September 28, 2025 • 28 mins
A surreal sci-fi series exploring speculative concepts, dreams, and philosophical what-ifs. Each episode is a cerebral journey into the mind’s deepest questions.
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Speaker 1 (00:35):
Mind Well. Welcome to a half hour of mind Web
short stories from.
Speaker 2 (00:54):
The world a speculative fiction o.
Speaker 1 (01:03):
This is Michael Hanson with the mind Web story from
the book Wondermaker's Two edited by Robert Hoskins. This is
the Evergreen Library by Bill Proonzini and Jeffrey Wallman. The
revelation that he had never previously visited the estate of
(01:25):
Old Prewitt Evergreen in all the years he had handled
the aged and white haired gentleman's legal affairs struck Simon
Graham for the first time as he guided his Lincoln
Continental along the dutchy on boordered private Lane. Not once
had he had the occasion to make the long drive
from Philadelphia through meandering miles of the tunnel colored Pennsylvania countryside,
(01:46):
and Graham found himself wondering at Evergreen's lack of hospitality
over the last three decades. After all, he had represented
old bruits, mundane and infrequent needs ever since he had
begun his practice prior to the Second World War, Carrie
not whatever wishes were asked of him during personal contact
at his office.
Speaker 2 (02:04):
Or by telephone.
Speaker 1 (02:06):
It was ironic. Graham thought that this first visit would
undoubtedly be his last for its causal purpose was Pruitt
Evergreen's death of a simple coronary the previous Thursday. Although
he would, after his own fashion, miss the wry wit
and gentle, amiable manner, Graham could not help but feel
old Pruitt had had a long and comfortable life, a
(02:27):
happy one, and that his passing was without regrets. In fact,
it had almost been as if Evergreen had foreseen his
mortal end, for his last visit to Graham's office had
concerned the drafting of a will and instructions as to
the apportionment of his property. That meeting had been short
in business like, since Evergreen had no living relatives, was
(02:48):
the last of a Pilgrim family which had settled the
area in sixteen thirty. The bulk of the estate was
to pass to the Henchiridian Society, a European group of
which Graham knew little save that it had something to
do with books and Cayridian being an archaic sort of
synonym for a book, and that old Pruett had had
a lifelong.
Speaker 2 (03:07):
Attachment to it.
Speaker 1 (03:09):
A representative of the society was arriving in Philadelphia the
following afternoon, and as Evergreen's duly appointed legal delegate. Graham
had decided on the impromptu visit to make certain everything
on the estate was in order.
Speaker 2 (03:22):
He rounded a gentle curve.
Speaker 1 (03:24):
Now passing through a thick copse of the Dutch elms,
and there, in a wide clearing one hundred yards distant,
he saw the Evergreen Mansion. It was a true anachronism
in the modern world of high rise concrete and glass
and suburban stucco. Constructed of rust colored brick, hand mortared
with care and precision, it had withstood two centuries of
(03:46):
natural erosion. It was huge, of pre revolutionary design, two
storied and elongated, with a sloping gabled roof from which
jutted a series of darkly wood framed dormer windows. A
narrow widow's walk followed the width of the dwelling above
the second story front. Behind and to one side was
a carriage house and two small outbuildings which had once
(04:07):
quartered servants. Graham entered a circular drive and brought the
Continental to a stop before the porch, grown heavy with
scarlet boganvillia. He sighed ponderously as he stepped from the
large car. Once to college athlete, he had dined on
too much gourmet food and drunk too much fine wine.
With the success of his law practice to retain his
(04:27):
youthful physique. But the extra girth that had come with
middle age only seemed to add judicious solidarity to his bearing.
His conservative herring bone suit and rigidly proper posture gave
him the attitude of ultrude respectability, an attitude which he
cultivated wisely. He had a round, trusting face with penetrating
gray eyes and a firm, resolute mouth that rarely smiled. Life,
(04:52):
with its attendant responsibilities and decisions, was much too sober
a burden for levity.
Speaker 2 (04:58):
Yet, surrounded as he now.
Speaker 1 (04:59):
Was by heavy wood in the imposing evergreen mansion and grounds,
Graham sensed a certain diminishing of his own status.
Speaker 2 (05:08):
It was about this place.
Speaker 1 (05:09):
An air of quiet antiquity, which was at once serenely
relaxing and faintly disquieting. It was almost as if time
had somehow ceased its inexorable passage on the grounds of
this estate, allowing it to remain forever as it had
been during the era of Washington Jefferson and the Declaration
of Independence. He walked down to the porch and fitted
(05:33):
into the door lock the large brass key which until
last Thursday had belonged to missus Donnelly Proo at Evergreen's housekeeper.
He swung open one half of the arched double doors
which served as the main entrance. They were fastened at
either jam by wide triangular hinges, much in the fashion
of New England church doors, and the one creaked vaguely
(05:54):
in the late afternoon stillness. The sound had an odd
melancholy quality, and Gray's ears. He stepped inside, pulling the
door closed behind him. He stood in a large vestibule,
shadowed smelling mildly but not unpleasantly of age must On
his left, the vestibule opened into a massive sitting room
(06:17):
with a high beam ceiling and an impressive stone and
mortar fireplace which comprised one entire wall. The furniture was
old and heavily ponderous, built solidly by wood craftsmen whose
life span had not nearly approximated that of their creations.
On his right, Graham saw a smaller entrance way which
afforded him a look into a good sized dining room.
(06:40):
Across its bare polished hardwood floor, he could see through
another doorway into a quakerlike kitchen, functional and without neoteric luxuries.
At the far end of the vestibule was a wide,
curving staircase of thick, varnished wood with gleaning and highly
ornate banisters. He entered the sitting room and stood for
(07:01):
a moment in the center of the floor. He had
a brief feeling of inconsequentiality, as he had upon leaving
his car outside, but he refused to allow it to linger.
He thought, as his eyes moved about the room that
if he were to call out, the heavy walls would
send his voice back to him in a series of
reverberating echoes. Pruitt Evergreen had died in that room. Missus Donnelly,
(07:26):
a matronly woman who came twice each week, had discovered
his body sitting peacefully in the ancient colonial rocker near
the hearth, a pipe with blackened dottle in its bowl,
clasped in one hand, his shoeless feet placed comfortably on
the tufted foot rest. If the housekeeper could be believed,
there had been a slide and beatific smile on the
old man's lips, though of course, Graham considered this observation
(07:50):
to be feminine of purple.
Speaker 2 (07:53):
He spent the next fifteen minutes.
Speaker 1 (07:55):
Wandering from room to room on the main floor, admiring
with an appreciative eye the final appointments contained in each.
As he passed through a small sewing room, he noticed
a curtain there at one end. He parted the drapery there,
revealing a tiny alcove set into the wall. Opposite was
(08:16):
a great oak door with a brass knob and an
imposing key latch. Graham wondered in a perfunctorily curious way
what lay beyond it, and after a moment he approached
the door. He tried the brass knob and found it
locked securely. Odd, he thought, frowning, and then he remembered
the ring of two keys, which Prude Evergreen had given
(08:37):
him during that last farewell visit. Graham's instructions had been
to present them to the and Caridian Society representative when
the time came. He had brought them along on today's journey,
solely because, being a meticulous man, there was the possibility
that they might become necessary. Selecting the large ear of
the two keys, Graham unlocked the oak door and pushed
(09:01):
it open a murky darkness was all he was able
to discern at first, but once his pupils dilated sufficiently,
he determined that the room was a huge library, though
rather a strange sort of library for a private dwelling.
The walls were literally coated with books on narrowed, warped,
(09:21):
unvarnished wooden shelves from floor to ceiling and extending for
as far as he could see. In the dimness. Lines
of similar shelves with narrow aisleways between them, comprised the
remainder of the room, and Graham was reminded of the
stacks in a public or college library. There was, however,
no apparent reading area. There were only books what looked
(09:45):
like hundreds upon hundreds upon hundreds of books. He took
two tentative steps into the room. The ceiling was relatively low,
much lower than those in the house's other chambers, and
Graham concluded that there was at least one.
Speaker 2 (10:06):
Other floor above him.
Speaker 1 (10:08):
As his eyes grew more accustomed to the gloom, he
saw a pair of narrow, spiral staircases of the type
found in public libraries, which wound upward, infirming his deduction.
On his left, Graham saw two thin, tall windows rising
beyond the ceiling to some indeterminate height. Their multi paned
glass was so begrimed as to allow very little light
(10:30):
to pass through. What few rays did manage to penetrate
were further diffused by the swirling eddies of flaking, pale
ash dust.
Speaker 2 (10:38):
His intrusion had disrupted.
Speaker 1 (10:40):
It seemed as if the housekeeper, for some inexplicable reason,
had never been permitted into the library for purposes of cleaning.
The front section of the house was immaculate. Automatically, Graham's
hand touched the inside wall in search of a light switch,
but he found them. Only had the library peculiarly been
(11:03):
denied cleaning, he decided.
Speaker 2 (11:05):
But the luxury of electricity as well.
Speaker 1 (11:08):
He moved forward, slowly, as one does when entering the
dark and unfamiliar cellar. His eyes caught on the floor
near the end of the nearest stack a volume which
had apparently fallen from its place on one of the shelves.
He picked it up and opened it to the frontispiece
Twice Told Tales by Nathaniel Hawthorne. There was no copyright
(11:30):
dat although the book state of publication was clear eighteen
thirty seven, While Graham was not by any means a bibliophile.
There was no doubt in his mind that this was
a first edition. It had that unmistakable, somehow tangible feel
of rarity, of fagility, which can only be associated with
genuine antiques. He rubbed some of the dust from the
(11:53):
binding with the tips of his fingers carefully, and then
attempted to replace the book on the shelf. As he
did so, his eye caught the printing on the spine
of another of the books there, Twice Told Tales by
Nathaniel Hawthorne. Graham peered at it for a moment. It
was obviously a duplicate, a much later edition. Its binding
was without age cracks, freshly printed. Now that was danned queer,
(12:17):
Graham thought, why had Evergreen allowed a new edition of
a work to be shelved while an extremely rare first
edition was permitted to lie in thick dust on the floor.
He placed the first edition beside the copy, and then
crossed to the far right hand wall. He scanned the
titles of the books on the shelves there lying carelessly
(12:39):
on the floor, and his amazement grew by leaps and bounds.
Evergreen's library he contained tomes of incalculable worth, almost all
of which were yellowed, fragile, crumbling. It was a collection
of Americana to stagger the imagination. There, cradled in a
mound of ashes and dust, the first book printed in
(13:02):
the English Colonies at Cambridge, Massachusetts, in sixteen forty Bay
Psalm Book that alone was worth a king's ransom, and
there beyond it the New England Primer sixteen eighty three,
and beyond that Cotton Mather Wonders of the Invisible World
sixteen ninety three. Graham continued slowly along the narrow aisleway,
(13:23):
and a certain anchor began to build insighting first editions
of volumes, which had achieved some degree of fame, whether
historical or purely unliterary. Merit had been permitted to lie
disintegrating on the dusty floor. While obviously new copies were
granted shelf space, dust filled gaps in the rows apparently
(13:43):
indicated the original resting place of the rare first editions.
Thomas Payne, Common Sense and Original Pamphlet, seventeen seventy six.
Joel Barlow Hasty Pudding seventeen ninety six. Washington Irving History
of New York, eighteen o nine. What the devil had possessed?
Ever Graham wondered, had he somehow not realized the value
(14:05):
of his possessions?
Speaker 2 (14:06):
No, that was highly unlikely.
Speaker 1 (14:09):
A schoolboy would have recognized the priceless books which the
library contained. Perhaps he'd simply lost interest in it, had
ceased in his declining years to care whether such literary treasures.
Speaker 2 (14:20):
Decayed into oblivion or not.
Speaker 1 (14:23):
The Saturday Evening Post, first issue, eighteen twenty one. James
Fonimore Cooper, Last to the Mohicans eighteen twenty six, Henry
Wadsworth Longfellow but Ramaire eighteen thirty three. How had old
Pruett managed to collect such a fantastic storehouse of valuable publications?
Certainly he could not have acquired them alone without help,
(14:46):
Graham frowned. What of the Enchiridian society, that rather a
mysterious European organization to which Evergreen.
Speaker 2 (14:53):
Had willed his estate.
Speaker 1 (14:55):
Could it be that he had obtained assistance financial backing
from then? It was possible, of course, But the prodigious
amount of labor of money involved would have taxed any
public institution, surely placing such an endeavor beyond the realm
of easibility. For an obscurely private group. Why the necessary
funds alone would have been prohibitive for one year, much
(15:19):
less a lifetime. Edgar Allan Poe Tales of the Grotesque
in Arabesque eighteen forty Herman Melville TYPEE eighteen forty six.
Henry David Thereaux A Week on the Concord in Merrimack
Rivers eighteen forty nine. Graham considered, perhaps the library had
(15:39):
been proved Evergreen's heritage, begun ten score years previously by
the first ever Green, and subsequently handed down from generation
to generation, with each succeeding member of the family, adding
those books which had achieved some degree of status in
American literature during his own lifetime, That at least made
a certain sense and would explain, and the last of
(16:00):
the Evergreens having willed the estate to a Book society. Two,
there was the fact that those publications remaining on the
shelves had not been arranged by the Dewey decimal system,
or by author, or by any other normal means of cataloging,
but that they were, however, placed in a kind of
careless chronological order. Most of the titles of lesser known
(16:22):
works were passed all decipherability, if indeed the Boggins themselves
had not disintegrated partially or completely. Still, the question of
why the newer editions of the most famous, the most important,
the most valuable items had been purchased and then put
on the shelves in their chronological place, while the first
editions lay moldering on the dusty floor, was left unanswered.
(16:45):
Harriet beecher Stowe, Uncle Tom's Cabin, eighteen fifty two. Walt Whitman,
Leaves of Grass, eighteen fifty five. Atlantic Monthly, first issue,
eighteen fifty seven. The room appeared to stretch endlessly its
rear wall, but a nebulous outline in Graham's vision, seemingly
no closer than when he had begun. He paused, Surely
(17:09):
this house, elongated though it was, could not be as
long as it presented itself. It must be a trick
of perspective, he thought, an optical illusion. He moved forward,
and then paused again. Next to one of the tall windows.
He rubbed at a pane of glass in an effort
to see what lay outside, But the grind had corroded
the glass to permanent frostiness.
Speaker 2 (17:31):
He could see nothing.
Speaker 1 (17:33):
Turning frontally again he spied in the hiatus in the
shelving one of the narrow staircases which led upward to
a second floor. He found himself wondering, if his theory
of the heritage of bibliophiles was indeed accurate, what contributions
proved Evergreen might have made to the library before allowing
it to go to seed. He mounted the wooded stairs.
(17:55):
The second floor was an exact duplicate of the main
one below, even the tall thing the windows stretched upward
beyond the ceiling. How many more floors were there, he wondered,
certainly no more than one at the most two. The
house had only two stories. He started down the nearest corridor, noting,
(18:16):
by the colorful jackets and modern bindings which decorated shelving
that quite so narrowed, so warped as that of the
previous floor, that he had advanced more than sixty years
in literary time, and possibly this was the last floor
of the library after all. Nevertheless, of the dust here
was almost as thick as it had been below, and
(18:36):
the most famous, the most acclaimed volumes again lay strewn
profusely about the pottery floor. Sherwood Anderson Winesburg Ohio nineteen nineteen. F.
Scott Fitzgerald, This Side of Paradise nineteen twenty. T. S. Eliot,
The Waste Land nineteen twenty two, Earnest Hemingway in Our
Time nineteen twenty four. The volumes grew more and more familiar,
(18:58):
and Graham saw that a number of the better known
periodicals of the era now graced the shelves crew at
Evergreen's contribution to his lineage had been no small one
that was readily apparent, in fact, to have collected even
the representative cross section a relatively large percentage of the
inestimable amount of magazines and books which America consumed was
(19:22):
almost beyond comprehension. Titles assailed his eyes, and passing gone
with the wind of mice and men. The Male Animal,
a belfer Adono, the Iceman, cometh in fruter in the Dust,
Death of a Salesman. Graham stopped short, as farhead corrugating
as he peered into the dimness ahead of him. Was
(19:44):
that a door set into the side wall.
Speaker 2 (19:48):
He moved closer.
Speaker 1 (19:49):
Yes, a heavy oak door, like the one through which
he had first passed into the library downstairs, set into
a projected frame. He approached it, tested the brass knob,
found it locked. Instinctively, he removed the key ring from
his pocket and flitted the second of the two keys
into the lock. The key turned and the door swung inward.
(20:16):
Graham stood on the threshold for a long moment, none.
Speaker 2 (20:20):
Plussed at what he saw within.
Speaker 1 (20:23):
It was a cavernous room, its ceiling constructed of domed
green glass, a kind of arboretum of the type popular
in country houses of past centuries. It had apparently been
converted into an office of sorts, for in its exact
center sat a huge, gleaming, gun metal gray desk. It
(20:43):
was cluttered with papers, books, and periodicals. More shelves of strong,
unmarked and oddly greenish brown wood lined all four walls.
A large metal cart on casters sat next to one
of the shelved walls. More books and magazine scenes were
piled on it. He entered the room, pausing a scant
(21:04):
few paces beyond the door, and then moving forward circumspectly.
His leathers old shoes echoed on the glistening, almost sterile
tiled floor. In his eyes were on the closest row
of shelves. They were filled with hard cover and paperback books, magazines, pamphlets,
every conceivable manner of literary endeavor. But Graham noticed, as
(21:25):
he drew nearer that they stretched in an unbroken line
from one end of the room to the other, without gaps.
That all the spines of the publications were void of marking,
and that they all seemed to be of the same
olive color, some brighter purging on brown or black, some lighter,
almost whitish. Graham reached out a tentative hand to the
(21:47):
nearest shelf and rested his fingers on one of the
larger hardcover books. He attempted to pake it from its place,
but the tomb seemed to protest, as if it were
somehow fastened to the greenish brown shelf. Finally, however, it
broke free, and he lifted it down opened it. The
pages were blank. A coldness pressed between Graham's shoulder blades.
(22:13):
He turned the page after page, finding them extremely unpliable,
not at all like.
Speaker 2 (22:19):
The leaves of a book ought to be.
Speaker 1 (22:21):
He looked up again at the rows of olive spines,
and the coldness spread vicidly along his back as a
thought passed into his conscious mind, a thought which had
found spawn sometime during his traversement of the stacks, but
which his subconscious had refused to allow him to then consider.
Speaker 2 (22:38):
He stared at the shelves.
Speaker 1 (22:40):
Greenish brown, smooth, unridged, like newly blossoming trees and an orchard.
The book in his hand olive, spined, stiff, paged, incomplete,
refusing at first to budge, as if it had been
attached to the wood of the shelf by some invisible
umbilical stem, like a piece of ripening fruit, almost ready
for the picking. First editions fully ripened fruit, copies of them,
(23:06):
a fresh yield from an old but strong tree, obscure titles,
a poor yield rotting into oblivion from.
Speaker 2 (23:13):
A weak tree.
Speaker 1 (23:16):
Suddenly Simon Graham knew what the Enchiridian Society was, faceless,
nameless caretakers, the guardians of world literature, with a branch
in every nation, bearing native fruit with roots that were
buried in the centuries past. And he knew as irrevocably
that Old Pruet Evergreen had been the last of the
(23:39):
lineage which had been the society's custodian of American letters.
God in Heaven. The implications were myriad. There were no writers,
no editors, no publishers. There was only a masterful delusion,
so carefully cultivated to protect a secret which, if known,
(23:59):
would literally destroy the foundations of civilization. A sharp sound
behind Graham sent him whirling about, a small cry building
in his throat, the hairs on the back of his
neck rising. His widened eyes rested immediately on a well known,
widely circulated magazine which had fallen from one of the
nearby shelves, but there was no gap in the smooth,
(24:21):
unbroken line to show its original location. Crumbling, he picked
it up, multi colored, fully printed, complete, He opened it
at random, and the words leaped out to strike his
eyes with pure force. He recoiled, the cry gushing from
his throat, now stumbling backward, the coldness enveloping him consuming him.
Speaker 2 (24:43):
The words.
Speaker 1 (24:44):
The revelation that he had never previously visited the estate
of Old prudever Green in all the years he had
handled the aged and white haired gentleman's legal affairs struck
Simon Graham for the first time. As he guided his
Lincoln Continental along the Dutch elm bordered private lane. His
first impulse was to hurl the magazine from him, as
(25:06):
if it were something unutterably alien, but a terrible fascination,
an overwhelming compulsion, took hold of him, like a man possessed.
He read on. He walked onto the porch and fitted
into the door lock the large brass key, which had
until last Thursday belonged to missus Donnelly Proude, Evergreen's housekeeper.
(25:28):
A murky darkness was all he was able to discern
at first, but once his pupils dilated sufficiently, he determined
that the room beyond the door was a huge library.
Graham considered perhaps the library had been Prude Evergreen's heritage,
begun ten score years previously by the first Evergreen, and
subsequently handed down from generation to generation. Graham stood on
(25:53):
the threshold for a long moment, noneplussed at what he
saw within. It was a cavernous room, its ceiling instruct
it of domed green glass, a kind of arboretum. A
sudden sound behind Graham sent him whirling about, a small
cry building in his throat, the hairs on the back
of his neck rising. Graham tore his eyes from the
(26:17):
magazine page. No, no, no, his mind screamed, no, God, no,
it was impossible. How could he be reading about himself
in the abstract. How could everything that he had done,
seen been a part of on this day rest in
(26:37):
neat rows of type before his eyes. It was almost
as if, almost as if he existed solely in terms
of that story, almost as if reality was literature and
literature reality. But that was inconceivable. He was a flesh
(27:01):
of blood. He lived and breathed, and locked in thought
and spoke. He had hopes and desires, he had memories.
He was alive. He was real, wasn't he?
Speaker 2 (27:11):
Wasn't he.
Speaker 1 (27:14):
The ending? If this insane possibility were somehow true, then
he would end when the story ended, He would simply
cease to be in horror. His eyes flew back to
the magazine, to the last few lines of the story,
to the very last sentence. Graham dropped the magazine, screaming,
(27:38):
And Graham dropped the magazine, screaming, and the story this
(28:13):
time is called The Evergreen Library, written by Bill Promzy
named Jeffrey Wallman. The Evergreen Library appears in wonder Maker's two,
a collection edited by Robert Hoskins. This is Michael Hansen
speaking Technical Production and Mindwebs by Leslie Hilsenhoff. Mind Webs
(28:35):
comes to you from WHA Radio in Madison, a service
of the University of Wisconsin Extension
Mind Well. Welcome to a half hour of mind Web
short stories from.
Speaker 2 (00:54):
The world a speculative fiction o.
Speaker 1 (01:03):
This is Michael Hanson with the mind Web story from
the book Wondermaker's Two edited by Robert Hoskins. This is
the Evergreen Library by Bill Proonzini and Jeffrey Wallman. The
revelation that he had never previously visited the estate of
(01:25):
Old Prewitt Evergreen in all the years he had handled
the aged and white haired gentleman's legal affairs struck Simon
Graham for the first time as he guided his Lincoln
Continental along the dutchy on boordered private Lane. Not once
had he had the occasion to make the long drive
from Philadelphia through meandering miles of the tunnel colored Pennsylvania countryside,
(01:46):
and Graham found himself wondering at Evergreen's lack of hospitality
over the last three decades. After all, he had represented
old bruits, mundane and infrequent needs ever since he had
begun his practice prior to the Second World War, Carrie
not whatever wishes were asked of him during personal contact
at his office.
Speaker 2 (02:04):
Or by telephone.
Speaker 1 (02:06):
It was ironic. Graham thought that this first visit would
undoubtedly be his last for its causal purpose was Pruitt
Evergreen's death of a simple coronary the previous Thursday. Although
he would, after his own fashion, miss the wry wit
and gentle, amiable manner, Graham could not help but feel
old Pruitt had had a long and comfortable life, a
(02:27):
happy one, and that his passing was without regrets. In fact,
it had almost been as if Evergreen had foreseen his
mortal end, for his last visit to Graham's office had
concerned the drafting of a will and instructions as to
the apportionment of his property. That meeting had been short
in business like, since Evergreen had no living relatives, was
(02:48):
the last of a Pilgrim family which had settled the
area in sixteen thirty. The bulk of the estate was
to pass to the Henchiridian Society, a European group of
which Graham knew little save that it had something to
do with books and Cayridian being an archaic sort of
synonym for a book, and that old Pruett had had
a lifelong.
Speaker 2 (03:07):
Attachment to it.
Speaker 1 (03:09):
A representative of the society was arriving in Philadelphia the
following afternoon, and as Evergreen's duly appointed legal delegate. Graham
had decided on the impromptu visit to make certain everything
on the estate was in order.
Speaker 2 (03:22):
He rounded a gentle curve.
Speaker 1 (03:24):
Now passing through a thick copse of the Dutch elms,
and there, in a wide clearing one hundred yards distant,
he saw the Evergreen Mansion. It was a true anachronism
in the modern world of high rise concrete and glass
and suburban stucco. Constructed of rust colored brick, hand mortared
with care and precision, it had withstood two centuries of
(03:46):
natural erosion. It was huge, of pre revolutionary design, two
storied and elongated, with a sloping gabled roof from which
jutted a series of darkly wood framed dormer windows. A
narrow widow's walk followed the width of the dwelling above
the second story front. Behind and to one side was
a carriage house and two small outbuildings which had once
(04:07):
quartered servants. Graham entered a circular drive and brought the
Continental to a stop before the porch, grown heavy with
scarlet boganvillia. He sighed ponderously as he stepped from the
large car. Once to college athlete, he had dined on
too much gourmet food and drunk too much fine wine.
With the success of his law practice to retain his
(04:27):
youthful physique. But the extra girth that had come with
middle age only seemed to add judicious solidarity to his bearing.
His conservative herring bone suit and rigidly proper posture gave
him the attitude of ultrude respectability, an attitude which he
cultivated wisely. He had a round, trusting face with penetrating
gray eyes and a firm, resolute mouth that rarely smiled. Life,
(04:52):
with its attendant responsibilities and decisions, was much too sober
a burden for levity.
Speaker 2 (04:58):
Yet, surrounded as he now.
Speaker 1 (04:59):
Was by heavy wood in the imposing evergreen mansion and grounds,
Graham sensed a certain diminishing of his own status.
Speaker 2 (05:08):
It was about this place.
Speaker 1 (05:09):
An air of quiet antiquity, which was at once serenely
relaxing and faintly disquieting. It was almost as if time
had somehow ceased its inexorable passage on the grounds of
this estate, allowing it to remain forever as it had
been during the era of Washington Jefferson and the Declaration
of Independence. He walked down to the porch and fitted
(05:33):
into the door lock the large brass key which until
last Thursday had belonged to missus Donnelly Proo at Evergreen's housekeeper.
He swung open one half of the arched double doors
which served as the main entrance. They were fastened at
either jam by wide triangular hinges, much in the fashion
of New England church doors, and the one creaked vaguely
(05:54):
in the late afternoon stillness. The sound had an odd
melancholy quality, and Gray's ears. He stepped inside, pulling the
door closed behind him. He stood in a large vestibule,
shadowed smelling mildly but not unpleasantly of age must On
his left, the vestibule opened into a massive sitting room
(06:17):
with a high beam ceiling and an impressive stone and
mortar fireplace which comprised one entire wall. The furniture was
old and heavily ponderous, built solidly by wood craftsmen whose
life span had not nearly approximated that of their creations.
On his right, Graham saw a smaller entrance way which
afforded him a look into a good sized dining room.
(06:40):
Across its bare polished hardwood floor, he could see through
another doorway into a quakerlike kitchen, functional and without neoteric luxuries.
At the far end of the vestibule was a wide,
curving staircase of thick, varnished wood with gleaning and highly
ornate banisters. He entered the sitting room and stood for
(07:01):
a moment in the center of the floor. He had
a brief feeling of inconsequentiality, as he had upon leaving
his car outside, but he refused to allow it to linger.
He thought, as his eyes moved about the room that
if he were to call out, the heavy walls would
send his voice back to him in a series of
reverberating echoes. Pruitt Evergreen had died in that room. Missus Donnelly,
(07:26):
a matronly woman who came twice each week, had discovered
his body sitting peacefully in the ancient colonial rocker near
the hearth, a pipe with blackened dottle in its bowl,
clasped in one hand, his shoeless feet placed comfortably on
the tufted foot rest. If the housekeeper could be believed,
there had been a slide and beatific smile on the
old man's lips, though of course, Graham considered this observation
(07:50):
to be feminine of purple.
Speaker 2 (07:53):
He spent the next fifteen minutes.
Speaker 1 (07:55):
Wandering from room to room on the main floor, admiring
with an appreciative eye the final appointments contained in each.
As he passed through a small sewing room, he noticed
a curtain there at one end. He parted the drapery there,
revealing a tiny alcove set into the wall. Opposite was
(08:16):
a great oak door with a brass knob and an
imposing key latch. Graham wondered in a perfunctorily curious way
what lay beyond it, and after a moment he approached
the door. He tried the brass knob and found it
locked securely. Odd, he thought, frowning, and then he remembered
the ring of two keys, which Prude Evergreen had given
(08:37):
him during that last farewell visit. Graham's instructions had been
to present them to the and Caridian Society representative when
the time came. He had brought them along on today's journey,
solely because, being a meticulous man, there was the possibility
that they might become necessary. Selecting the large ear of
the two keys, Graham unlocked the oak door and pushed
(09:01):
it open a murky darkness was all he was able
to discern at first, but once his pupils dilated sufficiently,
he determined that the room was a huge library, though
rather a strange sort of library for a private dwelling.
The walls were literally coated with books on narrowed, warped,
(09:21):
unvarnished wooden shelves from floor to ceiling and extending for
as far as he could see. In the dimness. Lines
of similar shelves with narrow aisleways between them, comprised the
remainder of the room, and Graham was reminded of the
stacks in a public or college library. There was, however,
no apparent reading area. There were only books what looked
(09:45):
like hundreds upon hundreds upon hundreds of books. He took
two tentative steps into the room. The ceiling was relatively low,
much lower than those in the house's other chambers, and
Graham concluded that there was at least one.
Speaker 2 (10:06):
Other floor above him.
Speaker 1 (10:08):
As his eyes grew more accustomed to the gloom, he
saw a pair of narrow, spiral staircases of the type
found in public libraries, which wound upward, infirming his deduction.
On his left, Graham saw two thin, tall windows rising
beyond the ceiling to some indeterminate height. Their multi paned
glass was so begrimed as to allow very little light
(10:30):
to pass through. What few rays did manage to penetrate
were further diffused by the swirling eddies of flaking, pale
ash dust.
Speaker 2 (10:38):
His intrusion had disrupted.
Speaker 1 (10:40):
It seemed as if the housekeeper, for some inexplicable reason,
had never been permitted into the library for purposes of cleaning.
The front section of the house was immaculate. Automatically, Graham's
hand touched the inside wall in search of a light switch,
but he found them. Only had the library peculiarly been
(11:03):
denied cleaning, he decided.
Speaker 2 (11:05):
But the luxury of electricity as well.
Speaker 1 (11:08):
He moved forward, slowly, as one does when entering the
dark and unfamiliar cellar. His eyes caught on the floor
near the end of the nearest stack a volume which
had apparently fallen from its place on one of the shelves.
He picked it up and opened it to the frontispiece
Twice Told Tales by Nathaniel Hawthorne. There was no copyright
(11:30):
dat although the book state of publication was clear eighteen
thirty seven, While Graham was not by any means a bibliophile.
There was no doubt in his mind that this was
a first edition. It had that unmistakable, somehow tangible feel
of rarity, of fagility, which can only be associated with
genuine antiques. He rubbed some of the dust from the
(11:53):
binding with the tips of his fingers carefully, and then
attempted to replace the book on the shelf. As he
did so, his eye caught the printing on the spine
of another of the books there, Twice Told Tales by
Nathaniel Hawthorne. Graham peered at it for a moment. It
was obviously a duplicate, a much later edition. Its binding
was without age cracks, freshly printed. Now that was danned queer,
(12:17):
Graham thought, why had Evergreen allowed a new edition of
a work to be shelved while an extremely rare first
edition was permitted to lie in thick dust on the floor.
He placed the first edition beside the copy, and then
crossed to the far right hand wall. He scanned the
titles of the books on the shelves there lying carelessly
(12:39):
on the floor, and his amazement grew by leaps and bounds.
Evergreen's library he contained tomes of incalculable worth, almost all
of which were yellowed, fragile, crumbling. It was a collection
of Americana to stagger the imagination. There, cradled in a
mound of ashes and dust, the first book printed in
(13:02):
the English Colonies at Cambridge, Massachusetts, in sixteen forty Bay
Psalm Book that alone was worth a king's ransom, and
there beyond it the New England Primer sixteen eighty three,
and beyond that Cotton Mather Wonders of the Invisible World
sixteen ninety three. Graham continued slowly along the narrow aisleway,
(13:23):
and a certain anchor began to build insighting first editions
of volumes, which had achieved some degree of fame, whether
historical or purely unliterary. Merit had been permitted to lie
disintegrating on the dusty floor. While obviously new copies were
granted shelf space, dust filled gaps in the rows apparently
(13:43):
indicated the original resting place of the rare first editions.
Thomas Payne, Common Sense and Original Pamphlet, seventeen seventy six.
Joel Barlow Hasty Pudding seventeen ninety six. Washington Irving History
of New York, eighteen o nine. What the devil had possessed?
Ever Graham wondered, had he somehow not realized the value
(14:05):
of his possessions?
Speaker 2 (14:06):
No, that was highly unlikely.
Speaker 1 (14:09):
A schoolboy would have recognized the priceless books which the
library contained. Perhaps he'd simply lost interest in it, had
ceased in his declining years to care whether such literary treasures.
Speaker 2 (14:20):
Decayed into oblivion or not.
Speaker 1 (14:23):
The Saturday Evening Post, first issue, eighteen twenty one. James
Fonimore Cooper, Last to the Mohicans eighteen twenty six, Henry
Wadsworth Longfellow but Ramaire eighteen thirty three. How had old
Pruett managed to collect such a fantastic storehouse of valuable publications?
Certainly he could not have acquired them alone without help,
(14:46):
Graham frowned. What of the Enchiridian society, that rather a
mysterious European organization to which Evergreen.
Speaker 2 (14:53):
Had willed his estate.
Speaker 1 (14:55):
Could it be that he had obtained assistance financial backing
from then? It was possible, of course, But the prodigious
amount of labor of money involved would have taxed any
public institution, surely placing such an endeavor beyond the realm
of easibility. For an obscurely private group. Why the necessary
funds alone would have been prohibitive for one year, much
(15:19):
less a lifetime. Edgar Allan Poe Tales of the Grotesque
in Arabesque eighteen forty Herman Melville TYPEE eighteen forty six.
Henry David Thereaux A Week on the Concord in Merrimack
Rivers eighteen forty nine. Graham considered, perhaps the library had
(15:39):
been proved Evergreen's heritage, begun ten score years previously by
the first ever Green, and subsequently handed down from generation
to generation, with each succeeding member of the family, adding
those books which had achieved some degree of status in
American literature during his own lifetime, That at least made
a certain sense and would explain, and the last of
(16:00):
the Evergreens having willed the estate to a Book society. Two,
there was the fact that those publications remaining on the
shelves had not been arranged by the Dewey decimal system,
or by author, or by any other normal means of cataloging,
but that they were, however, placed in a kind of
careless chronological order. Most of the titles of lesser known
(16:22):
works were passed all decipherability, if indeed the Boggins themselves
had not disintegrated partially or completely. Still, the question of
why the newer editions of the most famous, the most important,
the most valuable items had been purchased and then put
on the shelves in their chronological place, while the first
editions lay moldering on the dusty floor, was left unanswered.
(16:45):
Harriet beecher Stowe, Uncle Tom's Cabin, eighteen fifty two. Walt Whitman,
Leaves of Grass, eighteen fifty five. Atlantic Monthly, first issue,
eighteen fifty seven. The room appeared to stretch endlessly its
rear wall, but a nebulous outline in Graham's vision, seemingly
no closer than when he had begun. He paused, Surely
(17:09):
this house, elongated though it was, could not be as
long as it presented itself. It must be a trick
of perspective, he thought, an optical illusion. He moved forward,
and then paused again. Next to one of the tall windows.
He rubbed at a pane of glass in an effort
to see what lay outside, But the grind had corroded
the glass to permanent frostiness.
Speaker 2 (17:31):
He could see nothing.
Speaker 1 (17:33):
Turning frontally again he spied in the hiatus in the
shelving one of the narrow staircases which led upward to
a second floor. He found himself wondering, if his theory
of the heritage of bibliophiles was indeed accurate, what contributions
proved Evergreen might have made to the library before allowing
it to go to seed. He mounted the wooded stairs.
(17:55):
The second floor was an exact duplicate of the main
one below, even the tall thing the windows stretched upward
beyond the ceiling. How many more floors were there, he wondered,
certainly no more than one at the most two. The
house had only two stories. He started down the nearest corridor, noting,
(18:16):
by the colorful jackets and modern bindings which decorated shelving
that quite so narrowed, so warped as that of the
previous floor, that he had advanced more than sixty years
in literary time, and possibly this was the last floor
of the library after all. Nevertheless, of the dust here
was almost as thick as it had been below, and
(18:36):
the most famous, the most acclaimed volumes again lay strewn
profusely about the pottery floor. Sherwood Anderson Winesburg Ohio nineteen nineteen. F.
Scott Fitzgerald, This Side of Paradise nineteen twenty. T. S. Eliot,
The Waste Land nineteen twenty two, Earnest Hemingway in Our
Time nineteen twenty four. The volumes grew more and more familiar,
(18:58):
and Graham saw that a number of the better known
periodicals of the era now graced the shelves crew at
Evergreen's contribution to his lineage had been no small one
that was readily apparent, in fact, to have collected even
the representative cross section a relatively large percentage of the
inestimable amount of magazines and books which America consumed was
(19:22):
almost beyond comprehension. Titles assailed his eyes, and passing gone
with the wind of mice and men. The Male Animal,
a belfer Adono, the Iceman, cometh in fruter in the Dust,
Death of a Salesman. Graham stopped short, as farhead corrugating
as he peered into the dimness ahead of him. Was
(19:44):
that a door set into the side wall.
Speaker 2 (19:48):
He moved closer.
Speaker 1 (19:49):
Yes, a heavy oak door, like the one through which
he had first passed into the library downstairs, set into
a projected frame. He approached it, tested the brass knob,
found it locked. Instinctively, he removed the key ring from
his pocket and flitted the second of the two keys
into the lock. The key turned and the door swung inward.
(20:16):
Graham stood on the threshold for a long moment, none.
Speaker 2 (20:20):
Plussed at what he saw within.
Speaker 1 (20:23):
It was a cavernous room, its ceiling constructed of domed
green glass, a kind of arboretum of the type popular
in country houses of past centuries. It had apparently been
converted into an office of sorts, for in its exact
center sat a huge, gleaming, gun metal gray desk. It
(20:43):
was cluttered with papers, books, and periodicals. More shelves of strong,
unmarked and oddly greenish brown wood lined all four walls.
A large metal cart on casters sat next to one
of the shelved walls. More books and magazine scenes were
piled on it. He entered the room, pausing a scant
(21:04):
few paces beyond the door, and then moving forward circumspectly.
His leathers old shoes echoed on the glistening, almost sterile
tiled floor. In his eyes were on the closest row
of shelves. They were filled with hard cover and paperback books, magazines, pamphlets,
every conceivable manner of literary endeavor. But Graham noticed, as
(21:25):
he drew nearer that they stretched in an unbroken line
from one end of the room to the other, without gaps.
That all the spines of the publications were void of marking,
and that they all seemed to be of the same
olive color, some brighter purging on brown or black, some lighter,
almost whitish. Graham reached out a tentative hand to the
(21:47):
nearest shelf and rested his fingers on one of the
larger hardcover books. He attempted to pake it from its place,
but the tomb seemed to protest, as if it were
somehow fastened to the greenish brown shelf. Finally, however, it
broke free, and he lifted it down opened it. The
pages were blank. A coldness pressed between Graham's shoulder blades.
(22:13):
He turned the page after page, finding them extremely unpliable,
not at all like.
Speaker 2 (22:19):
The leaves of a book ought to be.
Speaker 1 (22:21):
He looked up again at the rows of olive spines,
and the coldness spread vicidly along his back as a
thought passed into his conscious mind, a thought which had
found spawn sometime during his traversement of the stacks, but
which his subconscious had refused to allow him to then consider.
Speaker 2 (22:38):
He stared at the shelves.
Speaker 1 (22:40):
Greenish brown, smooth, unridged, like newly blossoming trees and an orchard.
The book in his hand olive, spined, stiff, paged, incomplete,
refusing at first to budge, as if it had been
attached to the wood of the shelf by some invisible
umbilical stem, like a piece of ripening fruit, almost ready
for the picking. First editions fully ripened fruit, copies of them,
(23:06):
a fresh yield from an old but strong tree, obscure titles,
a poor yield rotting into oblivion from.
Speaker 2 (23:13):
A weak tree.
Speaker 1 (23:16):
Suddenly Simon Graham knew what the Enchiridian Society was, faceless,
nameless caretakers, the guardians of world literature, with a branch
in every nation, bearing native fruit with roots that were
buried in the centuries past. And he knew as irrevocably
that Old Pruet Evergreen had been the last of the
(23:39):
lineage which had been the society's custodian of American letters.
God in Heaven. The implications were myriad. There were no writers,
no editors, no publishers. There was only a masterful delusion,
so carefully cultivated to protect a secret which, if known,
(23:59):
would literally destroy the foundations of civilization. A sharp sound
behind Graham sent him whirling about, a small cry building
in his throat, the hairs on the back of his
neck rising. His widened eyes rested immediately on a well known,
widely circulated magazine which had fallen from one of the
nearby shelves, but there was no gap in the smooth,
(24:21):
unbroken line to show its original location. Crumbling, he picked
it up, multi colored, fully printed, complete, He opened it
at random, and the words leaped out to strike his
eyes with pure force. He recoiled, the cry gushing from
his throat, now stumbling backward, the coldness enveloping him consuming him.
Speaker 2 (24:43):
The words.
Speaker 1 (24:44):
The revelation that he had never previously visited the estate
of Old prudever Green in all the years he had
handled the aged and white haired gentleman's legal affairs struck
Simon Graham for the first time. As he guided his
Lincoln Continental along the Dutch elm bordered private lane. His
first impulse was to hurl the magazine from him, as
(25:06):
if it were something unutterably alien, but a terrible fascination,
an overwhelming compulsion, took hold of him, like a man possessed.
He read on. He walked onto the porch and fitted
into the door lock the large brass key, which had
until last Thursday belonged to missus Donnelly Proude, Evergreen's housekeeper.
(25:28):
A murky darkness was all he was able to discern
at first, but once his pupils dilated sufficiently, he determined
that the room beyond the door was a huge library.
Graham considered perhaps the library had been Prude Evergreen's heritage,
begun ten score years previously by the first Evergreen, and
subsequently handed down from generation to generation. Graham stood on
(25:53):
the threshold for a long moment, noneplussed at what he
saw within. It was a cavernous room, its ceiling instruct
it of domed green glass, a kind of arboretum. A
sudden sound behind Graham sent him whirling about, a small
cry building in his throat, the hairs on the back
of his neck rising. Graham tore his eyes from the
(26:17):
magazine page. No, no, no, his mind screamed, no, God, no,
it was impossible. How could he be reading about himself
in the abstract. How could everything that he had done,
seen been a part of on this day rest in
(26:37):
neat rows of type before his eyes. It was almost
as if, almost as if he existed solely in terms
of that story, almost as if reality was literature and
literature reality. But that was inconceivable. He was a flesh
(27:01):
of blood. He lived and breathed, and locked in thought
and spoke. He had hopes and desires, he had memories.
He was alive. He was real, wasn't he?
Speaker 2 (27:11):
Wasn't he.
Speaker 1 (27:14):
The ending? If this insane possibility were somehow true, then
he would end when the story ended, He would simply
cease to be in horror. His eyes flew back to
the magazine, to the last few lines of the story,
to the very last sentence. Graham dropped the magazine, screaming,
(27:38):
And Graham dropped the magazine, screaming, and the story this
(28:13):
time is called The Evergreen Library, written by Bill Promzy
named Jeffrey Wallman. The Evergreen Library appears in wonder Maker's two,
a collection edited by Robert Hoskins. This is Michael Hansen
speaking Technical Production and Mindwebs by Leslie Hilsenhoff. Mind Webs
(28:35):
comes to you from WHA Radio in Madison, a service
of the University of Wisconsin Extension
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