''This is where I teach," said Bob, as they splashed toward the entrance of his building.
Their footsteps echoed as they marched down the corridor to Bob's door.
Bob unlocked the office. It smelled musty as they entered.
"Is this where you do your mathematics?" the
156
boy asked, gazing at the wall-to-ceiling shelves of books.
''Some of it," Bob smiled.
''May I sit at your desk?''
"Sure."
The boy plopped onto Bob's chair and began to swivel from side to side. "I am Professor Beckwith/' he pronounced in a kind of soprano-baritone. "Would you like to ask me some statistics, sir?''
"Yes," replied Bob. "What are the chances of this damn rain stopping today, Professor?"
"Mmm," said Jean-Claude, pondering earnestly. "You'll have to see me tomorrow about that." And then he giggled, enjoying his own joke. And sitting in his father's leather chair.
Bob sat down opposite Jean-Claude, in the seat usually reserved for his student visitors, and smiled at the boy. He seemed minuscule behind that desk, today preternaturally neat. Bob had swept away the clutter before leaving in June. In fact, all that was left besides the telephone was a picture of Sheila and the girls.
"I like it here," said Jean-Claude. "You can see all the sailboats on the river. Look—there are even some out in the rain."
Bob was usually so wrapped up in work that he rarely glanced out of the window. But the boy was right. His view was wonderful. It was almost 3 p.m.
"I have an idea," said Bob. "If you don't mind a little walk, we could visit the Museum of Science. I think you might like it." "Okay."
Bob found an old semi-operative umbrella and together they went out to brave the elements. Tliey crossed Memorial Drive and walked along the river to Science Park.
As Bob expected, the museum was paclced because of the bad weather. Jean-Claude stood hypnotized by the gaze of Spooky the Owl, the avian host of the place. Bob bought him a Spooky T-shirt. Which he immediately put on.
''On top of your other clothes?"
"Yes."
"Why?"
"Why not?"
They then waited their turn so that Jean-Claude could explore the lunar surface and climb up into the Apollo landing module. He waved at Bob, who now stood several hundred thousand miles away.
''Salut from the moon."
Bob smiled. He offered Jean-Claude his hand to help him out of the spaceship, and after that the little boy did not let go. They went up to the second floor, bought ice cream cones and engaged the plexiglass Transparent Woman in conversation. Bob was impressed with how much anatomy the boy already knew.
"Do you want to be a doctor when you grow up?" he asked.
"Perhaps. Or maybe a professor."
A man's voice rudely dispelled their reverie.
"How're you making out?" he asked.
Bob turned. He was being addressed by a middle-aged man with a boy and a girl in tow.
"Isn't it a bitch, these custody days?" he continued. "At least if it wasn't raining I could take 'em to a parade or the ball game. I bet they're as sick of this museum as I am."
Bob did nothing to encourage dialogue, but his very silence seemed to inspire the bore.
"My ex took 'em here last week, can you believe it? I thought she'd already ripped off everything I had. Now she's after my last option to entertain the
kids. By the way, my name's Phil Harlan. Interested in joining forces?''
Bob looked at Harlan. And Harlan's kids. They seemed as miserable as their father. And then he thought of his daughters. We could never come to this, he told himself. Harlan and his lifestyle made him shudder.
''Sorry, we've got other plans," he answered coolly, and started to walk off with Jean-Claude.
''Well, catch you some Saturday in the fall, huh?" Harlan was undaunted.
"Maybe," Bob muttered without turning.
In the museum souvenir shop, Jean-Claude asked Bob to buy him a postcard of the lunar surface. To send to his friend Maurice in Montpellier. He dictated the message, which Bob dutifully transcribed:
Tu vols, Maurice, moi aussi je peux volerl
Ton amiy Jean-Claude
The message puzzled Bob. "What do you mean, you can fly too?" "Maurice says he built a spaceship in his cellar. He was going to fly to Sete to visit me, but his mother found out, so he couldn't come."
"Oh," said Bob, biting his lip to keep from smiling.
"But he made me promise not to tell anyone." "I won't," said Bob, feeling happy to be trusted.
He bought a newspaper. Not to check on flights, for he knew they left each evening at seven, but to find something to do.
"Hey," he said, "there's supposed to be a great
outdoor concert tonight, just across the river. I wonder if they've canceled it."