Tongues of Fire

Day 6

At noon, I collected Galman from the train station. All the way to school, he made it all about himself, continuously talking about his in-laws and other relatives of his wife, and dismissive of anything outside the subjects he was interested in, which was wanting a holiday at a Californian inn with three meals a day, enjoying the country-side and cracking middle class jokes about Californians. After yesterday's episode I had managed to convince Principal Bale to accept Galman's visit. I told her what an exceptional kid Melinda was and how she might be the new Einstein. She agreed to let us have half an hour with her in the classroom. I didn't understand fully where she plucked this length of time from.

But once he stepped inside our "barn" I could see how Galman was re-evaluating the whole experience. He seemed to be impressed by our audacity to even consider giving lessons there. He looked all around him and I appreciated how he made the effort to keep his professorly persona with a bow-tie and brick velvet jacket even in these circumstances. He looked all around the molded corners of the rooms and corridors and he gave off the vibe he was on a space-ship, rather than planet Earth.

We opened the door and Melinda stood to greet the "commission" like it was the Presidential delegation.

'Good morning, Melinda', I started. 'Melinda, I want to introduce you to Professor Galman, here. He's come all the way from New York to see you.' And Galman stretched his hand to greet the diminutive figure in front of him and there was an air of fabricated professionalism about his smile and allure.'

'Hello, Melinda. Ricky told me what an exceptional kid you are', and I appreciated he dropped the "Professor Sarpaulis" or "Mr Sarpaulis" and made it look more informal. The little girl checked with me but then said nothing. 'Is that true? What I heard? That you're the whizz kid everyone's talking about?' No one was talking about it apart from me, but Galman was falling in the trap of using hyperbolic exaggeration like the kid was retarded.

Melinda looked up at the man in front of her and passed her index finger along her nostril to show Galman he was having a problem. A physiological one, that is. He was starting to bleed from his left nostril, but only sparsely, and had it been someone taller standing in front of him it would've gone unnoticed. Galman brushed his finger against the base of his nose and frowned for a second.'

'Oh. I do apologize', and he scrambled in his pockets for a tissue. The little girl passed him her lemon-scented cotton handkerchief and it fitted Galman's clothes very well. 'It's not the first time it's happened. It's always the allergens in the Californian air. I swear to God...', and he ping-ponged his gaze between me and Melinda, '...everything feels like on another planet here. I tell you, both; I feel like a visiting alien', and he let slip a squeaky chuckle. 'Have you ever been to New York, Melinda?' And he swiped the handkerchief so hard and for so long against his skin that the whole area became swollen and red.

'No. What is it like?', answered the girl.

'Like an amusement park. A giant one. You're always in for a ride, whether you want to or not. If you like amusement parks, that's the town for you.'

'Do you?'

'What?'

'Like amusement parks?'

'Oh, well ... Depends. Sometimes you just wanna' get off, you know? When you're on a rollercoaster, you can't hear the sound of your own thoughts. They are there and they make noise and it's just one continuous buzz, and it affects you. Okay, we came with business, so let's get to it!' And I finally recognized the Terminator who has no appreciation for the energy of the moment, or tempo or rhythm, and that's when the autistic side in him takes over. He opened his Bordeaux-leather suitcase and pulled out a recorder as old as himself. 'I hope you won't mind, Melinda, but, for the purpose of our procedure, I will need to record this and I need you to be okay with that. Yes?... Are you okay with that?'