August 2. I filled a box without a basis.
At ten past nine I read the notice.
It says the imprint index is to be revised. It says material displaying as unknown will be taken out of the index.
It says material taken out can be found by title only.
The title is: Pnakotic Press, five old items. Only someone who knows that phrase first will find it.
At twenty to ten there was an inquiry waiting.
The second, after March's.
It asks where the five came from. It says a search under imprint returned nothing.
It says they came in by title and read the eighth field.
From ten to eleven I read the directive again.
Article twelve. Enter as shown on the publication, it says. Where there is no showing, leave blank, it says.
There is a showing. There is a stamp on the inside cover of the four, and it has six characters.
Article thirteen is about ceasing publication. There is nothing about ceasing business.
The same as what I confirmed in February.
From eleven to twelve I searched again.
I looked for anything written as ceased business.
Not in the cards. Not in the index. Not in the log. Not in the five bundles.
I did not find it in February and six months more of looking does not find it.
I know that the place ended. Where I knew it from is missing.
At half past twelve I looked back at what I was told in February.
There is no basis for entering a closed business as current, so leave it blank, he said.
That came by telephone.
The directive came on paper. Article twelve says to enter as shown.
A telephone is not a box. I wrote it in the log, so it is in the log.
Whether my log is a basis is not in the procedure.
At one I set the two screens against each other.
The seventh box of the outside screen reads unknown. That is a blank box become a word on a screen.
The eighth box of the combining cover is empty. Paper, when blank, is blank.
The same box is empty on paper and says not known on the screen.
I did not write the thing that says not known.
From half past one to half past two I wrote out what entering it would make.
Entered, it goes up in the current imprint index. The index carries only the current.
Up in the index, the place becomes a place that is now.
Left blank, it drops out of the index. Dropped out, only someone who knows the title first will find it.
The side that inquired knew the title first. There is no box on the reply form for where they knew it.
At twenty to three I looked back at what the man from the third floor said.
If there is none, make one, he said.
I wrote then that making is not this room's work.
In April I made a compiler field. In June I neither counted nor did not count an unnumbered page. In July I wrote a line in a note field.
Not one of them had a circular before it.
At ten past three I looked at the telephone.
In February I telephoned. The man said twice that there was no basis.
If I ask today I will hear the same thing. Having heard it I could not enter it.
If I do not ask it is a thing not heard. A thing not heard cannot be used as the basis for not entering.
I did not lift the receiver. I wrote in the log that I had not.
From three to four I sat.
Everything until now was doing. Binding, counting, copying, making.
What I mean to do today is entering.
Entering is this room's work. For nineteen months it has done nothing else.
There are things done without a basis. There is nothing entered without one.
At ten past four I opened the combining cover.
I put the pencil to the eighth box.
At twenty past four I wrote it.
Pnakotic Press.
Six characters. Ten go in the box. Four are left over.
I did not use the bracket for the year of ceasing publication. It has not ceased publication.
At half past four I put it into the screen.
I entered the six characters in the seventh box and saved.
The screen is as it was. Unknown is still there.
It says the change comes after the night batch.
It says the imprint index is refreshed weekly. The next refresh is the ninth of August.
At five I opened the right-hand material.
Four hundred and thirty-two pages. The date on the page gained is the last of August of ninety-eight.
My log is also on its four hundred and thirty-second page today.
The list of persons entering has four rows.
At ten past five I opened the box.
Seven. Six impressions. The hundred and sixtieth day.
At twenty past five I looked at the sixth box.
One thousand nine hundred and forty-seven.
At twenty-five past five I ran off the query record.
The set's row was opened eight times yesterday. The eight Latin characters, five.
At the start of July it was five times a day.
I found the inquirer's account in the query record. Eight Latin characters. The same rendering as what has been opening that row.
Whether the same rendering is one person is not written.
At half past five I wrote the reply.
I wrote that the imprint is Pnakotic Press.
I did not write that it had closed. There is no box for it and no basis either.
With no reply field, this too leaves nothing behind once it goes.
At twenty to six I looked again at the box I had filled.
Six characters are there. As shown.
A stamp records only that the place was. I wrote that in February.
What the box asks is now. I wrote that in February too.
I entered it as shown, so I entered that it was.
The place I entered it is a box that asks now.