The Rule of Silence

A short story by JK Ghillis

“Hi, Henio,” smiled the library lady. “I haven’t seen you in a few days.”

“Oh, I was sick.”

“Nothing serious?”

“A cold.”

“Well, I’m glad it’s all better.”

Henio smiled back sheepishly.

“You know, the encyclopedia supplement is coming out in January,” the librarian continued. “It will update everything up to nineteen-seventy-eight.”

“Oh? That’s cool,” Henio shrugged and shuffled toward the reference section. He never knew how to respond to adults. The library lady, Ms. Ania, had always been nice to him, true, but she was nice to everybody. She would speak in a low, muted voice, perhaps out of necessity. There was a handwritten sign above her desk which said, ‘Please Keep Quiet in the School Library.’ In the last year, at least since Henio had started showing up, that rule hasn’t been broken even once.

In the reading section, there were two older girls sitting a few desks apart, both deep into their studies. They were surrounded by textbooks. Henio shuddered at the idea of eight grade. Getting ready for high school entry exams looked dreadful. Near the end of the row, a smaller kid was hunched over a hardcover book. Passing him, Henio glanced at the title. It was the second installment of a Western adventure trilogy. He knew it well. The kid, probably a fourth-grader, had a look of utter astonishment on his face. His eyes darted left to right, his mouth half-open, fingers anxious to turn the page. Henio was tempted to tell the boy that the hero dies in the end. But he didn’t say anything. He didn’t want to lessen the shock he had experienced himself finishing the saga last year.

The silence of the school library was different than the silence at home. And the place had plenty more lights. He liked its aura which smelled of time. It felt permanent. Since the school year had begun, Henio has been going through the twelve volumes of the Grand Popular Encyclopedia. He reasoned that by the end of fifth grade, he would cover it all. That meant browsing through a bit more than one tome every month. It was early December, and he was already halfway through Volume 4.

The reference section was at the far end. It wasn’t big. Altogether, the dictionaries, guides, almanacs, and atlases barely filled up four shelves of an eight-shelf unit. But the popular encyclopedia had a whole shelf of its own.

He reached for the fourth volume. The spine said: ‘Frang-Im.’ When Henio had stumbled upon the set for the first time, he had no clue what that meant. The first volume was labeled ‘A-Ble,’ the second ‘Bli-Deo,’ and so on. The last volume was named ‘Usa-Ż,’ but the entry for USA, the country, somehow wasn’t in it. It took him a month to figure out the coding system. It turned out that each tome was labeled not just with one, but sometimes with several letters of the first and last entries. Henio felt dumb for not getting it sooner.

There was an encyclopedia at home, but it was one of those single-volume, condensed editions. It was labeled ‘A-Z,’ and that made perfect sense. He had perused it back-to-back many times over. First out of boredom, later with thirst. Sometimes, he would come across uncut, stuck pages. That was always a treat. He would grab a kitchen knife, slide it between the pages, and carefully cut along the edge to unlock whatever alphabetically arranged secrets were there.

His own library consisted of old comics and some fiction for kids. He had never gotten a book from his parents. All fiction books were given to him by his grandmother. They were classic adventure books, mostly translations, written in prose people didn’t use often these days. He liked old Westerns the most, closely followed by swashbuckling tales. But, nearing the age of twelve, he felt he had outgrown that stuff. And before grandma could offer him more challenging material, she had died. Of course, he was required to read books at school, but he found them painfully boring. Once, at his cousin’s house, he had tried to read a grown-up novel, but quickly got lost in the story. It felt like the author had written something, cut it all up, then put it back together randomly. It made zero sense.

Henio took Volume 4 to a vacant desk by the far wall. It had been a few days, but he quickly remembered where he left off. He was well into the G’s. But the point of his quest wasn’t memorization. Who could remember all that stuff? The point was to see things he hadn’t seen before, or had seen on television but wanted to know more about. He would skip all entries without any pictures. There were thousands of black-and-white photos in the encyclopedia, of all kinds of things and places. Also, each tome had at least one full-color spread illustrating noteworthy subjects such as world flags, gemstones, and glorious examples of architecture or art. Some of it, Henio even liked.

He started thumbing through the volume until he came across a few pages peppered with illustrations. The whole section started at ‘Gr,’ but, as he quickly learned, Greek stuff in art was called Hellenistic. At least the really old stuff. The images were black-and-white, but they were mostly of ruins and statues, so it didn’t make any difference. He looked at gods and athletes, wondering if he would ever look so amazing. Why hadn’t his parents ever signed him up for sports? Sure, he was getting sick all the time. But maybe he wouldn’t if he exercised? Like that kid from the sixth grade, Dariusz. He had been in a near-fatal car accident only a year ago. After the hospital, he picked up wrestling and now looked like one of those statues. Only shorter. But Henio’s parents didn’t have a car, so that scenario was out.

When done with ‘Greece,’ he suddenly felt like he had skipped something. The last time he had been browsing the book, Henio just remembered, he was at subjects beginning with ‘Gl.’ Backtracking a few pages, he found the familiar ‘gladiator’ entry. It was illustrated by a painting. Once again, Henio admired the warrior’s dominant pose. He was stepping on his fallen opponent’s throat, his short sword ready for that final blow. He was looking up toward the spectators, hesitating. But this time, Henio noticed something else in the painting. Something he hadn’t even cared about a few days ago. He followed the gladiator’s line of sight. There were women, all covered with white robes, up on the arena’s balcony. Their faces seemed angry. They were yelling something to the gladiator, with their arms extended and thumbs pointing down. It was clear to Henio that these women demanded death. And not just the women. In the upper rows, men were gesturing for blood, too. Henio strained his eyes to see if he could find anybody with his thumb up. No such luck. Clearly, the gladiator had no choice. If he didn’t obey the crowd, they would feed him to the lions.

After ‘gladiator,’ there were multiple other things and people whose names started with ‘Gl,’ but none with ‘Gm,’ and only a few with ‘Gn.’ He skimmed through that section but nothing particular caught his attention, except for ‘gnome.’ To his surprise, he learned that it was another way of saying ‘a dwarf.’ That explained a lot. He had heard eighth-graders calling him a gnome a few years back, before his growth spurt. He knew it was an insult, but didn’t get the meaning. Now it finally made sense. Unless they had referred to him as a fairy creature of the forest, which Henio felt was unlikely. He flipped another page to reach ‘Go.’ But something didn’t feel right. Sure enough, two pages were stuck together. Not by being uncut, but by something sticky.

Henio reached into his schoolbag and pulled out a ruler. He wedged it between the stuck pages and gently slid it toward the snag. It didn’t budge. He tried a few more times with a little more pressure. Nothing. Frustrated, he pulled back the ruler all the way to the gutter and with one forceful sweep he sliced into the edge. The top page ripped at the corner. Henio quickly glanced around to see if anyone had heard it. No one did. He lifted the torn page and looked at the next one. Part of the print, ripped from the opposite side, was stuck to it, obscuring the top entry. Could be far worse, Henio thought.

Then, he noticed a naked woman. A picture of a completely naked woman. On a bed. Henio quickly flipped the page and inhaled. He looked up again to see if anybody was looking. The fourth-grader and the two girls still had their backs turned to him. Ms. Ania was hidden behind distant shelves. It was safe. He looked down and unveiled the image slowly. It wasn’t a photo. He could see that now. It was a painting.

She was a young woman with curly dark hair. With her lithe arms behind her head, she was reclining comfortably on a big bed or some kind of a sofa with giant pillows. Completely naked. Pale and full of softness. And she was looking straight at him. Henio felt strange. She could see him staring at her. Was it okay to look down on her body? He looked anyway. He had to. Sure, he had seen a naked woman before. Even in this encyclopedia. In the first volume, somewhere in the ‘B’ section. Another painting. It was Venus. Venus emerging from the sea. But her nakedness was shy and kind of weird looking. Stiff. Like a store mannequin. Not really alive. And that other Venus, the sculpture, didn’t even have arms. This woman, however, was here for real. He could feel her. She felt present. She felt warm. And open. Inviting.

Henio started to breathe through his mouth in short, shallow gasps. He became aware of that, yet couldn’t stop. He also noticed his heartbeat. It was much faster now. Much faster than when he had looked at gladiators. His entire body was responding in a way that made Henio nervous.

He couldn’t take his eyes off the woman, her far-apart breasts, full and round but not that big, just, well, just nice, and the curve of her hips, the softest he’s ever seen, or maybe the first he’s ever noticed, he wasn’t sure, definitely the first hips which suddenly mattered, with a milky arc that continued to flow down her thighs, thighs pressed together into that dark triangle, hinting of something beyond imagination, beyond his capacity to grasp, but not above stirring a guilty sensation from which he quickly escaped down to her knees, but the knees were also round and supple in a way that made his eyes go back to the breasts before he could even delight in her feet.

It felt natural to cross his legs at that moment. But that caused another curious sensation. It wasn’t pain, exactly. More of a pleasure. And it was intensifying. His brain was flailing for answers now, but none made any sense. Then he remembered something about an explosion. When men become men, they break up. And it hurts. It could even kill you, as he had once heard in the schoolyard. And Henio sure wanted to live. Somehow, he now wanted to live more than ever before. Was it worth it? The pain? Losing a part of yourself? Does it grow back?

He felt an uncomfortable pressure and looked down. He uncrossed his legs. The tingly sensation eased off. “Ooohhh,” he exhaled loudly. Too loudly. Both girls looked at him over their shoulders. One said, “Shhhhh…” The other gave him a nasty frown. The fourth-grader didn’t move.

Luckily, the girls immediately returned to their study. Henio felt his face was burning. He quietly slid his chair back and got up. He stepped behind the last row of bookshelves. Frantically, he untucked his shirt and let it down over his thighs. He exhaled. Then he tried to swallow, but his mouth was too dry. He was glad the sensation stopped when it did. Another moment, Henio felt, and he would’ve broken the library rule with something much louder than “Ooohhh.”

“Everything okay?”

Henio twitched. Ms. Ania came out of nowhere. She was staring at him from the other side of the aisle. She seemed concerned. How much had she seen? Did she see anything?

“Are you feeling alright?” Ms. Ania pressed on, but without raising her voice.

“Yes, yes,” muttered Henio, averting his eyes. “It’s all good.”

“Can I help you find anything?”

Henio pulled out a random book and opened it quickly. “No, no,” he sniffled. “I got it.”

Ms. Ania tilted her head and squinted.

“’Coal Miner’s Guide’?”

“Uhm…”

“Volume Three?”

“Yes,” Henio said with confidence. He flipped a few pages.

“I see. Already looking for a career?”

“Uhm, just looking.”

With the corner of his eye, Henio peeked at the desk. The encyclopedia was still open on that page. The naked lady was right there, in plain view. He turned slightly to block it.

“That’s really hard work. Being a miner,” continued Ms. Ania in that low voice.

“I don’t mind.”

“Underground. Digging in the dark tunnels.” She smiled at Henio. “I’ve always pictured you somewhere brighter.” Walking away, she whispered, “Keep looking.”

That was close. Phewww... Henio waited until he heard Ms. Ania sit down at her desk. He put the guide back on the shelf. He felt exhausted. All nervousness has drained from his body. Now, he felt a bit hollow. He also felt like he needed to experience everything all over again. There was this urge. All that has just happened must happen one more time. All or nothing, pain or no pain. He knew he was going back for more. Except not here. Alone. In his room. Tonight.

He picked up the encyclopedia off the desk. Trying not to look at the picture again, Henio made a mental note of the painter’s name. Goya. Easy to remember. He closed the book and returned it to its place on the shelf. He knew it was impossible to take reference books home. But you could check out books on art. And there was a pretty wide selection of art albums a few bookshelves down. Goya. He must be there. He just must.

He found it without much effort. A fair-sized hardcover volume. It had only one word on the spine: ‘Goya.’ It was wedged tightly between some other art books, and Henio had to wiggle it a bit to pull it out. He noticed a layer of dust on top. He blew on it, then drove his finger on the edge of the pages to get some fluff off. He blew a few times more all over the book and looked at the cover. It was weird. A dark man in a white shirt was kneeling with his arms up. Another man was on the ground, lying in a puddle of blood. Someone was praying. A strip of black with the white title was covering the rest of the image. Was it really the same Goya?

Henio leaned against the bookshelf and started to thumb through the album. The images were printed in color, but they were dark. Very dark. Creepy old faces, contorted, grinning in a bizarre way, cartoonish but not funny at all, two women mocking a man, their laughter more freaky than what they were laughing at, two men swinging clubs at each other for no clear reason while stuck knee-deep in the mud, a dog’s head peeking from behind some hill, looking up with fear at something no human could see, and, lastly, a skinny old man with mad eyes eating a smaller person, his mouth chewing an arm, the head already missing, and those demonic eyes again, looking directly at Henio with the agony of someone doing a very bad thing and regretting it at the same time.

Henio slid down with his back to the bookshelf and plopped on the floor. He felt angry at something but he didn’t know what it was. All at once, things were being taken away from him and other things given. Too fast, too confusing to sort it all out. He felt nauseous. Suddenly, he also felt terribly sad. His throat was dry again. There was more to the book, but he was afraid to look any further. He had a feeling the lady from the encyclopedia was not going to recline in these strange pages. But his instinct told him to keep going at all cost. So, he looked on.

The color plates ended. There were only black-and-white drawings now. Henio took a deep breath and started to browse. The images were more realistic, not as cartoonish, and reminded him of some action comics. But soon the soldiers firing rifles and wielding battle axes were gone. What was left, was the rest. Things he somehow expected to see. Dead bodies, some decapitated, some missing limbs, bodies slung over trees, burials in muddy mass graves, tortured prisoners, executions of all kinds, refugee women with babies, survivors in mourning, whole families not whole anymore, aimless wonderers grabbing their heads, or maybe covering their ears to mute their own wailing, and then, suddenly, he saw someone familiar, and his heart stopped.

A lifeless woman being loaded onto a cart full of corpses, upside down, her shapely naked legs exactly like in that other picture, her face, too, exactly the same, but with eyes closed and no smile, her arms just as lithe but now dangling loose, it was her, Henio was sure now, he was certain, it was her, his lady, taken away from that soft, plushy sofa, her breasts covered with a soiled shirt, and she wasn’t open to him anymore, she was closed, and she would never come back.

***