Remembrandt

by Robin King

  “Now look who’s the genius.”

  “I’m not a genius, Mr. I-already-have-a-PhD-at-twenty-two. I just like school and have a good memory. You were probably further along than I am at seventeen.”

  He coughed, almost choking on his bagel.

  “Wait. You’re seventeen?” He couldn’t hide his shock.

  “I thought you— I mean . . .”

  “You just don’t look that young.” He turned his body away from me to face the water fountain in the garden. I took the ice off my knee and did the same. The water cascading over the top of the ornate stone was perfectly clear, unlike my life at that moment.

  Why does it matter how old I am? He is my professor and I’m a professional. We get along well and have a lot in common. Plenty of students on campus are friends with their professors.

  I watched the water flow into the base of the fountain and create bubbles, waiting for him to speak again. He remained silent. I had to say something. The water and bubbles in the fountain triggered a memory. “When I was almost seven years old, I was really into chemistry,” I said. “I begged for this chemistry set for my birthday—you know, the kind with beakers, vials, and simple chemicals. I was so happy when my parents got it for me. The first experiment in the instructions involved vitamin C, iodine, hydrogen peroxide, and liquid starch.” I struggled with a few of the more difficult words in Spanish. When William didn’t correct my pronunciation or look at me, I fell back into the memory. I leaned forward on the bench like I was still back there in my childhood room. I could see perfectly the label of each chemical bottle sitting in front of me.

  “I tried the experiment several times, but nothing ever happened. I followed each step exactly, and always came up with the same result—a colorless liquid that smelled funny.” I wrinkled my nose as the smell from my memory came back to me, just as potent as the first time. “I was so disappointed. My mom found me in my room crying. When I told her the problem, she didn’t help me solve it, but she told me that sometimes it takes time to unravel puzzles and to never give up.”

  I glanced at William again, but his eyes remained fixed on the fountain, and I went on. “I loved puzzles, so for the next week I tried different amounts of liquids. I left out ingredients or added some of my own. Still, nothing happened like I expected. Finally, I went back to the instruction book and started from scratch.” I watched my hands in my memory turning the pages of the booklet, searching for something I had missed. “I attempted the experiment one last time and was disappointed when the result was a colorless liquid—again. I was so frustrated I didn’t even clean up the final concoction and left the beaker on the desk in my room.”

  A wave of remembered emotions rushed over me. The memory and feelings remained the same, yet looking at it with more mature eyes changed it somehow. It was like watching a movie ten years later and having a different response.

  “I lay in my bed staring at the ceiling when something caught my eye. I sat up in bed and stared at the contents of the beaker on the desk. The liquid had turned a bright blue!”

  William turned to face me, the color of his intense eyes matching the liquid from the chemical reaction in my memory.

  “Every time I had done the iodine clock experiment before, nothing had happened and I’d poured the liquid down the sink. Had I just waited a few minutes, I could have seen an amazing transformation each time, but I was so worried about using the precise amounts and right chemicals, doing everything correctly, that I forgot an important ingredient in the experiment.” I paused. “Time.”

  “You can’t be expected to remember everything.”

  If only he knew.

  His eyes didn’t leave mine, and though we were sitting on opposite ends of the bench, somehow I felt strangely connected to him. The timing was entirely off for both of us—he a professor, and I his student with new developments enveloping my life already. But I knew then that William and I, just like the chemicals in my experiment, had a covalent bond that, with time and patience, could someday be brilliant.

  “Alex, I . . .” He stopped and looked back at the fountain.

  Maybe someday.

  I spoke before he could. “Gracias for the Spanish practice and the ice. My knee is already feeling much better.” I rose from the bench and brushed bagel crumbs off my skirt. “I’ll see you in class later.” I gathered my things and rushed away without looking in his direction, without letting myself be captivated again.

  13

  Fight or Flight

  I strolled into The Company headquarters that day with a smile on my face. It had been two weeks since my bench chat with William, and I hadn’t let myself get caught by his gaze again. I didn’t shut off my emotions completely, but I found as long as I avoided meeting his eyes and stayed at least a few feet from him, I could be in his company without my heartbeat increasing any more than it did on an easy run.

  I still met with him a few times a week for Spanish practice, strategically choosing the locale of The Ratty (I’m not sure how it got its nickname, but the food really was good). It was public and we didn’t sit too close. By the end of the second week my knee had recovered, so he tutored me while we ran together. I was happy to be getting a two for one deal: cardio and Spanish study, not to mention William and I enjoyed hanging out together. That was the reason for my smile.

  I was also excited for another training session with Sensei Itosu. He didn’t talk much, but when he did, he got my full attention because I knew what he said would hold great value.

  Working with Daly was another story, but somehow I managed not to wring his neck. Since he knew about my perfect recall, he didn’t bother reviewing concepts or procedures from the manuals, and we spent most days doing simulated missions on his computers. We practiced protocol, code words, strategy, and equipment use. Our last few sessions even included medical training for a possible upcoming mission.

  As I entered the gymnasium, I glanced up to Daly’s office. His eyes followed me down the stairs. He really did take the getting-to-know-your-operative job seriously. It wasn’t the first time I had caught him staring at me. When I would hone my skills in the gym or work with Golkov on Russian and puzzles, Daly seemed to always stand somewhere in the distance, watching me.

  The techno-savvy Millard caught me just as I descended the last few stairs into the gym. “Alex, I have a surprise for you. Your new cell phone is ready.” He adjusted his blue-rimmed glasses.

  I smiled. “Do you realize you’re now on my list of top-ten favorite people?”

  “Uh, thanks.” He scratched his head and looked at the floor. “So, do you want to see it?”

  “Of course. Besides, I’m sure Sensei Itosu could use a few more minutes of meditation.” I glanced over at my teacher in the corner of the gym. He sat in his usual cross-legged position with his hands on his knees, his eyes closed and all his facial muscles relaxed.

  I followed Millard along the side of the gym and up the stairs to his office. He reminded me of a nerdy, awkward version of Casey. Where she had fashion sense, he had a brain laced with the 1’s and 0’s of computer language. Casey spent hours sewing sequins to a boring old vest, creating a whole new piece for her wardrobe. Millard fashioned new pieces of technology, perfectly suited to each operative. I loved my new talented and eccentric friends.

  Piles of shiny metal pieces, computer chips, wires, and motherboards cluttered the top of Millard’s desk. He rummaged through the mess and pulled out a new cell phone. I reached for it and turned it over in my hands. The shiny black exterior had miniature rhinestone swirls embedded to the back.

  “I love it.” I pushed the “on” button. A blue light glowed under my thumb and the screen turned on.

  “You don’t know what it can do yet,” Millard said.

  “I know, but I love how you made it just for me.”

  “This is more than a mini computer. It has all the functionality of a smart phone—a camera, GPS, and internet access—but it works as a taser, too. Jus
t press both side buttons at the same time. The laser will also penetrate through glass as well.”

  “Taser? Laser? How can all that fit inside something so small?” I asked.

  “I can’t give away all my secrets or they wouldn’t keep me around here. But I do love nanotechnology.”

  After he showed me how to use some of the phone’s extra features, he said, “My favorite part is the wireless override. If you’re within fifteen feet of any electronic device, your phone can be used as a controller. With just the touch of a button you can send an electronic impulse to control anything with infrared or a wireless card.” Millard gave a toothy smile. “And no worries about keeping this baby working. It can be submerged in water or run over by a car with little or no damage. If it’s lost, we can locate it from here in seconds. But it won’t work for anyone except you. As you press the main button, it reads your fingerprint and will only turn on for you.”

  “Wow! You really are amazing.” I squeezed his arm.

  “I think you will be telling me that in a few minutes.” Daly walked into the office waving a sheet of paper over his head like the white flag of defeat.

  I let go of Millard and faced Daly. “What? Calling a truce? I knew you’d realize I was too good for you.”

  “Quite the contrary.” He shoved the paper in front of my face. “I have been officially cleared to resume physical training.”

  “And . . .?” I folded my arms across my chest.

  “I believe we have a little sparring match calling our names. Itosu is waiting for us downstairs. That is, if you think you’re ready.” Daly pulled at the crisp white cuffs of his shirt and flashed a smile lathered in self-absorption.

  “The question is, are you ready for me?” I said. With that, I turned on my heels and headed down to the locker room to change.

  Several minutes later, Sensei Itosu stood between Daly and me, ready to referee our match. I wore my fitted black workout uniform, and I was already sweating. I tried to hide my nerves by putting my hands on my hips and mimicking my opponent’s cocky smile.

  Daly appeared much younger wearing something other than a suit. He faced me in a close-fitting black T-shirt that emphasized his bulky arms and defined torso. Show-off. I shook my head and concentrated on what was important—proving I was better than he was.

  “The winner will be the one who can get their opponent on their back first,” Sensei Itosu said.

  “This should be fun.” Daly cracked his knuckles and grinned.

  “At least it will be for me,” I sneered back.

  Itosu ignored our banter. “Bow to your opponent, and the match will begin.”

  He stepped to the sidelines, joining about twenty other Company operatives. Though some were in workout clothes, many wore dresses or suits. Did everyone here know about the rivalry between Daly and me? My heart began to race. I would never get used to this center-of-attention thing.

  Daly and I bowed. The fight was on.

  I guess it was a bunch of pent-up annoyance finally getting a release, because I threw myself like a fastball right at him. Before he could react, my fist hit hard into his perfectly formed abdomen and knocked the wind out of him. I thrust my leg into a roundhouse to catch his ribs, but he seized it with his hands and twisted, forcing me to pivot around to avoid injuring my leg.

  One of his hands slipped on the skin at my ankle. He compensated by squeezing my calf with his other hand. With one foot on the ground and my back in line with the ceiling, I jumped back toward him and kicked at the same time. The force pushed him back far enough that he had to release my foot. I spun around to find him hunched over, catching his breath.

  “Impressive . . . for a girl.” He laughed. “Got anything more?”

  If provocation was what he was going for, it worked. With my arms and legs I tried to make contact with his body, but he stopped each blow with precision. He knows what he’s doing. Dang.

  I stepped back and we stared at each other. Was he waiting for something? He winked. As my mind flashed back to our fight so far, I realized something. He hadn’t once tried to kick or hit me. He had only defended himself. I wasn’t about to give him the satisfaction of letting me win. I wanted a real fight. I raised my arms in front of me and motioned with my hands for him to advance.

  He shrugged his shoulders. “Okay, but you asked for it.” He moved toward me and shot a roundhouse kick at my ribs. I threw out my elbow in a high block before his foot connected with my side. I almost didn’t see his uppercut coming at my face. I swiped it away with my palm a half second too late. His knuckles grazed my jaw—not enough to hurt, but enough to tell me he wasn’t going to take it easy on me anymore. Now I knew he was all in.

  After several minutes of kicking, punching, and twisting, Sensei Itosu stepped between us, halting the fight. “I can see that we might be here for a while. Why don’t we make things a little more interesting?”

  I put my hands behind my head and tried to slow my breathing. Daly’s chest rose and fell just as quickly as mine. His sweat-soaked shirt clung to his torso. I looked down at my own shirt and realized I had the same problem. It felt as though I had just finished doing sprints.

  “Choose your weapon.” Sensei Itosu pointed to the gym wall where he had lined up our choices in a row. That week he was teaching me to use common objects as a part of my offensive and defensive tactics. Today he had a broom, stool, handbag, and baking sheet leaning against the wall.

  I considered carefully. Trying to decide which object could trump the others was almost like a real life version of Rock, Paper, Scissors. I finally decided on the broom. I knew how to manipulate the handle from seeing movies with fighting techniques using a pole. Daly picked up the rectangular aluminum baking sheet, and we stood face-to-face.

  “Want an apron with that?” I taunted.

  “Says the witch with the broom.” He smiled while wiping some sweat off his face with the bottom of his shirt, revealing very toned abs—abs I wanted to sink my foot into.

  My jaw tensed and I narrowed my eyes at him. He raised his eyebrows and stared down at me. His eyes said, “You’re going to screw up.” He acted like he knew deep down that I wouldn’t make it as an operative. My goal was to prove him wrong.

  I crouched and then swung the broom handle toward his ankles, trying to knock him off his feet. He didn’t miss a beat. Keeping the short ends of the baking sheet in either hand, he sprang up in the air, curled his body, and flipped right over my head. It was a wonder that someone as stiff as he seemed could move so effortlessly through the air. My shock at Daly’s agility and acrobatics made me to hesitate before turning around.

  He pressed the pan flat against my chest, and I stumbled a few feet back. I saw the pan coming for the side of my head, so I raised the broom handle. A loud clang burst through the air as metal met wood. I thrust the end of the broom toward his stomach, but he used the pan as a shield. We danced around the corner of the room, our weapons colliding. I recalled some of Sensei Itosu’s previous instruction with weapons.

  “An object can be used as an extension of your body. It can be more than a weapon of force. Use it as a tool to allow your body to move in ways that would be impossible on your own.” The sensei’s words took on new meaning with the broom in my hand. Instead of using it to try to strike Daly, I took a few steps back and got a running start. I shoved the top end of the broom into the gym floor and, like a pole vaulter, jumped up in the air and flew over Daly. When I landed in a crouch on the floor behind him, laughs escaped from the crowd, and I recognized Golkov’s deep, rumbling chuckle.

  Still kneeling, I swiped the broom at Daly’s feet. He fell right on his side with a loud thud. The baking sheet flew several feet across the gym floor, halting when it met the wall. Cheers erupted from the small crowd. Before I turned my attention back to Daly, Millard give me two thumbs up from the sidelines. I stood up and jogged to where Daly lay on his side. I offered him my hand. He eyed it for a second.

  “Nice work, Ale
xandra,” Sensei Itosu said from behind us. “Defense is not necessarily about overpowering your opponent. Outwitting them can be just as important.”

  Daly cleared his throat. “You’re right.” Then he grabbed my outstretched hand and pulled so hard my shoulder almost came out of its socket. I tumbled over him and down onto my back, my head only inches from his cookie sheet. Daly rolled from his side and sat right on top of me, straddling my hips on either side with his legs. He grabbed my other hand and held both of them flat against the gym floor. I tried to move my legs to wrap them around his middle or neck, but he sensed my move and scooted farther down onto my legs. I was pinned.

  “Outwitting is important,” Daly gloated. Our audience laughed and clapped at his triumph. I turned my head to the nearest wall and cringed. What a cheap shot.

  “I believe we have a winner,” Sensei Itosu said, interrupting the applause. He looked down at me sympathetically.

  Daly remained on top of me, smiling wider than I had ever seen before. He leaned forward and whispered in my ear, “Want to call a truce now?” I started to nod and he released my hands. In a swift motion, I seized the cookie sheet above my head with both hands and slammed it down on top of his skull. The echo resonated through the room. Daly fell to the side and rolled onto his back. I leaped up and placed one foot on his chest.

  “Truce.” I put my hands on my hips and beamed.

  14

  Scenes in My Head

  My pillow felt damp when I woke the next morning. I was so concerned with my lack of dreams that I didn’t think much of it until William and I met on the sidewalk near my rock at Blackstone Park. He held one leg behind him, stretching his quadriceps. He looked up at me as I stopped to stretch. The brisk morning air showed his breath like a cloud of smoke in front of his face.