Fantastic Metropolis

Dear Sir,

I don’t know how you did it, but that’s not important. Your joke—I could use a stronger word—is tasteless to say the least. People such as you are inflicting enormous damage on the noble idea of the Internet. You should be ashamed of yourselves. Don’t forget that I still have the address of your web site. I will try to trace you through it. Your library might be virtual, but you certainly are not.

Once again I used my signature, without any closing formality. Good manners were superfluous in this situation. I should have left out the “Dear Sir” too. The people behind this travesty did not deserve such a courtesy. When I sent the message I was again sure there would be no reply. How could they respond to my accusation? But I got one anyway, the same instant just like before. The speed of the reply should have aroused my suspicions, of course, since this letter could not have been prepared in advance like the previous one. All caught up in my anger, I did not give proper consideration to this impossibility which was, in any case, not the first one I had encountered with the Virtual Library. How strange it is that one easily starts to accept things that have no explanation, particularly when computers are involved.

Highly esteemed sir,

We are sorry that you received the wrong impression. Making jokes is the farthest thing from our intent. All our efforts go towards the serious execution of our responsible work, which is the only fitting thing to do.

Sincerely yours,
Virtual Library

As I opened the window for a new letter to my unknown adversary, a sober voice inside tried to dissuade me. There was no point in taking part in such a farce anymore. I had already achieved as much as I could, given the circumstances. The page with my works had been removed and further correspondence would lead nowhere. Unfortunately, one does not always listen to sober advice.

I suppose you expect me to take the list of books cited as mine seriously, even though they have not yet been written. I might have admired your ability to foretell the future if you had not been so indecisive regarding the year of my death. Nine possibilities! I would appreciate being informed when you decide on one of them. Timely knowledge in this regard would considerably facilitate the remainder of my life, however long it might be.

This time I even omitted my signature. That fact, and the conspicuously sarcastic tone of the letter, should have indicated what I thought of them, had they been previously unaware. Their pointed politeness, not at all appropriate to the circumstances, had started to get on my nerves. The answer arrived once again a moment after I sent my message, but this no longer amazed me. Sleights-of-hand cease to be interesting when they are repeated too often, even if you don’t know how they are performed.

Highly esteemed sir,

We are unfortunately unable to inform you of when you will die. It is not simple to forecast the future. All nine possibilities have equal footing at this moment. Chance will decide which of them comes true. Your bibliography contains all the works from all these futures. However, you will not write and publish all eighteen of them on a single one of the branches of life that await you, to use a picturesque expression. Your later works will include at most eleven and at least six books. You were only able to see them all on our site. We therefore hope that we have justified our slogan.

Sincerely yours,
Virtual Library

Just as I finished reading the message, it vanished, the window in which it was located suddenly closing even though I had not touched any keys. A moment later, the same thing happened to the browser window. The only window left open was for e-mail, but it did not contain the original message from the Virtual Library, although it should have been there, since I had not deleted it. Before I closed it, I checked to see if any new e-mail messages had arrived in the meantime, but there were none.

I sat there for a long time, eyes unfocused, staring at the empty screen before me. I did not try to understand. The ways of the computer are often incomprehensible to me. I searched my memory, but as hard as I tried the text written in white against a gray background to the right of my photograph did not become sharp enough to read. It seemed to be covered by a shimmering, impenetrable veil. Finally, even though frustration weighed me down, I abandoned my vain efforts and turned off the computer.

From then on, I continued to delete unwanted e-mail messages, but no longer right away. First, I read them, even when it was clear right away that they did not deserve the slightest attention. I felt foolish as I skimmed through various incoherent offers, particularly since I hadn’t the faintest hope of ever seeing among them one that was quite brief, on a black background. But such was the burden I had to bear.

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Zoran Živković’s complete “Library” cycle can be found in Leviathan 3 (Ministry of Whimsy, 2002), edited by Jeff VanderMeer and Forrest Aguirre.