Dream XXXIX

It was during World War II, and I was asked if I could get Hilaire Belloc, the author of Goodbye To All That, to write some essays supporting the Allies. I was in the middle of a loud discussion about popular music at the time, but I left and went upstairs and found a friendly older man who was bald and had a pleasant smile. I asked if he was Hilaire Belloc and he nodded pleasantly.

I took him down to the library’s reading room, which was a huge metallic sphere, on the inside of which all the library’s works were engraved in concentric rings. As I took him in there, I tried to cover for the fact that I hadn’t read his work (all I knew was that his taste in music was far older than mine) by saying he was an “interesting” writer and had a literary “reputation.” I used other general phrases as well, and also quoted other writers’ positive opinions of him (such as Bernard Shaw). He was very pleased by the attention, and I pointed out where one of his works began in the reading room. As I was doing so, I surreptitiously read ahead so I could tell him I enjoyed his ability to work up a phrase.

The work he was to write for us was designated “LHQQ” (which reminded me of Marcel Duchamp’s LHOOQ). I left him there and went back to my job at the reference desk.

Some time later, I went back to see him and he had apparently left. Other patrons told me he had been quite shaken, as if discovering something unpleasant for the first time.

I checked our catalog of his works, and I saw that there was indeed a new work, dated today, that was over four times as large as his previous works (1600 K as opposed to the typical 400). I hoped this would be a new work critical of the Nazis that we could use in the war effort.

I skimmed a few sections, and they mostly seemed to deal with himself, certain childhood memories, the fact that places change over time, and other scattered thoughts.

I looked up from reading and wondered where he had gone.