The History Mystery (8 page)

‘So, she wasn't the kind of model that goes on catwalks showing off outfits or who appears in ads,' Colin concluded. ‘She was the kind of model who poses for artists.'

‘Of
course
,' said Faye, suddenly getting it. ‘That's it. That's the kind of model she was. When one of those first text messages asked me if I wouldn't prefer to be an artist, I thought of musicians and pop stars, that kind of thing. But of course what she meant by “artist” was a painter or a sculptor, the kind of artist she met in
her
work as a model. That makes more sense.'

‘What else did you guys talk about?' asked Sonia, wanting to get as much information as possible.

‘Not much. She spent the whole time talking about that sculptor, Camille. She seemed really proud of having known this Camille and having met her teacher, Master Rodin.'

‘Ah,' said Colin. ‘I
get
it. This Camille she was talking about is Camille Claudel.'

Very helpful
, Sonia thought sarcastically.

‘She was a famous artist in the nineteenth century,' Colin explained, as if he'd overheard Sonia's thoughts.

The others looked at him in amazement. He knew a lot of stuff, and not only about the law.

‘There was an exhibition here a couple of years ago,' he explained. ‘It showed some of her work. And they also made a movie about her life, I saw part of it on TV. She was the sister of a great French poet and she was the girlfriend of Auguste Rodin, one of the greatest sculptors in history. But she had a tragic life.'

‘Yeah, it must be that one,' said Faye. ‘The model said Camille ended up crazy, locked up in a mental institution.'

‘Well,' Colin said, ‘I'm not sure she really was crazy. This movie seemed to suggest it could also be that people wanted to get rid of her because they didn't like her behaviour. She was a very determined woman, and she didn't let obstacles stand in her way.'

Sonia liked the sound of her. Faye too.

‘The society of the time did not approve of her,' Colin said, ‘but nowadays she is widely recognised as a very talented artist. And she is also highly thought of today because she was such a passionate,
rebellious, intense, hard-working woman, way ahead of her time.'

‘A model woman …' said Faye pensively. ‘That's exactly what the girl said. At least, that's what arrived in the last text message.'

‘There was another one?' Pedro was getting impatient with the way Faye told her story in dribs and drabs.

‘Are there any other clues?' asked Matt. ‘Did you find out anything else from these messages, Faye?'

‘I think I've given you all the facts. She was an artist's model and a friend of this Camille, whom she really admired. But she thought she could be more, she was proud of being able to read and write –'

‘Like all the authors of all the messages,' said Sonia.

‘And she kept trying to convince me to do the same,' Faye added.

‘What do you mean?' asked Pedro. ‘Did she try to convince you to be an author of these messages that invade people's computers? Is she looking for accomplices? Did she tell you how she's doing this?'

‘No, not that. She said I should dream of something better than being a model. She told me I knew much more than how to read and write, and I could do other things that could be more useful to the world.'

Colin and Pedro didn't notice the brooding expression on Faye's face as she said this. But Matt
noticed all right, and he thought she looked even prettier like this, with that dreamy look in her eyes, lost in her thoughts.

‘I think there is something we can do,' Colin said, as they went on discussing the whole story. ‘Though it's not much. This hacker or joker is managing to communicate with us, right? And he or she has been pretty persistent about it.'

That was true.

‘But now we know,' Colin continued, ‘from what Faye has told us that it is also possible for us to communicate with the hacker. So this is my idea: I think we should all keep our eyes peeled, and as soon as a new message arrives, we reply immediately.'

‘How?' the others wanted to know.

‘The same way that Faye did it. A short, immediate response, sent through the same channel as the one used by the hacker. Perhaps one of us will be lucky enough to be able to establish a dialogue in that way. But we need to be on our toes, because we'll probably only get a moment to respond. And whoever makes contact should ask right away what it is that he or she wants and how we can help. That's the only way, I think, by sending a very quick reply, that we will be able to make any progress on this.'

They all thought this was a good idea.

‘But with Faye it was different,' said Pedro. ‘The person didn't ask for help – did they Faye?'

Faye wasn't so sure about that. ‘I don't know, I can't say for sure.' She gave a sigh and then went on. ‘She said I had so much opportunity to study and that I shouldn't waste it, but that I should use it to help others.'

‘That fits,' said Colin decisively. ‘There is always something about the need to help someone. So let's keep our eyes open. As soon as one of us has any news, we should let the others know immediately. I am sure things will become clearer soon. Agreed?'

Everyone agreed.

Pedro had something to add, though.

‘I was just thinking. Remember what we were talking about before Faye told us about this friend of Camille's? We were trying to figure out what we could all have in common – us classmates and the clerk from this office – with the mysterious invader. And I have a hunch.'

‘What have we got in common, then?' asked Sonia.

‘It's that we have all studied, or we are studying – we can all read and write. That's why we can understand the value that our guy puts on literacy.'

‘I don't know about that,' said Colin. ‘I wouldn't really think that being able to read and write is enough of a link.'

‘Yeah, lots of people are literate,' said Sonia, ‘especially these days. It's not really a major link.'

‘Still, you could be right,' Colin said. ‘Our
mysterious hacker is quite possibly communicating with us because he or she thinks we are capable of appreciating words. The messages are not only a cry for help, but you might say they are also a vote of confidence in us. This is one further element for our consideration,' he went on, in his lawyer-like way. ‘So let's go our separate ways now and think these things over. Agreed?'

This time, nobody had anything else to add. They all said goodbye and went home.

A few days passed before there was any new message from the Brainy Hacker. Little by little, the kids' ordinary day-to-day routine was filled with things that took time or demanded attention: studying for exams, doing homework, playing games, going to a party, to a gig or to the movies. Since the Brainy Hacker hadn't made contact for a while, they gradually put this subject aside. It's not that they had forgotten about it or had become less curious. It was just that other things began to dominate their thoughts and their conversations.

Garibaldi High played a football match one Saturday morning that ended in a draw, despite the total mastery shown by their team. It was bad luck, and it left a bitter taste, because they all knew that their team had played better than the other team.

Afterwards, they all needed to go and have some fun and forget about the match. That's probably why, after the game, Pedro asked Robbie to have lunch at his house. Perhaps later they might play a game with Will on the computer.

‘Thanks,' said Robbie. ‘That would be cool, but I can't, Pedro. Today is Saturday, remember? I've got the radio show.'

How could he forget? Every Saturday afternoon Robbie became famous. He turned into Robert Freitas and commanded the microphone of the community radio programme, on air for two hours. He talked to everybody, passed complaints along to the authorities, told stories, took phone calls from listeners, interviewed lots of people, played cool songs, presented new bands. He was the closest thing to a celebrity that they had in the group.

‘But your programme doesn't start until four,' argued Pedro. ‘We've got plenty of time.'

‘Yeah, but we're in the middle of the rap contest and I still need to listen to some new stuff that arrived. I'll catch the bus with you, but I'm not getting out at your stop.'

After a pause, Robbie added, ‘Actually, the main thing I want is to listen to one particular song again. I've heard it a few times already and I can't seem to reach any conclusion.'

‘Is it good? Who wrote it?' Pedro asked as they got on the bus.

‘It's a total mystery, Pedro. A really strange rap, from somebody who appeared out of nowhere on the radio's computer without identification or anything
and left the recording there. It's quite weird. I can't even tell if it's good or not.'

A quick suspicion crossed Pedro's mind. Could it be? No, it wasn't possible. But … perhaps.

In any case, he asked, ‘How do you mean, it just appeared on the computer?'

‘I don't know how it happened. The technician who works on the radio programme thought it might be a virus. Apparently it came in as some kind of encoded message that appeared over another one and came with an attached file. Of course, the tech guy knows better than to open an attachment from a stranger, but it just opened itself, apparently, and the recording was in the attachment.'

‘So it appeared out of nowhere, with no explanation?' Pedro was starting to get excited. It
had
to be the same guy.

‘Yeah, weird.'

‘What about the song, what's it like? Is it good? Is the guy a good singer?'

‘As far as rhythm goes,' Robbie said, ‘it's quite odd. And his voice is a bit metallic, like it's been distorted, you know? Sort of how robots talk in movies. Or how they distort the voices of testimonies on the news on TV, so that the person won't be recognised later and get into trouble for what they said. Crime witnesses, families of the victim, people that journalists want
to protect when they're interviewed. But his rap is not bad.'

Pedro was getting more and more curious. He had to find out more.

‘What about the message?' he asked. ‘Didn't you say it also came with a weird message that introduced the song?'

‘The message was really confusing, all messed up, full of weird little symbols. Like little squares in the places of missing letters, that kind of thing. But I could understand some parts of it. He talked a bit about poetry and asked for help. But it wasn't signed and you couldn't tell who it was from.'

‘So how can it be a candidate for the contest?'

‘That's the thing. It can't. The rules say that all the contestants have to identify themselves, give their name, phone number, address, so they can be contacted later if they win. This guy can't even be in the running. In any case, I don't think he would win. He wouldn't have much of a chance – there's a lot of really good raps in the competition.'

‘But it is a good song?'

‘Yes and no. This guy uses strange words. He talks as if he's really old or a foreigner, I don't know. The words exist, but nobody would use them for rapping. It's quite strange. I think that's why I've got the song in my head. It's just different.'

‘What is it about?' asked Pedro. ‘Can I see it?'

‘Death,' answered Robbie.

‘Guns? Violence? Gang wars, that sort of thing?'

‘No, nothing like that. It's quite different, like I said. I have never heard a song like it before. That's probably why I can't get it off my mind.'

Robbie had a different air about him when he talked about this strange rap. He seemed lost in thought. He paused, scratched his head and then added, ‘But it's also about life. I don't know – about the stuff we can use to beat death, about what's left of a person after he's gone.'

‘Organ transplants?' asked Pedro, surprised. ‘Cryogenic freezing of the body? That kind of thing?'

Robbie laughed. ‘No, man, nothing like that. It's not about what's left behind in the hospital or in the cemetery.'

‘His
soul
?' suggested Pedro, trying to work it out but feeling a bit embarrassed.

Robbie said, ‘No. It's what's left in other people's memories. Sort of like the mark we leave in the world. Everybody leaves some kind of mark, right? Or should leave. Or they're sure they will leave, I don't know. That's why later I kept thinking about this stuff. Hold on, it'll come to me.'

Robbie stopped talking and was clearly trying to remember something. Sure enough, the song came back to him, and soon he was tapping the rhythm on his backpack and singing the words:

I call to you, my brother,

to tell you what's on my mind
.

I have come from very far,

I have lived through every kind

of event, through peace and war
,

and everything else combined
.

But it's like there is a curse and it haunts all of mankind
.

That's when suddenly you find

that your time has come to die
.

In a coffin you will lie

and there's nothing left behind
.

When he heard the tune, Pedro understood what his friend meant when he said it didn't sound quite like rap. The language was a bit funny for that type of music, and the rhythm was a bit different. Meanwhile, Robbie repeated the chorus, improvising over it.

In a coffin you will lie,

now your time has come to die,

and there's nothing left behind
.

It was easy to pick it up. Soon enough, Pedro was singing along. It was fun.

Another boy on the bus, who was in the seat in
front of them, turned towards them and joined in. Robbie repeated the same part again and then continued:

You're thinking you're all that
,

you're the man running the show
.

You've got fame, lots of girls

and your pockets full of dough
,

you are eating caviar

and you live in a chateau
.

Everything is going great
,

you're just going with the flow
.

And then, suddenly, whoa!

No more fun and no more games
,

No one remembers your name
,

And you're buried down below
.

The other kids joined in, singing the new chorus:

And then, suddenly, whoa!

No more fun and no more games
,

No one remembers your name
,

And you're buried down below
.

Then, as more people in the bus started listening to what they were singing, Robbie started the next verse:

Stop that talking, all those words
,

all that spoken jamboree
.

Singing loud or screaming hard
,

words are frail, lost at sea
.

If nobody reads it
,

then one day it will cease to be
.

If it isn't written down
,

what's it worth, the poetry?

Then it went back to the first chorus:

That's when suddenly you find

that your time has come to die
.

In a coffin you will lie

and there's nothing left behind
.

Suddenly, Robbie's voice was recognised. ‘Aren't you Robert Freitas, from the radio?'

An old lady wanted to take the opportunity to bring up an issue that he should discuss on the show: the buses were not stopping at the stops for old people.

‘They don't stop for kids in school uniforms either,' complained a girl.

‘It's the same thing. The drivers can't be bothered stopping for people who don't pay full fare,' said a guy wearing overalls and tapping the beat on a toolbox. ‘You should start a campaign on the radio about this kind of behaviour. It's disgraceful.'

‘Not to mention the lack of respect for people with disabilities,' shouted another voice, coming from the back of the bus.

Everybody had a complaint to make. The music faded. Robbie had to respond: he asked them to call the radio and promised to give a voice to all the complaints.

Pedro was getting impatient. He couldn't wait to talk more about the rap and the message that it had come attached to. He wanted to try and find out whether it could be coming from the Brainy Hacker, now posing as a musician.

But he didn't get a chance to find out any more about it. The bus was almost at his stop. As he stood up, he tried once more to get Robbie to come home to lunch with him.

‘I
can't
, I told you,' Robbie replied.

‘I need to talk to you about something.'

‘So phone me tonight. Or come by the radio station after the show.'

‘All right, then. Bye!' Pedro said, as the bus pulled in at his stop.

He was just going to have to wait. In the meantime, the song was stuck in his head. He walked through the door singing:

If nobody reads it
,

then one day it will cease to be
.

If it isn't written down
,

what's it worth, the poetry?

Yes, it could very well be the Brainy Hacker. It was that same story about reading and writing. And a good excuse to call Sonia. Perhaps she'd want to go with him later to meet Robbie at the radio station, so they could talk it over and see if they could find something out? It was always nice to get a chance to see her at the weekend. And with news like that, it was quite natural.