CHAPTER SIX
AT 11:50, Arthur was, once again, in the children's section of the Erikson Library, watching a bunch of kids smile at Martin and Martin smile at them. He was in his suit and shined shoes, only the tie was missing.
"Everyone, you remember Arthur, who attempted to fill in while I was ill."
Most of the kids said hello. "He's not very good at reading," one of the youngest piped up.
"I have no doubt he will learn."
Arthur saw copies of Beowulf in his future. At least he'd have something to read during lunch.
"Your writings." The children passed forward their papers. "Last week's papers showed some interesting thoughts on Grendel's mother."
"It's understandable why she kills schere," One of the older children in the back of the group said.
"It is, and at some point, we will discuss themes of revenge and how it fits into historic writings and modern society."
Arthur was pretty sure he'd half slept through that lecture in philosophy 101, but the children looked interested. Martin picked up the copy of Beowulf that had left him floundering and began to read.
It was beautiful and hypnotic to listen to. Martin's voice gave the old English a musical quality and an easy rhythm to follow, which somehow managed to flow into his modern English translations. His fingers brushed along the lines as he read, but if Arthur had been told he was reciting it from memory he would not have been surprised.
At the end of sections, he would stop and ask the children their thoughts. They did not raise their hands, instead just put out whatever came to their minds. Only when it was obvious that a quieter child had something to say did he ask for silence from the rest.
When debate was finished, he would begin reading again, his face animated and the smiles easy, drawing Arthur in.
It was a jolt when he gave a final translation and closed the book.
"Hrothgar warns Beowulf of the risk of pride. Why? And why should or shouldn't he have pride in his victory. I want your thoughts next week."
The children nodded and began talking over each other, again throwing out ideas, arguments, and counter arguments but also listening to each other. At a time when a comment section on a cute kitten video could turn into a screaming match of slurs and threats of violence, it was the most hopeful thing he had ever seen.
Eventually the children quieted down.
"Perhaps Arthur would like to draw out the quote of the day?"
Martin held out what looked like an old tissue box decorated with popsicle sticks. He reached in and pulled out a slip of paper. "Do I contradict myself?" He read. "Very well then I contradict myself, (I am large, I contain multitudes.) Walt Whitman - Song of Myself.
"American poet, born 1819, lived into his seventies. What does containing multitudes mean to you? We'll talk about it after Beowulf fights a dragon. Also, while in his seventies. See you next week."
The children got up, saying goodbye to Martin and Arthur before dispersing into the stacks. Possibly to look for works by Whitman.
Martin packed up the papers into a plain black shoulder bag, his face quickly losing the animation of just moments before though it had not yet reached the same hard stillness he showed a work.
"They all have impressive handwriting." Arthur commented, hoping for some conversation, something to keep Martin from pulling completely back into himself.
"A dying art that increases hand eye coordination and transhemispheric communication in the brain."
"So, which translation of Beowulf should I be working on so I don't completely embarrass myself in front of highly achieved seven year olds?"
"All of them. Begin with Seamus Heaney. That should be the most accessible for you." Martin didn't make eye contact and Arthur had a feeling he'd just had his intelligence insulted.
'See if I don't just read all of them.'
Arthur finished pushing in a few small chairs and followed Martin to the special collections desk, where a stack of books was waiting for him. They covered history, economics, and linguistics. There was no theme that Arthur could ever find. It was like Martin just played roulette with the nonfiction section of the library catalogue.
The librarian did take a moment to smile at him and say it was nice to see him again as she scanned Martin's books and handed them over.
"So," Arthur began before Martin could turn away. "I don't know if you have plans, but if you're willing to walk a few blocks through a questionable area I know of a good tea and dumpling shop? On me."
Martin's face had yet to retreat fully back into the silent blankness of work but it was headed that way. There was a flare of anger in Arthur's mind that he knew was irrational. It wasn't directed at Martin but at whatever it was, whatever happened, that made him feel he had to be The Alien around adults, but a smiling Merlin for the children. And he was certain Merlin was closer to his true self.
Eventually Martin gave a small nod. "Yes."
Arthur grinned and over Martin's shoulder he saw the librarian give him a smile and a wink.
MARTIN DROPPED his books off at his car then followed Arthur up the street. There were a few markets in the area where he got vegetables, spices, and cooking equipment that wasn't usually stocked at the local Safeway. The area was full of hole-in-the-wall restaurants where the majority of the menu wasn't in English and if you were white, the staff assumed you were lost.
The bell over the door rang and he waved at the waitress, who recognized him from previous visits. She pointed him to the only free table and brought over the menu that was just a long list of dumplings.
'Do one thing and do it well.'
Martin picked up his menu. Arthur thought he was getting pretty good at recognizing the subtle shifts and twitches around Martin's eyes and what they might mean. His eyebrows raised just a fraction as he read over the menu.
"The prawns with scallions are nice. Or the ones filled with cabbage?"
Martin nodded. There was a lot of information in those small, sharp nods.
He put down his menu. The waitress came over and he ordered a couple types of dumplings, tea, and two steamed milk buns. Mild but sweet and tasty. She looked to Martin who only slightly shook his head.
"Two plates," Arthur added.
A busboy left tea and two cups on the table. Arthur checked the tea and decided to let it steep. There was silence between them and for the first time in over a month, it felt slightly awkward.
"Merlin?" He finally asked, hoping to stir up a little conversation since they didn't have books to stick their noses in.
Martin looked away, his eyes scanning over the other patrons. "It did not occur to me that they could not read cursive when I wrote my name on the board. Their previous teacher had been reading stories of King Arthur."
Arthur grinned, picturing the situation. "They could make out an M, a tall letter in the middle and an N at the end and jumped to Merlin."
"They were quite excited about it."
"I can imagine."
Martin frowned slightly. "I fear a few of the youngest actually believe me to be Merlin."
"And having an Arthur show up didn't help that."
"No."
"There are worse people they could decide you are."
"That is true."
Arthur checked the tea again and, deciding it had steeped enough, poured two cups.
"What are you planning on after Beowulf?" Arthur asked, trying to keep the actual conversation going.
"I am considering returning to the Arthurian legends. Le Morte d'Arthur and The Once and Future King ostensibly tell the same stories, however, they present different underlying themes and messages. I may include sections of Idylls of the King."
"Good to know. That'll sort out my lunchtime reading."
Martin tipped his head slightly in a question.
"No, I haven't read them. My adolescent reading was mostly French poetry, science fiction I could get out of the school library, and a lot of bible study. So much bible study. Way too much bible study. And let me tell you, nothing gets you in trouble at Wednesday night Baptist bible study like quoting from the Epistle of Jeremiah." It was the only time he'd ever heard his mother raise her voice to his father and she had raised it high. He had already decided he was an atheist at that point and his mother's insistence on the true word of God and her screaming about Hanh ('That Woman' as his mother called her) and the Apocrypha was pointless. He took a sip of tea. "So, Beowulf then King Arthur. I think I can manage that."
Only after another sip of tea did he have the realization that he just invited himself to Saturday story time. Merlin did teach King Arthur and, while he doubted he'd ever be king of anything, there were worse ways of spending a Saturday than watching Martin's smiling animated face while he read works to small children that would floor most university graduates.
CAROL WAS grinning at him.
"What?"
She shrugged and kept grinning.
"What?" Arthur repeated.
Carol had become the closest thing he had to a 'normal' friend since shifting floors, mostly by teasing him during coffee breaks or giving him a warning when some major shit was rolling down the Agency. She'd developed her own sources and usually got a good five to ten minute warning before everyone was dragged into a conference room to be yelled at as a group despite no one in the group actually doing anything wrong. For some reason, Martin was never in those meetings.
Arthur grabbed the coffeepot, giving Carol sideways glances. She was still grinning at him.
"What?" Arthur asked one more time.
"You're happy, so I'm making up random guesses and amusing little stories as to why."
"Don't you have more interesting things to think about?" Arthur asked trying to deflect the statement about his happiness.
"In case you haven't noticed, for a bunch of secret agents we have a really boring job. This passes the time. So, my best guess is you finally got a date out of mister Put-the-Secret-Into-Secret-Agent."
Arthur rolled his eyes.
"Aww, you did."
"No."
"You did too, or something close to it. I'm picturing either reading quietly in the library while casting little glances at each other or wild passionate sex. Okay, I'm not actively visualizing the sex because it's not my thing but, you know, it's always the quiet ones who get freaky behind closed doors."
"We didn't have a date. I'm not courting. It's just--" Arthur cut himself off, not having a good word for it and not wanting to dig himself into a hole with Carol. "Why do I like you, again?" he asked.
"Because I'm the only one here who doesn't think you're weird. Actually, I do think you're weird, but it's a workable weird."
"Well-- " Arthur puffed himself up trying to mount some defense. "I think you're a little weird, too."
Carol grinned broadly at him, flashing her teeth. "Yes, I am."