by James Gault
But all that is for the future. First of all, we have to get Tania way from the Mafia.
Thanks for checking out the Italian connection for me. Were the Italian police computers more difficult to break into than the Czech ones? Anyway, it’s comforting to know that Prague isn’t the only city to be targeted by these cat thieves. I suppose that, after having operated in Naples, Rome, Venice, Milan, and Turin, they were running out of Italian cats.
However, the priority now is to locate where the kidnappers are hiding out. Is there anyone in your class whose hobby is forensic science? I could send you over the ransom note and you could get it chemically analysed for clues.
Could you talk to the rest of the class and arrange a rota for a twenty-four-hour watch on the dead-letter-drop location? This will present come logistical problems. A system of fictitious visits to friends’ houses can explain the look-outs’ absence during the evening and night hours. Enclosed you will find a supply of credible ‘excuse my child’s absence’ notes written in adult handwriting. Give one of these to every volunteer who keeps the overnight watch, so they can have the next day off school.
In the meantime, I am going to write to the criminals again, and try to taunt them out of hiding.
Keep up the good work,
Tania’s teacher,
J.
Chapter 16 Giving some more advice
Dear Tania,
This letter was sent by way of the ‘dead letter drop’ provided by your kidnappers, so I can’t be certain that it will reach its destination. I did suggest to them that they provide us with an address or telephone number, but even they weren’t stupid enough to fall for that one.
I hope that your captors pass this letter on to you, preferably unopened. I have marked the envelope ‘private and confidential’. I suppose, however, that people who would stoop so low as to abduct cats and little girls are unlikely to observe the normal conventions of politeness and privacy. So I assume that, if you get this letter, someone has read it before you.
The news of your parents isn’t too good, I’m afraid. After his accident, your Dad looks more like a spaceman than ever. When you eventually get back home, please resist the temptation to call him “Mr Astronaut’ or ‘The Mummy from Outer Space’, because I can promise you it won’t be appreciated. As for your Mum, she’s in hospital too, slipping in and out of consciousness more or less at random. Maybe she’s feeling a bit of remorse for your father’s condition. Or perhaps, like me, she’s concerned about you. You have been in captivity for more than a week now, and it’s very worrying. You’ve missed two English lessons, and goodness knows how much schoolwork. I shudder to think what kind of state your English grammar will be in by now.
I suggest that, while waiting for your rescue, you use the time profitably. You could, for example, ask your abductors to teach you Italian. This is a very beautiful language, and easy to learn, although admittedly of limited use unless you want to understand Italian Restaurant Menus or follow a Verdi opera in detail. On the other hand, you could ask them to introduce you to the mysteries of Italian cooking, as this is a useful skill very much in demand all over the world. In fact, your captors are probably better able to teach you cooking than their language. It is a known fact that, while Italian Mafia hitmen are not known for their intellectual skills, even the toughest are reputed to be able to make an exceptional Spaghetti Bolognese.
(I should warn you that I am again slipping into the sin of stereotyping, as mentioned in our previous correspondence. However, I am pretty sure that your personal Mafia representatives are fairly stupid, having had to communicate with them, and that they would make a terrible mess of teaching you Italian. I can’t really speak for their culinary skills, but if I were you I’d go for the cooking lessons all the same.)
You should also devote some time to planning your escape. Without your leadership, the publicity campaign is dying a death, and the cats of Prague need you. If you were as old as me, and had read all the Prisoner Of War novels produced in Great Britain in the fifties, you would know that ‘it is an officer’s duty to try and escape’. Yours too!
The normal method employed by POWs in German camps was to dig a tunnel, but this was an enterprise involving large teams of hefty men, and is therefore totally inappropriate to one solitary little girl in your situation. Some prisoners had a great success in nipping unseen out of the toilet window, but this only works if you are on the ground, or at most the first, floor. If you are incarcerated at a higher level, I recall that an escape attempt was made by building a large glider in an attic in Colditz Castle, but I’m not sure that this is really feasible in your case. To recycle some vocabulary I mentioned earlier, what you want is a good ruse (or subterfuge – a synonym is always a useful weapon in your linguistic armoury.) You could, for example, fake some highly dangerous and infectious disease, and the kidnappers would probably then clear out very promptly without even taking the time to say goodbye. But I believe we have discussed the problems of simulating illnesses before.
None of these suggestions are really very practical, but you must not think that it is because I am too stupid to come up with a good idea. You should know by now that there are few, if any, people in the world with my intellectual capacity, and that I am quite capable of providing you with perfectly workable and effective schemes. But I am certain that your jailers will also read this letter, so giving details of effective ruses here would rather defeat the objective. But you have frequently demonstrated your superior creativity and intelligence (unfortunately usually with unwanted and devastating effect) and so I have confined myself to giving you a few pointers in the right direction. So now, get scheming!
Finally, I want to reassure you that, even though you should devote yourself to preparing an escape yourself, we in the outside world haven’t abandoned you. Even as I write, Honza and your other classmates are putting the finishing touches to a bold and innovative rescue plan.
(And , Mr Anonymous, if you are reading this let me assure you that such a rescue would be accompanied by your arrest and handing over to the local representatives of Interpol)
We are all looking forward to seeing you soon, Tania,
Your teacher,
J.
Chapter 17. Not more telephone conversation? Afraid so.
“Prague 123456”
“………”
“Tania? How did you get to a telephone?”
“………”
“You escaped! Well done! How did you manage it?”
“………”
“Hmmmm.”
“………”
“Hmmmm.”
“………”
“They REALLY went out to get a carry-out pizza.”
“………”
“And they forgot to lock the door? I didn’t think even they could be so stupid”
“………”
“Ah, I see. But how did you distract them?”
“………”
“And exactly what did you shout through the letter box?”
“………”
“O.K., you asked them to write down the kind of Pizza you wanted...”
“………”
“...and they couldn’t find a pen at first.”
“………”
“and they quarreled with each other”
“………”
“And then they found one”
“………”
“And in the end they were so confused that they forgot to lock the door”
“………”
“Why were you a bit worried in the metro? Did you think they would follow you?”
“………”
“But most Czech children travel on the metro without a ticket, don’t they?’
“………”
“Yes, Tania, I know you’re not most children, and I know you’re no
t Czech. Where are you now?”
“………”
”What are you doing at the hospital?”
“………”
“You’re right, your Mum and Dad are there”
“………”
“Tania, it’s really not your parents’ fault that they’ve spent more time in the hospital than at home recently.”
“………”
“No no-one’s blaming you.... directly. Not even your Mum, she’s blaming your Dad.”
“………”
“Yes I agree. It probably is more your fault than your Dad’s. But mothers always blame fathers if the children misbehave.”
“………”
“O.K. You’re right, I was stereotyping again. I should have said ‘usually’, or at least ‘almost always’. Have you been to see your Mum and Dad yet?”
“………”
“You saw your Dad first. You didn’t make any jokes about spacemen or mummies?”
“………”
“Thank goodness. How is he?”
“………”
“Well, if he’s off the drip they’ll probably let him home soon. And your Mum?”
“………”
“She fell back into the coma as soon as she saw you. Wasn’t she pleased?”
“………”
“Ah, if you haven’t washed or changed your clothes for eight days, that might explain it.”
“………”
“Wait, I’ll ask Mrs G. .......... Yes, of course you can stay with us until your parents get out of hospital. But, if I were you, I’d ask the nurses to let you have a bath. I’ll come round in a few minutes with some clean clothes. Then you can try your Mum again.”
“………”
“Bye!”
Chapter 18 There goes that telephone again
“Prague 123456”
“………”
“Oh, Hi Honza! What can I do for you?”
“………”
“Nerozumím. Musiš mluvit Anglictinu.” (See author’s note 1)
“………”
“That’s better. What problem?”
“………”
“Wait a minute! One thing at a time! Where exactly are you?”
“………”
“How did you find the kidnappers’ flat?”
“………”
“Following them from the dead letter drop was pretty risky, Honza. Don’t try anything like that again..”
“………”
“But if there’s no-one there, how can you be sure it’s the right flat?”
“………”
“I see, a smell of garlic and a box of half-eaten spaghetti. That’s not conclusive evidence it’s the right flat, though.”
“………”
“And what’s written on this piece of paper you found?”
“………”
“An attempt to reproduce the rhythm and rhymes of Pushkin’s poetry in the English language. It sounds just like the sort of thing Tania would write to pass away the time. Does it look like her handwriting?”
“………”
“Don’t worry about her, She escaped and she’s safe. She’s just phoned me. Have a quick look round for any clues about the cats, and then get out of there fast.”
“………”
“Don’t waste time talking, Honza. Is that a noise I hear outside?”
“………”
“Forget the clues. Just get out of there quick. Find a window.”
“………”
“Oh, it would have to be the tenth floor. The noises are getting louder.”
“………”
“Hide under a bed or in a cupboard. Quick”
A noise of the phone being dropped on the table. Another noise of a scuffle and a boy’s screams. A chilling laugh escapes from the ear piece of my phone.
“Abbiamo il ragazzo” (See author’s note 2)
A click is heard, and then silence.
Author’s note 1 - Realising that the literary value of any work nowadays is enhanced by the inclusion of an untranslated morsel of foreign language, preferably in a tongue as exotic as possible, I have included this little piece of dialogue. Czech is unfortunately not as exotic as I would wish, especially here in Prague where almost everyone speaks it, but the exigencies of the plot and my lack of knowledge of another more esoteric language limited my choice somewhat. By the way, it means “I don’t understand. You must speak English”
Author’s note 2. I have taken advantage of the plot situation to add another foreign quote in a, probably, vain bid for some literary prize. As you will realise, in attempting to direct this work at younger readers, I am denying myself the usual recourses of Booker prize seekers, i.e. swearing, oaths, and uninterrupted reference to sex and drugs. And so, dear eminent and wise judges, I offer you instead this little bit of Italian. For serious readers who want to follow the story, the translation is “We have the boy!”
Chapter 19. Another example of a letter of condolence
Dear Tania’s Dad,
Tania tells me that they’ve fixed a little device above your bed so that you can read the newspaper without the nurse’s help, so hopefully you will find this letter a little easier than the last one. How’s the recuperation going? I hope the bones are knitting nicely, without too much pain. There’s always a little niggle when broken bones are healing, you just have to grin and bear it. Chin up! (Oh, sorry! Forgot about the plaster).
The main reason I’m writing is to ask you a favour. If you move your head to the left – slowly, to minimise the pain - you will see beside you, on the very next bed, a gentleman who, by coincidence, has the exact same injuries as yourself. I don’t know his full name, but you can call him ‘Honza’s Dad’. As he doesn’t speak nearly as much English as you, I wonder if you could convey to him my very best wishes for his speedy recovery.
If you find it surprising that Honza’s Dad has plasters in exactly the same place as yourself, you will be even more amazed to learn that he came by his wounds in much the same way as you did. He too has a wife of dubious mental stability, without the capacity to cope in a reasonable adult fashion with her offspring’s kidnapping. Indeed, in many ways, you are more fortunate than he, as his wife managed to inflict a couple of blows to the face before she succumbed to a surfeit of emotion and passed out.
If you find these coincidences amazing, there are more. The aforesaid wife is even now lying in the very same hospital as you, and in the very next bed to your own assailant and spouse. Both are in the same state of comatose oblivion.
The coincidences continue. You will be astonished to learn that the latest kidnap victim, the Honza of the phrase ‘Honza’s Dad’, is in fact known to you, and is no other than the very same Honza who visited you in hospital just a few days ago. The very same Honza who is a close friend of your daughter, which is, in itself, probably all the explanation you need.
I am sure you will have realised by now that your daughter is an exceptional child. Indeed, I have often remarked that her English grammar is almost perfect and that her spelling is excellent too. But to have succeeded in having four people in hospital and another one in the clutches of the Mafia all at the same time has to be world record. Your daughter is not only exceptional, she is unique!
It strikes me that this may be a good point to offer you some advice. You will have noticed by now that having an extremely gifted child is not without its problems. Indeed, in your case you probably consider this an understatement. There are organisations dedicated to help the parents of the mentally super-endowed, but I doubt if even they have much experience of the type of traumatic events which you have been experiencing.
So what’s to be done? At the moment you are safely out of the way in hospital and I recommend you make the most of your period of recovery and conval
escence. Your daughter will still make dutiful visits but I have warned her not to touch anything, so at least you should be physically safe. As regards your mental health, I am in two minds. Is it better to conceal all bad news from you, or would you just worry so much that we are as well to tell you everything? What do you think? I am hopeful that the current perturbations may soon die down, but, if not, don’t rush to pronounce yourself fully fit.
The danger from your wife also has to be considered. As long as she remains in hospital, you can rely on the medical authorities to keep you safely separated. However, I expect she will recover before you, and will be sent home. As you will still be an in-patient, the only periods of real danger then will be when she visits you. Do you have the financial means to hire a security guard to be present during all visiting hours? Maybe you and Honza’s Dad could share the cost.
But these are merely the short-term problems. Gifted children rarely become more stupid in later years, and I’m afraid the emotional strains of adolescence only exacerbate the situation. It is a terrifying thought that things could get worse but history has frequently shown us the dangers of false optimism so I recommend making plans now. The good thing about being stuck in a hospital bed bound from head to toe in plaster is that it gives you time for reflection, so in this sense you are very fortunate.
Many parents of child prodigies have sought to keep them occupied by giving them gargantuan tasks to perform. Mr and Mrs Mozart, for example, kept the young Wolfgang out of trouble by standing over him while he knocked off a few major symphonies and operas, then whizzing him all round Europe to play them to adoring audiences. This must have been a successful tactic because there appears to be no record of the elder Mozart having spent long periods in hospital or having had an excessive number of bones fractured. Tania, I know, practices the piano regularly, but does she have a great gift for composition?