Genius

by Clare Nonhebel

CHAPTER 41

  Friday couldn't come soon enough for Eldred. He phoned Louise three times: once to ask what kind of questions he'd have to answer, once to enquire whether the other children would be like him, and once on Mildred's behalf, to ask what the Jones family should wear.

  Louise was amused by his excitement and didn't seem to mind phoning him back when he left a message on her answerphone, though Mildred had feared she would resent it. They could wear what they liked, she said; it wasn't going to be televised yet as it was only a preliminary chat with one of the programme's researchers. Eleven children were to be interviewed but only three or four would be selected. It was possible that Eldred would not appear at all on the final programme, which had not been scheduled and might not be seen until next year.

  He should come prepared to answer questions about himself, his life and his interests, as well as giving a concise and simple explanation of the workings of his inventions, and yes, it would be helpful if he brought diagrams. He shouldn't be disappointed, however, if half an hour's explaining got finally condensed into one sentence. Television was like that, she said: all impact and no depth, so be warned by one who knew and had suffered from it!

  Eldred promised solemnly to expect nothing at all, then dreamed all night of fame and fortune, of terrible errors and disgraceful failure, of being forcibly ejected from television studios, and of public schools at which Stephen Hawking lectured about black holes in space, in a computer-voice that only spoke ancient Greek, which all the pupils except Eldred understood perfectly. Friday came at the end of a sleepless week.

  Edgar, meanwhile, had brought home a prospectus for the school his boss's sons attended. Eldred studied it carefully, though there was little to be gleaned about the school's approach to children who learned too quickly for their age group. The brochure's main claims were about sports achievements, university admissions and caring staff. What the staff cared about was not made clear: presumably sports achievements and university places gained, Eldred deduced.

  From the whispered conversations between his parents, he also gathered that the fees were beyond their reach, even if Edgar did get promotion and Mildred took what she described as 'a little job'. Elation, when Edgar first brought the prospectus home, had given way to despair when he had discovered that the fee stated was not for the year, as he had thought, but per term.

  'Even if this television thing does come off,’ said Edgar, 'no one's going to see it till next year, are they? And I can't imagine anything coming of it. Who's going to pay for a child to go to a posh school, just because he's bored? And what public school would take him for free, when they could have a fee-paying, normally bright child who's good at sport as well and who fits in? Who wants a little eccentric who invents machines at home but doesn't do what he's told in his computing class because it's too easy?’

  So it was only Eldred who was excited when Friday came. His parents, neatly dressed and nervous, had low expectations. Their only hope was that they wouldn't be asked any difficult questions themselves.

  The studio building, at first sight, was daunting - large, modern, busy and with an air of uncompromising efficiency. Here people were siphoned in off the street, scanned for their story-worthy value, purged of their irrelevancies, dosed with instructions on what to tell the presenter and how to face the cameras, and packaged into two- or five- or ten-minute slots, before being discharged and returned, shaken and disorientated, to pick up the threads of their everyday lives.

  'It's like a hospital, isn't it?’ said Eldred, in the lift.

  The secretary who had come to collect them from the foyer smiled. 'I don't think the architect and designers would like that, but you're probably right!’

  'I didn't mean the building,’ Eldred explained. 'I meant the process of coming to be interviewed. It's like being X-rayed and waiting to hear if the experts say you're all right.’

  The lift doors opened. 'Down here, follow me,’ said the girl.

  She walked into an office - without knocking, Eldred noticed - and announced, 'Elbert Jones and his parents.’

  'Eldred,’ Edgar corrected.

  A woman who looked slightly older than the secretary stood up from behind her desk and came forward to shake Edgar's hand. 'Good to see you, Eldred,’ she said. 'And?’ She raised her eyebrows enquiringly at Mildred.

  'My wife Mildred,’ said Edgar.

  'Eldred and Mildred!’ the woman exclaimed. 'Well, that's an unusual partnership of names! And you're Elbert?’ she said to Eldred. There was a laugh in her voice that Eldred suspected would be used in her coffee break, telling her colleagues.

  'No,’ he said firmly. 'My father is Edgar, my mother is Mildred, and I'm Eldred. My name is a mixture of their names, which is logical because I am a mixture of their genes.’

  'Oh,’ she said. He had succeeded in stopping the laugh. He was only surprised, on looking at his parents, to see them both blushing. Maybe genes were embarrassing. His parents seemed uncomfortable with biology, Eldred had noticed.

  'Well,’ the woman said. 'My name is Rachel Hicks. I'm a researcher here, and I've invited you along to get to know you a little bit, especially you, Eldred, with a view to including you on a programme we're planning about unusual children.’

  Edgar and Mildred nodded. Eldred stared at Rachel Hicks, memorizing her face and style. Rather hard, he thought, spends a lot of money on her clothes, impatient with her make-up, long nails, greedy fingers.

  'Before I start asking you questions,’ she said, 'are there any questions you'd like to ask me yourselves?’

  'Yes please,’ said Eldred. Edgar gave him a warning glance, which Rachel, sharp-eyed, noticed.

  'Go ahead,’ she said.

  Eldred decided to heed his father's glance and be concise. This woman had already consulted the clock on her desk twice since they walked in.

  'Is the programme definitely going to take place or is it just an idea?’ he asked. 'And if it's definite, when will it be scheduled? And if only three or four of the eleven children at the interviews will be selected, how much time will be allocated to each? And what criteria are being used to select whether a child is unusual, and is it all the same kind of unusual - I mean, are they all unusually intelligent, or are they all unusual in different ways?’

  Rachel, who had opened her mouth to answer Eldred's first question, closed it halfway through his speech. 'That's not a question, that's a questionnaire!’ she said.

  'It's generally a mistake to let Eldred ask questions,’ said Edgar dryly.

  'Let me try to answer them in one sentence,’ said Rachel. 'The programme is definitely scheduled to be made but won't be scheduled for screening until after it's completed. The eleven children being interviewed this week are all unusual for different reasons; some are like you, Eldred; some are very talented musically or at sports; some have shown great bravery ... that kind of thing. We'll probably pick one child from each category, depending on personality as well as their achievements, and the programme will last forty minutes, probably divided equally between the different stories. Okay?’

  'Thank you,’ said Eldred.

  'Now, if you don't object, I have a questionnaire for you, Eldred,’ Rachel said. She reached into her desk drawer and pulled out a sheaf of papers. 'I'd like you, if you will, to fill in the answers to these questions as best you can in ten minutes, while Sonia here, who brought you in, will take your parents to see round the studios.’

  Edgar and Mildred looked at Eldred, disconcerted. Eldred shrugged.

  'Okay, I don't mind,’ he said.

  'Oh, we'll just stay here,’ Mildred said. 'We're not really concerned to see the studios, are we, dear?’

  'If you wouldn't mind,’ said Rachel, her smile setting. 'I'm sure you'll find it interesting.’

  Mildred hesitated.

  'You go,’ said Eldred encouragingly. 'I expect this is a test to see if I'm really intelligent, and they want to make sure you don't tell me the answers or anything. I
s that it?’ he asked Rachel.

  'No, not at all,’ she said quickly. 'It's just easier to concentrate if you're on your own.’

  'Will you be going too then?’ Eldred said.

  'No,’ she said. 'I'll be here but I won't distract you. I'll be getting on with my own work.’

  Sonia lifted Mildred by the elbow. 'This way,’ she said.

  Eldred pulled the questionnaire towards him. It was not so much questions to be answered, he saw, as a series of puzzles. He sat back in the chair and looked through them.

  Rachel, watching him, was struck by his concentration. The child was completely still, focusing on the page before him. After a few seconds, he turned the page, immediately after that movement resuming his stillness. Then he turned to the next page, dwelling on this one for hardly any time at all, then the final one.

  'Yes,’ he said, under his breath. 'I see how it works.’ He turned back to page one and laid the questionnaire face downwards on the desk. He sat back and looked round the office, craning his neck to read the titles of books on the shelves.

  'Can I have a look at your thesaurus?’ he asked Rachel. 'I have one at home but it's much more concise. I'm compiling my own on the computer but I need some more words.’

  'Yes, you certainly can later,’ she said. 'But just for now I'd like you to fill in the questionnaire - all right?’

  Eldred looked surprised. 'Oh, sorry,’ he said. 'I thought you said I had ten minutes. Ten minutes aren't up yet, are they?’

  'No,’ she said, 'but you haven't started.’

  'Oh, that's all right,’ he said. 'It doesn't take long to write, once you've done it in your head.’ He sat down at the desk, picked up a pen and filled in the answers swiftly, without pausing to look at each question again. He did not fill them in consecutively, Rachel noticed, but picked the questions that required an answer in words first, then flicked back to the ones which asked for a diagram, and finally picked out the multiple choice questions which needed one of a list of possible solutions to be ringed.

  He returned the sheets to their original order and handed them back to her. 'Can I look at the thesaurus now?’ he said.

  'Yes.’ She looked at the clock on her desk. Four minutes had elapsed. There were sixty-five questions on the sheets. Even before she started checking them, she had a feeling that the answers were all correct.