THE INCIDENT REPORT a novel by Martha Baillie IN HOUSE BOOKS / Portland, Oregon & Brooklyn, New York
Copyright 2009 Martha Baillie All rights reserved. No part of this book may be used or reproduced in any manner whatsoever without written permission from the publisher except in the case of brief quotations embodied in critical articles or reviews. For information, contact Tin House Books, 2617 NW Thurman St., Portland, OR 97210. Published by Tin House Books, Portland, Oregon, and Brooklyn, New York Distributed to the trade by Publishers Group West, 1700 Fourth St., Berkeley, CA 94710, www.pgw.com ISBN 978-1-941040-00-3 (ebook) First printed in Canada by Pedlar Press 2009 First US edition 2014 Interior design by Jakob Vala www.tinhouse.com
For Emma and Inta
From the tip of thought In great goodness In such a way as to obtain a hollow Without pride Advise yourself carefully Bury the sound Alone for an instant Very lost Open your head. Du bout de la pensée Dans une grande bonté De manière à obtenir un creux Sans orgueil Conseillez-vous soigneusement Enfouissez le son Seul pendant un instant Très perdu Ouvrez la tête. Suggestions by Satie on how to play his Gnossiennes for piano.
Many incidents occur in public libraries, and when one does the librarian in charge is required to fill out the necessary forms, including a Suspect Identification Chart.
INCIDENT REPORT (Complete within 24 hours of incident) Date of incident: Branch & Department: Time of incident: Report completed by: Reporter s phone: _( ) Perpetrators s name: Incident summary: Please use date, branch, and perpetrator s name to name the file: e.g. 08-02-12 GL Smith, John Refused to vacate washroom Place an [x] in one of the following: Theft from Library Theft from others Threatening conduct (e.g. verbal) Disruptive conduct Violent and or abusive conduct Other (please specify): Vandalism Injury or illness Fire Flooding Close call Incident description: The personal information on this form is collected under the authority of the Public Library Act and the Municipal Freedom of Information and Protection of Privacy Act. The information will only be used for the proper administration of the library and the provisions of library services and programs. Incident Report Revised: March 29, 2007 page 1 of 3
Is this a repeat incident? Yes No Are previous reports attached? Yes No Date of prior incidents: 1: 2: 3: Library personnel involved in or witness to the incident: Library staff: Security guard: Other Public involved in or witness to the incident: Victim Witness Other (please specify): Name: Phone _( ) Address: Victim Witness Other (please specify): Name: Phone _( ) Address: Perpetrator(s): Male Female Library Card Number: Name: Phone _( ) Full Address: Male Female Library Card Number: Name: Phone _( ) Full Address: Action(s) taken: Warning Letter presented Stop Service issued 1-day Branch Exclusion given in spoken words 8-week Branch Exclusion given in writing From: To: 8-week System Exclusion given in writing From: To: Police contacted Officer Badge: Division: Fire department Ambulance Other: Incident Report Revised: March 29, 2007 page 2 of 3
SUSPECT AND VEHICLE IDENTIFICATION CHART Date of incident: Branch & Department: Time of incident: Report completed by: Suspect name: Reporter s phone: _( ) Wrinkles Shape of Eyebrow Ear Size & Shape Moustache or Beard Mouth & Lips Chin (Clef) Hair Style Hair Texture Shape of Nose Cheeks (Full or Sunken) Neck & Adam s Apple Write below specific facial features you absolutely remember: What words did the person use? Did the person have an accent? Model: Make: Color: Body type: Rust spots: Dents: Direction of departure: Male Female Race: Age: Height: Weight: Build: Hair color: Complexion: Eyes: Peculiarities: Tattoos: Glasses: Weapons: Method of escape: Watch: Jewels: Tie: Shoes: Incident Report Revised: March 29, 2007 page 3 of 3
Without the library, you have no civilization. Ray Bradbury
THE INCIDENT REPORT
I keep the following reports in the drawer of my desk. To my mind they resemble a pack of playing cards.
INCIDENT REPORT 1 The time was 2:15. A young man swaggered into the library. On his shaved head he wore a grey tweed hat. The words Love and Fuck, printed in large, dark letters, decorated the back of his green army jacket. His black boots added weight to his presence. A small, fine-boned man, his eyes were the pale blue of a summer sky. Chains of varying thicknesses and degrees of intricacy, each link handwoven from copper wire, hung from his shoulders and crisscrossed his chest. He settled himself in a chair by the large window, behind the paperback spinners. At 4:15 he came to the desk and asked to borrow, please, if possible, a small hand-held vacuum. I ve got some shavings I d like to clean up, he explained. For the preceding two hours he d sat, stripping electrical wire with the aid of his pocketknife. I brought him the battery powered Dust Buster from the shelf at the back of our workroom. I could think of nothing in the Rules and Regulations to prohibit me from lending it to him. He thanked me, and, crouching down, cleaned the debris from the carpet surrounding his chair his territory of responsibility.
INCIDENT REPORT 2 The time was 11:15 AM. A slender woman with unusually dry and pale skin entered the library at an angle. She slipped in sideways. All of a sudden she was there, moving forward, lightly on her feet, as if prepared to elude an attacker. Her restless, almost colourless eyes took in her surroundings. She approached the Reference Desk, where I sat scrolling through the e-mails suspended in my In Box. Where are your career information sheets? I indicated two thick black binders. She peered in the direction I was pointing, but made no move to cross the room. Shall I show you the binders? I offered. I see where you re pointing. I m not a fool. Her voice snipped the word fool from the air and pasted it on my forehead. I lowered my eyes. The female patron in question set off on her journey. Several minutes later, she returned. Those binders, she informed me, are black. Yes, I agreed, they are. Then why did you say they were purple? She leaned forward to make it clear that no route of escape was available to me. 20 Martha Baillie
Did I? You did. You said, those purple binders over there. You knew they were black but you lied to me. Those purple binders, you said. I muttered my apology. I didn t intend... She cut me off. You did. You said purple, those purple binders. You knew they were black, but you told me they were purple. I m sorry if I wasn t clear. You were perfectly clear. Purple binders, you said. You lied to me. I attempted to distract her from the subject of colour by asking, Were you able to find what you wanted? She glared at me through her white eyelashes. I repeated my question. Were you able to find what you wanted? She held my gaze with her hard little eyes, now the colour of dirty snow, and considered my query. It s not my abilities that are in doubt, but yours, she informed me. I asked you a simple question, and you lied to me. The anger in her voice dragged, like a fingernail across a blackboard. I shifted my attention to her collarbone. She spoke her final judgment. You should be put outside in a cage on the sidewalk. Again I lowered my eyes to the computer screen in front of me, and read, but the words had become hollow gourds, little seeds of shrivelled meaning rattling inside them. The Incident Report 21
INCIDENT REPORT 3 This morning, the first to arrive, I unlocked the back door of the library, shouldered my bicycle, and descended the narrow stairs into the dim basement. The grey metal box fixed to the wall opened easily to reveal two vertical rows of stiff black switches made of a hard plastic. I started at the top and moved down. Each switch, succumbing to the pressure of my thumb, produced a loud click a sound of finality as it flipped from Off to On. Throughout the library above me, lights lit up. Nothing irrevocable had occurred. At the end of the day the lights would go off again. And yet for a few seconds I d experienced certainty and a fleeting sensation of power. Sounds are more convincing than most of reality. My name is Miriam Gordon. I am an employee of the Public Libraries of Toronto. I am thirty-five years old and a Clerical, or that is how they referred to me until last month when they changed my title. I am now a Public Service Assistant. 22 Martha Baillie
INCIDENT REPORT 4 This afternoon at 4:55, a stout female patron, having spent several minutes exploring the contents of her purse, pulled out a small object. It lay in the plump palm of her hand. She thrust her arm across the desk. This is for you, she explained. She was rewarding me. I d provided her with the books she needed. In its brightly coloured wrapper, the condom resembled a candy. At first I thought it was a candy. She was not a regular. I had never seen her before. Naturally, I thanked her for her gift. The Incident Report 23
INCIDENT REPORT 5 In the library workroom, a schedule hangs from two clips. As always, the day has been divided into compartments, as if it were a train about to set out on a well-planned voyage along shining rails. My initials have been pencilled into many of the little boxes that correspond to each hour between 9:00 AM and 8:30 PM. We, the staff, don t always greet the public with enthusiasm. We don t feel, every one of us without fail, that we are travelling out, embarked upon an adventure, and yet there we are, inscribed in our little boxes, as if the day were pulled by a solid locomotive. Every morning in the warmth of my bed, as I surface from sleep, fear small as a cherry stone, it cracks open behind my breastbone. I don t want the fruit. With each quick breath the fear grows, a rustling of leaves in the cavity of my chest. But soon I ve washed, dressed, drunk a cup of tea, eaten a piece of toast, and am on my way to work, riding my bicycle in a prescribed direction. 24 Martha Baillie
INCIDENT REPORT 6 Suitcase Man arrives carrying his suitcase. The hard little handle is covered in leather. It is not the sort of suitcase anyone uses anymore stiff, beige, almost a box. More leather reinforces its corners. He is a short man, he wears a raincoat. His raincoat, though in perfect condition, is also out of fashion. When he places his suitcase on his lap and presses down on the two little metal buttons, two corresponding metal tabs spring sharply back. If these were to hit his fingers, it would hurt. Possibly his suitcase is lined in red satin. I ve tried standing next to him, pretending to examine the paperbacks on the fiction spinner, but he s too quick. I can never catch a glimpse inside, before he brings down the lid. He sits very straight, and talks to himself, his bald scalp gleaming. I suspect he was born in Eastern Europe in Prague or Budapest or Warsaw, though I can t tell from exactly which country he s trying to escape. His words rush, tripping over each other in their haste to be free. That the Soviet Union no longer exists changes nothing. Inside him the Soviet State is alive and well. Cruel and vigilant as ever, it carries on, squeezing his inner organs, puncturing The Incident Report 25
his most secret membranes. He waits his turn for the photocopier. The officials, the dry-mouthed party members who once benefitted from his services as a translator and academic, are now determined to steal his documents. He is arming himself with multiples. He arrives at no particular hour. At the circulation desk he stops and bows, bending abruptly at the waist. While bowing, he stops talking to himself. Not one of us has ever seen him remove his raincoat. He s a man of singular purpose. He never borrows books, CDs or DVDs, never surfs the net or nervously taps messages, hunching over the keyboard, as the others do, firing off electronic soliloquies, desperate e-mail requests for love or recognition. He comes with one purpose only: to make multiple copies of the documents riding in his suitcase. 26 Martha Baillie