Good morning Mrs. Daniels he responded lightly.
You ready? she asked.
She looked at him steadily and even if she had not voiced the question he knew what she wanted to know.
Yes. Lets do it, he nodded to her.
They both rose and walked hand in hand off the end of the balcony where a small bonfire had been prepared in the dunes, and after a quick glance at her husband, she placed the current, and last Diary on top of the other fifteen volumes already strategically arranged. Fire lighters were in place beneath them and Charlie lifted his Planet Hollywood Zippo and flicked it into life. They both watched the spluttering flame.
I should never have bought you that diary she told him, without reproach but with a hint of sadness, sympathy perhaps, in her voice. Charlie looked at her and back to the blue and yellow flames that were beginning to consume over fifteen years of his life; a solitary tear slipped down his cheek. Good bye, he whispered.
* * * *THE STORY TELLER
Some of them pointed unkindly, selfishly. As children they were taught that it was rude to point yet now they do so as poor examples to their own children. The subject of their rudeness appears oblivious to their behaviour and he trudges past even though most of the children call his name. His eyes are hooded and look straight down at his feet as he painfully and laboriously places one foot in front of the other, slowly and inexorably aiming for his target destination like a giant Galapagos tortoise. The children revert to the silence exhibited by their gathered mothers.
He disappears into the Library front door and it is a signal for the waiting mothers to gossip about him in excited babbling voices. The children are eager to go and the crescendo increases with their pleas to unhearing parental auditory circuits if mothers were men they could be accused of domestic deafness. Finally, as if some magic volume switch has been triggered, a solitary mother responds to her child.
Just sit down and wait Rebecca. You know they wont let us, you in until he, he is ready.
Its Mr Cole Mommy, his name is Mr Cole.
Yes, yes dear her child is dismissed. Where do you think he comes from? she asks another of the Mothers who by some miracle is not already engaged in conversation.
Dont know. Nobody seems to know. The rest of the mothers have also stopped talking, just in case there has been a breakthrough about the mysterious Mr Cole there was no way any of them wanted to miss the smallest tit bit of information. Even Mrs Stevens the Librarian doesnt know.
So how long has he been coming here? a third mother asks, one who has only recently moved into the area but whose child had been attending this library session with a friends daughter for over four years.
The Library opened in 1996, September I think it was, and it was only a matter of weeks after that, Rebeccas Mom replied.
A man, that man Mr Cole, has been coming here every Saturday for nearly six years and nobody knows anything about him? the third mother asks with a mix of absolute wonder and total disbelief plain as day on her face.
Instead of a reply almost all of the women look at each other and simply shake their heads.
Hes good lookin, I know that! squeals Rebeccas Mom, and they all break into excited laughter and babble now about how he is probably great in bed, but he does what he does because he used to be married and his own wife and kids were tragically killed. Bec Honey her Mom asks, has he ever said anything about himself at all, you know, where he comes from or anything like that?
The women are immediately quiet again. They all wait as if their next breathe is dependent upon little eight year old Rebeccas response to her Mother.
No Mom the babble begins again at once, but almost supernaturally ceases as Bec speaks again. There was this one time when Billy Smithers cried.
Rebecca stopped talking because she realised that there was over twenty pairs of adult eyes peering at her, searching her face, hanging on once again for lifes breath. She was only eight and her little lips pursed the attention was scary. A tear scrabbled down her cheek from one eye and her lips began to tremble.
Its alright Honey her Mom squatted down and wrapped her arms around Bec. Go on, its okay.
Billy Smithers he cried and sniffle and Mr, Mr sniffle Cole just said to him that it was okay to cry sniffle to go ahead, cry and that we would all cry too so that Billy wouldnt feel so bad. He, he sniffle said that he, Mr Cole sniffle had seen too many tears already, but we should all still go ahead and he would try too, for Billy. sniff.
After a moments hesitation the verbal analysis began again. This time they stopped only because the horrible realisation dawned upon them all at once. Billy Smithers had been going to the library on these special days for only a month. He only went for a month because he had died his whole family had died. The entire Smithers family perished in a house fire which only their Burmilla cat, Bungendore, had survived. Soft murmuring reminded those in the crowd who had forgotten, as if it were possible that such a horrendous event could be forgotten.
What did Mr Cole do to Billy to make him cry Bec?
Nothing Mom, Becs confidence was mostly restored now. He just did what he always does tells stories.
Before any more patter could eventuate, Mrs Stevens herself opened the front door.
Good morning ladies, morning kids she chirped, and began counting infant heads as they excitedly filed past her. No running she warned, though none of them had shown any sign of doing so.
Mrs Stevens had been the Head Librarian for almost three years and a Council Librarian within the local municipality for a total of 34 years. She had never seen so many kids regularly attending any Library service. As she had told many mothers over the years, she knew as little as they did about the mysterious Mr Cole and she couldnt even tell them about the stories he told the kids because neither she nor any of her staff were allowed to be present either. Sure, some parents had been uncomfortable with this and withdrawn their children, forbid them to attend, but those children kicked up so much of a continual fuss about missing out that within a week or two, the parents usually relented and allowed them to return, if there were any vacancies still available that is.
And the results spoke for themselves. Every single child who attended became remarkably well mannered, improved at school in some cases to the extent that the local Primary School Assistant Headmaster showed up and wanted to attend a session for the information of the Education Department, he had pompously announced. That session did not proceed Mr Cole was adamant that NO adult, in fact nobody over the age of twelve could attend. He displayed no anger, only futility, he was not argumentative, simply obstinate. His only answer to the question of why was that it was not possible for him to tell his stories in the same way if there was an older child or an adult present. For the children, it just would not be the same. And his results were indisputable.