Free The Camel Bookmobile by Masha Hamilton Page A

said.
    But Mr. Abasi was unstoppable. “If we must transport library books across the desert, we must have rules,” he said,voice rising. “Books are expensive to replace. Our standing library in Garissa could use a more extensive collection, but we are funding this instead. And these places have not a shilling to pay a fine. So we have to be absolute regarding the rules. Give each settlement an equal chance. Remain committed only to those who show full dependability.”
    “And no room for the slightest error, Mr. A.?”
    He shook his head adamantly. “No room,” he said. “You agreed to this when the program was established. Not all people are going to be able to learn your Western responsibility, Miss Sweeney. Not all people want to.”
    The lead camel stirred next to the acacia, kicking up dust with a rear hoof.
    “Matani, couldn’t you collect the books before we come next time? Then we’ll get them back, just a little late,” Miss Sweeney said. “There should be a grace period, after all.” She faced Mr. Abasi. “Every library I’ve ever heard of has a grace period.”
    “Grace period? We don’t have that in my province,” Mr. Abasi said. “Besides, how can he guarantee?”
    Matani had to restrain himself mightily not to nod at the reasonableness of the senior librarian’s words. Nothing could be guaranteed—not offspring, not rain, not recovery of a missing possession. Miss Sweeney was reminding Matani of his own sweet, outspoken Jwahir, and he wanted to help this foreign woman—he did—but he felt powerless to dissuade Mr. Abasi, who was gathering steam. He rubbed his temples again.
    “Your policy, as I understand, is meant to prevent the willful destruction of books,” Miss Sweeney said. “Or theirmisuse—like someone throwing them on the ground, Mr. A.” She tucked her clipboard under her arm. “People have already selected their books,” she said. “I’ve already written it all down.”
    “Perhaps in the next place we will make sure each book is returned before any are allowed to be taken.”
    “I suggested that,” Miss Sweeney said. “Weeks ago. You said it would take more time.” Matani detected a sharpness in her tone, faint but clear, that he couldn’t help but admire.
    His neighbors were packed in close now, touching each other, breathing one another’s air, listening intently to words most couldn’t understand, tasting the intent of Miss Sweeney and of Mr. Abasi. Their arms, Matani noticed suddenly, were empty. Nor could anything be seen beneath their shirts. Undetectably, all the books had all been secreted away. Mr. Abasi would not be able to reclaim them today anyway.
    Mr. Abasi must have observed this too. After a moment, he grunted. “We’ll give it two more weeks, then.”
    “I think you’ve got a good idea, Mr. A.,” said Miss Sweeney.
    “In the meantime, you’ll file a report explaining it.”
    “Of course, Mr. A. If an explanation is needed, which I doubt. Matani will recover the missing books,” said Miss Sweeney. She grinned at the teacher.
    Matani returned the smile, though he knew himself as trapped as an ignorant elephant in deep mud. What trapped him he could only sense, not yet name.
    Kanika, whose expression showed she understood mostof what had occurred, was whispering to her grandmother and two others.
    “Enough,” Mr. Abasi said. “We’re finished for today.”
    Miss Sweeney glanced at Matani. She hesitated, and for a moment she seemed so unwilling to leave that Matani thought she was going to say good-bye to Mr. Abasi instead of to them. She looked over her shoulder toward Mididima’s homes, and then back to Mr. Abasi. “Fine,” she said. The youngest children ran forward to be patted by her one last time.
    “If he’s not well, I’ll let him recover, but tomorrow I will see Scar Boy,” Matani told Badru. “Let him know.” His manner had stiffened now into what, for the first time today, might be considered teacherlike. His tone