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They stood on the doorstep, not quite sure that this
was still a good idea. The idea of something often seems
better at night, when you still have a several clear
hours before you actually have to go ahead and do whatever
it was you thought of. Lea reached a trembling hand
towards the doorbell and then pulled it back again.
She waited for a reproach from Michael but none came.
"Do you think we should?" she asked.
He shrugged. "No. But I guess we have to try.
He deserves a warning. Anyway, I want to know what he's
doing."
"Do you think he'll call my folks?"
"Do Barney and Betty keep in touch with him?"
"No, but he knows where we live." Lea sighed.
"We can't wait here all night. Shall we just go
home?" Michael looked back at her silently. Sadly
she turned towards the gate. "Come on."
Michael hesitated and then reached out and rang the
doorbell. "No. Let's get this over with."
Lea gave a small inward smile. Almost immediately they
heard the sound of someone inside running towards the
door. It creaked open, just enough to show an old face
surrounded by white hair. The hinges needed oil; they
sounded for all the world as if they belonged on a door
in a haunted house. The Professor's face was fierce,
his eyes wide. He stared at them for the briefest moment,
and then took on a look of disappointed, as if he'd
been expecting someone else.
"What do you want?" he demanded.
"Hello, Professor," Lea began.
"I'm busy."
Lea smiled. "Professor? Do you remember me?"
She paused, and then added "Lea?"
He considered the question for several seconds. "No."
"You used to know my Dad." She told him her
father's name, trying to keep up a confident smile.
"When I was little you once bought me a toffee
apple at the fair."
"Wait there." He shut the door, firmly.
"Polite, isn't he?" Michael observed.
"He's always been like this. He doesn't mean any
harm. He just doesn't bother with all the formality
that most people spend time on. He's a sweetheart, I
promise."
The door opened again and the sweetheart stood before
them. This time his gaze fell on Michael.
"Who are you?"
"This is my best friend. His name's Michael."
"Well, come in. Michael, you said?"
"Michael," said Michael.
They walked past him into the hallway and he closed
the door behind them. The carpeting was old but clean.
The pictures on the walls were all on the same subject,
the cosmos.
"What was your name again?" he asked Lea.
"Lea," said Lea.
"Hmmm." It was obvious that he was trying
to commit the names to memory. It was also obvious that
the endeavour was unlikely to be successful.
"Lea," he repeated, pointing to Lea. "And
Michael."
They nodded. He thought about it for a moment longer
and then shook his head. "You'd better write that
down for me."
He set off down the hallway and they assumed they were
supposed to follow. The Professor's living room was
astonishingly tidy and comfortable. They had both expected
to find it grimy but it was neat and orderly, though
perhaps lacking a feminine touch. The curtains were
practical rather than decorative and didn't really match
the colouring of the furniture or the rug which, if
truth be told, were a little at odds with each other
already.
The only decorations were pictures, this time of old
scientific experiments, an ornate wooden globe, of the
moon rather than the earth, and scattered pieces of
machinery. Michael recognised the piston from an engine,
which seemed to serve as a paperweight, and an instrument
from the cockpit of a plane, designed to measure pitch
or yaw or something like that. There was a very old
television set in the corner. The Professor told them
to sit down.
"I don't have any toffee apples." It was
the most polite thing he'd said since they arrived.
"Oh, that's alright," Lea reassured him.
"I grew out of them. I experimented with Marlboros
for a while but I'm not very good with vices."
Michael knew for a fact that she enjoyed a Kit Kat
almost every day but he didn't want to spoil the mood.
The Professor sat down heavily in one of the armchairs
and watched them. "Very wise. Now, what do you
want?" he enquired.
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