The Conversion:  A short story by Des Molloy

Clarrie Spence often pondered on the random nature of life.  He was gently fascinated in how it unfolded … how inter-personal relationships were made, sometimes friendships kindled out of nothing, then enjoyed for a lifetime.  Othertimes, the life-pairings that promised so much, lasted barely beyond the cooling of the period of physical ardour that the courtship had brought.  He clearly remembered his own youthful pairing, and the future that it held.  He harboured no bitterness towards his ex-wife, noting that their parting was just ‘one of those things’.  Possibly his thoughts on the matter were flavoured a little bit by how well things had gone, second time round.  Some would say that for the first marriage there wasn't enough in common.  It was this perceived need for shared interests that currently interested him, as he looked across to his work ‘oppo’ Mike Brown.  Mike and he were in many ways polar opposites, yet gelled every work day with banter and good cheer.  There was a true fondness between them.

Clarrie was a resolute Philobibist — a lover of books.  This was a recently learned word … encountered of course whilst reading.  Clarrie did concede that you could actually be a lover of books without necessarily being a lover of reading, but felt that this was splitting hairs.  In contrast, Mike was proudly a non-reader, openly a philistine in Clarrie’s eyes.  Mike was known to declare that he hadn’t read a book since he left school, and that his house contained no bookcase.  This could have led to Mike being a dull, poorly-informed person, but in reality it was quite the opposite.  He would assert that his sources used to gather information and knowledge were more efficient, contemporary, and more than equal to Clarrie’s old fashioned, and slow method.

“Netflix, Youtube, Tik Tok, Al Jazeera, RNZ and many others keep me fully informed, and stimulated.  Remember when you took a week to read Girl on a Train, and I watched it in under two hours?  So much more efficient.  I have more time to learn more … and do more.  You were ten days with Captain Corelli’s Mandolin, and I was two hours eleven minutes.  Not reading gives me so much more time to learn.  You tell me how good books create imagery for you to enjoy and savour.  I can see all that at the touch of a button, and in technicolour.  You still haven’t told me whether your pictures are in colour or not.”

Clarrie often railed against the movie adaptions of beloved books, but could never convince Mike to try ‘the real thing’.

“Once you get into The Shipping News, you will see what I mean when I say that the book is always better than the movie.  It won the Pulitzer Prize!  You really need to try it, so you can compare.”

“But I’ve seen the movie, I know the story … and the ending.  I’ve seen the imagery of Newfoundland.  I could sense the cold and raw toughness of the place through the cinematography.  I don’t need, or want to put aside a swathe of my valuable life … the only one I’ve got … to spend two weeks of my spare time fighting dust mites, while I stagger along line after line, page after page, to achieve what?  A different version of the same story!  No thanks, I’ve got way better things to do.”

Their banter was always good-hearted, and often their downtimes were spent giving an informal treatise about the current story that was piquing either’s interest.  Both were respectful of each other and happy to learn, although their blinkered stances remained with them.

“I don’t need or want to read a book … end of story.”

“But you say that every time I suggest it.  There are so many benefits from reading.  Your brain gets stimulated, you learn, you sleep better.  Stephen King says that the portable magic of reading is the ultimate commercial-free, battery-free entertainment!  Sometimes I think that you’re being stubborn about this, just to rark me up.”

“That may well be so, but to change topics, why are you called Clarrie?  I’ve ever met another.  Did your parents make it up, like a lot of the young ones do today.”

“Well, it is a diminutive of Clarence, and that was not an uncommon name a 100 years ago.  I was told that my dad loved Westerns when he was young, and the Hopalong Cassidy stories were his favourite, and the writer of them was Clarence E. Mulford.  There was also a pretty good rugby player called Clarrie Gibbons, so you can take your pick.”  Clarrie knew that these little nuggets of knowledge wouldn’t be ignored or forgotten by Mike.  They would be taken on board, possibly never to be used again, but just stored away … just in case.  Mike’s propensity towards general knowledge retention was a the trait that Clarrie admired.  That, and his placid endearing nature.  Never was there a time when they didn’t have anything to talk about.

The day of Mike’s pathway to redemption appeared out of the blue.  As with many examples of happenstance, there were several disparate components to the story.  Mike had a niece up in Whanganui called Grace, a 14-year-old with a congenital eye condition.  She was scheduled for eye surgery towards the end of the year in Wellington, several months away.  Her parents, Margy, and Mike’s brother Warren, were on a VSA posting on Thursday Island, due to end a month before the scheduled surgery.  Grace in the meanwhile was happy at Whanganui Girls College, boarding in their Ad Astra Hostel, revelling in the cosy, supportive environment of a small, elite educational facility.  A spanner was thrown in the works, when the intended surgeon was injured in a car crash, badly damaging the nerves in his right hand.  This necessitated the cancelling of all his upcoming surgeries, while the world was scoured for a suitably-qualified replacement.  Then down here in the south, the local eye specialist had a vacancy open up, due to an older patient passing away before her appointment for cataract surgery.  Suddenly, Grace could come at three days’ notice for the procedure … and where fortuitously Mike lived.  Because of the current over-crowding of the hospital, and the high demand for beds, Grace would be discharged into Mike’s care after three days, and remain with him for a week.  During this period she would have a black-out mask on.

“They say I have to read to her.  Now the chook’s coming home to roost.  How the hell do I do that?”

“Simple, we go to the library and get suitable books.  The closest branch to you is the main city one down by the river.  Do you have a card?”

“Never been in a library as a grown-up.  You don’t mind taking me?”

“No, and I know exactly what to get.  You will enjoy this as much as she will.”

“I doubt it … I am scared shitless.”

“Let’s go today after work.  We’ll sign you up, get a couple of books out, and you can practice for a bit before the main event.”

It was clear to Clarrie that Mike was not at ease with being in a facility where everyone except him seemed to know what they were doing.  Not only did Mike not really like books, he didn’t like book people either.  Everyone looked purposeful.  To him, they seemed to ooze a sense of superiority, which in his mind, they were not entitled to.  This wasn’t Clarrie’s branch, but to him, a library was a library … a haven of wonderfulness.  Spotting a tall svelte woman with a lanyard who reflected confidence and competence, Clarrie stepped forward.

“Excuse me, my friend here would like to …:  Before he could complete his sentence Mike’s voice quietly butted in from behind him.

“Hello You!”

“And hello to you too!”

“I’d heard you were back.”

“That was twelve years ago.  I never thought I’d see you among our tomes of joy and wisdom.”

“No, well needs must.  Clarrie, tell Eunice what we want.”  His voice sounded clipped and unnatural.

“Mike would like to join the library, and as he has a young niece coming to stay shortly, I have suggested that he gets out the first couple of books in John Marsden’s Tomorrow the war Began series.”

“We can do that, and good choice of books.  You should read them too Mike.  How old is she?”

Mike and Clarrie looked at each other, a little uncertain as to who should answer.  Surprisingly, Mike was being a little reticent in coming forward.  Clarrie wondered fleetingly before answering if there was history between the pair of them.  They looked about the same age.  Possibly they went to school together.  Sensing Mike’s hesitancy, Clarrie chipped in “We think she is 14, going on 15 and will be staying for about a week.”

Eunice Evans was the head librarian, and could have called up an underling to do the signing up of a new lender, but she took the opportunity to do it herself.  The process took but a few minutes and Mike was then given a temporary card, with the news that a permanent one would follow in the mail.

“I’ll show you where the books are, and how to book them out.  Or do you want to browse for a bit first?”

“I think we’ll only need the one book … the first one.  We’re good to go, thanks Eu.”  Mike was clearly a bit uneasy, and wanted this all finished as quickly as possible.  This was disappointing for Clarrie, because he had hoped for time to explore.  This was the city library, so very much a scaled-up version of the suburban one he was used to.

Later, sharing a beer in a small bar looking out over the harbour, Mike was almost breathless with excitement.

“Sorry about that … I was taken by surprise.  I should have known that Eunice might be there.  When we were young, we were a couple … well as couple as you get when you are 17.  Of course she went off to Auckland on a scholarship, and later to Boston.  I wrote letters to begin with, and then things just fizzled out.  Her folks retired to Tauranga, and she had no reason to come down here, so didn’t.  It is 23 years since I last saw her.  She always was a bookworm … and if I was being honest … I hoped that she would grow out of it.”

“Well, you’ve got reasons to see her now haven’t you.  You’ll be taking books back and getting new ones out.”

“Oh, I doubt it.  This one will last us the week that Grace is with me, then I can’t see why I would go back.”

“We’ll see.  Read three or four pages tonight, to get the hang of reading aloud, and we’ll talk about it tomorrow.  Sup up, my round!”

Next morning, Mike was in a little early, and wanting to talk about ‘Tomorrow’.  He’d read about six pages, and was surprisingly positive about it.

“Yes, I can picture what the young narrator girl is writing, and you know that hidden place she describes, that they’re going to go camping at … they call it Hell.  We had a hidden place similar to that on the conservation land next to our farm.  We discovered it when we were lilo-ing down the river one summer.  There was a grassy glade in an open cavern, just after these massive rocky cliffs, and before some matching ones.  There didn’t seem to be any way in over the tops.  We went home and got camping gear, and had a great time in there.  We never told the adults where it was.  We didn’t know how he got in, but there was an old ram in there with years of wool on him, like Shrek.  Luckily Pete’s cousin Markus was visiting.  He’d been down south, hand-shearing Merinos.  We took him in, along with one of the Huntaways, and cornered the ram, tied a leg up and Markus did the job.  The ram wasn’t there the following summer, and we didn’t know if he’d gone out down the river, or somehow got out the top.  Anyway, I can identify with being 15, and having a real good hideout.  And I think reading aloud to Gracie will be ok.  I did feel a little foolish doing it on my own though.”  Clarrie chuckled at Mike’s enthusiasm.

Grace turned out to be a delight.  For her age, she was mature and, seemingly unphased by the prospect of such a major procedure.  Mike had collected her from the airport, and was her accompanying adult throughout the hospital period.  By the time Grace was discharged, she was fully at ease with her uncle, who she had previously only known by repute.  For the six days before her parents flew in, she would have in-home care each morning provided by the hospital, which would enable Mike to put in a four-hour shift at work.  He would then resume his role as entertainment officer reading the ‘Tomorrow’ book.

“It’s going well.  She’s loving it.  It’s pretty intense, having an invasion and the foreign army capturing the whole area, and imprisoning everyone, except for the seven teenagers, who were off camping in a hidden hideaway.  We haven’t worked out who the invaders are, but we presume they are from Indonesia, maybe.  It’s not just a kids’ book is it.  There are people getting hurt and even killed.”

“Has Grace got a favourite?”

“Oh yeah, she likes Fi, the slightly posh one, with Robyn, the almost religious girl a close second.  For me it is Ellie, the narrator.  She is such a goer.  I like Lee, the musical Asian kid too.  In fact, they are all likeable at times, even Homer the wee bit wild one.  We had a crew, just like this when I was growing up.  Eunice was on the fringes … she came in close a bit later.”

On the second morning, Mike was equally voluble.  They were well through the book … and hooked.  The teenagers had been carrying out guerrilla raids, and were planning on knocking out a crucial bridge.  Grace was finding the story gripping, and had even got Mike to email her two ‘besties’ with the name of the series, urging them to get into it so they could discuss in real time when she was home.

“We’ll need that second book after all, so could we go to the library during your lunch break?  I’m not quite up to facing it on my own yet.  And are you sure that we can take out another book, before we have returned the first one?”

“Of course, and yes.  I see that you’re spruced up a bit.  Hoping to see the librarian?”  Mike blushed before responding “Well, I just don’t want her thinking that I am a ne’er-do-well, down on my uppers.  She mightn’t even be there at lunchtime.”

Eunice was there, and judging by her beaming smile of recognition, Clarrie sensed that possibly the flame of potential passion hadn’t been totally extinguished.  Their “Hello You” and “Hello to you too” greetings seemed to be more natural, and warmly effusive than the previous tentative offering.

“How are Ellie and the team getting on?”

“Pretty damn well, their big attack will be this afternoon.  I’m just a bit worried that they won’t all get through OK.”

“Well, I won’t spoil it for you.  Do you remember where the Marsdens are?”  Mike did, and also managed the booking out, with Clarry just hovering in the proximity.  Mike was hesitant about taking up any of Eunice’s time, so they slipped away with just a discreet wave.

“Well you didn’t exactly over-play your hand in there” commented Clarrie as they parted.

“On the notice board outside that Unity Church in Beachside is a slogan — ’Slow and steady faith wins the eternal prize.’  I’ll go on my own when I return the books.  I might return them separately, so there is more chance of Eu being on duty.  See you tomorrow, hopefully my crew will all be intact, and the bridge will be down.”

Next morning, Clarrie could sense Mike was eager to share the outcome of the previous afternoon and evening’s reading.

“Good news, bad news!  The bridge went up a treat … but Corrie’s been shot, and might not survive.  Her burgeoning boyfriend Kevin has taken her into the occupied town to the hospital.  It’s not looking good for either of them.  Corrie is Ellie’s longest, and best friend, so she is pretty cut up.  The crew are back safe in their hidey place though.  I hope they stay put until the heat is off.  We’re starting Book Two this afternoon.  It’s called The Dead of the Night, so I suspect there will be more action.”

The remaining three days of Grace’s stay followed the same pattern with Mike almost breathless each morning as he related the precarious adventures of the remaining six youthful guerrillas.  They’d gained Chris on a sortie into town but he later turns into a bit of a drunk, and gets killed when he rolls a car he had taken when he left Hell.  

“So we’re down to Ellie and Lee, who was shot in the leg, Fi, who’s now doing a line with Homer … and Robyn the bible-reader.  They found another troupe of people over in a neighbouring valley.  They seemed to be organised into a para-military force, but they get betrayed by their leader, and most got massacred.  It is pretty strong stuff … very gripping.  We’ve finished Book Two, and still the invaders are in control, although our young heroes have just destroyed a whole lot of houses in the town.  Grace’s mum and dad arrive tomorrow to take her home.  We’re going to keep reading the series in parallel.  My brother Warren is going to read until she is allowed the mask off, which should only be a week or so.  I am going to ring her every night for a catch-up, so we can discuss how the skirmishes are going … and the love-lives!”

“So you’re going in to see Eunice, for the rest of the series?”

“Yep, there are seven books in total, and then there are three more called The Ellie Chronicles.”

“So you’ve got plenty to go on with!”

“And lots of opportunities to see Eunice.  I might even ask her out for a coffee date to find out what she has been up to for the last 23 years.”

This filled Clarrie’s heart with joy because he’d often thought that Mike’s life was a bit solitary.

“Mike, you do know that they made a TV series of this.  You can stream it on ABC Commercial.”

“Oh, it wouldn’t be the same!”  Mike’s grin told a story far beyond the words.

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