Fifty Six - BF
Virgil rang the doorbell of the imposing eighteenth century house. 'I wouldn't be surprised if Igor answered' he thought to himself and jumped when an intercom sprang into life.
"Yes!" the voice snapped.
It was Scott who replied. "Scott Tracy to see Professor Bunsen."
"Come in". The door swung open, seemingly of it's own accord. They stepped inside.
They were in a large foyer. Five doors exited off, but all were closed. "Now where do we go?" Virgil asked out loud.
As if in reply the second door on their right opened. Virgil felt the hairs on the back of his neck stand on end.
"Well?" Scott said impatiently. "I heard a door open. Are you going to take me there or do you expect me to find my own way?"
"Sorry." Virgil mumbled and led Scott into the room.
It smelt musty. Scott sniffed the air. "Where are we?"
"It seems to be some kind of study or library. Imagine one of those rooms you'd see in those old mystery films set in the 1920's or 30's."
"Walnut, leather bound books, old paintings?"
"That's it."
"Take a seat." The disembodied voice intoned.
"Is someone here?" Scott asked in surprise.
"No." Virgil wasn't happy, but resolved to keep his feelings to himself. He didn't want to prejudice Scott's impressions of the man they were about to meet; after all whether or not the treatment would proceed would ultimately be Scott's decision.
Virgil led Scott to a threadbare leather chair and then sat in one himself.
As they waited a variety of thoughts floated through their minds. Scott's ran along the lines of 'I wonder what this guy is like. Is he any good? Can he help me? What kind of place is this? What is that smell? Why does Virgil seem to be so uneasy?' The questions looped over and over again in his mind and he waited impatiently for the answers to present themselves.
Virgil's train of thought started off by taking in their surroundings. 'Amazing place, but in such a mess. All those books! How can he find anything? I'd like to have a closer look at that painting. Scott seems calm enough. I wonder what he'd think if he could see where he is. What is this Professor Bunsen like? Professor Bunsen - what a name for a scientist. Is it real? Is he for real? Can he help? Why is he keeping us waiting?' Then Virgil remembered the morning's conversation. He'd been using his left arm quite freely and yet his father had still asked how it was, if he was confident piloting the plane. Virgil had looked at Scott's expectant face and decided that there was no way that he could let his big brother down. Jeff's smile told him that his father was relieved when Virgil had told him that his arm felt just fine.
Virgil looked at his watch. Ten minutes had passed since they'd been ushered into the room.
"I'm glad you came." Scott suddenly said, breaking the silence.
"Not a problem."
"I kinda sensed that you weren't too keen when I suggested it yesterday."
"You just surprised me that's all." Virgil said.
"You could have told me this morning that your arm was too sore to pilot the plane, and I would have believed you." Scott continued on.
Virgil stared at him. Sometimes he himself wondered about the connection he and Scott had. "Do you think Father would let me lie?"
Scott chuckled. "No. Of course not." He felt the hands on the watch on his arm. "It's been quarter of an hour. Where is that guy?"
The door slammed open. "Mr Tracy." Virgil's eyes widened when he saw the figure that spoke those words. The man bounded across the carpet and grabbed Scott's hand. "I'm Professor Bunsen. And you are Scott Tracy." The words were spoken as a fact, not a question. "And you are...?" This was a question and it was directed at Virgil.
"Um, ah, Virgil Tracy. I'm his brother."
"Virgil? After the poet?"
"The astronaut."
"Oh." Professor Bunsen dismissed Virgil as being of no consequence and turned his attention to Scott.
"Let me look at your eyes." Virgil watched as this strange man looked deeply at the oblivious Scott. "Fine. Fine. Now where's my eye examiner ophthalmoscope retinoscope thingy?" He moved away to a disorderly stacked bookshelf and started pulling books off onto the floor.
Scott and Virgil 'looked' at each other.
"Your father's a billionaire isn't he?"
"Yes..." Scott said slowly.
"Good." The professor turned his attention to another bookshelf and starting knocking books and bric a brac off it. "Ah! Here it is." He picked an extremely battered case off the floor. He opened the case and removed the delicate medical instrument. "How are you my lovely? I haven't seen you in such a long time." He stroked it lovingly before remembering why he'd been looking for it. He jumped over the table, landing in front of Scott. "Now let's have a good look... Hmmn... Uh huh, uh huh. It was an explosion wasn't it? Quite a big one going by the damage you've done." He threw the instrument carelessly onto the desk and sat on it. "I think I can help you."
"You can!" Scott leant forward eagerly.
"Oh yes. I'm sure I can. I just need to get the necessary equipment manufactured." Scott's face fell. "That's where your father's money comes in. He'll have to pay for it."
"But," Scott protested, "surely you've already got the equipment? For your experiments?"
"Oh, it's never been made. I've never done this before."
"Never done...?" Scott spluttered. "But then how can you be so sure that you can heal me?"
"Young man. You are looking at the most brilliant medical mind known to mankind. I KNOW my designs will work. Unfortunately the fool hospitals can't see that."
"Why not?" Scott wanted to know.
"They say it's too expensive. But do you want to know the truth. The small-minded mainstream doctors are frightened of my abilities. So they say that there isn't a big enough demand to warrant spending the necessary money. How can they put money before people's health and wellbeing? They have no right to call themselves doctors! Quacks the lot of them." He made a sound like a duck.
Virgil had been sitting still for too long. His arm had started to stiffen up again. Quietly he stretched out his arm and flexed his fingers.
Professor Bunsen saw the move and suddenly decided that maybe Virgil was of interest after all. "Your arm. It's injured?"
"It was. I broke it saving Scott after the accident. The muscles have stiffened after the flight."
"Let me look." Before Virgil could protest, Professor Bunsen had the sleeve rolled up, bandage off and was examining the scar that ran up his arm. "I suppose they inserted a plate."
"That's right." Virgil agreed.
"You should never have let them..."
"I didn't have much say in the matter at the time." Virgil told him. "I think I was unconscious."
"I don't like inserting plates. A) because the body isn't designed to hold metal, and B) the extra weight puts extra strain on the limb. Once the bone's knitted I'd think about having it removed if I were you."
Virgil's silence was his only comment on the idea.
The Professor continued to examine Virgil's arm. "There!" He pushed a finger into the muscle.
"Ow!" Virgil said involuntarily.
"Rub there!" The Professor ordered. "It'll help relax the muscle. Go on!"
With some reluctance Virgil obeyed.
"Not in a circle. A figure eight! It helps centre the energy. That's right." The Professor was about to return his attention to Scott. "Don't stop!" he ordered seeing Virgil hesitate.
Virgil decided that it was better to humour the man.
Professor Bunsen looked at Scott. "You were a pilot!" He stated.
"That's right. How did you know?" Scott was continuously being surprised.
"A) Your father was a pilot, your brother is a pilot, so chances are you were a pilot. And B) you are wearing a jacket of the Air Force. I assume this means you were part of the 'Killing Machine'?"
Scott had forgotten that he'd grabbed his leather jacket this morning. "'Killing machine'?" He repeated.
"The armed forces. Were you a member?" the Professor had rounded back on Virgil.
"Me? No. I went to university."
"Really." The Professor showed more interest. "What did you major in?"
"Technology."
"Oh. A 'Technologist'." This was said in a disparaging way and then Virgil was ignored again.
"Well were you part of the 'Killing Machine'?" Scott was asked again.
"Yeah, I was in the Air Force. You can't find a better place to train at being a pilot."
"Did you leave because of your accident?"
"No I'd already left."
"Why?"
Scott was wondering where all this was leading to. He shrugged. "I guess I preferred the idea of saving lives to taking them."
"Ah." The Professor softened his tone. "Good." He looked at his patient speculatively. "I can reinstate your eyesight." He said finally.
Scott struggled to stop himself from getting too excited. He wasn't sure how to take this man. "I thought you said you didn't have the equipment."
"I don't. It needs to be built. Perhaps your brother..." he looked at Virgil.
Surprised at being included, Virgil stopped massaging his arm, until a look from the Professor reminded him to keep going. "I might be able to, but I don't have the experience with medical equipment."
The Professor gave him a look that clearly said 'typical Technologist'.
"We have a friend who is a genius with machinery and has quite a bit of medical training though." Virgil continued on gamely. "If you wouldn't mind him looking at your schematics I'm sure he could come up with what you need."
"Very well." Professor Bunsen proceeded over to a filing cabinet. He opened it and went straight to what he wanted. Virgil was surprised to see that the filing system was neat and in order. "Here!" The Professor shoved the diagrams into Virgil's lap.
He picked them up with his left hand so he could continue massaging and quickly flicked through them. "This looks straight forward enough. I'm sure Brains could..."
"Brains! Did you say Brains?"
"Ah. Yeah." Virgil said nonplussed.
"That's what we call him." Scott volunteered. "He doesn't particularly like going by any other name."
"About my height? Slightly younger? Thick glasses with blue rims, because that's the only colour he can see when he's not wearing them? High forehead? Stutter?"
"Yeah that's him." Scott confirmed mentally revising his image of the Professor.
"Well, well. How is old 'Robot Head'?"
"Robot Head?" Virgil and Scott chimed together.
Professor Bunsen continued on as if he hadn't heard them. "We were at university together. Do you know that that man is nearly as great a genius as I am." He didn't notice the twin grins from the Tracy brothers at his lack of modesty. "I kept saying to him. 'Give up on technology and the other sciences and concentrate on medical science. That way you can help people; save lives! But would he listen?" He rounded on Virgil, who jumped in surprise. "No! I suppose he's stuck in some little workshop out the back of some conglomerate's factory. Wasting his talents." He waved his hand in dismissal.
Scott was trying not to laugh. He was sure he could sense amusement alternating with bemusement coming from Virgil's direction. "Ah no. Actually he lives with us. He works for our father." He was tempted to add 'building machines that save lives' but resisted.
"Really!" The Professor looked at Scott as if he were deciding the best way to dissect him. "I've done a bit of research on your father. He does good work, helps a lot of people. Very well! Take the diagrams to Robot Head and get him to make them up. Tell him to contact me if he needs help."
"Great!" Scott wondered if the interview was at an end.
Virgil had other ideas. "On a different subject. Would you mind if I had a look at your painting over there?"
"The Constable? Of course."
"It's a real Constable?" Virgil asked as he examined it closely. "I wondered if it was."
"Let me put a bit more light onto it." The Professor switched on a desk lamp and redirected it so that it fell on the painting.
"That's better." Virgil breathed. "It just comes alive when it's lit properly doesn't it." He examined the painting closer. "Constable was a true exponent of the Romantic School, wasn't he." He remarked on some of the highlights of the painting.
"You know art?" Professor Bunsen was finally deciding that maybe Virgil was of interest after all.
"I do a bit of painting myself."
"A bit!" Scott had been feeling a little left out. "If he's only time when he's not painting is when he's playing the piano."
Virgil remembered his brother. "Sorry Scott. I guess this isn't very interesting for you is it?"
Professor Bunsen stared at Virgil. "You are a good pianist?"
Scott saved Virgil from being immodest. "Brilliant!"
"Not bad." Virgil said tactfully.
"I wonder..." the Professor started sweeping objects of the top of a rectangular table and then removed a brightly coloured blanket that protected it. "...Could you play this? It's been so long since anyone has played it and unfortunately I don't have the necessary skills."
Virgil circled the article of furniture. "It's a 'Square Piano' isn't it?"
"That's right."
Scott was a touch confused. "A square piano? You mean it doesn't have that curve in it, kind of like an upright?"
"No. It's the instrument that evolved between the harpsichord and the piano, otherwise known as a 'Table Grand'. What year was it made?" Virgil asked the Professor.
"1780." Professor Bunsen said proudly as he and Virgil lifted the lid back so the intricate interior was displayed.
"Look at that fretwork." Virgil said amazed. "Scott, come and look at this!"
Reluctantly Scott got to his feet and made his way to the Square Piano. He felt the intricacies of the woodwork. "Not something you'd knock together in an afternoon."
"What's the wood?" Virgil asked.
"Rosewood. Please take a seat and play something." The Professor urged.
"Can I stop this?" Virgil held up his arm for the Professor's inspection.
"Of course." The Professor said impatiently. "How does it feel now?"
"To tell you the truth it's the best it's felt since before the accident."
"Good. As soon as the muscles start to tire do that massage. You'll soon be right. And get rid of that plate."
Eagerly sitting at the keyboard Virgil played a scale the length of the piano. It didn't sound too bad until he hit Middle C. "Ouch. That could do with some tuning."
"Could you?" The Professor delved into a pile of objects and retrieved a piano tuning kit.
Virgil did his best with the unfamiliar instrument. "The main difference between a 'Square' and a regular piano," he explained to Scott as he worked, "is that its strings run at right angles to the keys and the keyboard is usually five to five and a half octaves." When he'd finished tuning it wasn't perfect but Middle C sounded much better.
"Do you read music?" The Professor asked.
"Yes." Virgil found himself pushed off the piano stool as Professor Bunsen threw open the lid and retrieved a sheet of music. He held it out to Virgil expectantly.
Virgil took the sheet music hesitantly. It was yellowed with age and gave the impression that it could disintegrate at any moment. "What's the piece?"
"Something my Great-Great-Great-Great-Great..." Professor Bunsen counted down off his fingers, "I've lost count. Great-Grandfather wrote. I can't play, but I'd love to hear it."
"I'll give it a shot." Virgil quickly scanned the music and then started to play. "It needs a lighter touch than a modern piano." He noted.
Scott laid his hands on the wooden surface of the 'Square'. He could feel the vibrations of the music through the soundboard. He was feeling and hearing nearly three centuries of history. The thought sent a shiver down his spine.
The Professor was standing at Virgil's side. His eyes closed in rapture; his body swaying in time to the music; his long fingers tapping out the rhythm.
Virgil was caught up in the beauty of the piece, and in the freedom of movement he was experiencing in his arm. It was a long time since he'd been able to play without pain or stiffness.
As the last note died away, they remained silent unwilling to break the spell of the music.
Virgil was the first to speak. "That was a wonderful piece to play. Would you mind if I got a copy."
"Of course!" The Professor said joyfully. "You have done it justice, you have a right to it." He slipped the music into an ancient copier and gave the fresh sheets to Virgil who slotted them in with the diagrams he already had.
"Here. I'll help you cover the 'Square' up again." Virgil offered grasping one side of the lid.
"Tell me... Virgil... You have the name of a poet, the eyes of an artist and the soul of a musician. So why did you take up technology as a profession?" Professor Bunsen asked curiously as together they wrestled with the tight fitting cover.
Scott listened intently. He'd often wondered this himself, but would never have phrased the question in quite this way.
Virgil thought for a moment. "Well you've got to admit that there is a certain artistry to the conceiving of a device, drafting it so others can visualise it, creating the necessary components so they work together perfectly and then building your creation. I guess I wanted to be able to do something that people would find useful."
The Professor nodded sagely as if he'd never thought of it in that way. "We all have our roles to play in life." He eventually pronounced grandly. "But never forget, my friend, that the arts have the power to heal, to calm the soul. Never forget that you have that gift." He finished with a flourish.
"Ah, right." Virgil said uncertainly. "Do you need us anymore."
"No. No. Get Robot Head to give me a call when he's examined my diagrams. And then when your father has paid me we can get started."
The mention of money rang a warning note in Virgil's mind. "That might be a problem."
Scott and the Professor stared at Virgil.
"What do you mean 'a problem'?" the Professor asked.
"You said you've done a bit of research on our father, so you know how keen he is on philanthropic interests." Virgil said, wondering if he was doing the right thing. "What you probably don't know is that where it comes to his sons he's a firm believer in us working for everything, like he did. He won't help us in any way..."
"But he sounded so keen yesterday?" Professor Bunsen said.
"He always sounds like that." Virgil wasn't enjoying the lie he was telling. "But he still expects Scott to pay for his own operation. I'd help..." he added quickly, "but since the accident both of us have been unable to work and have had no income. But we've both had... commitments... if you know what I mean."
The Professor assured him that he did.
"So the long and the short of it is, we have some money between us, but not as much as if our Father was bankrolling us." Virgil couldn't look at Scott's devastated face.
"I would never have believed your father would desert you like that." Professor Bunsen said quietly.
"He'd happily pay out if the operation is a success, but that's how he's got to where he is today, by only betting on sure things."
"I see." The Professor was even quieter. Then he shrugged. "Then I will not expect payment first. I will front up the money myself. If I succeed then your father will pay. If not, I'll have my machine and the memory of your music."
Scott couldn't believe his ears. "You mean that?"
"Of course. I do not lie!"
Virgil was, by now, feeling very guilty. "So we can tell our father, what's Scott's chances of regaining full sight?"
"Oh I'd say 80 to 90 percent."
"80 to 90..." The best Scott had been hoping for was 50 percent.
Virgil rang the doorbell of the imposing eighteenth century house. 'I wouldn't be surprised if Igor answered' he thought to himself and jumped when an intercom sprang into life.
"Yes!" the voice snapped.
It was Scott who replied. "Scott Tracy to see Professor Bunsen."
"Come in". The door swung open, seemingly of it's own accord. They stepped inside.
They were in a large foyer. Five doors exited off, but all were closed. "Now where do we go?" Virgil asked out loud.
As if in reply the second door on their right opened. Virgil felt the hairs on the back of his neck stand on end.
"Well?" Scott said impatiently. "I heard a door open. Are you going to take me there or do you expect me to find my own way?"
"Sorry." Virgil mumbled and led Scott into the room.
It smelt musty. Scott sniffed the air. "Where are we?"
"It seems to be some kind of study or library. Imagine one of those rooms you'd see in those old mystery films set in the 1920's or 30's."
"Walnut, leather bound books, old paintings?"
"That's it."
"Take a seat." The disembodied voice intoned.
"Is someone here?" Scott asked in surprise.
"No." Virgil wasn't happy, but resolved to keep his feelings to himself. He didn't want to prejudice Scott's impressions of the man they were about to meet; after all whether or not the treatment would proceed would ultimately be Scott's decision.
Virgil led Scott to a threadbare leather chair and then sat in one himself.
As they waited a variety of thoughts floated through their minds. Scott's ran along the lines of 'I wonder what this guy is like. Is he any good? Can he help me? What kind of place is this? What is that smell? Why does Virgil seem to be so uneasy?' The questions looped over and over again in his mind and he waited impatiently for the answers to present themselves.
Virgil's train of thought started off by taking in their surroundings. 'Amazing place, but in such a mess. All those books! How can he find anything? I'd like to have a closer look at that painting. Scott seems calm enough. I wonder what he'd think if he could see where he is. What is this Professor Bunsen like? Professor Bunsen - what a name for a scientist. Is it real? Is he for real? Can he help? Why is he keeping us waiting?' Then Virgil remembered the morning's conversation. He'd been using his left arm quite freely and yet his father had still asked how it was, if he was confident piloting the plane. Virgil had looked at Scott's expectant face and decided that there was no way that he could let his big brother down. Jeff's smile told him that his father was relieved when Virgil had told him that his arm felt just fine.
Virgil looked at his watch. Ten minutes had passed since they'd been ushered into the room.
"I'm glad you came." Scott suddenly said, breaking the silence.
"Not a problem."
"I kinda sensed that you weren't too keen when I suggested it yesterday."
"You just surprised me that's all." Virgil said.
"You could have told me this morning that your arm was too sore to pilot the plane, and I would have believed you." Scott continued on.
Virgil stared at him. Sometimes he himself wondered about the connection he and Scott had. "Do you think Father would let me lie?"
Scott chuckled. "No. Of course not." He felt the hands on the watch on his arm. "It's been quarter of an hour. Where is that guy?"
The door slammed open. "Mr Tracy." Virgil's eyes widened when he saw the figure that spoke those words. The man bounded across the carpet and grabbed Scott's hand. "I'm Professor Bunsen. And you are Scott Tracy." The words were spoken as a fact, not a question. "And you are...?" This was a question and it was directed at Virgil.
"Um, ah, Virgil Tracy. I'm his brother."
"Virgil? After the poet?"
"The astronaut."
"Oh." Professor Bunsen dismissed Virgil as being of no consequence and turned his attention to Scott.
"Let me look at your eyes." Virgil watched as this strange man looked deeply at the oblivious Scott. "Fine. Fine. Now where's my eye examiner ophthalmoscope retinoscope thingy?" He moved away to a disorderly stacked bookshelf and started pulling books off onto the floor.
Scott and Virgil 'looked' at each other.
"Your father's a billionaire isn't he?"
"Yes..." Scott said slowly.
"Good." The professor turned his attention to another bookshelf and starting knocking books and bric a brac off it. "Ah! Here it is." He picked an extremely battered case off the floor. He opened the case and removed the delicate medical instrument. "How are you my lovely? I haven't seen you in such a long time." He stroked it lovingly before remembering why he'd been looking for it. He jumped over the table, landing in front of Scott. "Now let's have a good look... Hmmn... Uh huh, uh huh. It was an explosion wasn't it? Quite a big one going by the damage you've done." He threw the instrument carelessly onto the desk and sat on it. "I think I can help you."
"You can!" Scott leant forward eagerly.
"Oh yes. I'm sure I can. I just need to get the necessary equipment manufactured." Scott's face fell. "That's where your father's money comes in. He'll have to pay for it."
"But," Scott protested, "surely you've already got the equipment? For your experiments?"
"Oh, it's never been made. I've never done this before."
"Never done...?" Scott spluttered. "But then how can you be so sure that you can heal me?"
"Young man. You are looking at the most brilliant medical mind known to mankind. I KNOW my designs will work. Unfortunately the fool hospitals can't see that."
"Why not?" Scott wanted to know.
"They say it's too expensive. But do you want to know the truth. The small-minded mainstream doctors are frightened of my abilities. So they say that there isn't a big enough demand to warrant spending the necessary money. How can they put money before people's health and wellbeing? They have no right to call themselves doctors! Quacks the lot of them." He made a sound like a duck.
Virgil had been sitting still for too long. His arm had started to stiffen up again. Quietly he stretched out his arm and flexed his fingers.
Professor Bunsen saw the move and suddenly decided that maybe Virgil was of interest after all. "Your arm. It's injured?"
"It was. I broke it saving Scott after the accident. The muscles have stiffened after the flight."
"Let me look." Before Virgil could protest, Professor Bunsen had the sleeve rolled up, bandage off and was examining the scar that ran up his arm. "I suppose they inserted a plate."
"That's right." Virgil agreed.
"You should never have let them..."
"I didn't have much say in the matter at the time." Virgil told him. "I think I was unconscious."
"I don't like inserting plates. A) because the body isn't designed to hold metal, and B) the extra weight puts extra strain on the limb. Once the bone's knitted I'd think about having it removed if I were you."
Virgil's silence was his only comment on the idea.
The Professor continued to examine Virgil's arm. "There!" He pushed a finger into the muscle.
"Ow!" Virgil said involuntarily.
"Rub there!" The Professor ordered. "It'll help relax the muscle. Go on!"
With some reluctance Virgil obeyed.
"Not in a circle. A figure eight! It helps centre the energy. That's right." The Professor was about to return his attention to Scott. "Don't stop!" he ordered seeing Virgil hesitate.
Virgil decided that it was better to humour the man.
Professor Bunsen looked at Scott. "You were a pilot!" He stated.
"That's right. How did you know?" Scott was continuously being surprised.
"A) Your father was a pilot, your brother is a pilot, so chances are you were a pilot. And B) you are wearing a jacket of the Air Force. I assume this means you were part of the 'Killing Machine'?"
Scott had forgotten that he'd grabbed his leather jacket this morning. "'Killing machine'?" He repeated.
"The armed forces. Were you a member?" the Professor had rounded back on Virgil.
"Me? No. I went to university."
"Really." The Professor showed more interest. "What did you major in?"
"Technology."
"Oh. A 'Technologist'." This was said in a disparaging way and then Virgil was ignored again.
"Well were you part of the 'Killing Machine'?" Scott was asked again.
"Yeah, I was in the Air Force. You can't find a better place to train at being a pilot."
"Did you leave because of your accident?"
"No I'd already left."
"Why?"
Scott was wondering where all this was leading to. He shrugged. "I guess I preferred the idea of saving lives to taking them."
"Ah." The Professor softened his tone. "Good." He looked at his patient speculatively. "I can reinstate your eyesight." He said finally.
Scott struggled to stop himself from getting too excited. He wasn't sure how to take this man. "I thought you said you didn't have the equipment."
"I don't. It needs to be built. Perhaps your brother..." he looked at Virgil.
Surprised at being included, Virgil stopped massaging his arm, until a look from the Professor reminded him to keep going. "I might be able to, but I don't have the experience with medical equipment."
The Professor gave him a look that clearly said 'typical Technologist'.
"We have a friend who is a genius with machinery and has quite a bit of medical training though." Virgil continued on gamely. "If you wouldn't mind him looking at your schematics I'm sure he could come up with what you need."
"Very well." Professor Bunsen proceeded over to a filing cabinet. He opened it and went straight to what he wanted. Virgil was surprised to see that the filing system was neat and in order. "Here!" The Professor shoved the diagrams into Virgil's lap.
He picked them up with his left hand so he could continue massaging and quickly flicked through them. "This looks straight forward enough. I'm sure Brains could..."
"Brains! Did you say Brains?"
"Ah. Yeah." Virgil said nonplussed.
"That's what we call him." Scott volunteered. "He doesn't particularly like going by any other name."
"About my height? Slightly younger? Thick glasses with blue rims, because that's the only colour he can see when he's not wearing them? High forehead? Stutter?"
"Yeah that's him." Scott confirmed mentally revising his image of the Professor.
"Well, well. How is old 'Robot Head'?"
"Robot Head?" Virgil and Scott chimed together.
Professor Bunsen continued on as if he hadn't heard them. "We were at university together. Do you know that that man is nearly as great a genius as I am." He didn't notice the twin grins from the Tracy brothers at his lack of modesty. "I kept saying to him. 'Give up on technology and the other sciences and concentrate on medical science. That way you can help people; save lives! But would he listen?" He rounded on Virgil, who jumped in surprise. "No! I suppose he's stuck in some little workshop out the back of some conglomerate's factory. Wasting his talents." He waved his hand in dismissal.
Scott was trying not to laugh. He was sure he could sense amusement alternating with bemusement coming from Virgil's direction. "Ah no. Actually he lives with us. He works for our father." He was tempted to add 'building machines that save lives' but resisted.
"Really!" The Professor looked at Scott as if he were deciding the best way to dissect him. "I've done a bit of research on your father. He does good work, helps a lot of people. Very well! Take the diagrams to Robot Head and get him to make them up. Tell him to contact me if he needs help."
"Great!" Scott wondered if the interview was at an end.
Virgil had other ideas. "On a different subject. Would you mind if I had a look at your painting over there?"
"The Constable? Of course."
"It's a real Constable?" Virgil asked as he examined it closely. "I wondered if it was."
"Let me put a bit more light onto it." The Professor switched on a desk lamp and redirected it so that it fell on the painting.
"That's better." Virgil breathed. "It just comes alive when it's lit properly doesn't it." He examined the painting closer. "Constable was a true exponent of the Romantic School, wasn't he." He remarked on some of the highlights of the painting.
"You know art?" Professor Bunsen was finally deciding that maybe Virgil was of interest after all.
"I do a bit of painting myself."
"A bit!" Scott had been feeling a little left out. "If he's only time when he's not painting is when he's playing the piano."
Virgil remembered his brother. "Sorry Scott. I guess this isn't very interesting for you is it?"
Professor Bunsen stared at Virgil. "You are a good pianist?"
Scott saved Virgil from being immodest. "Brilliant!"
"Not bad." Virgil said tactfully.
"I wonder..." the Professor started sweeping objects of the top of a rectangular table and then removed a brightly coloured blanket that protected it. "...Could you play this? It's been so long since anyone has played it and unfortunately I don't have the necessary skills."
Virgil circled the article of furniture. "It's a 'Square Piano' isn't it?"
"That's right."
Scott was a touch confused. "A square piano? You mean it doesn't have that curve in it, kind of like an upright?"
"No. It's the instrument that evolved between the harpsichord and the piano, otherwise known as a 'Table Grand'. What year was it made?" Virgil asked the Professor.
"1780." Professor Bunsen said proudly as he and Virgil lifted the lid back so the intricate interior was displayed.
"Look at that fretwork." Virgil said amazed. "Scott, come and look at this!"
Reluctantly Scott got to his feet and made his way to the Square Piano. He felt the intricacies of the woodwork. "Not something you'd knock together in an afternoon."
"What's the wood?" Virgil asked.
"Rosewood. Please take a seat and play something." The Professor urged.
"Can I stop this?" Virgil held up his arm for the Professor's inspection.
"Of course." The Professor said impatiently. "How does it feel now?"
"To tell you the truth it's the best it's felt since before the accident."
"Good. As soon as the muscles start to tire do that massage. You'll soon be right. And get rid of that plate."
Eagerly sitting at the keyboard Virgil played a scale the length of the piano. It didn't sound too bad until he hit Middle C. "Ouch. That could do with some tuning."
"Could you?" The Professor delved into a pile of objects and retrieved a piano tuning kit.
Virgil did his best with the unfamiliar instrument. "The main difference between a 'Square' and a regular piano," he explained to Scott as he worked, "is that its strings run at right angles to the keys and the keyboard is usually five to five and a half octaves." When he'd finished tuning it wasn't perfect but Middle C sounded much better.
"Do you read music?" The Professor asked.
"Yes." Virgil found himself pushed off the piano stool as Professor Bunsen threw open the lid and retrieved a sheet of music. He held it out to Virgil expectantly.
Virgil took the sheet music hesitantly. It was yellowed with age and gave the impression that it could disintegrate at any moment. "What's the piece?"
"Something my Great-Great-Great-Great-Great..." Professor Bunsen counted down off his fingers, "I've lost count. Great-Grandfather wrote. I can't play, but I'd love to hear it."
"I'll give it a shot." Virgil quickly scanned the music and then started to play. "It needs a lighter touch than a modern piano." He noted.
Scott laid his hands on the wooden surface of the 'Square'. He could feel the vibrations of the music through the soundboard. He was feeling and hearing nearly three centuries of history. The thought sent a shiver down his spine.
The Professor was standing at Virgil's side. His eyes closed in rapture; his body swaying in time to the music; his long fingers tapping out the rhythm.
Virgil was caught up in the beauty of the piece, and in the freedom of movement he was experiencing in his arm. It was a long time since he'd been able to play without pain or stiffness.
As the last note died away, they remained silent unwilling to break the spell of the music.
Virgil was the first to speak. "That was a wonderful piece to play. Would you mind if I got a copy."
"Of course!" The Professor said joyfully. "You have done it justice, you have a right to it." He slipped the music into an ancient copier and gave the fresh sheets to Virgil who slotted them in with the diagrams he already had.
"Here. I'll help you cover the 'Square' up again." Virgil offered grasping one side of the lid.
"Tell me... Virgil... You have the name of a poet, the eyes of an artist and the soul of a musician. So why did you take up technology as a profession?" Professor Bunsen asked curiously as together they wrestled with the tight fitting cover.
Scott listened intently. He'd often wondered this himself, but would never have phrased the question in quite this way.
Virgil thought for a moment. "Well you've got to admit that there is a certain artistry to the conceiving of a device, drafting it so others can visualise it, creating the necessary components so they work together perfectly and then building your creation. I guess I wanted to be able to do something that people would find useful."
The Professor nodded sagely as if he'd never thought of it in that way. "We all have our roles to play in life." He eventually pronounced grandly. "But never forget, my friend, that the arts have the power to heal, to calm the soul. Never forget that you have that gift." He finished with a flourish.
"Ah, right." Virgil said uncertainly. "Do you need us anymore."
"No. No. Get Robot Head to give me a call when he's examined my diagrams. And then when your father has paid me we can get started."
The mention of money rang a warning note in Virgil's mind. "That might be a problem."
Scott and the Professor stared at Virgil.
"What do you mean 'a problem'?" the Professor asked.
"You said you've done a bit of research on our father, so you know how keen he is on philanthropic interests." Virgil said, wondering if he was doing the right thing. "What you probably don't know is that where it comes to his sons he's a firm believer in us working for everything, like he did. He won't help us in any way..."
"But he sounded so keen yesterday?" Professor Bunsen said.
"He always sounds like that." Virgil wasn't enjoying the lie he was telling. "But he still expects Scott to pay for his own operation. I'd help..." he added quickly, "but since the accident both of us have been unable to work and have had no income. But we've both had... commitments... if you know what I mean."
The Professor assured him that he did.
"So the long and the short of it is, we have some money between us, but not as much as if our Father was bankrolling us." Virgil couldn't look at Scott's devastated face.
"I would never have believed your father would desert you like that." Professor Bunsen said quietly.
"He'd happily pay out if the operation is a success, but that's how he's got to where he is today, by only betting on sure things."
"I see." The Professor was even quieter. Then he shrugged. "Then I will not expect payment first. I will front up the money myself. If I succeed then your father will pay. If not, I'll have my machine and the memory of your music."
Scott couldn't believe his ears. "You mean that?"
"Of course. I do not lie!"
Virgil was, by now, feeling very guilty. "So we can tell our father, what's Scott's chances of regaining full sight?"
"Oh I'd say 80 to 90 percent."
"80 to 90..." The best Scott had been hoping for was 50 percent.