, truly meant the service of others, lauding him and his followers with lavish gifts and unwavering loyalty- to serve the people by giving them something to serve.
To Dorian, service was just a job; one served others best by letting them make their own decisions, and interfering only when necessary. In essence, to serve the people by allowing them to serve themselves. Thinking about it like that, it sounded just as ugly as the White motivation. Dorian told himself that the difference was in the reward. As a Black, he sowed and reaped what he expected of mankind- freedom to choose, and freedom to live- by keeping to his own and interacting as he pleased, no agenda to push, nor quota to meet, wandering when he desired and wherever fate led him. To be an architect of fate seemed ludicrous; no one had asked for their help.
At first he found himself wondering why anyone wanted to change the world; but thinking about it, he wanted to change the world too, in his own way. Was his vision of the future any less selfish than that of say, Kev? Or worse, Fucus? In the end, he decided it was- not because it was his, but because it allowed the people their own freedom, instead of telling them when to be happy and how to employ themselves.
That’s
why he was a Black Librarian.
That’s
why he was being followed. Three lefts had led to three rights, and now he had
come to the center of the figure eight he’d made in the rundown blocks of
Wissen’s slums. The footsteps had almost fallen on top of his- he’d been almost
lost in thought enough to miss them. He was almost sure they meant him no harm.
He saw one of them ahead, approaching from the opposite direction. That explained the dimming of the footfalls. Over his shoulder, two more. Left, right, he was surrounded. Could he juke them? Probably. He thought of his power; it was perfect for situations like this. He almost brought it to bear. But what would running solve? Sooner or later, he would take three lefts and three rights and meet them in the middle of the street. Better now while he was in such a great mood.
He saw one of them ahead, approaching from the opposite direction. That explained the dimming of the footfalls. Over his shoulder, two more. Left, right, he was surrounded. Could he juke them? Probably. He thought of his power; it was perfect for situations like this. He almost brought it to bear. But what would running solve? Sooner or later, he would take three lefts and three rights and meet them in the middle of the street. Better now while he was in such a great mood.
As they
neared, he recognized them as Whites from Fucus’ sermon. The largest who came
from the front grinned at Dorian as he approached. Clearly the ringleader,
based on the shifty gazes of the others.
“Evening,”
Dorian greeted them, forcing smile and positive pitch.
“Nice night, innit?” the leader glanced back and forth, hands in pockets, shrugging shoulders. No witnesses.
“Agreed,” Dorian went on. “Great for a walk.” He started forward, attempting to shoulder through. No luck. “If you’ll excuse me…”
“What’s the rush?” Ringlead asked, clapping a hand down on his shoulder and pushing him back. “Let’s walk together.”
Dorian shrugged. Already his shoulder was sore. The remainder of Ringlead’s crew had formed a sort of half circle behind the two of them. The leader nodded in the direction Dorian had been headed. “Shall we?”
Dorian started forward again, and this time Ringlead kept pace. Snickers trickled after them from behind.
“What brings you out?” Dorian asked.
“Oh you know,” he replied. “Like I said, nice night.”
“Oh. Right.” Dorian pulled a frown. He could probably escape now that they were just tailing him again. Straight away, up a wall, out of sight, out of mind. He let the thought run off without him.
The leader feigned recognition. “Oh hey! You’re that Black who was at the sermon today, right? Kev’s pal?”
The snickering had grown louder now, almost a laugh track on a bad comedy.
“That’d be me.”
The joviality had vanished, blown away by the cutting, cold breeze. “What did you think of it?”
Dorian let the wind fill the gap as he pondered it all. “It was interesting,” he said finally.
“Just interesting?”
“Yeah. Perspective, you know?”
“Yeah,” the White affirmed. “It’s nice that some of you are finally starting to see things our way.”
“Well,” Dorian amended. “It’s more than that.”
“I don’t follow,” the White replied.
“I’ll clear it up for you.”
Ringlead peered at him for a moment, then grinned again. Malice. “Sure. Tell me what you learned.”
Dorian shrugged. “Ultimately, Blacks and Whites want the same thing.”
The snickering had fallen into the silence of indignation.
“Come again?” the White asked. “How could you equate what you people want to the words of Fucus?”
“Like I said,” Dorian replied. “Perspective.”
“Sounds like you’re just trying to twist the message so it suits your opinion.” He was leaning in now.
“Isn’t that just your opinion?” Dorian pondered.
Silence. Then: “I don’t think you were listening today.”
“Quite intently,” Dorian lied. “Tell me, what do Whites want?”
“If you were listening, then you’d know!”
“I want to hear how you say it though.”
“What difference does it make?”
“If it’s no different, then it’s no harm to repeat. Particularly if you think I wasn’t listening, and I need to hear it again.”
There came an angry moment of silent glares for Dorian. Finally, Ringlead growled: “It’s leadership. We Whites are responsible for guiding people where they need to go, teaching them how to live.”
“And that’s what you want?”
“It doesn’t matter if I want it or not. That’s just the way it works.”
“Is that so?”
“That’s exactly so!”
“Well,” Dorian mused. “Fucus did mention something about service…”
“Yeah? Well, we serve mankind by guarding, protecting, and leading them. There’s no greater form of service than being a leader!”
“Yes,” Dorian agreed. “We Librarians must lead-”
“This is a task that the White --and only the White-- can provide.”
“…Indeed.”
“Something funny?”
“Not at all. It’s just, like I said, we want the same thing.”
“What do the Blacks know about any of that?!”
“Service of the people,” Dorian replied.
“You’re joking right? Blacks aren’t leaders! Blacks don’t serve! All you do is throw parties. What does that accomplish? Nothing.”
“Well, not all of us do the party thing.” Dorian pointed to himself. “Drifter class.”
Ringlead scoffed. “Like that makes a difference! You’re the exception. Most of your kind-”
“Actually, we’re about seventy-thirty in favor of Drifters. And we do lead.”
“Don’t make me laugh.”
“Wasn’t joking.” Dorian started walking again.
The hand came down on his shoulder. “Where do you think you’re going?”
Dorian shrugged away from the grip. “I’m leading.”
“We’re not following you!”
“Wasn’t talking about you guys,” Dorian informed him. “And anyway, I didn’t ask you to. But you have been for quite a while now, haven’t you?”
“We don’t answer to you!”
“Who said you did?”
By now, they were more angry than malicious, which did not do their malice any favors. They were edging on him, encircling once more.
“You Blacks don’t know how to lead. You’ve got no business, no right, telling Whites how to think!”
“Yeah, that’d be your job right? Telling people how to think?” His adversary leaned in dangerously again, and Dorian held up his hands. “Hey, you said-”
“We are leaders,” Ringlead repeated. “You and your kind need to know your place and stick to it.”
“That’s where the similarities end, by the way.”
“Like I told you in the first place. You only heard what you wanted to from Fucus. You have no idea what Whites are all about.”
“We don’t lead by orders or direction,” Dorian explained. “We don’t tell people what to do. We lead by living, and encouraging others to do the same. Even the ravers are like that deep down.”
“That doesn’t make any sense. You’re just looking for excuses to do what you want! You can call it leadership, but you’re not leading anything!”
“We’re leading by example,” Dorian repeated. “The idea that people can be their own stewards. That’s how we contribute to humanity. “
“That’s absurd. These people need our protection. They’re better off for it.”
“Certainly some of the time,” Dorian agreed. “But not always.”
“You’re full of it.”
“Apparently.”
“Listen, Black. We didn’t come out here to shoot the shit about how noble you guys are supposed to be. We’re just here to make sure you stay in line.”
“So that’s how it is then?”
Here, Ringlead looked to his companions as if in disbelief, then back to Dorian. “Uh- yeah. That’s how it is.”
Dorian stared at him, and he stared back, and the wind was blowing again. “I don’t believe I ever got your name.”
“Nice night, innit?” the leader glanced back and forth, hands in pockets, shrugging shoulders. No witnesses.
“Agreed,” Dorian went on. “Great for a walk.” He started forward, attempting to shoulder through. No luck. “If you’ll excuse me…”
“What’s the rush?” Ringlead asked, clapping a hand down on his shoulder and pushing him back. “Let’s walk together.”
Dorian shrugged. Already his shoulder was sore. The remainder of Ringlead’s crew had formed a sort of half circle behind the two of them. The leader nodded in the direction Dorian had been headed. “Shall we?”
Dorian started forward again, and this time Ringlead kept pace. Snickers trickled after them from behind.
“What brings you out?” Dorian asked.
“Oh you know,” he replied. “Like I said, nice night.”
“Oh. Right.” Dorian pulled a frown. He could probably escape now that they were just tailing him again. Straight away, up a wall, out of sight, out of mind. He let the thought run off without him.
The leader feigned recognition. “Oh hey! You’re that Black who was at the sermon today, right? Kev’s pal?”
The snickering had grown louder now, almost a laugh track on a bad comedy.
“That’d be me.”
The joviality had vanished, blown away by the cutting, cold breeze. “What did you think of it?”
Dorian let the wind fill the gap as he pondered it all. “It was interesting,” he said finally.
“Just interesting?”
“Yeah. Perspective, you know?”
“Yeah,” the White affirmed. “It’s nice that some of you are finally starting to see things our way.”
“Well,” Dorian amended. “It’s more than that.”
“I don’t follow,” the White replied.
“I’ll clear it up for you.”
Ringlead peered at him for a moment, then grinned again. Malice. “Sure. Tell me what you learned.”
Dorian shrugged. “Ultimately, Blacks and Whites want the same thing.”
The snickering had fallen into the silence of indignation.
“Come again?” the White asked. “How could you equate what you people want to the words of Fucus?”
“Like I said,” Dorian replied. “Perspective.”
“Sounds like you’re just trying to twist the message so it suits your opinion.” He was leaning in now.
“Isn’t that just your opinion?” Dorian pondered.
Silence. Then: “I don’t think you were listening today.”
“Quite intently,” Dorian lied. “Tell me, what do Whites want?”
“If you were listening, then you’d know!”
“I want to hear how you say it though.”
“What difference does it make?”
“If it’s no different, then it’s no harm to repeat. Particularly if you think I wasn’t listening, and I need to hear it again.”
There came an angry moment of silent glares for Dorian. Finally, Ringlead growled: “It’s leadership. We Whites are responsible for guiding people where they need to go, teaching them how to live.”
“And that’s what you want?”
“It doesn’t matter if I want it or not. That’s just the way it works.”
“Is that so?”
“That’s exactly so!”
“Well,” Dorian mused. “Fucus did mention something about service…”
“Yeah? Well, we serve mankind by guarding, protecting, and leading them. There’s no greater form of service than being a leader!”
“Yes,” Dorian agreed. “We Librarians must lead-”
“This is a task that the White --and only the White-- can provide.”
“…Indeed.”
“Something funny?”
“Not at all. It’s just, like I said, we want the same thing.”
“What do the Blacks know about any of that?!”
“Service of the people,” Dorian replied.
“You’re joking right? Blacks aren’t leaders! Blacks don’t serve! All you do is throw parties. What does that accomplish? Nothing.”
“Well, not all of us do the party thing.” Dorian pointed to himself. “Drifter class.”
Ringlead scoffed. “Like that makes a difference! You’re the exception. Most of your kind-”
“Actually, we’re about seventy-thirty in favor of Drifters. And we do lead.”
“Don’t make me laugh.”
“Wasn’t joking.” Dorian started walking again.
The hand came down on his shoulder. “Where do you think you’re going?”
Dorian shrugged away from the grip. “I’m leading.”
“We’re not following you!”
“Wasn’t talking about you guys,” Dorian informed him. “And anyway, I didn’t ask you to. But you have been for quite a while now, haven’t you?”
“We don’t answer to you!”
“Who said you did?”
By now, they were more angry than malicious, which did not do their malice any favors. They were edging on him, encircling once more.
“You Blacks don’t know how to lead. You’ve got no business, no right, telling Whites how to think!”
“Yeah, that’d be your job right? Telling people how to think?” His adversary leaned in dangerously again, and Dorian held up his hands. “Hey, you said-”
“We are leaders,” Ringlead repeated. “You and your kind need to know your place and stick to it.”
“That’s where the similarities end, by the way.”
“Like I told you in the first place. You only heard what you wanted to from Fucus. You have no idea what Whites are all about.”
“We don’t lead by orders or direction,” Dorian explained. “We don’t tell people what to do. We lead by living, and encouraging others to do the same. Even the ravers are like that deep down.”
“That doesn’t make any sense. You’re just looking for excuses to do what you want! You can call it leadership, but you’re not leading anything!”
“We’re leading by example,” Dorian repeated. “The idea that people can be their own stewards. That’s how we contribute to humanity. “
“That’s absurd. These people need our protection. They’re better off for it.”
“Certainly some of the time,” Dorian agreed. “But not always.”
“You’re full of it.”
“Apparently.”
“Listen, Black. We didn’t come out here to shoot the shit about how noble you guys are supposed to be. We’re just here to make sure you stay in line.”
“So that’s how it is then?”
Here, Ringlead looked to his companions as if in disbelief, then back to Dorian. “Uh- yeah. That’s how it is.”
Dorian stared at him, and he stared back, and the wind was blowing again. “I don’t believe I ever got your name.”
***
He lay
on his back on the lowermost pillar; at high tide, it would be buried, but now
the ocean rolled with his thoughts and just barely fell short of cresting his
position. Just as well. Dark shapes wheeled overhead. Others had taken perch on
the higher pillars, watching him from their stone and irregular vantage.
Between the in and out of the waves, he heard their caws, loud, disorderly,
clamoring for his attention, but despite this, unified in one particular
sentiment.
“Well,” Dorian muttered. “I’m not done just yet.”
More calls, more caws.
“I know.”
“Well,” Dorian muttered. “I’m not done just yet.”
More calls, more caws.
“I know.”
