Hadrian's Wall (49 page)

Walter smiled and rubbed
his chin, watching with interest the chaos that reigned around us.
For a moment he seemed like a child standing in front of the candy
store window. All this excitement was delighting him, as if he
wasn’t familiar with this sort of situation.

“I think it will be easier
to talk in my room,” I said, pointing to corridor. “By the way, I’m
Melissa Baker.”

He nodded silently, still
smiling.
Apparently, he isn’t talkative.
However he doesn’t seem
insecure
like guys his age often appear to be,
I thought, as we left the living room.

Halfway to my room, we
heard the furious pounding of Derek Spencer on his piano. He was
still
practicing
.
Walter suddenly stopped at the door to the music room and then
cocked his head, listening curiously.

“The piano is a little out of tune,” he said
softly to himself. “In my time, the tuning was provided by...” He
hesitated, glancing up at me.

Okay, that’s the last
straw!

“How old are you?” I asked
him impulsively. But to my own ears, the question sounded
aggressive.

His smile widened.
“Seventeen...and you?” He sent the question right back to me. “I
know it’s discourteous to ask the age of a young lady, but in view
of your curiosity, I feel authorized to ask you too.”

Are you serious?

“I have no problem telling you my age. I
just recently turned eighteen.

“Wow! You’re an old woman,
eh?”

“Ha ha!” I laughed wryly. I recognized that
I deserved his comment.

“Don’t worry, miss. I’m an
excellent teacher, if that’s what worries you...”

“I’m not worried...just
intrigued.”
And
bewildered
to tell you the
truth.
“Yes, I thought that you were too
young to be my instructor, but I found your behavior too mature for
someone so young.”

I stopped short in front of my door, turned
the knob, and motioned for him to enter.

“Please,
make yourself comfortable,” I said, behaving like
Miss Manners would expect of me in this situation.
Once inside he quickly glanced around and then
set his bag on the floor, leaned it against the leg of the bed, and
removed a laptop, a booklet, two books, and a worn-looking pencil
case.

I pulled out the cushions
that I’d found inside the trunk and laid them on the carpet. While
he was arranging the material on the foot of my bed, I sat down.
Then Walter sat down beside me on the other pad and supported the
laptop on the legs.

“Sorry I don’t have a more
suitable location,” I said. “I just moved in, so I’m not familiar
with place, so that I could have chosen a better place to meet, but
perhaps there’s an office, a study room, or something
else...”

He shook his head gently.
“Don’t worry about it.”

Suddenly I figured out exactly what
intrigued me about the way Walter expresses himself. Walter looked
like Adrian—not in physical appearance. What I mean is, they both
seem much older than their age.

“Where do you want start?
The PDA’s functions or the aptitude test?”

My eyes widened.

“Test? I thought you’d help
me with the PDA,” I said, pointing to the electronic device on the
bed.

“I’ll also help you study
for the test,” he said gently.

“Please, start where you think best,” I
replied, thoroughly confused.

He looked at his
wristwatch before making a brief introduction on the subject. He
showed me the revisions that the test had undergone in the last two
years and created some basic exercises for me “
to get it.”
After a variety of
exercises, corrections, and suggestions, he outlined a list of
activities and contents that we’d be studying, as well as providing
me with website addresses that could help resolve my
questions.

He mentioned that the school library where
he studies contains all the exercises for the last five years.
However, he was thinking that the most difficult part of the test
would be the essay portion because it required concentration and
ability to express my thoughts. Therefore, the electronic organizer
could be very useful in this regard.

“How?” I asked, not understanding.

“You’ll see when I explain
how it works.”

In the end, we worked out
a schedule of days and times that we would meet to study.
Throughout the conversation, I learned that he had taken the test
and obtained a score that seemed to me
stratospheric
. I was dying of envy.
I could see that he’d mastered the contents and could explain
patiently, using examples that were easy for me to memorize. The
way Walter spoke, the test did not seem as complicated as the last
time that I took it.

“You’ll be an excellent
teacher,” I complimented him.

Walter smiled and looked down at the
booklet. Was he feeling embarrassed?

“Do you already have some idea about what
you want to do after college?” he asked with interest.

“I want to major in art.”

He raised his eyebrows, genuinely
surprised.

“Really? Do you have a portfolio with
you?”

“I’m working on it...” I
replied defensively.

Even against my will, I felt an inexplicable
urge to show him my work. I pulled the suitcase from underneath the
bed, took some things out and threw them on the bed so that I could
remove the package containing my sketches. Walter handled the
drawings very carefully, remarking that I should get a multiple rod
case to store them better.

I nodded to the drawing board bag that
Adrian gave me, resting on the other side of the bed.

“Cool!” He looked at the
bag quickly. “I personally think it’s better than a multiple rod
case because you don’t need to roll and unroll your work all the
time and risk breaking or crushing the sheets.”

Moreover, the multiple rod
case is more practical to transport,
I
thought, but I didn’t say it.

He was quiet and focused on
the drawings. For a few minutes, his usually decipherable face
remained expressionless. An uneasy feeling came over me. I
definitely didn’t like seeing my work being analyzed; however, if I
wanted to major in art, I needed to know how to deal with that.
Many teachers would evaluate my work and even criticize it. I’d
just have to get over it!

“Wow!” He finally said,
smiling. “They’re fantastic!” Walter seemed surprised.

“Looking at you, I wouldn’t
have guessed that you’re a drawing artist.” Before I could say
anything, he added, “I thought you would be studying something like
medicine or pedagogy.”

He thought I looked like a future doctor or
teacher? Why?

“You know, I also
draw,”
Walter confessed
humbly. “But I’m not as good as you are! Your outline is
fantastic!”

I was amazed and embarrassed at the same
time. I looked down, comparing our hands. Even with gloves, I could
imagine him as a draftsman or painter because of the long fingers.
Suddenly, I noticed that Walter was wearing a bracelet with a tiny
bright spot below his wrist. It was pulsing.

“I love manga,” he said, giving me a shy
smile.

“Ah, then you are an otaku.” With effort, I
looked away from the strange bracelet.

He laughed and nodded.

“Yes, you could say that,
but not in the
literal meaning
of the term.”

Literal meaning of the
term
... In what dictionary from which
century did he find that expression? Walter was actually full of
surprises, speaking a mixture of slang from various eras with
scholarly jargon.

“Can I see? I also do a bit
of manga, but unfortunately I lost those drawings. Long story short
there was a heavy rain and the place where I kept them wasn’t
waterproof. So all that remains are what you see here.”

He pursed his lips.

“Mr. Cahill told me that
you lived in an orphanage. I’m orphan too. I lost my parents when I
was seventeen.”

He handed me back the
drawings, regretting for saying what he probably thought was an
impulsive comment. I didn’t want to see that he was feeling guilty,
nor make him recall any sad memories. Even though my curiosity was
killing me, I was obliged to change the subject.

“So, can I see your work?”

“Sure!” he said, excited.
“I’ll bring my sketchbook tomorrow afternoon. Is this same time
good for you?”

I nodded affirmatively. “Yes.” I was staring
at his gloved hands, dying to ask. I decided to throw caution to
the wind...as always!

“Do you know Adrian Cahill well?” He shook
his head, his expression became wary.

“Well, I don’t know much about him. He
offered me his help in a time when I most needed help,” Walter
replied carefully. “I can say that he’s a benevolent person. He
didn’t need to become my advocate, but even so he interceded on my
behalf. He became my...how can I explain it to you...my
sponsor?”

I remembered Charity’s
comment. She said almost the same thing about
her
cousin, but Adrian’s position as
“sponsor” messed up my thoughts. What does this mean?

“I...I’m indebted to Mr. Cahill,” he
continued excitedly. “He trusted me so much that now I have been
allowed to absent myself from the Pine Tree for a few hours every
day, to get close to people...I mean, close to you...” He was
fumbling. “...to help you in your studies. This is a great
responsibility...being close to you, I mean. He wouldn’t delegate
this task to anyone and I have a lot of colleagues at school who
are dying of envy. I don’t want to disappoint him...or Mr.
Wade...or you.” He looked down at the laptop, which displayed a
page of a website search.

This was the least
coherent speech I had ever heard in my entire
life
.

Walter was visibly
nervous. Maybe he was sorry for having said too much, but I was
really confused! The way he described the situation, his school
sounded like a juvenile prison. I could even imagine a camp, like
in the
Boot Camp
movie.
Gee, but for me...enough is
enough!

Well, from those pale,
weird people, we could expect anything. Since Alcatraz to “Fury
101”—the prison planet of the movie
Aliens
3
... Anyway, in my imagination, I guess it
could be a place where delinquents full of tricks gained
conditional release in return for playing the pageboy for crazy
girls like me.

My instincts alerted me to curb my curiosity
because he could decide to clam up altogether. Maybe I can find out
something about the Cahill family, if I play it tactfully!

“Did you say that you work
for Christian Wade in the Panther’s Cliff?” I tried to sound casual
in order to disguise my hunger for information.

His eyes sparkled and his smile widened.

“I’m just an intern. Until
recently, I just helped with some tests and calculations, within
the dependencies of the Pine Tree—everything under the supervision
of Mr. Semanich. Now I’m attending the computer and robotic lab of
Mr. Wade, inside the mansion. It’s a great honor for me. My classes
have become much more profitable now that I’m in constant contact
with the practice.

-“Mr. Wade is a man who
might be called the new Einstein. He’s always giving us new
experiences. I’m currently dabbling in nanotechnology and
neuro-informatics.”

The pride he felt for
participating in these new experiences was evident in his voice. I
struggled to hide my resentment
b
ecause I wanted to see the Cahill
mansion.

“I assume I shouldn’t ask
what it’s like, I mean working there inside the
mansion?”

His smile evaporated.

“I’m sorry, but I cannot
tell you anything about the property. There’s a security
protocol.”

“Yeah, I know.”

An embarrassed silence fell
upon us. Walter gave me a look that was simultaneously puzzled, but
supportive. He seemed to sense my frustration and as incredible as
that seemed, I’d bet he was feeling sorry for me. I rubbed my hands
together, simulating an enthusiasm that I was far from
feeling.

“And now? You’re gonna show
me how this crazy PDA works?”

He blinked, friendly like,
then said, “It’s not a big deal, you know. There are much more
complex mobile phones than this unit.” He reached for the PDA on
the bed and opened its display. “Anyone who knows anything about
computers, even just the basics, will learn how to deal with this
little thing really fast.”

He began explaining its
mechanisms. “Imagine that you want to create a blog, or write
a
diary,
which is
almost the same thing as a web-blog, you know, just shared via
online. Imagine you want to sketch some illustrations before
deciding to save them to your PDA—or if you prefer, incorporate a
finished digital to your manual outlines or vice versa. You can do
all that inside your PDA and then, if you want, save your work in
the computer or some external hard drive.

“If you decide to write a
diary, for example, you can create a link between the day of the
week in the schedule program, where you record your appointments
and a blank document. In this document, you can type your
impressions of the day’s events and you have the opportunity to
scan or import images to illustrate your text. By a link, you can
post it on the Internet, powered directly by you. If you don’t want
to publish it, it remains in the PDA, password-protected. But you
can also set a password for the entire unit that will automatically
shut down if someone tries to spy on its contents.”