We’re pleased to publish an excerpt from P.J. Blumenthal’s collection Self Portraits, released this month by Sagging Meniscus. In their review, Kirkus Reviews noted, “The author displays a sharp, edgy sense of humor in his explorations of the human condition, with all its attendant foibles, quirky relationships, and bizarre affectations.” Read on for a glimpse inside of “The Library Roof.”
The Library Roof
The backdoor of the library opens directly onto the staircase to the roof. I discovered that by accident. Everything I know about the library roof I have discovered by accident.
Approaching the building from a distance, you might easily mistake it for a high tower. It is not. From the outside, it’s impossible to imagine how spacious the library is. On each floor there is a reading room lined with long rows of bookshelves as well as intermittent multi-tiered shelf-extensions at right angles to the wall. A squat, zigzagging flight of oaken stairs leads to an upper gallery visible behind a wooden balustrade and accented every few meters by beige-topped reading tables with gooseneck lamps. You enter the reading room from the lounge, a roomy area dotted with comfortable sofas, low tables, and easy chairs which make me think of islands (all the more so because the carpet is blue). At the rear wall, behind the smoking area, there are two doors, one leading to the restrooms, the other, unmarked, opening to the bare-bones maze of maintenance corridors. It is there you will find – on each floor – the door that opens onto the staircase to the roof…or, if you are descending, down to the backdoor.
To get to the roof, you may want to avoid the maintenance staff which is ever-present and always attentive. If you do run into any of them, they will ask you why you are in the maintenance corridors. For the timorous this can be disconcerting. Few admit they are heading to the roof. Why they are hesitant, I have never understood. Most explain that they are looking for the restrooms or the reading room and quickly find themselves escorted out of the maintenance corridors. Personally, I don’t believe the maintenance people care much about why anyone has wandered into those grey corridors. I think the questions they ask are perfunctory. I usually ignore them (except the first couple of times when I still hid from them) because I realized they have no authority beyond what you grant them. Besides, to get to the staircase, you don’t need to spend much time in the corridors, and when you do see maintenance people, they are usually in their workshops or conference rooms or in their kitchens, busy with whatever they do there. Sometimes they are visible only in profile, or you just see their backs. You may even hear them talking, but I’ve never picked up a word they’ve said – except when they address me directly. Their workshops and conference rooms are colorful – and they too dress colorfully. Only the corridors are grey, and I feel as grey as the floor and walls when I’m there. Like I say, you don’t have to spend much time in the corridors, no more than you need to find the door to the staircase up to the roof – which rarely takes long – except maybe the first time. Of course, you can avoid all that bother by accessing the staircase from outside and going up to the roof directly without entering the maintenance corridors at all. Not everyone knows about that door however. On a couple of occasions, while climbing the stairs, I heard a door opening behind me and caught a glimpse of a few maintenance people at a landing. I assume they saw about as much of me, or maybe they weren’t sure they had seen me at all, or maybe they didn’t care. Maybe they thought I was one of them.
I’m sure they must have heard my footsteps though because I never tiptoe when I climb the stairs. I don’t like sneaking. Besides, once I’d discovered the staircase to the roof of the library, I knew I had every right to go up there.
At the top of the stairs, you see the door directly in front of you. It is never locked. When you open it, you step directly onto the roof. It is as easy as that. Many roofs are strewn with gravel or covered with sheets of tar paper or a layer of asphalt. Not this one. It has paved sidewalks flanked by neatly trimmed lawns (tended by the maintenance staff, I assume, though I’ve never seen them at work). Sometimes when I describe the roof, I forget to mention those lawns. In fact, for some reason I don’t always notice them –though they’re much too big to overlook. (If you’ve been on the library roof you know what I mean). The pavement stones are a light grey and fairly smooth, lighter – better said, more neutral in shade – than the grey of the corridors. The waist-high parapet bordering the roof is the same shade of grey as the sidewalks. The lawns are a radiant green. I’ve never noticed flowers on them, but for all I know there may be some.
I don’t think I’ve ever been on the roof alone. No, that’s not true. I was there alone once, and I looked out at the horizon from all directions. There was a slight breeze, and the air was clear – like after a rainstorm. You could make out the smallest details and contrasts in everything. The colors were perfectly saturated. Every building out there, every tree, every meadow and park, even the people below (they resembled foraging ants) seemed to be radiating. If I was alone, it couldn’t have been for long because then I noticed someone else up there, not near me but looking out into the horizon like me. I can’t recall if that person was male or female. For some reason, I suspect the former, someone young like myself. I don’t remember if we talked.
I can confirm that I’ve had conversations up there, especially atop the “superstructure”. I guess that is what you’d call it. It’s the structure that houses the staircase. I don’t like the word, but I don’t know how else to describe it. It’s a roof on top of the roof – and surprisingly large. You can’t imagine that till you are up there. Unlike the lower roof, it is not bordered by a parapet – I mean on the outer edge. Which is to say: when you are up there, there is nothing between you and the ground below. For a long time I avoided that ledge. I suffer from acrophobia. It was frightening enough just climbing the ladder to reach the top of the superstructure. You ascend rung by rung. The ladder is wobbly and vibrates, sounding like some giant stringed instrument. Once you reach the top rung, you have to lean forward and shimmy up the rest of the way. At least that’s the way I used to do it. Sometimes I’d feel like a half closed book (or do I mean half open?). The deck of the upper roof is covered by a layer of asphalt. When I’d first go up there, I felt half-paralyzed just sitting there, afraid to move a centimeter in any direction, as if doing that I would start rolling towards the exposed edge and go flying off against my will. Naturally, nothing like that ever happens. Not to me, not to anyone. After a while, I began moving around more freely. Still, I have never been able to shake the thought that I could lose my balance and fall off. Sometimes I’ve imagined that other people up there (I’ve never been there alone) may be thinking about shoving me over that ledge – though these days I think that less frequently. Some people up there are not afraid – at least they don’t seem to be. They stand up and sashay around as if in their own living room. Some look down to the ground…as if it were the most natural thing! I guess the view is better when you’re standing. Not me. I’ve never stood up there. At least now I’m able to squat and kneel, and I feel relaxed doing that. Still, staying low makes me feel safer. Sometimes I think how easy it would be to push someone off that ledge. Naturally, I have never done that or understood why I would want to, but you get crazy ideas in unusual situations. On the other hand, being up there is a good way to learn to develop trust – and a healthy respect for the weather. I’m certain one strong gust would be enough to sweep someone standing too close to the edge right off, but it has never once been windy when I’ve been up there, breezy occasionally, but always gently so, and the air is fragrant. I don’t know what other people see, but when I look down at the lower roof from the top of the superstructure, it seems miles away – which it isn’t of course. For me, learning to control my imagination is the hardest part when I’m up there, but it’s worth the effort. I practice staying calm. I’ve even gotten used to climbing up and down the ladder. Quite an accomplishment when I consider how frightened I was the first few times, imagining I’d miss the top rung, lose my grip and come crashing down onto the roof like a ripe watermelon. Now I know that was all in my head. Once you overcome your fear, you can go up and down that ladder in your sleep. At least I can. It’s become as natural to me as climbing a staircase, though I’m still afraid of getting too close to the outer edge. Maybe someday I’ll get over that too, though I still can’t imagine dangling my legs over it like I’ve seen other people do. I suppose birds experience a similar panic before they take to flight for the first time. But then they start flapping their wings – instinctively – and off they go. I’m sure lots of people (maybe most everyone except for dare-devils) are no different. But once you get used to climbing up and down the ladder, you wonder: how could that ever have frightened me? I’ve even started sitting at the edge of the superstructure near the ladder, dangling my legs down, kicking the top rung for fun till it begins reverberating. I was just trying to remember some conversations I’d had on the superstructure, but I can’t recall a single one…
*
It’s been a while since I’d been on the library roof, but I returned there recently. I don’t know why I stopped going. Come to think of it, “going” is not the right way to express it. To be honest, I can’t recall ever intending to go there. My memories of the library roof always begin on the staircase or in the library itself. There is never a time before or after. I’m either in the building or not. There was a time I used to be there pretty frequently, and it always seemed familiar – despite the fact that the library roof is constantly changing. I’ve never figured out who makes those changes or why, though frankly, I’ve never really thought much about it. Probably the maintenance crew. Nor do I recall how I got to the roof the first time, I mean, through the back door or from the library? No matter. Once I reach the stairs, I’ve always kept climbing. The most recent occasion I wasn’t alone. My wife was with me. As far as I know, she’d never been up there before – at least she hadn’t mentioned anything about it to me. When we got there, nothing looked like it used to; although, for the life of me, I couldn’t describe the changes, but there were changes. Nevertheless, I was sure it was the same roof as ever with the library below.
When we stepped onto the roof, I turned my head and looked up at the superstructure. This time, it seemed much lower than it used to. Also, it occurred to me that from where we were standing it should have been to our left and not our right. Another one of those uncanny changes, I figured. Then I looked up and saw a man standing on the edge looking down at us. He seemed so close that I could make out the details of his face. His hair was sandy colored but had no sheen, and he had a dusty brown-grey moustache. I was certain he was a member of the maintenance staff, probably because he was dressed colorfully. Then he called down and told us we weren’t supposed to be on the roof. Naturally, I knew that when someone from the maintenance crew starts asserting authority you should never take him seriously.
“Why not?” I asked. “I always come up here. Why should I stop now?”
“The building has been sold,” he answered matter-of-factly.
He told me the name of the purchaser, which I’ve forgotten. Maybe he mentioned that the investor, whoever he was, had big plans for the building and for the roof.
“He won’t be able to do anything,” I said. “Things up here change all the time, but no investor can make arbitrary changes. I’m sure of that.”
The maintenance man made no effort to respond. He simply withdrew, like they always do – unless you grant them some authority over you. I never do.
My wife and I continued walking around the roof. There was a fair in progress. We stopped at a booth where a woman with stringy brown hair was selling amber necklaces. I especially recall two of those necklaces: one was short with thick round beads, the other long with narrow oblong beads. Both were full of inclusions. “Ancient animals,” she explained. There were lots of people on the roof, most of them lounging on the lawn. I’d never seen the roof so crowded before. Some were lying on blankets and sunning themselves; others were sitting under shade trees on folding chairs, maybe reading or doing crossword puzzles. Then it occurred to me that the maintenance man had been lying. “Lying” is probably too strong a word because it implies malicious intent. Maybe he just didn’t know the facts. Maybe he was just repeating something he had heard or been told.
But who knows? Maybe the building had been sold to an investor. Lots of buildings are sold. But so what? I knew the library was here to stay – no matter who owned it. Anyone who thinks otherwise has never been on the roof.