Part 1 Part 2 Part 3 Part 4 Part 5 Part 6 Part 7 Part 8 Part 9 Part 10 Part 11 Part 12 Part 13 Part 14 Part 15 Part 16
After they'd crossed the bridge they cut through St James' Park, the Green Park and Hyde Park to arrive at St Mary's Hospital where a certain highly-recommended doctor awaited them. His office, one floor up from street level, was spacious and filled with books. Large windows showed old oaks changing from buds to leaves. They both went into the doctor's office, Ted didn't wait outside. Since Albert Latham had announced that his neurological system was very similar to Charlie's, transparency had become the word of the day regarding that neurological condition: it was not to be kept secret, it was to be publicly discussed, and doctors were to meet with neither of them alone. Ever. It seemed clear to Ted that Albert feared some danger that lurked in his and Charlie's condition being treated or examined or discussed in secret or in private. Even Albert's habits of rocking and moaning and doing other odd things when he got agitated, very similar to Charlie's way of doing it -- even these things, Albert now sometimes did in front of other people, mannerisms which, he had publicly announced, he had spent a lifetime hiding from others. Sometimes. And sometimes Albert would start to rock and moan or clutch his head or wring his hands in front of others, and then suddenly run off -- presumably to finish doing what he needed to do in private, as he'd been accustomed to do.
Some doctors had refused to see Charlie other than one-on-one, but there were plenty of other doctors interested in him, and even some of the doctors who at first hadn't gone along with the as-public-as-possible nature of the whole case relented so as not to be left behind.
This doctor -- Ted had heard the man's name not for the first time today when they introduced each other, and forgotten it already, the doctors were beginning to become something of a blur for him -- asked them to please be seated in some of the office's rather abundant armchairs. Ted complied, Charlie cast a nervous glance at Ted, and Ted said to the doctor, "It's sometimes very difficult for Charlie to stay seated. It may seem to you that you don't have his full attention if he's wandering around the office and looking at everything but you, but believe me, the interview will go better than if he's sitting and can't think of anything but how uncomfortable he is sitting."
"It's true," Charlie chimed in. "It's a bit strange, but I'd be very grateful for your understanding." Charlie had found, with Albert's guidance, that phrases such as admitting that certain things were strange and saying he'd be grateful for someone's understanding were very helpful when meeting people for the first time. At seemed to help everyone to be more at ease. The doctor's books were fascinating. Charlie had seen so many books in so many different luxurious rooms lately.
"Of course," the doctor replied. "And I understand that an actual physical examination will not occur today, that it's to be an interview only, am I correct?"
"Yes," Ted said.
"Yes, thank you for understanding, doctor," Charlie said.
"Of course," the doctor replied.
Charlie strode over to one of the large windows, just outside of which a female robin was jumping back and forth between two branches of an oak and chattering agitatedly. "She's lost her babies," Charlie said, pointing to the bird. "She had a nest right there on one of those branches, I don't know whether or not the eggs had hatched yet, but now they're gone, the whole nest is gone somehow, something happened to it, and she's very sad. It's very distressing. But there's nothing anybody can do about it now."
The doctor turned in surprise to Ted, who said, "I'd imagine e's completely right, Doctor. E's very good with animals, very sensitive to what's 'appening to them. Also, if e doesn't know something, e tends to say 'I don't know,' right straight up with no 'if's' or 'but's.' If e says something is such and such way about an animal or a watch, I'd say a good rule a thumb is to assume e's right until you know otherwise."
"I hadn't even noticed there was a robin's nest out there," the doctor said. "That's extraordinary, Mr Evans."
"Aaaa-aah. Aaaa..."
"E prefers that everyone call im 'Charlie.'"
"Oh, I'm sorry, Charlie. I shall do so from now on."
"It's not so important. Thank you for understanding."
Showing posts with label 1900. Show all posts
Showing posts with label 1900. Show all posts
Wednesday, April 23, 2014
Monday, April 21, 2014
Because Of Mistakes! pt 16
Part 1 Part 2 Part 3 Part 4 Part 5 Part 6 Part 7 Part 8 Part 9 Part 10 Part 11 Part 12 Part 13 Part 14 Part 15
At about 12:19 PM on Thursday the following week, the 31st of May, Ted slapped a man on the back of his head, slapped him so hard that it gave a resounding crack and sent the man stumbling forward for several steps. Charlie turned and looked as the man stumbled past him. It looked as if he were going to fall, but he righted himself again. This was one of two men who had been walking toward them as they walked across the bridge toward Westminster. One of them had called out to Charlie "Oy!" and took off his cap and was holding it over his heart, "d'ya mind if we have a look at the watch?" Charlie was reaching to take the Latham Model 100 out of his pocket, the one Albert had let him pick out of all one hundred of them, with an emerald-green face and a gold case and chain. Part of the face actually was covered with emeralds, the rest was gold covered with emerald-green lacquer which kept a very high shine.
Charlie had taken his hand away from his watch pocket again when Ted slapped the man. The man had managed not to fall, but he had dropped his cap. Before he'd righted himself Ted had begun to shout at the two men, turning back and forth from one to the other and holding one of his enormous forefingers very close to their faces: "Oy! Ya don't bother this one! Ya don't touch him, ya don't touch any of his fings, and you certainly don't try to rob him! D'ya understand me? Oy! I asked you a question!"
The man Ted had struck mumbled, "Oy, Guv, we understand," as he picked up his cap and set it on his head again with both trembling hands. The other said, "Yeah, Captain, we hear you loud and clear."
"Good! Understanding is a glorious fing. Now piss off on out of it!" The two men ran away toward Lambeth without a look back. They were both about average size, but when Ted had slapped one of them and yelled at them both he'd made them seem very small. Charlie guessed that Ted was about six foot five, and his shoulders were very broad and he had very big rippling muscles in his arms and legs, you could see that through his shirt sleeves and trouser legs. They watched the men running away for a while, then Ted turned to Charlie and clapped him gently on the shoulder and said softly, "Alright then." Charlie didn't mind when Ted clapped him on the shoulder. He knew that Ted came with him to keep him safe. These occasional claps on the shoulder were the only times Ted touched him, and, just as when his Dad hugged him or toussled his hair, he knew that these claps on the shoulder were meant to express good will and the intent to protect him.
Charlie asked, "Were they going to -- "
"Yeah, Charlie, they were going to try to steal your watch."
"How do you know?"
"Hm. It's hard to put into words."
"Is it because of their social class?"
"Ah, well, no, Charlie, it wasn't that. I'm from the same class as they are. It may be that most of the people who'd try to steal a man's watch are from the lower classes, but not everybody from the lower classes is a fief."
"I guess I'm from the same classes myself."
"There you go, Charlie. Have you ever even thought about robbing someone?"
Charlie stood for a moment, trying to recall such thoughts, and then replied, "No."
"There ya go, Guv."
"Aaaaahhh. Aaaa, yah."
"What's wrong, Charlie?"
"It's... I'd like it better if you just called me 'Charlie.'"
"But I do call you 'Charlie.'"
"Just then you called me 'Guv.'"
"Oh, I see. Sorry."
"It's not a bad thing. It just confuses me when people call me 'Guv' or 'Sir' or 'Mr Evans' or 'Charles' or 'Friend' or 'Matey.' It's like when there's somebody else around named Charlie. I'm not sure whether people are talking to me or someone else."
Ted was basically Charlie's bodyguard now, and the Lathams had given him that position when they gave Charlie the gold-and-emerald Model 100. At first Ted -- like many others -- had been alarmed by the idea of Charlie carrying around a watch worth well over a thousand quid. "This ain't exactly a posh part of town," he'd said to Albert. "I know, you and your fahver and brover carry watches like that, and some customers come and go with them, but... You know what I'm saying, Sir."
"Yes, I do know."
"He's different."
"Yes, he is. But, you know, we're different too. You, me, the whole firm. We want to change things."
"Yes, Sir, and you have changed things -- "
" -- We have changed things."
"Alright, thanks for saying so. We have changed things. But do we go around asking for trouble?"
"Yes, that's exactly what we do."
"Sir?"
"Anytime anybody wants to make a real change for the better for people who need help, they're told, 'You can't do that.' Every time someone shows any ambition to rise above what is supposed his 'station' in life, he or she is told, 'You can't do that. You'll fail. Well sod that. Do you know what I mean?"
"Yes, Sir," Ted had answered, and he felt the glow in his chest he had often gotten from working for the Lathams, "you've shown it to me before, but fank you for reminding me: you mean that if you actually want to change fings, as opposed to merely sitting around wif a bunch of pooves talking about changing fings, you're going to have to upset some people." It wasn't the extremely high wages he and all the other Latham employees got which gave Ted this periodical warm feeling -- it was the arrogant determination to change the world which was behind those wage rates and many other things they did. It had occurred to Ted then that the wages were an example of things which people said couldn't be done. No doubt people told the Lathams that they couldn't pay their people so much, that they would go broke and that it would spread anarchy and chaos and crime and disease and so forth, and, well, that it was simply impossible. It was the way that the Lathams, some more than others, Albert particularly, whenever people told them, "You can't change the world," as all of us are constantly told, said, "Sod that, watch me, I'm changing it."
Back on the bridge, Charlie said, "You 'read' them. That's what it's called, isn't it? People 'read' other people. That's how you knew they wanted to take my watch. I can't read people. I'm not good at it at all."
"That's okay, Charlie. We all have strong points and weak points. Your strong points are very strong."
"Yes, I'm becoming well-known for watch repair. And for 'reading' animals. I do that unusually well."
At about 12:19 PM on Thursday the following week, the 31st of May, Ted slapped a man on the back of his head, slapped him so hard that it gave a resounding crack and sent the man stumbling forward for several steps. Charlie turned and looked as the man stumbled past him. It looked as if he were going to fall, but he righted himself again. This was one of two men who had been walking toward them as they walked across the bridge toward Westminster. One of them had called out to Charlie "Oy!" and took off his cap and was holding it over his heart, "d'ya mind if we have a look at the watch?" Charlie was reaching to take the Latham Model 100 out of his pocket, the one Albert had let him pick out of all one hundred of them, with an emerald-green face and a gold case and chain. Part of the face actually was covered with emeralds, the rest was gold covered with emerald-green lacquer which kept a very high shine.
Charlie had taken his hand away from his watch pocket again when Ted slapped the man. The man had managed not to fall, but he had dropped his cap. Before he'd righted himself Ted had begun to shout at the two men, turning back and forth from one to the other and holding one of his enormous forefingers very close to their faces: "Oy! Ya don't bother this one! Ya don't touch him, ya don't touch any of his fings, and you certainly don't try to rob him! D'ya understand me? Oy! I asked you a question!"
The man Ted had struck mumbled, "Oy, Guv, we understand," as he picked up his cap and set it on his head again with both trembling hands. The other said, "Yeah, Captain, we hear you loud and clear."
"Good! Understanding is a glorious fing. Now piss off on out of it!" The two men ran away toward Lambeth without a look back. They were both about average size, but when Ted had slapped one of them and yelled at them both he'd made them seem very small. Charlie guessed that Ted was about six foot five, and his shoulders were very broad and he had very big rippling muscles in his arms and legs, you could see that through his shirt sleeves and trouser legs. They watched the men running away for a while, then Ted turned to Charlie and clapped him gently on the shoulder and said softly, "Alright then." Charlie didn't mind when Ted clapped him on the shoulder. He knew that Ted came with him to keep him safe. These occasional claps on the shoulder were the only times Ted touched him, and, just as when his Dad hugged him or toussled his hair, he knew that these claps on the shoulder were meant to express good will and the intent to protect him.
Charlie asked, "Were they going to -- "
"Yeah, Charlie, they were going to try to steal your watch."
"How do you know?"
"Hm. It's hard to put into words."
"Is it because of their social class?"
"Ah, well, no, Charlie, it wasn't that. I'm from the same class as they are. It may be that most of the people who'd try to steal a man's watch are from the lower classes, but not everybody from the lower classes is a fief."
"I guess I'm from the same classes myself."
"There you go, Charlie. Have you ever even thought about robbing someone?"
Charlie stood for a moment, trying to recall such thoughts, and then replied, "No."
"There ya go, Guv."
"Aaaaahhh. Aaaa, yah."
"What's wrong, Charlie?"
"It's... I'd like it better if you just called me 'Charlie.'"
"But I do call you 'Charlie.'"
"Just then you called me 'Guv.'"
"Oh, I see. Sorry."
"It's not a bad thing. It just confuses me when people call me 'Guv' or 'Sir' or 'Mr Evans' or 'Charles' or 'Friend' or 'Matey.' It's like when there's somebody else around named Charlie. I'm not sure whether people are talking to me or someone else."
Ted was basically Charlie's bodyguard now, and the Lathams had given him that position when they gave Charlie the gold-and-emerald Model 100. At first Ted -- like many others -- had been alarmed by the idea of Charlie carrying around a watch worth well over a thousand quid. "This ain't exactly a posh part of town," he'd said to Albert. "I know, you and your fahver and brover carry watches like that, and some customers come and go with them, but... You know what I'm saying, Sir."
"Yes, I do know."
"He's different."
"Yes, he is. But, you know, we're different too. You, me, the whole firm. We want to change things."
"Yes, Sir, and you have changed things -- "
" -- We have changed things."
"Alright, thanks for saying so. We have changed things. But do we go around asking for trouble?"
"Yes, that's exactly what we do."
"Sir?"
"Anytime anybody wants to make a real change for the better for people who need help, they're told, 'You can't do that.' Every time someone shows any ambition to rise above what is supposed his 'station' in life, he or she is told, 'You can't do that. You'll fail. Well sod that. Do you know what I mean?"
"Yes, Sir," Ted had answered, and he felt the glow in his chest he had often gotten from working for the Lathams, "you've shown it to me before, but fank you for reminding me: you mean that if you actually want to change fings, as opposed to merely sitting around wif a bunch of pooves talking about changing fings, you're going to have to upset some people." It wasn't the extremely high wages he and all the other Latham employees got which gave Ted this periodical warm feeling -- it was the arrogant determination to change the world which was behind those wage rates and many other things they did. It had occurred to Ted then that the wages were an example of things which people said couldn't be done. No doubt people told the Lathams that they couldn't pay their people so much, that they would go broke and that it would spread anarchy and chaos and crime and disease and so forth, and, well, that it was simply impossible. It was the way that the Lathams, some more than others, Albert particularly, whenever people told them, "You can't change the world," as all of us are constantly told, said, "Sod that, watch me, I'm changing it."
Back on the bridge, Charlie said, "You 'read' them. That's what it's called, isn't it? People 'read' other people. That's how you knew they wanted to take my watch. I can't read people. I'm not good at it at all."
"That's okay, Charlie. We all have strong points and weak points. Your strong points are very strong."
"Yes, I'm becoming well-known for watch repair. And for 'reading' animals. I do that unusually well."
Friday, April 18, 2014
Because Of Mistakes! pt 15
Part 1 Part 2 Part 3 Part 4 Part 5 Part 6 Part 7 Part 8 Part 9 Part 10 Part 11 Part 12 Part 13 Part 14
At about 10:05 on the same Monday morning, about the same time that Latham had a panic attack leading to his confessions to Brown, Chief Superintendent Martin rose from behind his desk and shut the door to his office, because Inspector Raymond had begun to shout most indiscreetly. As he settled back into his chair, Raymond had not interrupted or slowed down his screed: " -- because how do I know you're really with us on the Left? Because you say you are. That's all I've got to go on. How do I know that Smith had to be dealt with that way, for the greater good, for the sake of things I believe in? Again, your say-so is all I have."
"Raymond! Do please try to calm down. You ought to take a leave of absence, for the sake of those very same things you and I believe in. At least you finally stopped wearing Smith's watch on that great bloody platinum chain -- yes, I noticed that, of course I did, do you think others didn't?"
"One other person did, at least. He took it off me. Someone I know is my friend." At last Raymond had stopped shouting. Through the glass walls of his office Martin saw entirely too many policemen looking up from their desks in their direction.
"Good," he said to Raymond. "Be grateful you've got friends. Think of your friends, and how your behavior and appearance can affect their safety, and what they try so hard to do."
"You might want to be just a bit careful lecturing me about my friends' safety, Sir. You going to have me dealt with if I'm too troublesome, like you had Smith dealt with? Or maybe finally I'll just decide that I need to deal with you before you deal with me."
"Oh please don't be melodramatic! A bit ironic, while we're at it, you lecturing me right now about being careful. Do try to calm down and think for a moment, Raymond. My word is in fact not all that you have about Smith, you also have someone rather widely known as a Leftist, known not previously to have been in the pocket of the reaction, suddenly sporting suits costing a month of his salary apiece, and that expensive watch on the end of that bloody great platinum chain. In Smith's case, in fact, you have my word, plus his extremely erratic behavior."
"But about you, all I have is your word. You could well be a triple-agent passing yourself off as a double-agent, giving just enough help to me and others like me to keep the flow of information going the other way. Well, I'm tired of it. I want to be given more information about your network, I want to be reassured that the man I've been working for is who he says he is. Yes, I suppose the reasonable thing to do would be to take some sick leave, go to the country for a week or two, maybe to a spa, have you tell everyone I'd just needed a break, then come back and as if all I'd needed was a rest. Well sorry, but I just don't feel like being so reasonable. I think I've earned the right to make some demands. For all I know about you, you might be neither a double- nor a triple-agent, but an independent, pretending to be on everyone's side but really on no-one's side, merrily lying to everyone you meet and plundering everyone you can. Your great big house and your piles of cash are real, whether you swindled the reaction of them or not."
"Yes they are. I also have to constantly pretend to flatter and serve people I despise. I'm quite aware that almost everyone thinks I'm a corrupt lackey for them. I know that any day, I could be arrested, if the state suddenly decides to punish corrupt police officers, or I could be blown to bits by a bomb thrown by someone because he shares my ideals -- assuming I actually haven't been lying through my teeth to you for years. You ever consider things like that?"
"I have, I have," Raymond mumbled.
"Alright then. You've earned the right to be unreasonable. You've certainly earned the right to know more." Martin picked up the phone and told the operater, "House of Commons, terminal twelve... Yes, hello, it's Martin... Yes yes, Chief Superintendant Martin, please get me Griggs... Well then you'll just have to interrupt him. This is urgent... " As he apparently waited for someone named Griggs to come to the phone, Martin took a piece of paper and wrote on it. "Griggs. Put everything you've got on file 12 into a packet and bring it to my station... Well then you'll have to reschedule your meeting, and extend to everyone my sincere apologies for disrupting their schedules. Get it all into one package, write '12' on the package, and nothing else, bring it to my station, hand it to the sergeant at the front desk, tell him it's for me, and leave. Don't say anything about the package, don't say your name or where you work, don't engage in small talk if you happen to know the sergeant personally, don't hang about at all, just say the packet's for me and get out of there. Oh, and forget you ever knew anything about something called file 12. Thanks very much, Griggs." Martin hung up and handed Raymond the piece of paper he'd been writing on. There were several names on it, including the names of two Labour MP's. "Tell all of these people that I've widened your circle of confidential contacts. If they act like they don't know what you're talking about, it means you're visiting them before I've had a chance to tell them you were coming, in which case just have them telephone me. Now, file 12: that's a dossier on Smith. Plenty of things to investigate, and figure out how accurate I was when I talked to you about him. I am sorry, you know. It's a bloody awful thing, killing a friend."
"Killing anybody," Raymond said.
"You ever kill anyone in the Army?"
"I don't know if I did or not," Raymond said. "In a couple of different battles a bunch of us shot away at each other from hundreds of yards apart. I fired my rifle into the middle of some clouds of smoke, mostly. No idea whether I hit anyone or not. Never was in any hand-to-hand fighting."
At about 10:05 on the same Monday morning, about the same time that Latham had a panic attack leading to his confessions to Brown, Chief Superintendent Martin rose from behind his desk and shut the door to his office, because Inspector Raymond had begun to shout most indiscreetly. As he settled back into his chair, Raymond had not interrupted or slowed down his screed: " -- because how do I know you're really with us on the Left? Because you say you are. That's all I've got to go on. How do I know that Smith had to be dealt with that way, for the greater good, for the sake of things I believe in? Again, your say-so is all I have."
"Raymond! Do please try to calm down. You ought to take a leave of absence, for the sake of those very same things you and I believe in. At least you finally stopped wearing Smith's watch on that great bloody platinum chain -- yes, I noticed that, of course I did, do you think others didn't?"
"One other person did, at least. He took it off me. Someone I know is my friend." At last Raymond had stopped shouting. Through the glass walls of his office Martin saw entirely too many policemen looking up from their desks in their direction.
"Good," he said to Raymond. "Be grateful you've got friends. Think of your friends, and how your behavior and appearance can affect their safety, and what they try so hard to do."
"You might want to be just a bit careful lecturing me about my friends' safety, Sir. You going to have me dealt with if I'm too troublesome, like you had Smith dealt with? Or maybe finally I'll just decide that I need to deal with you before you deal with me."
"Oh please don't be melodramatic! A bit ironic, while we're at it, you lecturing me right now about being careful. Do try to calm down and think for a moment, Raymond. My word is in fact not all that you have about Smith, you also have someone rather widely known as a Leftist, known not previously to have been in the pocket of the reaction, suddenly sporting suits costing a month of his salary apiece, and that expensive watch on the end of that bloody great platinum chain. In Smith's case, in fact, you have my word, plus his extremely erratic behavior."
"But about you, all I have is your word. You could well be a triple-agent passing yourself off as a double-agent, giving just enough help to me and others like me to keep the flow of information going the other way. Well, I'm tired of it. I want to be given more information about your network, I want to be reassured that the man I've been working for is who he says he is. Yes, I suppose the reasonable thing to do would be to take some sick leave, go to the country for a week or two, maybe to a spa, have you tell everyone I'd just needed a break, then come back and as if all I'd needed was a rest. Well sorry, but I just don't feel like being so reasonable. I think I've earned the right to make some demands. For all I know about you, you might be neither a double- nor a triple-agent, but an independent, pretending to be on everyone's side but really on no-one's side, merrily lying to everyone you meet and plundering everyone you can. Your great big house and your piles of cash are real, whether you swindled the reaction of them or not."
"Yes they are. I also have to constantly pretend to flatter and serve people I despise. I'm quite aware that almost everyone thinks I'm a corrupt lackey for them. I know that any day, I could be arrested, if the state suddenly decides to punish corrupt police officers, or I could be blown to bits by a bomb thrown by someone because he shares my ideals -- assuming I actually haven't been lying through my teeth to you for years. You ever consider things like that?"
"I have, I have," Raymond mumbled.
"Alright then. You've earned the right to be unreasonable. You've certainly earned the right to know more." Martin picked up the phone and told the operater, "House of Commons, terminal twelve... Yes, hello, it's Martin... Yes yes, Chief Superintendant Martin, please get me Griggs... Well then you'll just have to interrupt him. This is urgent... " As he apparently waited for someone named Griggs to come to the phone, Martin took a piece of paper and wrote on it. "Griggs. Put everything you've got on file 12 into a packet and bring it to my station... Well then you'll have to reschedule your meeting, and extend to everyone my sincere apologies for disrupting their schedules. Get it all into one package, write '12' on the package, and nothing else, bring it to my station, hand it to the sergeant at the front desk, tell him it's for me, and leave. Don't say anything about the package, don't say your name or where you work, don't engage in small talk if you happen to know the sergeant personally, don't hang about at all, just say the packet's for me and get out of there. Oh, and forget you ever knew anything about something called file 12. Thanks very much, Griggs." Martin hung up and handed Raymond the piece of paper he'd been writing on. There were several names on it, including the names of two Labour MP's. "Tell all of these people that I've widened your circle of confidential contacts. If they act like they don't know what you're talking about, it means you're visiting them before I've had a chance to tell them you were coming, in which case just have them telephone me. Now, file 12: that's a dossier on Smith. Plenty of things to investigate, and figure out how accurate I was when I talked to you about him. I am sorry, you know. It's a bloody awful thing, killing a friend."
"Killing anybody," Raymond said.
"You ever kill anyone in the Army?"
"I don't know if I did or not," Raymond said. "In a couple of different battles a bunch of us shot away at each other from hundreds of yards apart. I fired my rifle into the middle of some clouds of smoke, mostly. No idea whether I hit anyone or not. Never was in any hand-to-hand fighting."
Thursday, April 17, 2014
Because Of Mistakes! pt 14
Part 1 Part 2 Part 3 Part 4 Part 5 Part 6 Part 7 Part 8 Part 9 Part 10 Part 11 Part 12 Part 13
"I'm not. Often he can fix a watch with his bare hands. He's got such control of his fingertips that he can unscrew a tiny screw with his index finger, and screw it back in with his finger when he's done. When a screw was too tight to use his hands, he used the blade of a folding pocket-knife. Besides that knife, he kept a pair of tweezers in his workspace in his father's pub, and I believe that may've been all of the tools he was using before we met. We've given him proper loupes and tools and lamps he can use at home now, in addition to his work desk at the plant. And of course having decent tools has just fired him off like a rocket, in terms of what he can do, and how fast."
"So does he have any interesting designs for new watches?" Brown asked.
"Um, no. We were very hopeful about that at first, but the idea of designing something new doesn't seem to interest him at all. He wants to fix things. He sees a watch and as if he immediately imagines a Platonic ideal of the perfect version of that watch, and he wants the watch to be as close to that imaginary perfection as it can be. And that's how he expresses it, too: as approaching perfection. He's quite clear that he doesn't consider any existing thing to be perfect, and that everything is just a matter of trying to come close to perfection. If it's close enough to perfection it gives him pleasure. If it's not it can distress him quite a bit. And we're not just talking about watches here, he wants to fix everything he possibly can: he'll move a fork a tenth of an inch to make a table place-setting more symmetrical. He'll insist on walking a certain route because it'll shave ten paces off of a half-mile walk. He'll complain that there are too few pigeons sitting on a statue to make a pleasing arrangement. He'll notice if an animal is injured. He's very concerned about animals. He might see that a pigeon has a sore foot, and he can't do anything about that, and it upsets him greatly. He'll see that a shoe on a horse pulling a hansom cab is loose, or too thick or too thin, and he'll try to tell the driver about it. Some drivers actually listen to him about such things, because, ...Hmm. Well, because they've learned that he's always right. He's simply a genius."
"That's extraordinary," Brown said. "I'd only heard about the watch repair, I hadn't realized his talents extended to those other things. But I gather that he's also, oh... Forgive me..."
"Yes, in addition to his unusual abilities he also has unusual weaknesses. He doesn't understand people very well. He can be quite awkward socially. And so at first many people assume that he's quite simpleminded, when in fact the opposite is the case. Let me put it this way: he's very sharply focused on some things, such as watch repair, while he has great difficulty focusing on some other things which most people understand, and take for granted that others will understand them too. For example, if a group of people are walking and conversing, it will be clear to most people that whatever it is they're talking about is likely to be much more important than whether the route they take to their destination gets them there a few seconds sooner. Crowds generally are difficult for him. He doesn't seem to lie, as far as I can tell, nor do I think he can tell when others are lying. Not right away. Sometimes he'll figure out after the fact that things which have been said don't all add up. That can sometimes distress him quite a bit. In some respects he's innocent in the extreme."
"You said that crowds generally are difficult for him. Generally, but not always?"
"That's right, not always. Depends very much on the particular crowd," Latham said. "What are you getting at?"
"Well. He's obviously an extraordinary man. I thought it might be nice to introduce him to society."
"You want to show him off as a freak at one of your parties." Latham knew this wasn't quite accurate and he blushed as soon as he'd said it.
"Latham! What do you take me for?" Latham had begun to breathe heavily and to become dizzy. He felt the need to rock and forth or moan, to do something to soothe himself. Something or other which he always did after he had gone off by himself and hidden. He felt that whenever the conversation was about Charlie, people perceived that he was unusual like Charlie, although they never admitted this to Latham's face. He imagined them laughing at him and Charlie behind his back. He was fairly sure that it didn't happen quite as often as he imagined, that these anxieties were irrational. But it was hard to control them, and the fear that he would be exposed as a lunatic, and sent to some torture-chamber of an asylum, never to be released. This fear of awful asylums was even more irrational than the concern that people could see that he shared Charlie's characteristics, and that they regarded both of them as imbeciles, but it was hard to banish the fear even as he recognized it as irrational. Latham was upset with himself for confiding in Inspector Raymond about autism. Raymond simply didn't understand. He'd been the wrong one to confide in. Or perhaps, on the other hand, it was the secrecy which had been ill-advised all along, and he ought to have been perfectly open about his condition all along, never made the slightest attempt to conceal the ways in which he was unusual. Various scenarios of alternate pasts, if he had done or not done this or that, and imaginings of various possible consequences for each choice he might have made differently, began to race faster and faster through his mind, and the need to get away, to rock, to clutch his head and wring his hands and moan, became ever more desperate. Brown was saying, "Latham! My God, what's wrong? Do you need some water, some brandy? Do you need a doctor?" Obviously, Brown was a much better one to confide in than Raymond. But he had to open up generally. Let people think what they would. As with anything, the more intelligent would understand and the stupid ones would draw stupid conclusions. No one was going to put him into an asylum. Get it out, get it out. Tell the truth at last.
"Water," he said to Brown. "Water, please." Brown went running out of the office and soon was back with a glass of water. In the meantime Latham had begun to rock and moan and wring his hands, and this time when he was no longer alone he didn't attempt to hide these behaviors. He took the glass from Brown, drank down half of it at a gulp. It was icy and good. He put the glass down on Brown's desk, Brown raised a hand as if to lay it comfortingly on his shoulder, he gestured for Brown to please keep his distance, Brown understood the gesture and and stayed back. Latham took another gulp of water and nodded toward Brown's desk. Again, Brown understood the wordless request, and he went back and sat behind his desk again.
And then Latham told him, in detail, about how he shared many of Charlie's characteristics, with the major differences that neither his genius nor his social awkwardness was as pronounced as Charlie's, and that since early childhood, sensing much better than Charlie did how some people reacted to others who were different, he was in the deeply-ingrained habit of hiding the ways in which he was atypical. About the effort it took him to attempt to blend in. How things like the rocking and moaning and hand-wringing, which he usually did in secret, helped calm him down when his mind began to race uncomfortably. Clutching his head also, and striking the tendons below his knees and under his feet to set off his reflexes, how these and other things also helped. Things like a drink or two, for instance, or the company of some pretty girl or other with whom he managed to get along. How he had instantly known that he had many of these things in common with Charlie, the moment he'd first seen Charlie in agony, being held down by two constables on a crowded Waterloo station platform while an inexpert doctor methodically made things worse. About his anxieties about being confined in an asylum, and how he realized that those fears were irrational. Each big secret he gave up to Brown was like a heavy stone lifted off of his chest. He could breathe easily again. "I know you would never want to show anyone off as a freak," he said the Brown, "I know you're not like that at all. I lashed out because I was panicking. I'm sorry."
"My dear fellow," Brown said. "My dear Albert."
"I really prefer being called Latham. Sorry."
"Not a problem at all, Latham. Well, I must honestly say, as far as I was ever able to tell, you always fit in quite convincingly. Only thing a bit unusual about you has been how little eye contact you make. Just a split-second here and there to sort of ground things, and otherwise you're staring off somewhere. But even that isn't terribly unusual. I had no idea at all. My god, the strain it must have cost you."
"So, yes, by all means, let's let you have a party and introduce Charlie to some nice sensible people. You're quite right, it's time to introduce him to the wider world. What sort of event did you have in mind?"
"I was thinking of my uncle's place, actually. Does Charlie like the countryside?"
"I've no idea. I'll ask. And of course you've got to invite Charlie's Dad as well. I'm not sure how often he leaves the pub to someone else, or for how long."
"I'm not. Often he can fix a watch with his bare hands. He's got such control of his fingertips that he can unscrew a tiny screw with his index finger, and screw it back in with his finger when he's done. When a screw was too tight to use his hands, he used the blade of a folding pocket-knife. Besides that knife, he kept a pair of tweezers in his workspace in his father's pub, and I believe that may've been all of the tools he was using before we met. We've given him proper loupes and tools and lamps he can use at home now, in addition to his work desk at the plant. And of course having decent tools has just fired him off like a rocket, in terms of what he can do, and how fast."
"So does he have any interesting designs for new watches?" Brown asked.
"Um, no. We were very hopeful about that at first, but the idea of designing something new doesn't seem to interest him at all. He wants to fix things. He sees a watch and as if he immediately imagines a Platonic ideal of the perfect version of that watch, and he wants the watch to be as close to that imaginary perfection as it can be. And that's how he expresses it, too: as approaching perfection. He's quite clear that he doesn't consider any existing thing to be perfect, and that everything is just a matter of trying to come close to perfection. If it's close enough to perfection it gives him pleasure. If it's not it can distress him quite a bit. And we're not just talking about watches here, he wants to fix everything he possibly can: he'll move a fork a tenth of an inch to make a table place-setting more symmetrical. He'll insist on walking a certain route because it'll shave ten paces off of a half-mile walk. He'll complain that there are too few pigeons sitting on a statue to make a pleasing arrangement. He'll notice if an animal is injured. He's very concerned about animals. He might see that a pigeon has a sore foot, and he can't do anything about that, and it upsets him greatly. He'll see that a shoe on a horse pulling a hansom cab is loose, or too thick or too thin, and he'll try to tell the driver about it. Some drivers actually listen to him about such things, because, ...Hmm. Well, because they've learned that he's always right. He's simply a genius."
"That's extraordinary," Brown said. "I'd only heard about the watch repair, I hadn't realized his talents extended to those other things. But I gather that he's also, oh... Forgive me..."
"Yes, in addition to his unusual abilities he also has unusual weaknesses. He doesn't understand people very well. He can be quite awkward socially. And so at first many people assume that he's quite simpleminded, when in fact the opposite is the case. Let me put it this way: he's very sharply focused on some things, such as watch repair, while he has great difficulty focusing on some other things which most people understand, and take for granted that others will understand them too. For example, if a group of people are walking and conversing, it will be clear to most people that whatever it is they're talking about is likely to be much more important than whether the route they take to their destination gets them there a few seconds sooner. Crowds generally are difficult for him. He doesn't seem to lie, as far as I can tell, nor do I think he can tell when others are lying. Not right away. Sometimes he'll figure out after the fact that things which have been said don't all add up. That can sometimes distress him quite a bit. In some respects he's innocent in the extreme."
"You said that crowds generally are difficult for him. Generally, but not always?"
"That's right, not always. Depends very much on the particular crowd," Latham said. "What are you getting at?"
"Well. He's obviously an extraordinary man. I thought it might be nice to introduce him to society."
"You want to show him off as a freak at one of your parties." Latham knew this wasn't quite accurate and he blushed as soon as he'd said it.
"Latham! What do you take me for?" Latham had begun to breathe heavily and to become dizzy. He felt the need to rock and forth or moan, to do something to soothe himself. Something or other which he always did after he had gone off by himself and hidden. He felt that whenever the conversation was about Charlie, people perceived that he was unusual like Charlie, although they never admitted this to Latham's face. He imagined them laughing at him and Charlie behind his back. He was fairly sure that it didn't happen quite as often as he imagined, that these anxieties were irrational. But it was hard to control them, and the fear that he would be exposed as a lunatic, and sent to some torture-chamber of an asylum, never to be released. This fear of awful asylums was even more irrational than the concern that people could see that he shared Charlie's characteristics, and that they regarded both of them as imbeciles, but it was hard to banish the fear even as he recognized it as irrational. Latham was upset with himself for confiding in Inspector Raymond about autism. Raymond simply didn't understand. He'd been the wrong one to confide in. Or perhaps, on the other hand, it was the secrecy which had been ill-advised all along, and he ought to have been perfectly open about his condition all along, never made the slightest attempt to conceal the ways in which he was unusual. Various scenarios of alternate pasts, if he had done or not done this or that, and imaginings of various possible consequences for each choice he might have made differently, began to race faster and faster through his mind, and the need to get away, to rock, to clutch his head and wring his hands and moan, became ever more desperate. Brown was saying, "Latham! My God, what's wrong? Do you need some water, some brandy? Do you need a doctor?" Obviously, Brown was a much better one to confide in than Raymond. But he had to open up generally. Let people think what they would. As with anything, the more intelligent would understand and the stupid ones would draw stupid conclusions. No one was going to put him into an asylum. Get it out, get it out. Tell the truth at last.
"Water," he said to Brown. "Water, please." Brown went running out of the office and soon was back with a glass of water. In the meantime Latham had begun to rock and moan and wring his hands, and this time when he was no longer alone he didn't attempt to hide these behaviors. He took the glass from Brown, drank down half of it at a gulp. It was icy and good. He put the glass down on Brown's desk, Brown raised a hand as if to lay it comfortingly on his shoulder, he gestured for Brown to please keep his distance, Brown understood the gesture and and stayed back. Latham took another gulp of water and nodded toward Brown's desk. Again, Brown understood the wordless request, and he went back and sat behind his desk again.
And then Latham told him, in detail, about how he shared many of Charlie's characteristics, with the major differences that neither his genius nor his social awkwardness was as pronounced as Charlie's, and that since early childhood, sensing much better than Charlie did how some people reacted to others who were different, he was in the deeply-ingrained habit of hiding the ways in which he was atypical. About the effort it took him to attempt to blend in. How things like the rocking and moaning and hand-wringing, which he usually did in secret, helped calm him down when his mind began to race uncomfortably. Clutching his head also, and striking the tendons below his knees and under his feet to set off his reflexes, how these and other things also helped. Things like a drink or two, for instance, or the company of some pretty girl or other with whom he managed to get along. How he had instantly known that he had many of these things in common with Charlie, the moment he'd first seen Charlie in agony, being held down by two constables on a crowded Waterloo station platform while an inexpert doctor methodically made things worse. About his anxieties about being confined in an asylum, and how he realized that those fears were irrational. Each big secret he gave up to Brown was like a heavy stone lifted off of his chest. He could breathe easily again. "I know you would never want to show anyone off as a freak," he said the Brown, "I know you're not like that at all. I lashed out because I was panicking. I'm sorry."
"My dear fellow," Brown said. "My dear Albert."
"I really prefer being called Latham. Sorry."
"Not a problem at all, Latham. Well, I must honestly say, as far as I was ever able to tell, you always fit in quite convincingly. Only thing a bit unusual about you has been how little eye contact you make. Just a split-second here and there to sort of ground things, and otherwise you're staring off somewhere. But even that isn't terribly unusual. I had no idea at all. My god, the strain it must have cost you."
"So, yes, by all means, let's let you have a party and introduce Charlie to some nice sensible people. You're quite right, it's time to introduce him to the wider world. What sort of event did you have in mind?"
"I was thinking of my uncle's place, actually. Does Charlie like the countryside?"
"I've no idea. I'll ask. And of course you've got to invite Charlie's Dad as well. I'm not sure how often he leaves the pub to someone else, or for how long."
Wednesday, April 16, 2014
Because Of Mistakes! pt 13
Part 1 Part 2 Part 3 Part 4 Part 5 Part 6 Part 7 Part 8 Part 9 Part 10 Part 11 Part 12
The next Monday, the 21st of May, at around 10:01 AM, Brown, the man with whom the Latham concern generally dealt at Harrods, was exclaiming over some watches Latham had brought to show him. They custom-built some individual watches to order, and then they made watches like these, in models. Latham's grandfather had been the first in the firm to put a number to a group of similar watches, dubbing them Model 1 in 1854. They had reached Model 100. Unlike the other models, which they had built until demand petered out and/or a newer and better model had replaced them, they had decided to make exactly one hundred Model 100 watches. They were all done now, and Latham had brought ten of them to show to Brown. There were in an office away from the main ground-level floor at Harrods. Latham had chosen 10 pieces which he felt well-represented the variety of cases and faces in the Model 100 series.
"But the movements are all the same?" Brown asked.
"Identical."
"Beautiful," Brown said. Latham had come to the puzzling realization lately that many, perhaps most of their customers actually knew little and cared less about watches, and bought them mostly to impress other people who also knew practically nothing about how watches worked, or even which ones were more accurate or reliable than others, but had remarkably accurate knowledge about how much the customers had paid for them -- unlike most of the people who ended up wearing their watches, the shops who bought them wholesale tended to have a pretty exact idea of what they were buying. And Brown here was a true connoisseur. He had unscrewed the back case of one of the Model 100's, removed the cover and was looking at the whirling movement through a loupe. Brown was one of the few people Latham would allow to take apart a Latham watch which he hadn't yet purchased. Latham would disassemble a watch for some others, and watch closely to make sure they didn't damage it. But Brown here was okay.
"There's the same price for each watch," Latham said, "although, as you can see, of course, some of the cases and faces were more expensive for us to build than others." Latham winced a bit, but said exactly what his father and his brother William had asked him to say: "Our prices for series watches have always been negotiable in the past, and especially for good customers such as Harrods, but for the Model 100 I'm afraid it's take it or leave it. Thirteen hundred pounds apiece."
Latham had expected Brown to pretend that he was outraged at such a price, and to have to go through some back-and-forth before Brown either took it or left it, but instead Brown just said, "I'm not even going to pretend that that isn't a bargain."
Latham smiled. He really did like Brown. With him, there was very little of the bargaining nonsense Latham encountered with many buyers, and which he also observed in William. They seemed to enjoy that sort of thing, which to Latham was like pulling teeth. Perhaps Brown was bargainer too, most of the time? And sensed that Latham didn't care for it? He continued, again, exactly as his father and William had asked him to: "There's one exception to this firm price: if Harrods buys all of the available Model 100's, the price will be eleven hundred pounds apiece."
"All one hundred, eh?"
"I'm sorry, no, three are already off the market," one in a display case at the plant, one to be auctioned off and the proceeds given to the Salvation Army, and the other, at Latham's insistence, was now in Charlie's pocket. "It's felt that -- Ehh! Excuse me for speaking to you that way -- my brother feels that there could be some considerable marketing cache both for our firm and for Harrods if we make this an exclusive deal with you. He's even speculated about the deal making headlines."
"I daresay it will. This is news, my good man. Ah, I should say, it would make news. I'd like to go ahead and say yes, but with... Ah... Eleven hundred times -- "
"One hundred and six thousand and seven hundred pounds."
"Thanks, old chap. You really do such sums in your head, don't you?" Brown seemed honestly surprised. Latham was surprised that Brown hadn't been able to do the math in his head. But this was apparently another example of how people like him and Charlie were unusual. "With an amount as high as a hundred and six thousand and seven hundred pounds, I can't say yes or no on my own. Afraid I'm not quite that far along in my career yet. Don't want to make you a promise about something that's not done yet, but I'm pretty sure they'll say yes." Brown was putting the watch back together again. "There's been a lot of excitement about this around here."
"That's gratifying."
"So," Brown said, "I've heard about your prodigy. Your young man Charlie Evans."
Latham was quite startled. He felt his heart pound in his chest. Who'd been talking about Charlie? Then he reflected that customers came and went in the plant all the time, and that they'd seen Charlie at work and exclaimed about him, and that it certainly wasn't his place to expect them not to talk about it to others. He cleared his throat and said, "'Prodigy.' Yes, that's exactly right. Happened to run into him when I was consulting on a police investigation, and Charlie was a witness."
"They say he's an amazing repairman."
"Better than I am. Miles better."
"You're exaggerating," Brown said.
The next Monday, the 21st of May, at around 10:01 AM, Brown, the man with whom the Latham concern generally dealt at Harrods, was exclaiming over some watches Latham had brought to show him. They custom-built some individual watches to order, and then they made watches like these, in models. Latham's grandfather had been the first in the firm to put a number to a group of similar watches, dubbing them Model 1 in 1854. They had reached Model 100. Unlike the other models, which they had built until demand petered out and/or a newer and better model had replaced them, they had decided to make exactly one hundred Model 100 watches. They were all done now, and Latham had brought ten of them to show to Brown. There were in an office away from the main ground-level floor at Harrods. Latham had chosen 10 pieces which he felt well-represented the variety of cases and faces in the Model 100 series.
"But the movements are all the same?" Brown asked.
"Identical."
"Beautiful," Brown said. Latham had come to the puzzling realization lately that many, perhaps most of their customers actually knew little and cared less about watches, and bought them mostly to impress other people who also knew practically nothing about how watches worked, or even which ones were more accurate or reliable than others, but had remarkably accurate knowledge about how much the customers had paid for them -- unlike most of the people who ended up wearing their watches, the shops who bought them wholesale tended to have a pretty exact idea of what they were buying. And Brown here was a true connoisseur. He had unscrewed the back case of one of the Model 100's, removed the cover and was looking at the whirling movement through a loupe. Brown was one of the few people Latham would allow to take apart a Latham watch which he hadn't yet purchased. Latham would disassemble a watch for some others, and watch closely to make sure they didn't damage it. But Brown here was okay.
"There's the same price for each watch," Latham said, "although, as you can see, of course, some of the cases and faces were more expensive for us to build than others." Latham winced a bit, but said exactly what his father and his brother William had asked him to say: "Our prices for series watches have always been negotiable in the past, and especially for good customers such as Harrods, but for the Model 100 I'm afraid it's take it or leave it. Thirteen hundred pounds apiece."
Latham had expected Brown to pretend that he was outraged at such a price, and to have to go through some back-and-forth before Brown either took it or left it, but instead Brown just said, "I'm not even going to pretend that that isn't a bargain."
Latham smiled. He really did like Brown. With him, there was very little of the bargaining nonsense Latham encountered with many buyers, and which he also observed in William. They seemed to enjoy that sort of thing, which to Latham was like pulling teeth. Perhaps Brown was bargainer too, most of the time? And sensed that Latham didn't care for it? He continued, again, exactly as his father and William had asked him to: "There's one exception to this firm price: if Harrods buys all of the available Model 100's, the price will be eleven hundred pounds apiece."
"All one hundred, eh?"
"I'm sorry, no, three are already off the market," one in a display case at the plant, one to be auctioned off and the proceeds given to the Salvation Army, and the other, at Latham's insistence, was now in Charlie's pocket. "It's felt that -- Ehh! Excuse me for speaking to you that way -- my brother feels that there could be some considerable marketing cache both for our firm and for Harrods if we make this an exclusive deal with you. He's even speculated about the deal making headlines."
"I daresay it will. This is news, my good man. Ah, I should say, it would make news. I'd like to go ahead and say yes, but with... Ah... Eleven hundred times -- "
"One hundred and six thousand and seven hundred pounds."
"Thanks, old chap. You really do such sums in your head, don't you?" Brown seemed honestly surprised. Latham was surprised that Brown hadn't been able to do the math in his head. But this was apparently another example of how people like him and Charlie were unusual. "With an amount as high as a hundred and six thousand and seven hundred pounds, I can't say yes or no on my own. Afraid I'm not quite that far along in my career yet. Don't want to make you a promise about something that's not done yet, but I'm pretty sure they'll say yes." Brown was putting the watch back together again. "There's been a lot of excitement about this around here."
"That's gratifying."
"So," Brown said, "I've heard about your prodigy. Your young man Charlie Evans."
Latham was quite startled. He felt his heart pound in his chest. Who'd been talking about Charlie? Then he reflected that customers came and went in the plant all the time, and that they'd seen Charlie at work and exclaimed about him, and that it certainly wasn't his place to expect them not to talk about it to others. He cleared his throat and said, "'Prodigy.' Yes, that's exactly right. Happened to run into him when I was consulting on a police investigation, and Charlie was a witness."
"They say he's an amazing repairman."
"Better than I am. Miles better."
"You're exaggerating," Brown said.
Monday, April 14, 2014
Because Of Mistakes! pt 12
Part 1 Part 2 Part 3 Part 4 Part 5 Part 6 Part 7 Part 8 Part 9 Part 10 Part 11
"Oy!" somebody called.
Charlie looked in the direction of the voice and saw two men walking toward him, looking at him. He looked back at the sky and replied, "Oy."
"You the one fixes watches?"
"Yes, I am."
"You think you could fix this one?" Charlie looked at them again and saw that one of them had taken an old watch made by Thomas Fuller out of his pocket. The case was badly dented and most of its silver plating was gone, and the brass underneath was dull. All three of the hands were still there, but Charlie could see that the second hand was not seated, was almost about to fall off, and wouldn't turn anymore if the watch were running. The minute hand was bent.
"You have to talk to my Dad first." Charlie pointed to the front door of the pub. "He runs the pub. First you talk to him. If you make a deal, then I look at the watch."
"Your Dad have another name, besides 'Dad'?"
"Aa... aa... Yeah. His name's Pete. He runs the pub."
"You charge anything for taking the watch apart and looking at it, even if you can't fix it?"
"My Dad... My Dad handles the money." Charlie couldn't understand money. Money had to do with the way people behaved. "But no," Charlie added: "if I don't fix anything, you don't pay anything."
"Awright, cheers," and the two men went behind him and into the pub as Charlie continued to look at the sky. The two pigeons had disappeared from that rooftop. Charlie's father had tried and tried to explain money to him, and Charlie had tried hard to understand, but over and over his mind went numb as he tried to listen, and his father's words made no sense to him. With money there were always deals and discounts and bonuses and such, and Charlie had made no progress in understanding those things. You had to "read people," as his Dad put it, in order to be able to make deals well.
The lovely purple was fading into dark blue in the sky and it was getting colder. He went into the pub just as his father and the two men were walking toward the front door. "Ah, Charlie," his Dad said. "I was just telling these two gents I thought they'd be better off just buying another watch. Gave them the names of some places to look for one. And I said maybe you might have one for sale as well -- ?"
"Not at the moment, Dad."
"Ah, well."
"I don't mind lookin' at it, Dad?"
"You sure?"
"Yeah. Nothin else planned at the moment, and I'm curious what I'll see."
Charlie's Dad said to the men, "I don't want to get your hopes up here. We're talking about five minutes, maybe more."
"Maybe less," Charlie said.
"What do you think?" one of the men said. There was a pause. Charlie was looking at the floor. He wondered whether the men were communicating by looking at each other. Charlie couldn't communicate that way. "Alright," said one of the men. "I could do with a half-pint of that IPA, I think."
Charlie took the watch into his little workshop just off of the pub's main room. Mr Latham had given him a lamp and loupes and tools and parts to bring back home, in addition to those things which he said were now Charlie's at the Latham plant. Mr Latham encouraged Charlie always to use the loupes and to keep whatever he was working on well-lit, whether by sunlight through a window or by a lamp. The loupes and lamps made a huge difference in the ease of working on watches.
Charlie checked the time when he started to work. Ninety seconds later he had many of the Fuller's parts spread across his desk top, and he called for his father. After his Dad had closed the workshop door behind him Charlie said, "It's gonna need seven new parts. I have three of them."
"Right. Hang on." Charlie's Dad popped back out, then very soon he was back and saying, "All right then, Son, put it back together for them. Very polite of you to offer to look at it, but they're going to get another watch."
"Dad, do you want to see if they'll sell it to us?"
"No, Charlie, I do not."
Charlie was disappointed at that, but he put the Fuller back together, seating the second hand so that it would turn properly when the watch was running again, and straightening the bent minute hand.
"Oy!" somebody called.
Charlie looked in the direction of the voice and saw two men walking toward him, looking at him. He looked back at the sky and replied, "Oy."
"You the one fixes watches?"
"Yes, I am."
"You think you could fix this one?" Charlie looked at them again and saw that one of them had taken an old watch made by Thomas Fuller out of his pocket. The case was badly dented and most of its silver plating was gone, and the brass underneath was dull. All three of the hands were still there, but Charlie could see that the second hand was not seated, was almost about to fall off, and wouldn't turn anymore if the watch were running. The minute hand was bent.
"You have to talk to my Dad first." Charlie pointed to the front door of the pub. "He runs the pub. First you talk to him. If you make a deal, then I look at the watch."
"Your Dad have another name, besides 'Dad'?"
"Aa... aa... Yeah. His name's Pete. He runs the pub."
"You charge anything for taking the watch apart and looking at it, even if you can't fix it?"
"My Dad... My Dad handles the money." Charlie couldn't understand money. Money had to do with the way people behaved. "But no," Charlie added: "if I don't fix anything, you don't pay anything."
"Awright, cheers," and the two men went behind him and into the pub as Charlie continued to look at the sky. The two pigeons had disappeared from that rooftop. Charlie's father had tried and tried to explain money to him, and Charlie had tried hard to understand, but over and over his mind went numb as he tried to listen, and his father's words made no sense to him. With money there were always deals and discounts and bonuses and such, and Charlie had made no progress in understanding those things. You had to "read people," as his Dad put it, in order to be able to make deals well.
The lovely purple was fading into dark blue in the sky and it was getting colder. He went into the pub just as his father and the two men were walking toward the front door. "Ah, Charlie," his Dad said. "I was just telling these two gents I thought they'd be better off just buying another watch. Gave them the names of some places to look for one. And I said maybe you might have one for sale as well -- ?"
"Not at the moment, Dad."
"Ah, well."
"I don't mind lookin' at it, Dad?"
"You sure?"
"Yeah. Nothin else planned at the moment, and I'm curious what I'll see."
Charlie's Dad said to the men, "I don't want to get your hopes up here. We're talking about five minutes, maybe more."
"Maybe less," Charlie said.
"What do you think?" one of the men said. There was a pause. Charlie was looking at the floor. He wondered whether the men were communicating by looking at each other. Charlie couldn't communicate that way. "Alright," said one of the men. "I could do with a half-pint of that IPA, I think."
Charlie took the watch into his little workshop just off of the pub's main room. Mr Latham had given him a lamp and loupes and tools and parts to bring back home, in addition to those things which he said were now Charlie's at the Latham plant. Mr Latham encouraged Charlie always to use the loupes and to keep whatever he was working on well-lit, whether by sunlight through a window or by a lamp. The loupes and lamps made a huge difference in the ease of working on watches.
Charlie checked the time when he started to work. Ninety seconds later he had many of the Fuller's parts spread across his desk top, and he called for his father. After his Dad had closed the workshop door behind him Charlie said, "It's gonna need seven new parts. I have three of them."
"Right. Hang on." Charlie's Dad popped back out, then very soon he was back and saying, "All right then, Son, put it back together for them. Very polite of you to offer to look at it, but they're going to get another watch."
"Dad, do you want to see if they'll sell it to us?"
"No, Charlie, I do not."
Charlie was disappointed at that, but he put the Fuller back together, seating the second hand so that it would turn properly when the watch was running again, and straightening the bent minute hand.
Saturday, April 12, 2014
Because Of Mistakes! pt 11
Part 1 Part 2 Part 3 Part 4 Part 5 Part 6 Part 7 Part 8 Part 9 Part 10
At about 7:51 PM on the same day, Charlie was standing outside his father's pub looking at two pigeons silhouetted against the sky as they perched on a roof across the street. Charlie loved the violet of a twilight sky before sunset on a clear day, and often went outside to look at it. Pigeons carried diseases which potentially could hurt people. Charlie didn't know whether pigeons ever got into the pub's trash bins, in the alley behind the pub. The bins were covered, but the covers didn't fit flush, there were gaps. Charlie didn't know what animals could squeeze through those gaps. He wasn't particularly worried about pigeons at the moment. His father told him that no-one could possibly worry about everything even if he wanted to, and so you had to concentrate on important things. If there were ever a lull in Charlie's conversation with his Dad, he had a list of topics he could bring up. But Charlie and his Dad usually didn't run out of things to talk about, and the pigeons and the trash were pretty far down the list.
Most of the potential danger came from other people. Charlie knew that most people understood each other much better than he could, and even they worried about each other a lot. Charlie understood animals much better than most people did. He was never to touch a pigeon, or any dead animal he found lying somewhere. If he saw a dead animal he was to tell his father. Charlie was only supposed to touch animals if his father had said it was okay. He had petted some horses on their noses and necks and given them carrots and apples to eat. He liked horses and dogs and cats. Touching animals didn't hurt like touching people did. Also, Charlie could figure animals out mostly, want they wanted and how they felt, and he mostly couldn't figure people out. You couldn't even always go by what people said, because sometimes people lied. Animals never did.
There were two dogs which were often brought to the pub by their owners, which Charlie's Dad had said he could play with. Charlie especially liked one of them, a large golden Labrador. There were things that most people did better than Charlie, and then there were things that Charlie did better than most people. He was unusually good with animals. Cats which were usually very shy would come running from their hiding places to rub against his ankles and purr, or jump into his lap if he was sitting. With cats you had to be very still and let them start things up, and always be very gentle.
The first time Charlie had seen the large golden retriever he said, "Aw, Dad, he's beautiful! Can I pet him, please, please?!" Charlie's Dad smiled and told him to ask the dog's owner, and the dog's owner had said it was alright, and Charlie bent over and put his arms around the dog's neck and his head against the dog's head and said, "That's a good doggy. Yes that's a very good doggy. Ooooohhhh, doggy doggy doggy! Yes! Yes! good doggy!" and so forth. Charlie knew how to talk to dogs, it just came naturally to him. It was mostly in the tone of the voice, and also noticing the dog's reaction to your voice and reacting in turn. It didn't matter what words you said. Lots of people said that their dogs knew their own names, that when their owner called their name they came running, but Charlie believed they were wrong. He thought it was the tone of the owner's voice that the dog recognized and not the word being said. Same with dogs understanding commands: without even realizing it, people always said a certain command in a certain tone, and then they became convinced that their dogs understood English. If a dog was barking and the noise was bothering Charlie, he could make the dog be quiet just by pointing a finger in its direction. That first time he petted the golden retriever, he could feel its big wagging tail thumping against his back the whole time. Finally he let go and sighed and stood up again, and the dog's owner said to Charlie, "You made his day!" and Charlie's father had said, "Are you talking to my son or to your dog?" And Charlie and his father and the dog's owner had all laughed, and the dog had looked from one laughing face to another with his tail going to beat anything. That was years ago but Charlie laughed again now thinking about it.
At about 7:51 PM on the same day, Charlie was standing outside his father's pub looking at two pigeons silhouetted against the sky as they perched on a roof across the street. Charlie loved the violet of a twilight sky before sunset on a clear day, and often went outside to look at it. Pigeons carried diseases which potentially could hurt people. Charlie didn't know whether pigeons ever got into the pub's trash bins, in the alley behind the pub. The bins were covered, but the covers didn't fit flush, there were gaps. Charlie didn't know what animals could squeeze through those gaps. He wasn't particularly worried about pigeons at the moment. His father told him that no-one could possibly worry about everything even if he wanted to, and so you had to concentrate on important things. If there were ever a lull in Charlie's conversation with his Dad, he had a list of topics he could bring up. But Charlie and his Dad usually didn't run out of things to talk about, and the pigeons and the trash were pretty far down the list.
Most of the potential danger came from other people. Charlie knew that most people understood each other much better than he could, and even they worried about each other a lot. Charlie understood animals much better than most people did. He was never to touch a pigeon, or any dead animal he found lying somewhere. If he saw a dead animal he was to tell his father. Charlie was only supposed to touch animals if his father had said it was okay. He had petted some horses on their noses and necks and given them carrots and apples to eat. He liked horses and dogs and cats. Touching animals didn't hurt like touching people did. Also, Charlie could figure animals out mostly, want they wanted and how they felt, and he mostly couldn't figure people out. You couldn't even always go by what people said, because sometimes people lied. Animals never did.
There were two dogs which were often brought to the pub by their owners, which Charlie's Dad had said he could play with. Charlie especially liked one of them, a large golden Labrador. There were things that most people did better than Charlie, and then there were things that Charlie did better than most people. He was unusually good with animals. Cats which were usually very shy would come running from their hiding places to rub against his ankles and purr, or jump into his lap if he was sitting. With cats you had to be very still and let them start things up, and always be very gentle.
The first time Charlie had seen the large golden retriever he said, "Aw, Dad, he's beautiful! Can I pet him, please, please?!" Charlie's Dad smiled and told him to ask the dog's owner, and the dog's owner had said it was alright, and Charlie bent over and put his arms around the dog's neck and his head against the dog's head and said, "That's a good doggy. Yes that's a very good doggy. Ooooohhhh, doggy doggy doggy! Yes! Yes! good doggy!" and so forth. Charlie knew how to talk to dogs, it just came naturally to him. It was mostly in the tone of the voice, and also noticing the dog's reaction to your voice and reacting in turn. It didn't matter what words you said. Lots of people said that their dogs knew their own names, that when their owner called their name they came running, but Charlie believed they were wrong. He thought it was the tone of the owner's voice that the dog recognized and not the word being said. Same with dogs understanding commands: without even realizing it, people always said a certain command in a certain tone, and then they became convinced that their dogs understood English. If a dog was barking and the noise was bothering Charlie, he could make the dog be quiet just by pointing a finger in its direction. That first time he petted the golden retriever, he could feel its big wagging tail thumping against his back the whole time. Finally he let go and sighed and stood up again, and the dog's owner said to Charlie, "You made his day!" and Charlie's father had said, "Are you talking to my son or to your dog?" And Charlie and his father and the dog's owner had all laughed, and the dog had looked from one laughing face to another with his tail going to beat anything. That was years ago but Charlie laughed again now thinking about it.
Friday, April 11, 2014
Because Of Mistakes! pt 10
Part 1 Part 2 Part 3 Part 4 Part 5 Part 6 Part 7 Part 8 Part 9
At about 2:31 PM the next day, Friday, Latham, walking across the bridge toward Westminster, was able to determine that the large policeman shambling toward him was, in fact, Inspector Raymond. He hadn't seen Raymond since the incident at Waterloo station. Not very many paces later, Latham began to suspect that the large-linked watch chain protruding from Raymond's waistcoat pocket was platinum; when they were within twenty paces of each other he was sure it was. Then they were face to face, and stopped and stood there, neither one saying Hello or anything else for the nonce. Finally Latham said, "That's an extraordinary watch-chain, Inspector. D'ya have a rich aunt die on you lately?" The two of them weren't in the habit of laying hands upon one another, but Latham unceremoniously pulled the watch from Raymond's pocket, a Waltham 1883, yes, it was the very same watch Charlie had described to him, the same in every detail down to the unusual, deep scratch next to the stem. Latham unfastened the chain from Raymond's vest, looked around to make sure no other pedestrians were near them on the bridge, and tossed the watch and chain into the Thames. "Don't worry," he told Raymond, "I'll get you a new one, you know I will, you just have to ask. You like that sort of heavy chain, no problem. I'll give you a beautiful heavy platinum watch to match it."
They just stood there for a while, neither one knowing what to say. Finally Latham asked Raymond, "So, what are you up to?"
Raymond shrugged several times before he spoke: "To tell you the truth, I'm wandering around aimlessly."
"You look terrible. Pardon my saying so, I say it out of concern."
"I know. I know you do. I know I do."
Latham looked around again to be sure that they were out of anyone's hearing, and asked, "How long were you wearing that watch and chain?"
"A week, a day and a few hours."
"Good."
"Good?"
"It's clear that you're very upset about something. And that's bad. What I meant is that it's good that, apparently at least, you're not so upset that you've lost all sense of time. Good Lord, has it been a week since you've changed your clothes? Never mind, answer me this instead: have you got fresh clothes at home?"
Raymond nodded: "Yup."
"Right." Latham whistled loudly, an empty hansom cab stopped, Latham herded Raymond into. "Oh," he said, "I don't know your address." Raymond gave the driver his address in Lambeth. They were silent for the several minutes it took the cab to get there. Once Latham got Raymond into a hot bath in his flat, he said, "Look, I understand how sometimes you can't tell someone something. It may hurt my feelings when that someone is me, but I understand that there are more important things in the world than my hurt feelings. The thing is, Charlie, ahhh... I don't think Charlie understands the concept of secrecy."
"Charlie? Ah, you mean that imbecile back at Waterloo Station?"
"He's not an imbecile!"
"You sure?" Raymond asked. "The way you say that, sounds like you've said it several times already."
"He's not an imbecile. Without him you never would've identified that watch and chain."
"No?"
"No. And he would've spotted the chain several times further away than I did. A football field away. At dusk."
"Would he have now?"
"You remember the drawing of the watch, in the packet I sent you?"
"Yeah."
"You know Charlie made that drawing?"
"Oh. Actually, I hadn't realized that. Thought you drew that."
"Wish I could draw like that. Charlie banged that out in two minutes. I'm not exaggerating. Two minutes. He's a genius." He looked up to meet Raymond's eyes after saying this, saw Raymond's skeptical expression. "He's a genius in some areas, not in others. Alright?"
"Well, he seems to be a draftsman, alright."
"The drawing's nothing compared to what he can do with watches. What he can do with a watch with his bare hands. He's spending some time over at the Latham plant now, with proper tools and so forth. But I don't know. I don't know if he shouldn't better be some place like the British Museum. Or Cambridge."
"Alright, alright, I apologize for insulting your talented friend. But I believe how we started talking about him was that you said, ahh, you said that he... doesn't understand the concept of secrecy."
"I suspect he doesn't. And he's got eyes like a hawk. So you've been wearing that watch and chain for a week now. Maybe sort of halfway hoping someone would notice it and it'd get you in trouble, eh?"
"Mm. Maybe so."
"Well, if you've got a guilty conscience about something. Or if there's some shady business in the police, or somewhere else, and you sort of halfway want to expose it, because you think it's rotten -- or whatever's upsetting you, you're a grown-up and it's your business. But imagine if it hadn't been just me on the Westminster bridge. Imagine if Charlie'd been walking along beside me, and a hundred yards away from you he starts pointing at you and shouting excitedly about the watch and the chain and the man running through Waterloo Station with all the police looking for him. Charlie's as harmless as a baby, you saw that yourself. Can't even defend himself. You hurt him, all he can do is scream in pain. And just as easy as that you could've gotten him tangled up in -- God knows what, in something too horrible for you to talk about it with me, just because you're being melodramatic and wearing that watch and chain because -- I don't know why, because you're angry, or sad, or you feel guilty, I don't know. Could've turned Charlie's whole life upside-down because of some melodramatic play-acting on your part."
"Alright, alright, Latham, you've made your point. And you're right. You and me and our friends, we've chosen to carry a lot of secrets around, and we accept the risks. But Charlie hasn't asked for any of that."
"Exactly."
"So he's a wizard with watches, Charlie is."
"Oy. Only person I've ever seen who's better at fixing a watch than I am. And he's miles better."
"And you and he are both... autistic."
"Yep."
"You said you understand Charlie much better than you understand me or most people. That was disturbing."
Latham was taken aback. "Sorry, Inspector, didn't mean to disturb you, but there it is."
"But that would mean that you're..."
"Imbecilic? Try to look at it the other way round: it means Charlie isn't nearly as much an imbecile as he seems to you," Latham said, and raised his glance to see Raymond laying back in the tub and staring at the ceiling with an expression of great puzzlement, as if he were having a great deal of trouble looking at Charlie another way around. Latham was exasperated. What more did Raymond have to know in order to revise his preconceived categories of people?
At about 2:31 PM the next day, Friday, Latham, walking across the bridge toward Westminster, was able to determine that the large policeman shambling toward him was, in fact, Inspector Raymond. He hadn't seen Raymond since the incident at Waterloo station. Not very many paces later, Latham began to suspect that the large-linked watch chain protruding from Raymond's waistcoat pocket was platinum; when they were within twenty paces of each other he was sure it was. Then they were face to face, and stopped and stood there, neither one saying Hello or anything else for the nonce. Finally Latham said, "That's an extraordinary watch-chain, Inspector. D'ya have a rich aunt die on you lately?" The two of them weren't in the habit of laying hands upon one another, but Latham unceremoniously pulled the watch from Raymond's pocket, a Waltham 1883, yes, it was the very same watch Charlie had described to him, the same in every detail down to the unusual, deep scratch next to the stem. Latham unfastened the chain from Raymond's vest, looked around to make sure no other pedestrians were near them on the bridge, and tossed the watch and chain into the Thames. "Don't worry," he told Raymond, "I'll get you a new one, you know I will, you just have to ask. You like that sort of heavy chain, no problem. I'll give you a beautiful heavy platinum watch to match it."
They just stood there for a while, neither one knowing what to say. Finally Latham asked Raymond, "So, what are you up to?"
Raymond shrugged several times before he spoke: "To tell you the truth, I'm wandering around aimlessly."
"You look terrible. Pardon my saying so, I say it out of concern."
"I know. I know you do. I know I do."
Latham looked around again to be sure that they were out of anyone's hearing, and asked, "How long were you wearing that watch and chain?"
"A week, a day and a few hours."
"Good."
"Good?"
"It's clear that you're very upset about something. And that's bad. What I meant is that it's good that, apparently at least, you're not so upset that you've lost all sense of time. Good Lord, has it been a week since you've changed your clothes? Never mind, answer me this instead: have you got fresh clothes at home?"
Raymond nodded: "Yup."
"Right." Latham whistled loudly, an empty hansom cab stopped, Latham herded Raymond into. "Oh," he said, "I don't know your address." Raymond gave the driver his address in Lambeth. They were silent for the several minutes it took the cab to get there. Once Latham got Raymond into a hot bath in his flat, he said, "Look, I understand how sometimes you can't tell someone something. It may hurt my feelings when that someone is me, but I understand that there are more important things in the world than my hurt feelings. The thing is, Charlie, ahhh... I don't think Charlie understands the concept of secrecy."
"Charlie? Ah, you mean that imbecile back at Waterloo Station?"
"He's not an imbecile!"
"You sure?" Raymond asked. "The way you say that, sounds like you've said it several times already."
"He's not an imbecile. Without him you never would've identified that watch and chain."
"No?"
"No. And he would've spotted the chain several times further away than I did. A football field away. At dusk."
"Would he have now?"
"You remember the drawing of the watch, in the packet I sent you?"
"Yeah."
"You know Charlie made that drawing?"
"Oh. Actually, I hadn't realized that. Thought you drew that."
"Wish I could draw like that. Charlie banged that out in two minutes. I'm not exaggerating. Two minutes. He's a genius." He looked up to meet Raymond's eyes after saying this, saw Raymond's skeptical expression. "He's a genius in some areas, not in others. Alright?"
"Well, he seems to be a draftsman, alright."
"The drawing's nothing compared to what he can do with watches. What he can do with a watch with his bare hands. He's spending some time over at the Latham plant now, with proper tools and so forth. But I don't know. I don't know if he shouldn't better be some place like the British Museum. Or Cambridge."
"Alright, alright, I apologize for insulting your talented friend. But I believe how we started talking about him was that you said, ahh, you said that he... doesn't understand the concept of secrecy."
"I suspect he doesn't. And he's got eyes like a hawk. So you've been wearing that watch and chain for a week now. Maybe sort of halfway hoping someone would notice it and it'd get you in trouble, eh?"
"Mm. Maybe so."
"Well, if you've got a guilty conscience about something. Or if there's some shady business in the police, or somewhere else, and you sort of halfway want to expose it, because you think it's rotten -- or whatever's upsetting you, you're a grown-up and it's your business. But imagine if it hadn't been just me on the Westminster bridge. Imagine if Charlie'd been walking along beside me, and a hundred yards away from you he starts pointing at you and shouting excitedly about the watch and the chain and the man running through Waterloo Station with all the police looking for him. Charlie's as harmless as a baby, you saw that yourself. Can't even defend himself. You hurt him, all he can do is scream in pain. And just as easy as that you could've gotten him tangled up in -- God knows what, in something too horrible for you to talk about it with me, just because you're being melodramatic and wearing that watch and chain because -- I don't know why, because you're angry, or sad, or you feel guilty, I don't know. Could've turned Charlie's whole life upside-down because of some melodramatic play-acting on your part."
"Alright, alright, Latham, you've made your point. And you're right. You and me and our friends, we've chosen to carry a lot of secrets around, and we accept the risks. But Charlie hasn't asked for any of that."
"Exactly."
"So he's a wizard with watches, Charlie is."
"Oy. Only person I've ever seen who's better at fixing a watch than I am. And he's miles better."
"And you and he are both... autistic."
"Yep."
"You said you understand Charlie much better than you understand me or most people. That was disturbing."
Latham was taken aback. "Sorry, Inspector, didn't mean to disturb you, but there it is."
"But that would mean that you're..."
"Imbecilic? Try to look at it the other way round: it means Charlie isn't nearly as much an imbecile as he seems to you," Latham said, and raised his glance to see Raymond laying back in the tub and staring at the ceiling with an expression of great puzzlement, as if he were having a great deal of trouble looking at Charlie another way around. Latham was exasperated. What more did Raymond have to know in order to revise his preconceived categories of people?
Wednesday, April 9, 2014
Because Of Mistakes! (novel about autism in London in 1900) pt 9
Part 1 Part 2 Part 3 Part 4 Part 5 Part 6 Part 7 Part 8
On Thursday the next week, the 17th of May, at about 10:24 AM, Latham and Charlie and Spilman were approaching a side entrance of the Latham plant. It was Charlie's 2nd visit here. He was so excited that he was jumping up and and down. As Latham unlocked the side door, Charlie shouted, "It's nice in there!" and he ran in ahead of the other two. Latham closed the door behind Charlie.
"He going to to be alright in there by himself?" Spilman asked.
"He's not by himself. Everybody in there knows him, and almost all of them like him very much or are pretending to. And this time we've got his own work table and tools waiting for him. Believe me, he'll be just fine. Won't miss the two of us a bit."
Spilman said, "Freddy tells me the drive to overturn Factory & Workshop is... dead. Deader than dead. They're worse off than when they started."
"That's what I've been told as well," Latham replied. As Spilman had said last week, the money he and his associates were going to steal, money intended to bribe MP's, couldn't be reported as stolen, because it was off the books, unreported income, and reporting the theft would instigate an investigation. But something better than they could've hoped had happened: one of the bribers did report the theft of a satchel containing thirty-five thousand pounds, which had been intended to be divided into bribes for three MP's. (Instead, it had been divided into anonymous donations to various charities in London, Liverpool and Dublin.) The courier who'd been relieved of the satchel turned out not to have very steady nerves: in exchange for anonymity and immunity from prosecution, he'd named many names in the bribery campaign. Intentionally or not, news of the bribery investigation (as well as news of the by comparison much less sensational investigation into unreported income) was leaked to the press and had made headlines five days in a row now, counting today. Unknown to the press but known to Spilman and Latham and their friends, some of the MP's who'd already received bribes had given them back. These MP's, to a man, were now publicly, loudly, denouncing bribery and corruption and singing the praises of the poor exploited salt of the Earth.
"Do you realize what a genius Charlie is?" Latham said. "I met him to begin with because, last week, he saw less than a third of the face of an ordinary watch protruding from a pocket of a man running past him at full speed on a crowded railroad platform, and he knew exactly what kind of watch it was. Even saw a distinctive scratch on the case. Also, he saw from that fleeting glimpse that the watch was attached to a platinum chain. If you saw a watch chain for half a second, could you tell if it was platinum or silver or nickel or steel? I certainly couldn't. He makes incredibly detailed and accurate drawings quicker than I can blow my nose. He can fix a watch with his bare hands in ten seconds, with no magnification, that'd take me ten minutes with a ten-power loupe and five different specialized tools. Now we're giving him the loupes and all the tools and the bright lamps and a proper workspace, and the benefit of all of our experience and advice. God knows what he'll be able to do. He's simply awesome."
"He's an idiot savant, then."
"I object to the term 'idiot' being applied to Charlie."
"Hey, hey," Spilman said, "no offense to Charlie. I love the little guy, and I'm not pretending. Drop the 'idiot,' then. He's a savant. He's focused onto certain things. He identified the fugitive's watch, but remembered nothing about his face or clothes. He'll fix a man's watch with his bare hands, but forget the man's name."
"Yes, he does miss a lot that most of us notice, and that is because he's focused on other things. Still. You or I could focus and concentrate as hard as we wanted to, for years, and we'd still be very far from doing some things Charlie does. As a man who loves his work, and has concentrated very hard on watches since he was a small boy, trust me when I say this."
"Oh, I believe you, Al. I know Charlie has very rare talents. I've noticed. Oh, oh... It bothers you when I call you 'Al,' doesn't it? That's alright. I'll call you Latham. It's fine. Whatever makes you comfortable. If you want me to call you 'Shirley,' I shall."
"Thanks, Spilman. 'Latham,' for now. I know it's a bit quirky of me." Latham also knew that his sensitivity about what people called him -- his family called him "Albert" or "Al," and he preferred that no one else did -- he knew that this was an example of the symptoms of the condition he shared with Charlie, who didn't like to be called "Evans." But he still hadn't talked about autism to anyone except Inspector Raymond, and his father, and Eugen Bleuler, who'd coined the term "autistic," and with whom Latham corresponded in German.
"It's fine, Latham. It makes you more comfortable, and it's no more difficult for me. So, you think some of your people may only pretend to dote on Charlie? Think there may be some resentment of the Wunderkind?"
"I have no specific suspicions of something like that. It's just -- I can't read people's minds. And from Charlie's point of view, it makes no difference. We are what we pretend to be."
"'We are what we pretend to be!'" Spilman exclaimed. "There's a portentious statement. Are you a Nietzschean? That sounded somewhat Nietzschean. 'Wir sind das, was wir vorgeben zu sein.'"
"I like Nietzsche. And Shaw. And Freud. And Marx. And Heine. And many other authors. But I don't think of myself as an -an, or an -ist, or an -ian of any sort. In fact, I hope I'm not. If I were, I think that would mean I was missing a lot of the most important points those and other great writers were attempting to make. And you, Spilman?"
"What you just said. And very well-said. I try to be my own man."
"Oh, I don't think there's the slightest doubt in your case, Spilman." They had strolled to the front doors of the factory. "Well, shall we give you a tour of the plant, then?"
On Thursday the next week, the 17th of May, at about 10:24 AM, Latham and Charlie and Spilman were approaching a side entrance of the Latham plant. It was Charlie's 2nd visit here. He was so excited that he was jumping up and and down. As Latham unlocked the side door, Charlie shouted, "It's nice in there!" and he ran in ahead of the other two. Latham closed the door behind Charlie.
"He going to to be alright in there by himself?" Spilman asked.
"He's not by himself. Everybody in there knows him, and almost all of them like him very much or are pretending to. And this time we've got his own work table and tools waiting for him. Believe me, he'll be just fine. Won't miss the two of us a bit."
Spilman said, "Freddy tells me the drive to overturn Factory & Workshop is... dead. Deader than dead. They're worse off than when they started."
"That's what I've been told as well," Latham replied. As Spilman had said last week, the money he and his associates were going to steal, money intended to bribe MP's, couldn't be reported as stolen, because it was off the books, unreported income, and reporting the theft would instigate an investigation. But something better than they could've hoped had happened: one of the bribers did report the theft of a satchel containing thirty-five thousand pounds, which had been intended to be divided into bribes for three MP's. (Instead, it had been divided into anonymous donations to various charities in London, Liverpool and Dublin.) The courier who'd been relieved of the satchel turned out not to have very steady nerves: in exchange for anonymity and immunity from prosecution, he'd named many names in the bribery campaign. Intentionally or not, news of the bribery investigation (as well as news of the by comparison much less sensational investigation into unreported income) was leaked to the press and had made headlines five days in a row now, counting today. Unknown to the press but known to Spilman and Latham and their friends, some of the MP's who'd already received bribes had given them back. These MP's, to a man, were now publicly, loudly, denouncing bribery and corruption and singing the praises of the poor exploited salt of the Earth.
"Do you realize what a genius Charlie is?" Latham said. "I met him to begin with because, last week, he saw less than a third of the face of an ordinary watch protruding from a pocket of a man running past him at full speed on a crowded railroad platform, and he knew exactly what kind of watch it was. Even saw a distinctive scratch on the case. Also, he saw from that fleeting glimpse that the watch was attached to a platinum chain. If you saw a watch chain for half a second, could you tell if it was platinum or silver or nickel or steel? I certainly couldn't. He makes incredibly detailed and accurate drawings quicker than I can blow my nose. He can fix a watch with his bare hands in ten seconds, with no magnification, that'd take me ten minutes with a ten-power loupe and five different specialized tools. Now we're giving him the loupes and all the tools and the bright lamps and a proper workspace, and the benefit of all of our experience and advice. God knows what he'll be able to do. He's simply awesome."
"He's an idiot savant, then."
"I object to the term 'idiot' being applied to Charlie."
"Hey, hey," Spilman said, "no offense to Charlie. I love the little guy, and I'm not pretending. Drop the 'idiot,' then. He's a savant. He's focused onto certain things. He identified the fugitive's watch, but remembered nothing about his face or clothes. He'll fix a man's watch with his bare hands, but forget the man's name."
"Yes, he does miss a lot that most of us notice, and that is because he's focused on other things. Still. You or I could focus and concentrate as hard as we wanted to, for years, and we'd still be very far from doing some things Charlie does. As a man who loves his work, and has concentrated very hard on watches since he was a small boy, trust me when I say this."
"Oh, I believe you, Al. I know Charlie has very rare talents. I've noticed. Oh, oh... It bothers you when I call you 'Al,' doesn't it? That's alright. I'll call you Latham. It's fine. Whatever makes you comfortable. If you want me to call you 'Shirley,' I shall."
"Thanks, Spilman. 'Latham,' for now. I know it's a bit quirky of me." Latham also knew that his sensitivity about what people called him -- his family called him "Albert" or "Al," and he preferred that no one else did -- he knew that this was an example of the symptoms of the condition he shared with Charlie, who didn't like to be called "Evans." But he still hadn't talked about autism to anyone except Inspector Raymond, and his father, and Eugen Bleuler, who'd coined the term "autistic," and with whom Latham corresponded in German.
"It's fine, Latham. It makes you more comfortable, and it's no more difficult for me. So, you think some of your people may only pretend to dote on Charlie? Think there may be some resentment of the Wunderkind?"
"I have no specific suspicions of something like that. It's just -- I can't read people's minds. And from Charlie's point of view, it makes no difference. We are what we pretend to be."
"'We are what we pretend to be!'" Spilman exclaimed. "There's a portentious statement. Are you a Nietzschean? That sounded somewhat Nietzschean. 'Wir sind das, was wir vorgeben zu sein.'"
"I like Nietzsche. And Shaw. And Freud. And Marx. And Heine. And many other authors. But I don't think of myself as an -an, or an -ist, or an -ian of any sort. In fact, I hope I'm not. If I were, I think that would mean I was missing a lot of the most important points those and other great writers were attempting to make. And you, Spilman?"
"What you just said. And very well-said. I try to be my own man."
"Oh, I don't think there's the slightest doubt in your case, Spilman." They had strolled to the front doors of the factory. "Well, shall we give you a tour of the plant, then?"
Tuesday, April 8, 2014
Because Of Mistakes! (novel about autism in London in 1900) pt 8
Part 1 Part 2 Part 3 Part 4 Part 5 Part 6 Part 7
This is how it was: Inspector Raymond officially reported to Chief Superintendent Martin. Martin was almost universally thought to be a corrupt tool of the capitalists, in the pocket of the Liberal MP Lyle Chambers. Working in one of Chambers' many factories was known to be a very unfortunate fate. Chambers had lobbied hard against Factory and Workshop, and since it had passed he'd routinely bribed officials to overlook his violations of the law. In reality, Chief Superintendent Martin was a Socialist double-agent, staying close to Chambers and other reactionary capitalists and gaining their trust in order to thwart them. For just one recent example, Martin had told Raymond about the campaign of bribes to overturn Factory and Workshop, and it had been Raymond who'd told Fontaine and Spilman.
Martin didn't tell Raymond who else knew that he was a double-agent. Not one name. And Raymond told no-one about Martin's actual activity. The information he passed along, as far as any of Raymond's other comrades believed, was either from a source Raymond wouldn't name, or from this or that person who was nothing but a name Raymond told them, persons who didn't really exist. Whenever the two of them, Raymond and Martin, discussed their real business, not official police business, they spoke one on one behind closed doors. Raymond saw someone or other from Martin's staff nearly every working day. Raymond knew that some of that staff certainly had to be Socialist double-agents just like Martin, but he had no idea which ones.
For another example, someone working for Martin had discovered that George Smith, Raymond's friend whom he had just murdered, the man who ran through Waterloo Station with a Waltham 1883 on a heavy platinum chain, a clerk in the House of Commons and a long-time well-trusted Socialist with a huge number of Socialist contacts, had begun to sell his friends' secrets to right-wingers. "By a great stroke of luck," Martin had said to Raymond on Monday, two days ago, "he sold some of that information to one of us, someone I know, another double-agent who's a capitalist tool as far as the world is concerned. As far as I know, we've been able to discredit most or all of the information in the eyes of the right-wingers Smith sold it to. But only just, and that's been extremely difficult, putting out those fires. And in the meantime, Smith's old left-wing friends are catching on that he's turned informer, while the right-wingers want more information in place of the information they've already paid for which they think is inaccurate, because we were able to discredit it. Smith is panicking, which of course makes him extremely dangerous to all of us. He put together a packet which would've exposed me, you, Fontaine, Spilman and hundreds of others, beyond anything I could do to undo it. A constable who works for me took that packet off of him on his way to sell it to -- someone, I don't know who -- and was going to take him into custody, but Smith fought him off with his fists and ran off. Smith needs to be found, and made to vanish."
"You want him dead?"
"It's an awful thing. I don't see that we've got any other choice."
And the next day, Tuesday, Raymond's men just missed Smith at Waterloo Station, chasing him off of a train headed east, and then they'd come across that strange young man obsessed with watches, and then with Latham's help interviewing that young man they'd found the pawnbroker's where Smith sold an expensive watch and put a cheaper one onto a platinum chain, and from there they found the room near Waterloo he'd been holed up in, and from there he was seen boarding another train headed east, and an unknown source -- unknown to Raymond, presumably known to Martin once again -- gave them a message that he was in that fleabag hotel in Southend, where Martin said that Raymond would meet three men. Those three men who hadn't bothered to give Raymond their names, possibly police, possibly not. And Raymond had told them he'd finish it himself.
Raymond got to the station as the morning shift was coming on. "Oy, Boss," a constable called out, "you alright?"
Raymond hadn't slept in two days and he'd just killed a friend. "Got a bit of a cold," He said. "You might want to stay a pace or two away if you haven't had it lately. Other than the cold I'm fine, thank you for asking."
A Detective Sergeant said, "I've got some reports of sightings of men with cheap watches on expensive chains, Inspector." If the Detective suspected that the watch-chain hanging from Raymond's vest was worth three hundred quid, he gave no sign of it.
"Oh, you didn't hear? Higher-ups took that case over yesterday evening. We're done."
"Sorry, Sir, I hadn't heard."
"No worries. Never need to apologize to me for working hard. You got it all written up?"
"Yessir." The detective held up an envelope.
"Right. Put it on my desk, I'll pass it along, and you're on to the next case."
"He out of London, Sir? That why we're off the case?"
"They didn't tell me a thing except that we're off of it, Detective. Ours is not to question why."
This is how it was: Inspector Raymond officially reported to Chief Superintendent Martin. Martin was almost universally thought to be a corrupt tool of the capitalists, in the pocket of the Liberal MP Lyle Chambers. Working in one of Chambers' many factories was known to be a very unfortunate fate. Chambers had lobbied hard against Factory and Workshop, and since it had passed he'd routinely bribed officials to overlook his violations of the law. In reality, Chief Superintendent Martin was a Socialist double-agent, staying close to Chambers and other reactionary capitalists and gaining their trust in order to thwart them. For just one recent example, Martin had told Raymond about the campaign of bribes to overturn Factory and Workshop, and it had been Raymond who'd told Fontaine and Spilman.
Martin didn't tell Raymond who else knew that he was a double-agent. Not one name. And Raymond told no-one about Martin's actual activity. The information he passed along, as far as any of Raymond's other comrades believed, was either from a source Raymond wouldn't name, or from this or that person who was nothing but a name Raymond told them, persons who didn't really exist. Whenever the two of them, Raymond and Martin, discussed their real business, not official police business, they spoke one on one behind closed doors. Raymond saw someone or other from Martin's staff nearly every working day. Raymond knew that some of that staff certainly had to be Socialist double-agents just like Martin, but he had no idea which ones.
For another example, someone working for Martin had discovered that George Smith, Raymond's friend whom he had just murdered, the man who ran through Waterloo Station with a Waltham 1883 on a heavy platinum chain, a clerk in the House of Commons and a long-time well-trusted Socialist with a huge number of Socialist contacts, had begun to sell his friends' secrets to right-wingers. "By a great stroke of luck," Martin had said to Raymond on Monday, two days ago, "he sold some of that information to one of us, someone I know, another double-agent who's a capitalist tool as far as the world is concerned. As far as I know, we've been able to discredit most or all of the information in the eyes of the right-wingers Smith sold it to. But only just, and that's been extremely difficult, putting out those fires. And in the meantime, Smith's old left-wing friends are catching on that he's turned informer, while the right-wingers want more information in place of the information they've already paid for which they think is inaccurate, because we were able to discredit it. Smith is panicking, which of course makes him extremely dangerous to all of us. He put together a packet which would've exposed me, you, Fontaine, Spilman and hundreds of others, beyond anything I could do to undo it. A constable who works for me took that packet off of him on his way to sell it to -- someone, I don't know who -- and was going to take him into custody, but Smith fought him off with his fists and ran off. Smith needs to be found, and made to vanish."
"You want him dead?"
"It's an awful thing. I don't see that we've got any other choice."
And the next day, Tuesday, Raymond's men just missed Smith at Waterloo Station, chasing him off of a train headed east, and then they'd come across that strange young man obsessed with watches, and then with Latham's help interviewing that young man they'd found the pawnbroker's where Smith sold an expensive watch and put a cheaper one onto a platinum chain, and from there they found the room near Waterloo he'd been holed up in, and from there he was seen boarding another train headed east, and an unknown source -- unknown to Raymond, presumably known to Martin once again -- gave them a message that he was in that fleabag hotel in Southend, where Martin said that Raymond would meet three men. Those three men who hadn't bothered to give Raymond their names, possibly police, possibly not. And Raymond had told them he'd finish it himself.
Raymond got to the station as the morning shift was coming on. "Oy, Boss," a constable called out, "you alright?"
Raymond hadn't slept in two days and he'd just killed a friend. "Got a bit of a cold," He said. "You might want to stay a pace or two away if you haven't had it lately. Other than the cold I'm fine, thank you for asking."
A Detective Sergeant said, "I've got some reports of sightings of men with cheap watches on expensive chains, Inspector." If the Detective suspected that the watch-chain hanging from Raymond's vest was worth three hundred quid, he gave no sign of it.
"Oh, you didn't hear? Higher-ups took that case over yesterday evening. We're done."
"Sorry, Sir, I hadn't heard."
"No worries. Never need to apologize to me for working hard. You got it all written up?"
"Yessir." The detective held up an envelope.
"Right. Put it on my desk, I'll pass it along, and you're on to the next case."
"He out of London, Sir? That why we're off the case?"
"They didn't tell me a thing except that we're off of it, Detective. Ours is not to question why."
Monday, April 7, 2014
Because Of Mistakes! (novel about autism in London in 1900) pt 7
Part 1 Part 2 Part 3 Part 4 Part 5 Part 6
"Who are they looking for?" Freddy asked.
"Raymond wouldn't tell me," Al said. "It's all very hush-hush. Strange Raymond not confiding in me. Unusual."
Spilman said to Latham, "Freddy and I've been talking about the campaign to overturn Factory and Workshop, have you heard about this?"
"Yes indeed," Latham said. "It's flabbergasting. And it actually has a chance, it seems."
"Terry and I were discussing it over lunch," Fontaine said. "It seems some very large bribes have been given to MP's who otherwise might've been on the fence in the effort, or voted to uphold the law as it stands. It'd be great if we could publicly expose these bribes, prove to the public that they've been given, but that seems easier said than done. You rub shoulders with some of the people involved in all of this muck -- factory owners, the ones giving the bribes. You might be able to throw a wrench into it."
"I'll certainly try."
Fontaine handed him a slip of paper, labelled "A": "The names on this list, we know for sure they're involved."
"Good God!"
"Yes. Shocking behavior from pillars of society and great philanthropists such as these." Fontaine handed Latham a second slip of paper, labelled "B": "We suspect these men, but we're not certain yet."
"I can bring up the subject of Factory and Workshop, try to loosen a few lips."
"Good man, Latham," Fontaine said.
"I wish I could honestly say I was shocked," Latham said. "It's all very sad."
Fontaine had also in no way been shocked to learn that these individuals, men he had known since he and they were boys in some cases, were bribing members of Parliament in order to cut costs at the expense of laborers. Latham often seemed to miss irony and sarcasm. He was aware that he missed it, and had asked Fontaine to point it out when he did, but this time Fontaine let it go. Fontaine was saddened as well, and the sadness was sapping his energy.
Latham asked, "What else have we got in place, what other plans, to try to stop further bribes? I take it that as it stands now, the effort to over turn the law will fail."
"Oh," Spilman said, "you don't want to know."
"Don't I?" Latham retorted with some obvious annoyance. "First Raymond, and now for the second time today I'm not to be trusted by my own comrades?"
"Terry," Fontaine said, "by all means, tell him."
"All right. Well, we happen to know of some large sums being gathered together, great big packages full of cash which aren't supposed to exist, whose existence couldn't be explained without giving criminal activity away. Therefore their owner wouldn't be able to report it if they were stolen. Therefore, we're going to steal a lot of it."
"Oh... Oh... Wow," Latham said.
"Mad, bad, and dangerous to know, this one," Fontaine said, clapping a hand on Spilman's shoulder.
"Ironically, though," Spilman said, "I've never been able to stand Byron." Latham didn't understand that remark. "It's about time that I get back to the cloak and dagger business," Spilman said, stood up and stretched and yawned and took his leave. "Terrific lunch, Freddy, as always. You're certainly right about that."
At about 7:32 AM the next morning, Wednesday, Inspector Raymond picked the lock on a hotel door in Southend. It was a dismal little room, filthy, without as much as one tiny window, although the cracks in the wall were large and numerous enough that the place was quite light in the sunrise. What a shyte place to die, Raymond thought sadly. Raymond's entrance had awoken the man sleeping on the cot which took up more than half the room. He recognized Raymond, and at first he smiled. That smile faded quickly as Raymond kicked the door shut behind him and advanced on him. He put his knee on the man's chest and forced him back down onto his back, took the pillow from beneath the man's head and placed it over his face. Raymond was an enormous man and quite fit, he was much stronger than his erstwhile friend here, now his victim. He easily held the pillow in place with one hand, making the man's screams almost entirely inaudible, while with his other hand he took the revolver out from underneath his jacket, pushed it into the pillow to muffle the sound of the shots, and fired three times.
As instructed, he handed the revolver over to the men out in front of the hotel, dressed like an Inspector and two Constables. No one had bothered to give Raymond their names. He wouldn't have been surprised if they weren't actually policeman at all. "Hurry," he told them, "the door's unlocked. Top of the stairs, second door on the right facing the front of the building."
"Right, Raymond. Off you go then, we'll take it from here. Good job, just as expected."
Just as expected, Raymond thought. So either they had heard about him, heard that he got things done, or they were lying by implication. On the train back downtown, Raymond took the watch and the very heavy chain he had taken from his friend's corpse as a sort of impotent private protest. So that is a Waltham Model 1883, he said to himself. And that, he thought, looking at the chain from which the watch swung before him, is a bloody great lot of platinum, worth about a half year of my salary. Wonder whether those three goons knew that much precious metal was there. Wonder whether they were planning to steal it. Raymond unhooked his old watch and chain and put them into a pocket of his jacket, fastened the platinum watch in its place and put the 1883 into his waistcoat pocket. He knew it was very foolish to do so, but he continued his protest in this manner. I dare somebody to say something about it, I really do. Although, he didn't actually know whether any other policemen -- or goons and fake policemen, or what have you -- would even notice his friend's watch and chain.
Raymond had never done anything remotely like this before. He had always prided himself on protecting those smaller and weaker than himself -- and since around his 15th birthday, that had included almost everyone he met. Even those he arrested, he treated gently and with respect, and insisted that everyone in his command always do the same. He began to cry. Other passengers in the train snuck startled glances at this enormous crying police Inspector.
"Who are they looking for?" Freddy asked.
"Raymond wouldn't tell me," Al said. "It's all very hush-hush. Strange Raymond not confiding in me. Unusual."
Spilman said to Latham, "Freddy and I've been talking about the campaign to overturn Factory and Workshop, have you heard about this?"
"Yes indeed," Latham said. "It's flabbergasting. And it actually has a chance, it seems."
"Terry and I were discussing it over lunch," Fontaine said. "It seems some very large bribes have been given to MP's who otherwise might've been on the fence in the effort, or voted to uphold the law as it stands. It'd be great if we could publicly expose these bribes, prove to the public that they've been given, but that seems easier said than done. You rub shoulders with some of the people involved in all of this muck -- factory owners, the ones giving the bribes. You might be able to throw a wrench into it."
"I'll certainly try."
Fontaine handed him a slip of paper, labelled "A": "The names on this list, we know for sure they're involved."
"Good God!"
"Yes. Shocking behavior from pillars of society and great philanthropists such as these." Fontaine handed Latham a second slip of paper, labelled "B": "We suspect these men, but we're not certain yet."
"I can bring up the subject of Factory and Workshop, try to loosen a few lips."
"Good man, Latham," Fontaine said.
"I wish I could honestly say I was shocked," Latham said. "It's all very sad."
Fontaine had also in no way been shocked to learn that these individuals, men he had known since he and they were boys in some cases, were bribing members of Parliament in order to cut costs at the expense of laborers. Latham often seemed to miss irony and sarcasm. He was aware that he missed it, and had asked Fontaine to point it out when he did, but this time Fontaine let it go. Fontaine was saddened as well, and the sadness was sapping his energy.
Latham asked, "What else have we got in place, what other plans, to try to stop further bribes? I take it that as it stands now, the effort to over turn the law will fail."
"Oh," Spilman said, "you don't want to know."
"Don't I?" Latham retorted with some obvious annoyance. "First Raymond, and now for the second time today I'm not to be trusted by my own comrades?"
"Terry," Fontaine said, "by all means, tell him."
"All right. Well, we happen to know of some large sums being gathered together, great big packages full of cash which aren't supposed to exist, whose existence couldn't be explained without giving criminal activity away. Therefore their owner wouldn't be able to report it if they were stolen. Therefore, we're going to steal a lot of it."
"Oh... Oh... Wow," Latham said.
"Mad, bad, and dangerous to know, this one," Fontaine said, clapping a hand on Spilman's shoulder.
"Ironically, though," Spilman said, "I've never been able to stand Byron." Latham didn't understand that remark. "It's about time that I get back to the cloak and dagger business," Spilman said, stood up and stretched and yawned and took his leave. "Terrific lunch, Freddy, as always. You're certainly right about that."
At about 7:32 AM the next morning, Wednesday, Inspector Raymond picked the lock on a hotel door in Southend. It was a dismal little room, filthy, without as much as one tiny window, although the cracks in the wall were large and numerous enough that the place was quite light in the sunrise. What a shyte place to die, Raymond thought sadly. Raymond's entrance had awoken the man sleeping on the cot which took up more than half the room. He recognized Raymond, and at first he smiled. That smile faded quickly as Raymond kicked the door shut behind him and advanced on him. He put his knee on the man's chest and forced him back down onto his back, took the pillow from beneath the man's head and placed it over his face. Raymond was an enormous man and quite fit, he was much stronger than his erstwhile friend here, now his victim. He easily held the pillow in place with one hand, making the man's screams almost entirely inaudible, while with his other hand he took the revolver out from underneath his jacket, pushed it into the pillow to muffle the sound of the shots, and fired three times.
As instructed, he handed the revolver over to the men out in front of the hotel, dressed like an Inspector and two Constables. No one had bothered to give Raymond their names. He wouldn't have been surprised if they weren't actually policeman at all. "Hurry," he told them, "the door's unlocked. Top of the stairs, second door on the right facing the front of the building."
"Right, Raymond. Off you go then, we'll take it from here. Good job, just as expected."
Just as expected, Raymond thought. So either they had heard about him, heard that he got things done, or they were lying by implication. On the train back downtown, Raymond took the watch and the very heavy chain he had taken from his friend's corpse as a sort of impotent private protest. So that is a Waltham Model 1883, he said to himself. And that, he thought, looking at the chain from which the watch swung before him, is a bloody great lot of platinum, worth about a half year of my salary. Wonder whether those three goons knew that much precious metal was there. Wonder whether they were planning to steal it. Raymond unhooked his old watch and chain and put them into a pocket of his jacket, fastened the platinum watch in its place and put the 1883 into his waistcoat pocket. He knew it was very foolish to do so, but he continued his protest in this manner. I dare somebody to say something about it, I really do. Although, he didn't actually know whether any other policemen -- or goons and fake policemen, or what have you -- would even notice his friend's watch and chain.
Raymond had never done anything remotely like this before. He had always prided himself on protecting those smaller and weaker than himself -- and since around his 15th birthday, that had included almost everyone he met. Even those he arrested, he treated gently and with respect, and insisted that everyone in his command always do the same. He began to cry. Other passengers in the train snuck startled glances at this enormous crying police Inspector.
Sunday, April 6, 2014
Because Of Mistakes! (novel about autism in London in 1900) pt 6
Part 1
Part 2
Part 3
Part 4
Part 5
At about 1:26 PM the same day, Latham climbed out of a hansom cab on Victoria Street and knocked on Fontaine's door. Charlie had looked at the four 1883's which had been brought over from the Latham plant and picked the one which looked the most like the one which had been coming out of the running man's pocket. Latham asked many detailed questions about the exact appearance of the watch, and had gotten many detailed and helpful answers, and made copious notes, before he fell silent and looked one more time at the remarkably accurate drawing of the new clock on platform 3 at Waterloo, a drawing he had noticed right away upon coming to Charlie's table, an amazing drawing, because, as Latham knew, Charlie had made it in the middle of the crowd and bustle of platform 3, without an easel, without even a pad -- and it was then that Latham asked Charlie if he could draw a picture of the running man's watch, with the face about 8 inches wide. He sent the constable back to Raymond with the 1883 Charlie had picked and his notes and Charlie's drawing and caught a cab.
He found Fontaine and Spilman in the dining room having dessert. "So, you two really have never met before?" Fontaine said. "It's high time, then. Terry, Albert Latham. One of us. Al, Terrence Spilman. One of us."
"Spilman," Latham said, and shook Spilman's hand. "A pleasure." He turned to Fontaine and asked, "What can I do for us today?" Fontaine first insisted that Latham sit and have lunch, and after he'd gotten his soup from Charles, the cook -- and also one of us, and served as waiter as well, which meant that, when the guests were all us, conversation could be to the point at meals at Fontaine's house -- Fontaine explained Spilman's problem with watches. "You called at the perfect time," Latham said, and pulled a packet from a pocket, in which were three smaller packets, in which were the three 1883's remaining after Charlie had picked one. "They're known as railroad watches. This category of watch came into being in the US some years ago, after there'd been a terrible head-on collision between two trains, because, apparently, one or both conductors had had poorly-working watches, and one or both of the trains was on the spot at an unscheduled time. Laws were passed regulating what sort of watches conductors would wear and how often they'd be repaired. They're accurate for the safety of the railroads, and inexpensive, because the conductors buy their own. Look like what you're after?"
"That one there, the case is -- what, pewter?"
"Waltham -- the company that makes these -- calls that 'silveroid.' It's mostly copper and nickel."
"And how accurate is it?"
"All three of these are accurate to within two or three seconds a day."
"Crikey! You pulling my leg, mate?"
"You'll find that Al never jokes about watches," Fontaine said. "Or oversells their performance."
"Well, I can tell that that one is silver and that one is gold, so, silveroid it is. How much?"
"Please," Latham said. "I'm rich, and I'm always glad to contribute to us."
"Huh!"
"Something wrong?"
"On the contrary. I just don't know if I've ever heard someone call himself rich before," Spilman said, at looked at Fontaine.
"I know," Latham said, and looked at Fontaine too. "Everyone seems to think he deserves even more than he has."
Fontaine looked quite unimpressed. He simply said, "I've never heard either of you complain about the food at my table."
"Okay, then," Spilman said to Latham, "just out of curiosity, how much would a Waltham like this one cost in a jeweler's shop?"
"Three pounds. Maybe two and ten."
"For within two or three seconds a day?!"
"No. No. You see, I adjusted this watch. Took it apart when it was new, measured and adjusted and balanced everything very carefully. Your average 1883 -- all three of these are Waltham model 1883 watches. They started making them in 1883 -- your average 1883 will run within ten or fifteen seconds a day."
"That's still quite impressive, to me," Spilman said. "So, 'railroad watch' was the key phrase. They run like the 1883's, for the same price?"
"About the same. Most real railroad watches will be slightly more expensive. Unfortunately, though, not everything sold as a railroad watch is the real thing. Some wouldn't be accepted by any railroad in the US, the UK, or even Ireland!" Latham saw Spilman wince at that last word, and added, "I'm joking about Ireland. I'm Irish. And they make some very fine watches in Ireland, and as far as I know their record of railroad safety is just fine. Did my little joke upset you? I'm sorry."
"It would've upset me if you'd meant it."
"I was making fun of anyone who would say such a thing and mean it. My jokes don't always come off. Now: 'railroad watch,' that's one key phrase here. Another one is 'lever set.' Do you know what that means?"
"No."
"Alright then, watch this." Latham took the silver watch and unscrewed its front cover. "There are key-wind watches. There are fewer of those made today. You wind them and set them with a key. Then there's stem-wind, stem-set: turn the stem to wind it, pull the stem out and turn it to set the time. These are lever-set watches. Don't try to pull the stem out on a lever-set watch. The only way you'll make it come out at all is if you break something. Don't pull on the stem." With a fingernail Latham pulled a lever out from behind the uncovered watch face, near the the numeral 2. "This is the lever. On Walthams, they're next to the 2 on the watch face. Some other brands have the lever in some other position. When the lever is pulled out, and you turn the stem -- see -- you reset the time. The lever can't be pulled out unless the cover is taken off. And when the lever is not pulled out, turning the stem winds the watch. Oh, and don't bother going to jewelers for watches from now on. Just come to us. Winston Latham & Sons. Just north of the east end of the Westminster Bridge. On your way to Waterloo Station. Bring that in once a year for a cleaning and adjustment. Or, of course, if anything goes wrong. If it runs fast or slow. If you drop it. Anything."
"Do it," Fontaine chimed in. "They're the best."
"My father, Winston, is one of us. My two bothers, unfortunately, aren't. Dad and I are trying, of course. Dropping hints and saying sensible things."
Stilman took his old watch off of its chain and put the Waltham in its place. Latham looked at Spilman's old watch and winced as one might do at the sight of a three-legged dog. "I'll trade you," Spilman joked.
"Well, if you don't have any plans for it..."
"I did, actually. I was planning to hurl it smartly at the very next brick wall I saw."
"In that case, I definitely want it," Latham said, quickly sheltering it in his hands as if it really were a suffering stray animal and Spilman had just kicked it.
Terry looked quizzically at Freddy, who just shrugged and said, "Mad about watches. Never met one he didn't deeply care for and respect. That's why he's the best. Your old watch there will soon be more accurate than it was new, I assure you."
"Setting the bar rather low," Terry muttered.
"Latham," Fontaine asked, "how did it happen that you had three -- railroad watches? -- on your person when you came to call?"
"Well. Inspector Raymond -- " Latham turned to Spilman and asked, "Do you know Inspector Raymond?"
"Indeed I do. One of us. A good man."
"That he is. Raymond is looking for someone. A witness noticed the man they're after was carrying an 1883. I talked to the witness and narrowed down what kind of 1883 it was."
Part 2
Part 3
Part 4
Part 5
At about 1:26 PM the same day, Latham climbed out of a hansom cab on Victoria Street and knocked on Fontaine's door. Charlie had looked at the four 1883's which had been brought over from the Latham plant and picked the one which looked the most like the one which had been coming out of the running man's pocket. Latham asked many detailed questions about the exact appearance of the watch, and had gotten many detailed and helpful answers, and made copious notes, before he fell silent and looked one more time at the remarkably accurate drawing of the new clock on platform 3 at Waterloo, a drawing he had noticed right away upon coming to Charlie's table, an amazing drawing, because, as Latham knew, Charlie had made it in the middle of the crowd and bustle of platform 3, without an easel, without even a pad -- and it was then that Latham asked Charlie if he could draw a picture of the running man's watch, with the face about 8 inches wide. He sent the constable back to Raymond with the 1883 Charlie had picked and his notes and Charlie's drawing and caught a cab.
He found Fontaine and Spilman in the dining room having dessert. "So, you two really have never met before?" Fontaine said. "It's high time, then. Terry, Albert Latham. One of us. Al, Terrence Spilman. One of us."
"Spilman," Latham said, and shook Spilman's hand. "A pleasure." He turned to Fontaine and asked, "What can I do for us today?" Fontaine first insisted that Latham sit and have lunch, and after he'd gotten his soup from Charles, the cook -- and also one of us, and served as waiter as well, which meant that, when the guests were all us, conversation could be to the point at meals at Fontaine's house -- Fontaine explained Spilman's problem with watches. "You called at the perfect time," Latham said, and pulled a packet from a pocket, in which were three smaller packets, in which were the three 1883's remaining after Charlie had picked one. "They're known as railroad watches. This category of watch came into being in the US some years ago, after there'd been a terrible head-on collision between two trains, because, apparently, one or both conductors had had poorly-working watches, and one or both of the trains was on the spot at an unscheduled time. Laws were passed regulating what sort of watches conductors would wear and how often they'd be repaired. They're accurate for the safety of the railroads, and inexpensive, because the conductors buy their own. Look like what you're after?"
"That one there, the case is -- what, pewter?"
"Waltham -- the company that makes these -- calls that 'silveroid.' It's mostly copper and nickel."
"And how accurate is it?"
"All three of these are accurate to within two or three seconds a day."
"Crikey! You pulling my leg, mate?"
"You'll find that Al never jokes about watches," Fontaine said. "Or oversells their performance."
"Well, I can tell that that one is silver and that one is gold, so, silveroid it is. How much?"
"Please," Latham said. "I'm rich, and I'm always glad to contribute to us."
"Huh!"
"Something wrong?"
"On the contrary. I just don't know if I've ever heard someone call himself rich before," Spilman said, at looked at Fontaine.
"I know," Latham said, and looked at Fontaine too. "Everyone seems to think he deserves even more than he has."
Fontaine looked quite unimpressed. He simply said, "I've never heard either of you complain about the food at my table."
"Okay, then," Spilman said to Latham, "just out of curiosity, how much would a Waltham like this one cost in a jeweler's shop?"
"Three pounds. Maybe two and ten."
"For within two or three seconds a day?!"
"No. No. You see, I adjusted this watch. Took it apart when it was new, measured and adjusted and balanced everything very carefully. Your average 1883 -- all three of these are Waltham model 1883 watches. They started making them in 1883 -- your average 1883 will run within ten or fifteen seconds a day."
"That's still quite impressive, to me," Spilman said. "So, 'railroad watch' was the key phrase. They run like the 1883's, for the same price?"
"About the same. Most real railroad watches will be slightly more expensive. Unfortunately, though, not everything sold as a railroad watch is the real thing. Some wouldn't be accepted by any railroad in the US, the UK, or even Ireland!" Latham saw Spilman wince at that last word, and added, "I'm joking about Ireland. I'm Irish. And they make some very fine watches in Ireland, and as far as I know their record of railroad safety is just fine. Did my little joke upset you? I'm sorry."
"It would've upset me if you'd meant it."
"I was making fun of anyone who would say such a thing and mean it. My jokes don't always come off. Now: 'railroad watch,' that's one key phrase here. Another one is 'lever set.' Do you know what that means?"
"No."
"Alright then, watch this." Latham took the silver watch and unscrewed its front cover. "There are key-wind watches. There are fewer of those made today. You wind them and set them with a key. Then there's stem-wind, stem-set: turn the stem to wind it, pull the stem out and turn it to set the time. These are lever-set watches. Don't try to pull the stem out on a lever-set watch. The only way you'll make it come out at all is if you break something. Don't pull on the stem." With a fingernail Latham pulled a lever out from behind the uncovered watch face, near the the numeral 2. "This is the lever. On Walthams, they're next to the 2 on the watch face. Some other brands have the lever in some other position. When the lever is pulled out, and you turn the stem -- see -- you reset the time. The lever can't be pulled out unless the cover is taken off. And when the lever is not pulled out, turning the stem winds the watch. Oh, and don't bother going to jewelers for watches from now on. Just come to us. Winston Latham & Sons. Just north of the east end of the Westminster Bridge. On your way to Waterloo Station. Bring that in once a year for a cleaning and adjustment. Or, of course, if anything goes wrong. If it runs fast or slow. If you drop it. Anything."
"Do it," Fontaine chimed in. "They're the best."
"My father, Winston, is one of us. My two bothers, unfortunately, aren't. Dad and I are trying, of course. Dropping hints and saying sensible things."
Stilman took his old watch off of its chain and put the Waltham in its place. Latham looked at Spilman's old watch and winced as one might do at the sight of a three-legged dog. "I'll trade you," Spilman joked.
"Well, if you don't have any plans for it..."
"I did, actually. I was planning to hurl it smartly at the very next brick wall I saw."
"In that case, I definitely want it," Latham said, quickly sheltering it in his hands as if it really were a suffering stray animal and Spilman had just kicked it.
Terry looked quizzically at Freddy, who just shrugged and said, "Mad about watches. Never met one he didn't deeply care for and respect. That's why he's the best. Your old watch there will soon be more accurate than it was new, I assure you."
"Setting the bar rather low," Terry muttered.
"Latham," Fontaine asked, "how did it happen that you had three -- railroad watches? -- on your person when you came to call?"
"Well. Inspector Raymond -- " Latham turned to Spilman and asked, "Do you know Inspector Raymond?"
"Indeed I do. One of us. A good man."
"That he is. Raymond is looking for someone. A witness noticed the man they're after was carrying an 1883. I talked to the witness and narrowed down what kind of 1883 it was."
Saturday, April 5, 2014
Just figured out what the title of the novel is going to be:
The title will be: Because of Mistakes! A phrase from one of Charlie's interior monologues. The title may seem strange to many people. There's no reason why it shouldn't: Charlie is profoundly autistic. Profoundly different than most people. Differences and misunderstandings are what this novel is about.
AUTISM In London in 1900: A Novel (pt 5)
Part 1
Part 2
Part 3
Part 4
Earlier that same day, at around 10:04 AM, Charlie, his friend from the neighborhood, the constable and the nice man who'd frightened away the physician arrived at the door of Charlie's father's pub. It had taken Charlie 76 steps to go from the bench where the physician had made the constable hold him down to outside of Waterloo Station; and then another 780 steps to get here. It shouldn't have taken 780 steps. The others took two wrong turns on the way here. It should've taken 743 steps. Those two wrong turns had been absolutely unnecessary. ...Yes. ...Yes. Charlie could see absolutely no reason at all for having taken those turns. He was done counting steps now and was about to start complaining about the wrong turns. For all he knew, none of the three others had any idea that the walk here could've been about 4.75% shorter. 37 steps shorter. 37! Because of mistakes! And his friend lived just two houses down!
The constable knocked on the door and Charlie's father opened it. At first he looked upset, but then he smiled at Charlie and tossled his hair. Charlie convulsed and grimaced and said, "AAAHHHH, AAAHHH, AAAOOOOO!" If you didn't know Charlie you might think was an expression of displeasure, but no. Charlie knew his father, knew that he wished him only good. He also knew that the toussling was most likely going to last no more than a second and a half, and he knew why his father toussled his hair: it was to express good will and affection. Charlie returned that affection, and because the toussling was familiar and Charlie knew it wasn't going to lead to more touching, there was a pleasure about it which outweighed the jolt that the touch gave him. It was pleasant. Charlie didn't mind when his father toussled his hair. And as he had gotten older Charlie had also realized that it was important to his father to touch him once in a while. His father was like most people: they needed to touch other people a certain amount, especially people they were close to, and if they didn't get to do that, it hurt. Achieving this insight made Charlie mind the hair-toussling even less. He felt affection toward his father and didn't want to make him hurt.
Charlie went behind the bar to get a table-top lamp, and then headed to his favorite table when the pub was quiet, in a corner all the way away from the front door. His father and the constable and his friend from the neighborhood and the man who's chased away the physician all sat down at a table near the front door and began to talk quietly. Charlie lit the lamp and adjusted it so that it shine brightly on the table-top and not into his eyes. He put both hands on the table-top. He liked the table-top. It was lacquered. The lacquer finish was deep and well-made. This made the table very easy to clean. Charlie liked the way it looked and the way it felt. Charlie rubbed the table-top, and rocked back and forth and said, "IIIIIIHHHH! IIIIIIHHHH! IIIIIIHHHH!..." After he had done this for a while he felt much more relaxed. It still made him very tense when he thought about the noisy crowds at Waterloo Station, and about being touched -- and especially that physician -- but rubbing the table and rocking and making the noises helped very much. And it helped that he was at home. And his friend being here, and even the constable and the nice stranger, that all helped, because he knew they all were there to protect him.
And he knew they were going to ask him some more about the man with the Waltham 1883. In the meantime, before they came over and started asking him questions, he took the piece of paper with the drawing of the new clock on it out of his pocket, unfolded it and looked at the drawing. He had gone to platform 3 at the station to see the new clock. The clock had been disappointingly uninteresting, but Charlie had his drawing of it now, so that was done. It was a full-on front view of the face, about actual size, about 12 inches in diameter, plus the green enamel band around the face, about three-quarters of an inch wide. The green enamel band was actually more interesting than any of the mechanics of the clock! Charlie snorted in amusement at the thought of that. He imagined that the enamel would feel something like this table-top to his hands. That was a soothing thought. The dark green color was soothing too.
The nice man had come over to him. "Hello, Charlie," he said. "I'm Al. May I sit down?"
"Yes." Charlie took a deep breath as Al sat down and said, "I know you want to ask me more questions about the man with the Waltham 1883. I'm sorry I wasn't able to be more helpful back at the station. It seems to be very important to the police to find that man. It seems they have a lot of policemen looking all over for him. Sorry."
"That's alright," Al said. "I know the noise at the station was making it hard for you to talk. I know people grabbing you made it even worse."
"Yes, you understand that better than most people. That's strange. Are you a doctor?"
"No, Charlie. Actually, I make watches."
"Ah-HAAAA!" Charlie exclaimed, and bounced up and down excitedly in his chair. "A watch-maker! That's great!"
"I understand you fix watches."
"Sometimes. It depends what's wrong with them. I don't have a lot of tools, so..."
"Well, maybe you'll get more."
"Yeah. So you want to know about the man with the 1883."
"Yes. You don't remember his face?"
"No."
"Was he short? Tall?"
"I don't know."
"Do you remember what he was wearing?"
"No. Probably a waistcoat. The Waltham was coming out of a pocket. That was probably a waistcoat pocket."
"But you don't know for sure."
"No. Sorry."
"That's alright, that's alright."
"You said the chain was unusual, the chain the 1883 was on."
"Unusual for an 1883. Very unusual. It was platinum. Great big heavy platinum chain."
"Platinum! Are you sure?"
"Yep. Just like your watch."
This took Latham aback. He knew he hadn't taken his watch out of his waistcoat pocket since meeting Charlie. He knew it hadn't slid partway out either. "When did you figure out that my watch is platinum?"
"After you sat down there."
Latham was well out of the glare of the table-lamp. He looked down. He himself could barely see the outline of his watch in its pocket. "You can see right now that my watch is platinum?"
"Of course. Didn't you know your watch is platinum?"
"Yes, I knew that. What surprises me is that you can see so well. In this light I can hardly see my watch at all."
"Oh. I'm sorry about that."
"Don't be sorry. I have very good vision. But it seems yours is extraordinary."
"I guess so. People say so. So, you're not a physician at all?"
"No, Charlie, not at all."
"I go to Dr Brown. He has to touch me sometimes when he examines me, but he knows how to do it so it doesn't hurt."
"Well, that's very good. That's excellent."
"That doctor at Waterloo Station didn't understand how to do that."
"No, Charlie, he didn't understand that at all."
"Maybe you could be a doctor someday."
"Oh. Hah. Huh. No. I like watches. I want to keep on making watches and fixing them. That's all I want to do."
Part 2
Part 3
Part 4
Earlier that same day, at around 10:04 AM, Charlie, his friend from the neighborhood, the constable and the nice man who'd frightened away the physician arrived at the door of Charlie's father's pub. It had taken Charlie 76 steps to go from the bench where the physician had made the constable hold him down to outside of Waterloo Station; and then another 780 steps to get here. It shouldn't have taken 780 steps. The others took two wrong turns on the way here. It should've taken 743 steps. Those two wrong turns had been absolutely unnecessary. ...Yes. ...Yes. Charlie could see absolutely no reason at all for having taken those turns. He was done counting steps now and was about to start complaining about the wrong turns. For all he knew, none of the three others had any idea that the walk here could've been about 4.75% shorter. 37 steps shorter. 37! Because of mistakes! And his friend lived just two houses down!
The constable knocked on the door and Charlie's father opened it. At first he looked upset, but then he smiled at Charlie and tossled his hair. Charlie convulsed and grimaced and said, "AAAHHHH, AAAHHH, AAAOOOOO!" If you didn't know Charlie you might think was an expression of displeasure, but no. Charlie knew his father, knew that he wished him only good. He also knew that the toussling was most likely going to last no more than a second and a half, and he knew why his father toussled his hair: it was to express good will and affection. Charlie returned that affection, and because the toussling was familiar and Charlie knew it wasn't going to lead to more touching, there was a pleasure about it which outweighed the jolt that the touch gave him. It was pleasant. Charlie didn't mind when his father toussled his hair. And as he had gotten older Charlie had also realized that it was important to his father to touch him once in a while. His father was like most people: they needed to touch other people a certain amount, especially people they were close to, and if they didn't get to do that, it hurt. Achieving this insight made Charlie mind the hair-toussling even less. He felt affection toward his father and didn't want to make him hurt.
Charlie went behind the bar to get a table-top lamp, and then headed to his favorite table when the pub was quiet, in a corner all the way away from the front door. His father and the constable and his friend from the neighborhood and the man who's chased away the physician all sat down at a table near the front door and began to talk quietly. Charlie lit the lamp and adjusted it so that it shine brightly on the table-top and not into his eyes. He put both hands on the table-top. He liked the table-top. It was lacquered. The lacquer finish was deep and well-made. This made the table very easy to clean. Charlie liked the way it looked and the way it felt. Charlie rubbed the table-top, and rocked back and forth and said, "IIIIIIHHHH! IIIIIIHHHH! IIIIIIHHHH!..." After he had done this for a while he felt much more relaxed. It still made him very tense when he thought about the noisy crowds at Waterloo Station, and about being touched -- and especially that physician -- but rubbing the table and rocking and making the noises helped very much. And it helped that he was at home. And his friend being here, and even the constable and the nice stranger, that all helped, because he knew they all were there to protect him.
And he knew they were going to ask him some more about the man with the Waltham 1883. In the meantime, before they came over and started asking him questions, he took the piece of paper with the drawing of the new clock on it out of his pocket, unfolded it and looked at the drawing. He had gone to platform 3 at the station to see the new clock. The clock had been disappointingly uninteresting, but Charlie had his drawing of it now, so that was done. It was a full-on front view of the face, about actual size, about 12 inches in diameter, plus the green enamel band around the face, about three-quarters of an inch wide. The green enamel band was actually more interesting than any of the mechanics of the clock! Charlie snorted in amusement at the thought of that. He imagined that the enamel would feel something like this table-top to his hands. That was a soothing thought. The dark green color was soothing too.
The nice man had come over to him. "Hello, Charlie," he said. "I'm Al. May I sit down?"
"Yes." Charlie took a deep breath as Al sat down and said, "I know you want to ask me more questions about the man with the Waltham 1883. I'm sorry I wasn't able to be more helpful back at the station. It seems to be very important to the police to find that man. It seems they have a lot of policemen looking all over for him. Sorry."
"That's alright," Al said. "I know the noise at the station was making it hard for you to talk. I know people grabbing you made it even worse."
"Yes, you understand that better than most people. That's strange. Are you a doctor?"
"No, Charlie. Actually, I make watches."
"Ah-HAAAA!" Charlie exclaimed, and bounced up and down excitedly in his chair. "A watch-maker! That's great!"
"I understand you fix watches."
"Sometimes. It depends what's wrong with them. I don't have a lot of tools, so..."
"Well, maybe you'll get more."
"Yeah. So you want to know about the man with the 1883."
"Yes. You don't remember his face?"
"No."
"Was he short? Tall?"
"I don't know."
"Do you remember what he was wearing?"
"No. Probably a waistcoat. The Waltham was coming out of a pocket. That was probably a waistcoat pocket."
"But you don't know for sure."
"No. Sorry."
"That's alright, that's alright."
"You said the chain was unusual, the chain the 1883 was on."
"Unusual for an 1883. Very unusual. It was platinum. Great big heavy platinum chain."
"Platinum! Are you sure?"
"Yep. Just like your watch."
This took Latham aback. He knew he hadn't taken his watch out of his waistcoat pocket since meeting Charlie. He knew it hadn't slid partway out either. "When did you figure out that my watch is platinum?"
"After you sat down there."
Latham was well out of the glare of the table-lamp. He looked down. He himself could barely see the outline of his watch in its pocket. "You can see right now that my watch is platinum?"
"Of course. Didn't you know your watch is platinum?"
"Yes, I knew that. What surprises me is that you can see so well. In this light I can hardly see my watch at all."
"Oh. I'm sorry about that."
"Don't be sorry. I have very good vision. But it seems yours is extraordinary."
"I guess so. People say so. So, you're not a physician at all?"
"No, Charlie, not at all."
"I go to Dr Brown. He has to touch me sometimes when he examines me, but he knows how to do it so it doesn't hurt."
"Well, that's very good. That's excellent."
"That doctor at Waterloo Station didn't understand how to do that."
"No, Charlie, he didn't understand that at all."
"Maybe you could be a doctor someday."
"Oh. Hah. Huh. No. I like watches. I want to keep on making watches and fixing them. That's all I want to do."
Thursday, April 3, 2014
AUTISM In London in 1900: A Novel (pt 4)
Part 1
Part 2
Part 3
At about 12:15 PM the same day, Terrence Spilman came to call on Frederick Fontaine in Victoria Street. He hurried past the butler because he known the miserable man disliked him, felt that Spilman's entire existence was an affront to him and his cherished career of keeping people like Spilman out of that place; paused one flight up to exchange warm smiles with a much friendlier maid; then continued up.
The double doors to Fontaine's office were wide open. Spilman took the notebook from his pocket which he'd just finished filling with notes on the comings and goings and meetings and habits and other activities of a few of their adversaries. He'd been tossing the notebooks from farther and farther away toward that bare patch of Fontaine's desk, hadn't missed yet. Fontaine was seated behind the desk, absorbed in writing something. Before he was within two full paces of the double doors, Spilman flicked his wrist and let fly the notebook, and bang! it landed full in the middle of the bare patch of desk, a good six inches from the edge.
Fontaine looked up from his work and stood and smiled and cried, "Terry!" But before the smile had begun there'd been something else, and Spilman had seen it and been filled with understanding. Fontaine give him a quizzical look. "Is something wrong?" he asked.
Spilman closed the double doors behind him and asked, "Freddy, why are we here? Why are we so busily engaged in all of this skullduggery and snooping about?"
"Well, we want better wages for laborers -- "
"That's part of it."
"We want to better living conditions for the less fortunate, see to it that they're not so egregiously exploited -- "
"That's part of it, Freddy! We are here to try to overcome class barriers. We have agreed that the two of us, you and I, have much to teach each other about habits and tic and peculiarities and damned well absurdities which are class-based, because we come from two very different social classes, and things which are ingrained and unconscious in each of us are quite obvious to the other. We have already helped each other quite a bit by telling each other about each other, have we not?"
"We have."
"Learned quite a bit each about his own class and the other's, simply by telling each other what we see in each other which doesn't exist in our own class. And I've already mentioned a few instances of your damnable class-based reluctance to express annoyance. You people buck up and carry on and are terribly embarrassed by your own feelings, and you all expect other people to read your minds, and so you've become quite good at reading each other's minds, so that when one of you realizes that he's been doing something every day for fifty years which bothers another one of you, you're terribly embarrassed and you stop doing it, and isn't that wonderful, it only took fifty years, and you keep so much bottled up behind those terrible stiff upper lips, and it gives you heart attacks and epileptic fits and constipation and god know what all else."
"Terry, why don't you tell me what you're talking about?"
"Oh, that's a good one! Why don't I tell you about how I've just realized I've been doing something twice a week or so for months which bothers you ever so much? Why don't you tell me, Freddy? That's the whole point. I suppose I'm going to have to tell you. You may actually not even know what I'm talking about. That stiff upper lip may really be that much of an automatic habit. Alright, I'll say it: today, when you were absorbed in your work and I tossed a notebook onto your desk beside you where it landed with a round full 'smack,' today, in a split-second before you rose to greet me with a smile, I saw you give a start and a grimace which you very, very quickly squelched, and your smile is distinctly stiff-upper-lipped. It gives you a great start when my presence is announced by something smacking onto your desk-top, and almost certainly the start has been getting worse each time I've come in that way, and it aggravates you more and more, and probably you've actually lost some sleep being aggravated about it, and if there's been someone in bed next to you and she asks you if you're all right, you assure her that there isn't with a stiff upper lip, and if she's from your class she says well good I guess I'm imagining things or some other lie like that and her own upper lips stiffens and you both lie there in completely unnecessary agony which you barely even notice anymore because it's been in you since you've been four or five years old, just lie there giving yourselves and each other ulcers out of politeness. I can see that I'm annoying you by saying all this, yes I am, yes I am, don't even bother trying to deny it, because I see it. And it pains me to annoy you, because I love you -- that's right, I love you, you big silly stiff-arsed man, and annoying you for a moment now doesn't distress me as much as the thought of you dropping dead of a stroke in the middle of a cocktail party years before your time because you never resolved this... neurosis!"
"All right, all right! Yes, I wish you wouldn't toss the notebooks that way!"
"Well, I'm glad you said so, Freddy! I'll never do it again. So. From now on, if I come in and you're absorbed in your work and don't notice my approach, I'll -- what? Give a soft knock on the door-frame, like this?" Spilman knock twice on the door.
"Yes, yes, fine."
"Or perhaps just softly saying, 'Hello, Freddy' would be better."
"Now you're the one who's being silly."
"Nevertheless. Tell me what you'd prefer."
"Just say hello."
"So shall it be."
"And I... I... love you too."
"I know. Ah, that's great! Two major unstiffenings of the lip within a minute. Isn't that just like two big stones taken off of your chest."
"It is. Thank you so much."
"You're so very welcome."
"Well... While we're at it here... Might as well take off a third stone... You see, it would be a he."
"Pardon?"
"You imagined a scenario in which someone in bed with me would ask me if something was wrong. You said she would ask me if something was wrong. Well, it would be a he. In fact, for the past three years it would be Benjamin."
"Benjamin! Really."
"You didn't know I was...'
"I had no idea."
"It doesn't bother you?"
"Why on Earth would it bother me?"
"Well then. And of course, you'll be discreet?"
"Why on Earth would I gossip about you?"
"Thank you."
"Benjamin. I would've guessed it was most likely Alice."
"Alice is a dear friend."
"And a very convenient shield against gossip, I imagine."
"Priceless, in that regard. We may even get married, eventually, for the sake of gossip."
"I have no problem with that. And does Alice..."
"Prefer women? Yes, she does. What?"
"I'd always found her very charming. Do I have no chance?"
"Never say never, my good man! but in this case, say almost certainly not."
"Well! I don't know about you, Freddy, but I'm exhausted and happy." Fontaine laughed. "It's been too long since I've heard you laugh, Freddy."
"I haven't felt so relaxed in some time."
"Well! What say we talk about our friend the MP? About half of that notebook contains observations about him." They sat. "We were right, he's attempting to organize a repeal of Factory and Workshop."
"It's not just a suspicion anymore?" Fontaine asked.
"It's certain."
"And do you know how he's going about organizing this effort."
"Bloody great bribes, for one thing." It was unusual for Spilman to use slang terms like "bloody" except when he was very angry, although he'd spoken like the Cockney he had been when Fontaine met him years ago. His speech had changed entirely since then. Although he no longer sounded anything like Cockney, he also didn't mimic the speech of other classes, as some ex-Cockneys did, some quite skillfully. Spilman truly did not aspire to join the middle classes. His speech was unique, as far as Fontaine's experience went. Classless.
"He's made bribes already?" Fontaine asked.
"Yes."
"To other MP's?" Fontaine asked as he opened the notebook and began to thumb through it.
"Yes."
"You're certain?"
"Absolutely certain."
"If we could prove this to the public -- "
"And exactly how would we prove something like that?" Spilman asked. They both were silent for some time. Then Spilman asked, "Perhaps some of the policemen on our side... ?"
"Perhaps. I'll talk to Raymond. You've met Inspector Raymond, haven't you?"
"Yes I have," Spilman said. Then he took a watch from pocket inside his jacket, looked at it and said, "Damn it!"
"What's wrong?"
"This watch is an unreliable piece of... Oh, it's aggravating. I've a long history of problems with unreliable cheap watches."
"And is it due to some lingering neurosis typical of the Cockney class that this is the first I've heard of these problems?"
Spilman sighed: "Yes, perhaps."
"Well then." Fontaine opened a desk drawer, took out a watch and held it out to Spilman. "Go on, take it. It's very accurate, very reliable, daresay you could drop it twenty feet onto concrete and it'd still run for a couple of days, long enough for you to get it to a repairman. I'm telling you, this is a very, very, very good watch."
But Spilman wasn't reaching out to take it. "It may very well be all you say," he said. "It's also platinum, and there are some real diamonds on the hands."
"You can tell that from looking six feet away?"
"Yes I can, and more to the point, so could many of the thieves I rub elbows with in the course of my work. These are men and women who will stoop to stealing a penny when the opportunity presents itself. I'm big and scary-looking enough to make them think twice about trying to take a watch off me they might get six shillings for. They'd be filled with much more courage and purpose if they saw me check the time on a watch that's worth... I'm afraid to even guess."
"Afraid to even guess! It cost three hundred pounds new two years ago."
"Jesus in heaven!"
"Now there is a Cockney neurosis showing! Shuddering at the mere mention of the price of a watch! But I see your point. You need a watch that keeps good time -- very, very good time if possible -- and that's tough enough you don't have to carry it like a raw egg, but that doesn't look like it's worth a pound."
"That's what I need. Is there any such thing?"
"I've no idea. But I happen to know someone who would know. As a matter of fact, it's someone who could make such a watch, if they don't already exist. Just a moment." Fontaine picked up the telephone. "Operator, would you connect me to the Latham Watch Company, please? ...Yes, in Lambeth, that's the one. Thank you." Fontaine covered the mouthpiece and said to Spilman, "Don't worry a bit. This man's a phenomenal genius when it comes to watches... Hello, Mr Latham! How are you, Sir? ...Swimmingly, as a matter of fact. ...I need to talk to Albert, if I can. ...I see. ...Yes. Can you hold on for a moment?" "Fontaine covered the mouthpiece and said to Spilman, "Our man's busy at the moment. D'you want to stay for lunch and talk about this awful mess in Parliament, and wait for him?"
"Yes."
"Brilliant. Mr Latham? Would you get a message to Albert, ask him to come round as soon as he can? Thanks so much. ...Yes. Thank you." Fontaine hung up and said, "An uncanny genius when it comes to watches, as I said. And he's one of us. As is his father, the owner of the plant. The rest of the family, we're unsure of."
Part 2
Part 3
At about 12:15 PM the same day, Terrence Spilman came to call on Frederick Fontaine in Victoria Street. He hurried past the butler because he known the miserable man disliked him, felt that Spilman's entire existence was an affront to him and his cherished career of keeping people like Spilman out of that place; paused one flight up to exchange warm smiles with a much friendlier maid; then continued up.
The double doors to Fontaine's office were wide open. Spilman took the notebook from his pocket which he'd just finished filling with notes on the comings and goings and meetings and habits and other activities of a few of their adversaries. He'd been tossing the notebooks from farther and farther away toward that bare patch of Fontaine's desk, hadn't missed yet. Fontaine was seated behind the desk, absorbed in writing something. Before he was within two full paces of the double doors, Spilman flicked his wrist and let fly the notebook, and bang! it landed full in the middle of the bare patch of desk, a good six inches from the edge.
Fontaine looked up from his work and stood and smiled and cried, "Terry!" But before the smile had begun there'd been something else, and Spilman had seen it and been filled with understanding. Fontaine give him a quizzical look. "Is something wrong?" he asked.
Spilman closed the double doors behind him and asked, "Freddy, why are we here? Why are we so busily engaged in all of this skullduggery and snooping about?"
"Well, we want better wages for laborers -- "
"That's part of it."
"We want to better living conditions for the less fortunate, see to it that they're not so egregiously exploited -- "
"That's part of it, Freddy! We are here to try to overcome class barriers. We have agreed that the two of us, you and I, have much to teach each other about habits and tic and peculiarities and damned well absurdities which are class-based, because we come from two very different social classes, and things which are ingrained and unconscious in each of us are quite obvious to the other. We have already helped each other quite a bit by telling each other about each other, have we not?"
"We have."
"Learned quite a bit each about his own class and the other's, simply by telling each other what we see in each other which doesn't exist in our own class. And I've already mentioned a few instances of your damnable class-based reluctance to express annoyance. You people buck up and carry on and are terribly embarrassed by your own feelings, and you all expect other people to read your minds, and so you've become quite good at reading each other's minds, so that when one of you realizes that he's been doing something every day for fifty years which bothers another one of you, you're terribly embarrassed and you stop doing it, and isn't that wonderful, it only took fifty years, and you keep so much bottled up behind those terrible stiff upper lips, and it gives you heart attacks and epileptic fits and constipation and god know what all else."
"Terry, why don't you tell me what you're talking about?"
"Oh, that's a good one! Why don't I tell you about how I've just realized I've been doing something twice a week or so for months which bothers you ever so much? Why don't you tell me, Freddy? That's the whole point. I suppose I'm going to have to tell you. You may actually not even know what I'm talking about. That stiff upper lip may really be that much of an automatic habit. Alright, I'll say it: today, when you were absorbed in your work and I tossed a notebook onto your desk beside you where it landed with a round full 'smack,' today, in a split-second before you rose to greet me with a smile, I saw you give a start and a grimace which you very, very quickly squelched, and your smile is distinctly stiff-upper-lipped. It gives you a great start when my presence is announced by something smacking onto your desk-top, and almost certainly the start has been getting worse each time I've come in that way, and it aggravates you more and more, and probably you've actually lost some sleep being aggravated about it, and if there's been someone in bed next to you and she asks you if you're all right, you assure her that there isn't with a stiff upper lip, and if she's from your class she says well good I guess I'm imagining things or some other lie like that and her own upper lips stiffens and you both lie there in completely unnecessary agony which you barely even notice anymore because it's been in you since you've been four or five years old, just lie there giving yourselves and each other ulcers out of politeness. I can see that I'm annoying you by saying all this, yes I am, yes I am, don't even bother trying to deny it, because I see it. And it pains me to annoy you, because I love you -- that's right, I love you, you big silly stiff-arsed man, and annoying you for a moment now doesn't distress me as much as the thought of you dropping dead of a stroke in the middle of a cocktail party years before your time because you never resolved this... neurosis!"
"All right, all right! Yes, I wish you wouldn't toss the notebooks that way!"
"Well, I'm glad you said so, Freddy! I'll never do it again. So. From now on, if I come in and you're absorbed in your work and don't notice my approach, I'll -- what? Give a soft knock on the door-frame, like this?" Spilman knock twice on the door.
"Yes, yes, fine."
"Or perhaps just softly saying, 'Hello, Freddy' would be better."
"Now you're the one who's being silly."
"Nevertheless. Tell me what you'd prefer."
"Just say hello."
"So shall it be."
"And I... I... love you too."
"I know. Ah, that's great! Two major unstiffenings of the lip within a minute. Isn't that just like two big stones taken off of your chest."
"It is. Thank you so much."
"You're so very welcome."
"Well... While we're at it here... Might as well take off a third stone... You see, it would be a he."
"Pardon?"
"You imagined a scenario in which someone in bed with me would ask me if something was wrong. You said she would ask me if something was wrong. Well, it would be a he. In fact, for the past three years it would be Benjamin."
"Benjamin! Really."
"You didn't know I was...'
"I had no idea."
"It doesn't bother you?"
"Why on Earth would it bother me?"
"Well then. And of course, you'll be discreet?"
"Why on Earth would I gossip about you?"
"Thank you."
"Benjamin. I would've guessed it was most likely Alice."
"Alice is a dear friend."
"And a very convenient shield against gossip, I imagine."
"Priceless, in that regard. We may even get married, eventually, for the sake of gossip."
"I have no problem with that. And does Alice..."
"Prefer women? Yes, she does. What?"
"I'd always found her very charming. Do I have no chance?"
"Never say never, my good man! but in this case, say almost certainly not."
"Well! I don't know about you, Freddy, but I'm exhausted and happy." Fontaine laughed. "It's been too long since I've heard you laugh, Freddy."
"I haven't felt so relaxed in some time."
"Well! What say we talk about our friend the MP? About half of that notebook contains observations about him." They sat. "We were right, he's attempting to organize a repeal of Factory and Workshop."
"It's not just a suspicion anymore?" Fontaine asked.
"It's certain."
"And do you know how he's going about organizing this effort."
"Bloody great bribes, for one thing." It was unusual for Spilman to use slang terms like "bloody" except when he was very angry, although he'd spoken like the Cockney he had been when Fontaine met him years ago. His speech had changed entirely since then. Although he no longer sounded anything like Cockney, he also didn't mimic the speech of other classes, as some ex-Cockneys did, some quite skillfully. Spilman truly did not aspire to join the middle classes. His speech was unique, as far as Fontaine's experience went. Classless.
"He's made bribes already?" Fontaine asked.
"Yes."
"To other MP's?" Fontaine asked as he opened the notebook and began to thumb through it.
"Yes."
"You're certain?"
"Absolutely certain."
"If we could prove this to the public -- "
"And exactly how would we prove something like that?" Spilman asked. They both were silent for some time. Then Spilman asked, "Perhaps some of the policemen on our side... ?"
"Perhaps. I'll talk to Raymond. You've met Inspector Raymond, haven't you?"
"Yes I have," Spilman said. Then he took a watch from pocket inside his jacket, looked at it and said, "Damn it!"
"What's wrong?"
"This watch is an unreliable piece of... Oh, it's aggravating. I've a long history of problems with unreliable cheap watches."
"And is it due to some lingering neurosis typical of the Cockney class that this is the first I've heard of these problems?"
Spilman sighed: "Yes, perhaps."
"Well then." Fontaine opened a desk drawer, took out a watch and held it out to Spilman. "Go on, take it. It's very accurate, very reliable, daresay you could drop it twenty feet onto concrete and it'd still run for a couple of days, long enough for you to get it to a repairman. I'm telling you, this is a very, very, very good watch."
But Spilman wasn't reaching out to take it. "It may very well be all you say," he said. "It's also platinum, and there are some real diamonds on the hands."
"You can tell that from looking six feet away?"
"Yes I can, and more to the point, so could many of the thieves I rub elbows with in the course of my work. These are men and women who will stoop to stealing a penny when the opportunity presents itself. I'm big and scary-looking enough to make them think twice about trying to take a watch off me they might get six shillings for. They'd be filled with much more courage and purpose if they saw me check the time on a watch that's worth... I'm afraid to even guess."
"Afraid to even guess! It cost three hundred pounds new two years ago."
"Jesus in heaven!"
"Now there is a Cockney neurosis showing! Shuddering at the mere mention of the price of a watch! But I see your point. You need a watch that keeps good time -- very, very good time if possible -- and that's tough enough you don't have to carry it like a raw egg, but that doesn't look like it's worth a pound."
"That's what I need. Is there any such thing?"
"I've no idea. But I happen to know someone who would know. As a matter of fact, it's someone who could make such a watch, if they don't already exist. Just a moment." Fontaine picked up the telephone. "Operator, would you connect me to the Latham Watch Company, please? ...Yes, in Lambeth, that's the one. Thank you." Fontaine covered the mouthpiece and said to Spilman, "Don't worry a bit. This man's a phenomenal genius when it comes to watches... Hello, Mr Latham! How are you, Sir? ...Swimmingly, as a matter of fact. ...I need to talk to Albert, if I can. ...I see. ...Yes. Can you hold on for a moment?" "Fontaine covered the mouthpiece and said to Spilman, "Our man's busy at the moment. D'you want to stay for lunch and talk about this awful mess in Parliament, and wait for him?"
"Yes."
"Brilliant. Mr Latham? Would you get a message to Albert, ask him to come round as soon as he can? Thanks so much. ...Yes. Thank you." Fontaine hung up and said, "An uncanny genius when it comes to watches, as I said. And he's one of us. As is his father, the owner of the plant. The rest of the family, we're unsure of."
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