Genius

by Clare Nonhebel

CHAPTER 9

  Being recognized as a genius was a mixed blessing, Eldred found. Just as the press had rallied round his hospital bed when a junior nurse tipped them off about the amazing five-year old who read medical textbooks, now there was a bevy of informed adults who, in acclaiming Eldred's expertise in inventing a new machine, also seemed to want to acclaim themselves as experts on Eldred.

  He became a discovery and, once discovered, everyone wanted to discover something new about him that no one else had yet found. And every new discoverer claimed Eldred as their own.

  There was the problem with the waste recycling machine. Charlie Austin held the computer disk and was in a strong position; he told Eldred that he himself would take the necessary steps to get the design developed for industrial use.

  But Bruce Mackeson the farm manager had already offered to help Eldred launch the design; he had the contacts, he said. He had given Eldred his home phone number for this purpose and was waiting to hear from him any day now.

  Eldred told Mr Austin about his dilemma and Mr Austin dismissed it. Eldred was the school genius so naturally the school was responsible for his achievements, especially as the machine had been designed on the school computer, and that was that.

  ‘But I didn't gain the information at school,’ Eldred pointed out.

  ‘You gained it on an educational trip organized by the school,’ countered Mr Austin.

  ‘No, I'd been working on it for ages at home before that,’ said Eldred. ‘The one who helped me the most was actually Terry Smith.’

  ‘Terry Smith?’

  ‘In the reference section of the borough library,’ Eldred explained. ‘He's really good. He finds me all the right books whenever I want to look anything up.’

  Mrs Garcia was another contender for ownership of Eldred's brain.

  ‘I've nurtured that boy's intelligence,’ she said, 'guided him, watched him since the first day he joined my class. He's not one of your pupils, Mr Austin. He's not even at high school.’

  ‘He probably should be,’ Mr Austin asserted. ‘The boy's wasted among those babies. He must be bored stiff.’

  Mrs Garcia drew herself to her full height of five foot two. ‘Not in my classes,’ she said.

  Eldred was an unwilling witness to this debate, which took place in the staff car park beside the playground, where the two teachers’ cars were parked in unfriendly proximity.

  As he tried to edge away from Mrs Garcia, who had commissioned him to carry a pile of books to her car for her, Mr Austin turned to him. ‘Shall we let Eldred be the judge of that, Mrs Garcia?’ he suggested. ‘Are you bored in class, Eldred, doing simple arithmetic and spelling tests and projects on dinosaurs?’

  Eldred gulped and shuffled the gravel with his feet. He wished he could be somewhere else, even a place with dinosaurs in it.

  ‘He's no better than average in most of those subjects,’ said Mrs Garcia. ‘Just because he has a flair for one thing doesn't mean he doesn't need to be taught. His concentration is appalling and his handwriting's illegible. Isn't it, Eldred?’

  ‘Boredom!’ said Mr Austin triumphantly. ‘Lack of stimulation. Leads to apathy.’

  Eldred looked at the horizon. He wondered how they would react if he dropped the books on the ground and ran away. He didn't seem to be necessary to the discussion.

  ‘Eldred!’ said Mr Austin. ‘How would you like it if I could arrange with the Head for you to join my information technology class with the 14-year olds?’

  Eldred looked from Mr Austin to Mrs Garcia and didn't like what he saw in either face. He had a flash of inspiration.

  ‘I'd have to ask my mum and dad,’ he said. He deposited the pile of books on the bonnet of Mrs Garcia's car and fled for home.

  Mildred and Edgar were surprisingly unhelpful to Eldred. Considering that they had always insisted on him keeping a low profile and concealing his intelligence, they greeted Mr Austin's assessment of Eldred's genius with enthusiasm.

  ‘Well,’ said Edgar, when Eldred told him the news that Mr Austin wanted him to join a class of 14-year olds, ‘this is quite a feather in our caps, Mother, isn't it?’

  Mildred, wiping her hands on a teatowel, agreed. ‘We always knew he had it in him, didn't we, Dad?’

  ‘I don't want to be in an older class,’ said Eldred. ‘They might make me be there for other subjects as well, if I do all right in computing, and then I won't see my friends.’

  ‘You could see them at playtime,’ said Mildred. ‘Anyway, you'd soon make new friends.’

  ‘People who are fourteen won't be friends with people who are nine,’ Eldred told her.

  ‘You mustn't be ungrateful, son,’ said Mr ]ones. ‘It's very kind of Mr Austin to take an interest in you like this.’

  ‘Very kind,’ Mildred echoed.

  There was relief in both their voices. Eldred realized that, after all the years of embarrassment about his unusualness, they were happy that somebody wanted to own him for precisely that reason. They were no longer required to bear the burden of Eldred alone. Mr Austin could take the blame when other parents made jealous remarks about special treatment and favouritism. The Joneses were tired of being disapproved of, by doctors, neighbours, family and friends: of the implicit accusation of arrogance in daring to have a child whose intelligence did not match the national average.

  Now they would be approved of, at least by the school authorities, for letting the school take the credit for Eldred's intellect.

  ‘I have to go to the library,’ Eldred said.

  ‘You'll have your tea first,’ Mildred told him, but Eldred said, ‘They'll be closed by then, Mum!’ and she gave in.

  He needed to talk to Terry Smith. Terry was a thin young man, prematurely balding, whose ambition had been to become a research scientist. His widowed mother, who was not in the best of health, took illicit cleaning jobs (unknown to the Department of Social Security) to equip her student son with new clothes when he was offered a university place.

  Then, in Terry's second year as an undergraduate, his mother was diagnosed with leukaemia. Her only son spent one sleepless night in his hostel room struggling with ambition and conscience, then packed his suitcase and informed his tutor he was returning home to look after his mother.

  Very few people knew Terry's history, apart from his physics tutor, who remained in occasional contact with him, and Eldred. To anyone else, Terry Smith was an amiable but aimless young man who was helpful to anyone who had difficulty in finding the right reference book but who was obviously not the type to achieve much in life. Terry's social activities revolved around visits to the hospital, where his mother spent increasing periods of time, trips to the launderette with his own and his mother's washing, and take-away meals - mainly doner kebabs - on the way home.

  Terry sympathized with Eldred's situation. ‘You ought be allowed a choice in what happens to you,’ he said, ‘but unfortunately, because you're a minor, it's technically your parents’ responsibility to make all the decisions for you.’

  ‘It's my machine,’ said Eldred. ‘Bruce Mackeson said he knew some people who could construct a prototype for me. I want to see it working.’

  ‘Of course you do,’ said Terry Smith. ‘But you've got to be cautious. Who's to say which of those people might do the dirty on you?’

  ‘Do the dirty?’ queried Eldred. ‘How do you mean?’

  ‘Who's going to believe a sophisticated piece of machinery was invented by a nine-year old?’ Terry said. ‘Anyone you hand this design to can just pass it off as their own idea, and what's to stop them?’

  ‘What can I do?’ Eldred asked him.

  Terry thought about it. ‘Get the press behind you,’ he said. ‘I'll dig out those old newspaper cuttings on you when you were five and show them to a friend of mine on the local rag. “Nine-Year Old Invents Ecologically Friendly Waste Recycling System on Home Computer.” That'll get them on your side. Not only a genius, but Green as well. The press will love it
. You'll have the nationals down here in no time. Then you've got it in print, confirmed as your own invention.’

  ‘I don't think my parents would like all the fuss,’ Eldred said.

  ‘You might be surprised,’ said Terry sagely. ‘Reflected limelight, all that. Bit of excitement in their lives.’

  Eldred recalled his parents’ reaction to Mr Austin calling him a genius. If established authorities approved of Eldred, it seemed to be all right. He wasn't sure whether journalists counted as respectable authority figures exactly, but his father did place great faith in anything he read in the paper.

  ‘How would I go about it?’ Eldred asked.

  Terry winked. ‘Leave it to me,’ he said. ‘One phone call is all I need.’