17
17
T HE FIRST THING YOU learn at the library is that you’re not allowed to eat there. You learn this because, at the entrance, there is a sign with a picture of a sandwich, a burger, and some fries with a red cross crossing it out and the words ‘Kindly do not eat, please’.
But whatever. It’s eleven a.m. – not a classic eating time. You decide to put your jam sandwiches to one side (mentally speaking) and think about your principal task of the day.
Much like everyone else on Planet Earth, you don’t know who or what wrote the Manuscript. This means you cannot narrow down your search based on the first letter of the author’s last name, as people ordinarily would. Nor can you remember what, according to the documentary, the Manuscript is most commonly known as.
This leaves you in a fix. For a second, it seems you simply don’t have enough information to proceed, and you wonder if it was silly of you to come.
You look around. Over there, a man is reading a book about horses. Over there, a woman is doing a crossword. By the far wall, there are small children sitting at computer machines – games of Solitaire, Pinball, and Minesweeper on their screens. It is oddly loud for a library. The people and the children and the computers are all making noises. The walls are also loud. Most are painted a headache-inducing pink.
You take some deep breaths, then decide to narrow your search by theme. You decide this because, in libraries, books are organised according to theme, as well as according to the first letter of the author’s last name. You scan the books. There are rows and rows of them – all arranged on metal shelving, all wrapped in transparent plastic to protect them from the fingers of greasy strangers.
You pass gardening and horticulture. i You pass crime and punishment. ii You pass angling, animals, local interest, and wildlife. iii All of these books would interest your mum. You briefly wonder if you should borrow some for her. But then you get to the astronomy and space section and stop.
An alien endeavour, I do believe it is an alien endeavour…
Here, you peruse the shelves with more scrutiny. There is a book on the rings of Uranus. iv You skim it. It doesn’t seem to mention anything about the literary pursuits of aliens. It is also not written in an unknown script or an unknown language, but instead the Roman script and the English language. The next book is more promising – The Oort Cloud – but you understand all the words except ‘Oort’ and so you put it back down again also. My Very Easy Method and How to Meet a Meteor go much the same way.
You start to think that you’ll never find the Manuscript or a book about the Manuscript. This makes you feel bad. You slump to the ground, suddenly depleted of energy and enthusiasm, resting against the shelving of the erotic and adult romance section. The day is not going well. You feel there is a distinct possibility the literature of your people will elude you forever and always.
It is not long before a member of staff spots you. You spot him spot you, then watch him approach. You imagine he is coming to berate you for sitting on the floor. You imagine this because, previously, humans have berated you for sitting on the floor.
Once he is nearer, you see that the member of staff is actually a woman. The woman looks great. If it wasn’t for the lanyard, you’d think she was a super-famous photo model on her way to a fashion show.
‘Are you OK, sweetheart?’ the woman asks, looking at you through her glasses.
You do a small nod.
She smiles. ‘Is that a yes?’
You nod again.
‘Are you looking for something?’
You nod once more.
‘A book?’
You shrug.
‘Do you know what it’s called?’
You shake your head.
‘Do you know what colour it is? Sometimes people know the colour.’
You think about it for a second, then you shake your head again.
‘Can you speak?’
‘Yes,’ you say.
‘OK.’ The woman is visibly relieved. ‘That’s OK. We like helping people find things here. Come over to the information desk and I’ll do a search.’
The woman beckons for you to follow her to the information desk. You oblige. There is an older lady sitting at the information desk. She also seems nice. Her face, which is very large, seems like it’s used to smiling a lot.
‘Can you describe the book at all?’ the woman asks.
You frown, try to recall the documentary. Fleetingly, you wonder if the documentary was a real thing that you saw and not just something that you thought you saw or dreamt.
‘It’s really old,’ you say. ‘Like really, really old.’
The woman blinks. ‘Anything else?’ she says.
‘It hasn’t been translated yet. So, like, it’s in another language.’
‘Ah, OK, and what language is it in—’
‘Like it’s impossible to translate. Like, they don’t know who wrote it or why.’
The woman smiles, either amused or bemused by your interruption. ‘Who are they?’ she asks.
You blink. ‘What?’
‘Who’re the people who don’t know who wrote it or why?’
‘I don’t know. Someone thought it was written by aliens.’
‘Who thought that?’
‘I don’t know. This man who was married to this lady.’
The woman looks at the computer keyboard her fingers are hovering above. She is frowning.
‘We don’t have much in other languages.’
‘Oh, OK,’ you say.
‘We actually don’t have anything in other languages. We are an English-language library here.’
‘Oh, OK,’ you say again.
Until this moment, you were liking this conversation. Now, you are not liking this conversation. Like a room without a clear exit, it has started to worry you.
‘I think we have a book on Morse code, though. If that’s of any interest?’
‘Um.’ You look at her blankly. You don’t know if this book on Morse code is of any interest. You haven’t read it yet, so you don’t know if it’s interesting. Also, you don’t know what Morse code is.
‘Or just a book on codes in general?’ She frowns further. ‘How old are you? Fifteen?’
You do a nod. The nod is a lie. The woman is able to tell this because you are grinning broadly. At no point has anyone else accused you of being so old and wise.
‘Would you like to see it?’
You do another nod.
The woman raises her eyebrows. ‘Yeah?’
‘Yes, please.’
‘I’ll go fetch it, then.’
You sit down at a desk. The desk is OK. The space on it is plentiful, its chairs massive. The book, however, you know is not quite right. Morse code seems to have something to do with telegrams. You don’t think your Manuscript has much to do with telegrams. Opposite you is another library user. In defiance of the clear signage, he is eating fish and chips.
‘The Voynich Manuscript,’ the fish and chips man suddenly says, seemingly apropos of nothing.
You look up. The man is making intense eye contact with you. You don’t like this.
‘Sorry?’ you say, as you didn’t understand what he just said. It is possible, you think, that ‘Voynich Manuscript’ was an elaborate sneeze.
‘You mean the Voynich Manuscript.’ He nods towards the desk you were just at. ‘That’s what you were asking about.’
‘I, um…’ You compose yourself. Now he mentions it, Voynich does sound about right. ‘OK. Thanks.’
The man waves a salty, greasy chip in your general direction. ‘You don’t believe me, do you?’
‘No, I believe you.’
‘You are thinking this is just a crazy homeless guy in the library eating chips, what does he know?’
‘No.’
‘Well, I know another thing too. You want to know what I know?’
‘OK.’
‘It’s not here.’
‘Oh, OK.’
He shakes his head. ‘It’s in the Beinecke, I think.’
You wonder if the man is sneezing again. ‘What?’
‘It’s in the Beinecke Rare Book and Manuscript Library.’
‘Oh. Where’s that?’
‘America.’
‘Oh.’
The man smiles at you then, shows every single one of his pearly whites. Despite the fact he hasn’t finished even half of his fish and chips, he then gets up, wipes his hands on his jeans, and starts to make his way out. He doesn’t discard his leftovers. Instead, he leaves them there for someone else to deal with.
‘Thanks, Tracy,’ he says to the older woman at the computer desk.
‘Thanks, Paul,’ Tracy says.
‘See you later, Maggie,’ he says to the lovely woman at the computer desk.
‘See you later, Paul,’ Maggie says.
You stare after the man unblinkingly as he departs.
‘You all right, kid?’ Maggie says.
You don’t think she’s speaking to you, so you don’t react.
‘You all right, kid?’ Maggie repeats.
‘Oh, yeah,’ you say, realising Maggie is addressing you.
Maggie raises her eyebrows. ‘Did he bother you?’
‘Who?’
‘The guy who was just there.’
‘The homeless man?’ you ask.
Maggie smiles. ‘He’s not homeless.’
‘Oh.’
‘He’s our boss.’
You feel silly. ‘I didn’t know that,’ you say.
‘That’s OK, sweetie. Did he bother you?’
‘No, he told me what I’m looking for.’
‘Ah!’ Maggie seems pleased. ‘And what are you looking for?’
You shake your head. ‘I can’t remember.’
Maggie seems displeased. ‘You can’t remember.’
‘No.’
‘That’s a shame, isn’t it—’
‘The Voynich Manuscript,’ you interrupt because you suddenly just remembered.
Maggie beckons you over. ‘I thought you said you couldn’t remember.’
You shrug. ‘I suddenly just remembered.’
Maggie nods slowly, types the words ‘Voynich Manuscript’ into her search bar. A list of book titles then appears. There are codes next to the book titles. These explain to her where each book is. If she hovers over the title of the book, she can find out what it’s about more generally.
‘All right, we have some stuff.’
‘Yeah?’
‘Yeah. Not much, but we can order some more stuff. Don’t you worry. Don’t you worry at all.’
Further reading:
The Voynich Manuscript: A Theory
Wilfrid and Me: A Memoir
The Voynich Manuscript: An Explanation
The Voynich Manuscript: History or Hoax?
Footnotes
i How to Make Your Allotment a Success ; The Lawn Owner’s Manual.
ii It’s a Steal: A Looter’s Guide to Thieving; Fanning the Flames: An Arsonist’s Guide to Fire.
iii Death to Badgers ; How to Kill Carp.
iv The Rings of Uranus.