Genius

by Clare Nonhebel

CHAPTER 42

  'How do you think it went?’ Mildred asked on the way home.

  'Not bad,’ said her husband judiciously. 'Where was that Miss Palmer, though? I thought she was going to be there?’

  'I asked that,’ Eldred said, 'while I was waiting for you to come back from the tour. Rachel said Louise didn't work there; her role had been to supply one of the subjects for interview, in a freelance capacity, and she wouldn't be involved in the project any further.’

  'I don’t suppose she'll like that,’ said Mildred.

  'Oh dear.’ Eldred hoped Louise wouldn't be too disappointed.

  'How did you get on, Eldred?’ Mildred asked, 'while we were out of the room? Did you have any problems with that test?’

  'Not really,’ Eldred said.

  'Well, that's good. A bit of a cheek, springing that on you, I thought. I must say, Eldred, you explained it very well when she asked you about your machine. I almost understood it myself.’

  'Thank you,’ Eldred said.

  'And you answered all the questions nice and clearly,’ Mildred continued. 'Didn't you think so, Dad?’

  'Yes, certainly,’ Edgar said. 'He did very well. Perhaps a little celebration is called for - what do you think?’

  They smiled at one another above Eldred's head.

  'What do you say we get a take-away on our way home from the station, Eldred?’ his father said. 'You choose - fish and chips, Chinese or Indian?’

  'Can we have Indian?’

  'We can have anything you like, son. It's your day.’

  Eldred felt happy. Things were changing. Whether he was able to go to a new school or not, the process of trying to do so was having a new effect on his parents, it seemed to him. They were listening to him and talking to each other more, and it might be his imagination but they didn't seem so ashamed of him nowadays or so worried about what he might say or do in public. He might almost be sorry to leave now and go to a boarding school, even if he was accepted at one. Acceptance at home seemed worth almost more than attending a school where he was allowed to learn.

  Over chicken korma and rice eaten at home, sitting not at the table but in front of the TV - an almost unprecedented event in the Jones house - Mildred showed Edgar the pictures in Eldred's colouring book. Edgar studied them.

  'He says,’ Mildred said, 'that certain people only see certain things; that's why only some of the picture is coloured in. Is that what you said, Eldred, or am I getting it wrong?’

  'No, that's it,’ said Eldred. 'Everyone sees things differently, according to what's important to them.’

  Edgar thought about this. 'I see things differently from you?’

  'Yes.’

  ‘And differently from your mother, or do she and I see things the same, but differently from you?’

  'No - different from each other too,’ said Eldred. He was reading the words on the take-away menu backwards. Korma was Amrok, which sounded tasty and still quite Indian, he thought, and Bhaji was Ijahb, which was not too easy to pronounce and sounded more Middle Eastern than Far Eastern. Popadom was Modapop - more like a fizzy drink. And Naan was Naan whichever way you read it, and that was interesting, Eldred thought - a bread that couldn't be anything but itself, a bread with an unchanging identity. 'A bread of integrity,’ he murmured to himself.

  'What's that?’ said Edgar.

  Eldred, unaware that he had spoken aloud, answered Edgar's earlier question. 'Well, you see things through one kind of filter and Mum sees them through another kind.’

  'What filter?’ Edgar asked. 'I would have thought everyone sees what's in front of their nose to be seen.’

  'No,’ said Eldred. 'They have different noses, so they see past them differently.’

  'I don't get it,’ said Edgar.

  'Eldred, don't annoy your father; eat your curry,’ said Mildred automatically.

  'He's not annoying me,’ said Edgar. 'I just want to be told why he thinks I can't see past the end of my own nose.’

  'Oh dear,’ said Mildred. The day had gone so well, she thought sadly, and now it was about to be spoiled.

  Eldred wriggled off the sofa and sat on the floor, facing his father. 'You see like this,’ he explained. He held the menu at arm's length in front of him, closed one eye and squinted down his nose. 'Can't make this damn thing out,’ he muttered. It was a fair impression of Edgar trying to read without his reading glasses on. Mildred reminded herself sternly not to giggle.

  'And Mum sees like this,’ Eldred continued. He placed his hands on his temples, facing outwards, like a horse's blinkers- or like his mother with a migraine, shielding her eyes from the light. 'Oh dear,’ he said, in Mildred's most plaintive voice, 'I'm not going to be able to understand this; it's too bright.’

  Edgar threw back his head and laughed. 'Oh, that's you all over, Mildred,’ he said.

  'Yes dear,’ said Mildred, relieved at the remission of his annoyance.

  'And Mrs Garcia at school sees like this,’ Eldred said, enjoying the attention. He placed both hands firmly over his eyes and said with severity, 'It's pitch dark and no one can see anything, so don't you go telling me that dark is light, Eldred Jones, or I'll lop twenty per cent off your end-of-term marks.’

  'Now, that's going far enough, Eldred,’ said his father. 'A joke's a joke but you don't go making fun of your elders and betters. A teacher is superior to a little boy. Have some respect.’

  Mildred sniffed, though quietly. 'I'll go and wash up,’ she said. 'Hand me your plates.’