McMaster University – 1964
Patricia Irving nervously pushed the cart out from the receiving area onto the brightly lit floor of the new bookstore. Having recently moved into the basement of the newest building on campus, the selection of general books had expanded, opening up part time positions in that department. Patricia, a part-time student cashier, now finishing her second year at McMaster, had been given a chance to prove herself by being offered a position on the general books team.
A lover of fiction, she was delighted with the opportunity to showcase her knowledge of both the classics as well as modern writers.
The bright wooden cart, filled with paperbacks from Pan and Penguin, vibrated due to a wobbly front wheel. Patricia frowned and bent low to examine the wheel as she kept moving forward.
The cart bumped into something soft.
"My word," a gruff voice sounded, and Patricia looked up at a dark eyed man with white hair that she immediately recognized as the professor for her class on Victorian literature.
"Can't you watch where you're going with that thing?" he asked.
"Sorry, Dr. Emerson," she said in a low voice.
His dark eyes fell on the cart of books and he let out a loud harrumph. "So this is what passes for literature today, is it? Mass produced pocket books manufactured like so much candy for the mind.”
Believing she could impress him, Patricia held up the Pan books new release of Ian Fleming's latest novel, On Her Majesty's Secret Service. "Oh but, sir, this is such a wonderful novel, an utterly compelling read. I couldn't afford the hardback edition – but here it is, a compact, low cost option. Fleming is the master of the spy thriller.”
Emerson let out a slow sigh as he glanced at the art on the cover. "A ring in a field of bloody snow? I fail to see how that can be a wonderful novel.
"The bard was the master of suspense and intrigue. He wrote tales from the richness of history, characters that live and breathe in the minds of readers today. Not like this Fleming hack and his forgettable Bond character.”
Patricia placed the book back on the cart, her face turning red and her eyes downcast.
"What other treasures does your cart hold?”
Feeling she might be able to redeem herself in the professor's eyes she remembered the series of Shakespeare's plays on the other side of the cart. She ran her hand along the spines until she found a copy of The Tempest. She pulled it out and held it to show him.
"Isn't this beautiful?" she said in a hopeful voice.
The professor was silent as he stared at the book.
Carefully, he leaned forward, plucked the book from her hand using the tips of his fingers, as if it were covered in mold or slime and flung it across the floor. Then he fixed his eyes on her.
"You mock me!" he growled. "Shakespeare was not meant to be published in such a low quality mass produced format.”
"But sir . . .”
Emerson thrust the leather-bound Shakespeare book in her face, producing it from thin air.
"This!" he yelled. "This is fine literature. This is the way it was meant to be presented." He shook the book in her face. Despite the copy almost blocking her face, she could still feel drops of spittle from his lips land on her cheek.
"Shakespeare was never, never, meant to be lowered to this sort of mass production.”
He slammed the fist of his free hand down on the cart, shaking his head, his face and neck turning a dark crimson.
"Why, oh why must this bookstore, this campus mock me?!”
He pushed at the uneven cart, the faulty wheel giving way. The cart tipped over on its side with a loud crash, spilling paperbacks across the tile floor as Emerson stormed out.
"Bloody stupid bookstore," he called out. "You'll not see me dare set foot in here again!”
Patricia stared at the books on the floor and began to cry.
Aksara