After Armen bade adios to all the sunken ones, he continued walking west on Wilshire. A bus stopped next to him as he was walking by a transit shelter. It seemed to him that the bus had stopped to offer him a ride, so he stepped on board and pulled a handful of change out of his pocket. He rode the bus until he heard the driver say something about Westwood and UCLA. He stepped off as soon as the exit doors opened and set off to find the temple. He’d seen it in a listing once. It was one of three west of the Mississippi. It boasted over eight million volumes. Thinking about the great temple made him feel conspicuous, so he found a restroom and cleaned himself up. When he finally reached the heart of the campus and approached the temple, he was awestruck by its magnificence. He approached the arched entry, expecting to be stopped by guards. He was surprised that he was able to simply walk across the threshold. He explored the temple, acquainted himself with its layout, and within an hour had made himself at home. He looked into the subject catalog under “pyr” and browsed through the titles. He collected a small stack of volumes, and then he turned to the Readers’ Guide. He located several articles on pyromania. Though that topic wasn’t very fruitful, it kept him occupied until the lights flashed to warn the congregation that closing time was approaching.
Powell Library, UCLA
Armen spent the night behind a hedge and paid a visit to the community job center in the morning. He’d never had a real job before, and he wondered whether anyone would hire him. He picked up a few leads, and headed back to Westwood and the temple. This time he looked in the Readers’ Guide for “fire.” He found several articles on fire worship. The headers and summaries were enough to remind him of the stories he’d heard about the old struggle between the Christians of Armenia and the fire worshipers of Persia. What was fire worship? How was it different from pyromania? Neither seemed to fit the description of what he sought.
Shortly after Armen departed the readers’ temple that evening, he experienced a strange vision. He saw a bicycle that looked identical to his. It was locked in a rack with several others. He fled the scene, afraid that the vision might spawn more visions.
Armen decided to take leave of the temple the next day, thinking that his head might need to unwind. He went to the job center and found a message waiting. He had been invited to interview for a job as a laborer for the city parks and recreation department. He returned to Westwood. He needed to convince himself that he hadn’t seen that bike. When he got to the bike rack, he found the bicycle still there, with the very likeness of the combination lock that he’d used for several years. He glanced left and right and saw too many eyes. He would have to return later. He washed up and returned to the temple.
When he left the temple that evening, the bike was still there. He approached it quickly, resisting the temptation to check for onlookers, knowing that would only raise suspicions. He squatted by the bike and tried his combination on the lock. It slid apart. Armen fell back onto his backside, and then he got up, knelt down, and unwound the lock cable. He pulled the bike out of the rack and pushed it down the walkway. He could feel in the way that the wheels wobbled slightly, just kissing the rear brake pads on every revolution, that this was his bike. Still, he feared being caught, so he found another rack and locked the bike to it. Behind the hedge that night, Armen wondered how the bike might have made it there. Maybe someone expected that he’d make it to the temple sooner or later. Was he that predictable?
The next morning, the bike was still where Armen had locked it. Armen resolved to ride it downtown for his interview.
He regretted having to leave the temple, but at the same time he felt relieved to be able to get a job. He needed the money, and employment gave him a refreshing sense of belonging, of membership. It wasn’t that it made him feel like a man so much as like a part of something. Now all he had to do was hold the job down. He did his best to keep his first boss satisfied. He always got to work early, he kept his nose down, and he never complained. It was a good starter job for someone without a bed or a shower, seeing as he didn’t have to be especially clean or well-groomed to do the work.