Willie Ferguson lay staring at the wee cracks in his bedroom ceiling. Like a lot of people, he hadn’t realised, til he stopped working, that he was missing something. It sure as hell wasn’t the job that he missed: he’d collected his pension with a sigh of relief. It wasn’t family either: his sister, Margaret, living behind a privet hedge down in England, was emphatically a distant relative, and should ever remain so. But Willie knew he really was missing something.
The book he’d been reading before he fell asleep caught his eye. A couplet came back to him and he turned a page or two to re-find it:
‘O Unicorn among the cedars,
To whom no magic charm can lead us,‘*
Those lines spoke to him. But the book was overdue. He’d need to return it to the library. Maybe he’d ask the librarian if he could renew it, to help him think through this mysterious searching for a missing something.
Willie already knew a little about the search for unicorns. Ever since the Ancient Greeks, people had thought unicorns were real, if elusive, beasts. Leonardo (not so smart after all) da Vinci had described how the elusive beasts could be captured. Unicorn horn was said to have magical and medicinal properties and was sold for enormous sums; in fact, it was narwhal horn that was being peddled. Marco Polo, the medieval Venetian explorer, left a detailed description of a unicorn, but it’s clear to modern readers that, in actual fact, he was describing a rhinoceros.
Cleaning his teeth, a thought struck Willie about Marco Polo’s explorations: you might search for a unicorn, but stumble on something quite different, that turned out to be just as arresting. A rhino was certainly arresting. But first things first: he’d take Auden’s poems back to the library. It was that or daytime TV, with all those ads about funeral plans.
#
The library was housed in The Workers’ Institute, an Edwardian, neoclassical monument to the last century’s faded hopes of a fairer society. The librarian told him that he was her first customer of the day. He’d seen her before, but this time he noticed she had a name badge: ‘Jenny.’ The clock behind her showed it was half past ten.
Willie wondered if Jenny was lonely too – a thought he reluctantly dismissed. Willie had tried online dating a couple of years ago. His profile: ‘Own hair and teeth, etc.’ had not attracted interest.
As she renewed his book, Jenny smiled and said, ‘Not many customers borrow books from the poetry section, but those poetry books that do get borrowed are renewed far more often than the novels and the travel books – interesting that, don’t you think? Of course, it’s the children’s books that get renewed most: the little ones get so attached to them.’
‘
Willie looked at Jenny with what a poet might describe as a wild surmise. ‘Mm. That is interesting.’ Panicking, he cast around for something else to say. ‘Tell me, is it true that the library is closing down?’
‘Well, there have been some pretty deafening rumours…’ She smiled again. ‘But I’m retiring, come Christmas, so I’m guessing it wont affect me personally.’
Having temporarily exhausted his conversational resources, Willie thanked Jenny, picked up his Auden, and left. As he strode away down the street, his thoughts returned to his emerging Search Plan. And to the possible serendipitous outcomes, that might even include a friendly ex-librarian. After all, Columbus had been searching for The Indies and had accidentally bumped into The Americas.
*From ‘New Year Letter,’ p.129, W.H. Auden, ‘Collected Longer Poems’, London: Faber & Faber, 1974.
Image: Pixabay.com. View through library shelves packed with books.
literally stories 
Hi Michael
People who retire from not to be missed in anyway jobs often struggle with the concept of pursuing something pleasing. But Willie understands if you keep moving and hanging about long enough something might happen.
If Columbus had GPS my father’s ancestors would have opted to steal potatoes, hold on and I’d be in Dublin waiting for the pub to open. Excellent restraint, colorful language and heart are staples of your work.
Leila
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Thanks Leila. And you’re quite right: it is really is important to keep moving and hanging about!
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This was just a really lovely read. Great characters and a look at a life lived with hope all with the usual high quality writing we have come to expect and appreciate from this author.
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Thanks Diane. So glad you liked the characters, especially since there isn’t much of a plot (man goes to renew library book). Wasn’t sure whether to submit this piece or not, but I was secretly pleased with ‘Leonardo (not so smart after all) da Vinci.’
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This was a genuine delight to read – the ancient search for unicorns paralleled with an understated search for companionship works so well.
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Thanks Paul. I’ve always liked the medieval obsession with unicorns. It’s said that the capture of a unicorn by a maiden, is an allegory of courtship, love and marriage – hence Willie’s search.
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If I’m searching for a unicorn, I’d much rather find a nice librarian lady than a rhinoceros! A gentle and well done flash fiction.
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Thanks David. Re searching: me too. Pleased you liked it.
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Not success, or much action, but hope persists! Rarely used exclamation seemed appropriate.
I’ve read unicorns existed because of bad artists. Cow like beasties – aurochs sounds right, but can’t remember, were pictured in profile so two horns lined up and looked like one. Not very romantic, but there you are. Minotaur myth from from art in Crete or Cyprus. Women there did bull jumping I think. Bull pictures may have been exaggerated.
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Thanks, Doug, I didn’t know about the auroch paintings – interesting stuff!
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Hi Mick,
Subtle, thoughtful and beautifully written.
I find it ironic that the Unicorn is the national animal (Myth??)of Scotland. If they were real we would probably deep fry them.
All the very best my fine friend.
Hugh
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Thanks, Hugh. I read somewhere that the Scottish kings adopted the unicorn for their coat-of-arms because the unicorn was said to be a stronger and fiercer fighter than the English lion – a sort of ‘up yours’ gesture.
There’s a series of beautiful modern tapestries in Stirling Castle (copied from medieval flemish originals), depicting the hunt for, and capture of, the unicorn.
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A man of poetry from another time, perhaps thinking he may become a Unicorn himself….. a story about missing something….For Willie, I predict more wistful explorations of libraries and inner thoughts, and perhaps a stumbling upon new possibilities. Good 1.
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Thanks Harrison! Some of us are indeed addicted to wistful explorations.
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