Scraps. That’s all I got. Fragments that made no sense without the words before or the words after.
We were folding The Complete Works of William Shakespeare and I’d scanned the first page of the editor’s preface a hundred times. The last line on the page rang in my mind, incomplete and teasing. I have only ventured to deviate where it seemed to me that …
Ventured to deviate. My eye caught the phrase each time I folded a section.
Where it seemed to me that …
That what? I thought. Then I’d start on another sheet.
First fold: The Complete Works of William Shakespeare. Second fold: Edited by WJ Craig. Third fold: ventured to bloody deviate.
My hand hovered as I read that last line and tried to guess at the rest.
WJ Craig changed Shakespeare, I thought. Where it seemed to him that …
I grew desperate to know.
I glanced around the bindery, along the folding bench piled with quires of sheets and folded sections. I looked at Maude.
She couldn’t care less about the words on the page. I could hear her humming a little tune, each fold marking time like the second hand of a clock. Folding was her favourite job, and she could fold better than anyone, but that didn’t stop mistakes. Folding tangents, Ma used to call them. Folds of her own design and purpose. From the corner of my eye, I’d sense a change in rhythm. It was easy enough to reach over, stay her hand. She understood. She wasn’t simple, despite what people thought. And if I missed the signs? Well, a section ruined.
It could happen to any of us with the slip of a bonefolder. But we’d notice. We’d put the damaged section aside. My sister never did. And
so I had to.
Keep an eye.
Watch over.
Deep breath.
Dear Maude. I love you, I really do. But sometimes … This is how my mind ran.
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