Summary: A book lies torn and tattered in a storm drain. A scavenging rodent admires his find. Four infant turtles wait for their futures to be found amongst the pages.
Disclaimer: I own nothing.
Dedication: This goes out to every math teacher I have ever had. See what you've done to me?
Don't take it too seriously and enjoy.
The pages were yellowing with age and the font was faded. The paper was crisp, having gotten wet and then dried again, perhaps multiple times, and fragile. It took a great deal of effort not to tear the pages as I ran a sharp claw down them, eyes wide and straining to make out the smudged print that stared back at me. The text I managed to read was rudimentary, and the majority of the content skimmed without notice over my head. Like my reading level, my knowledge was basic. Amazingly advanced for a creature of my species, and still enlarging, but simple in comparison to a human's. However, I managed. As I read the thick, hardbound, book, I observed what I could, and added to my growing wealth of intelligence.
A soft squeak drew my attention beyond the print. Beside me lay four infantile reptiles; snuggly curled up into one mass of sleeping bodies. The smallest of the collection was shifting, to the disappointment of his siblings. The turtle closet to him pawed angrily at his plastron, forcing him away. I set down my book to help the creature, taking him into my hands. His head poked inquisitively towards me, and I returned his stare. At last, I set him down, watching as he crawled back into the pile I had removed him from. Again, to the dismay of his once slumbering brothers.
Their personalities had made themselves known already. Having found the turtles crawling in neon ooze at sunrise the day before, I had not anticipated what I was getting into by choosing to care for them.
As the reptiles slowly drifted to sleep, I allowed myself to continue to read. My mind was elsewhere, however, as I began to wonder what would come of my decision to have kept the turtles close. They were nameless, I realized. So long as I was to keep them, that was not acceptable. I watched the infants sleep, thinking.
One of the four moved, as though inviting me to begin with him. This child, I knew his attitude well. As was the case in this instance, he was often to first to address a situation. He knew no fear, and willingly stumbled forward, however blindly, to face a challenge. Someday, with proper training, perhaps he could conquer this, or it would lead to trouble, I was sure. For him, a name would need to be strong, as headstrong as he, but as caring as I knew he was. I flipped through the pages of the book that sat on the straw of me nest, searching for a name I had encountered earlier. I tapped it when I found it at last, looked at the child, and told him, "You, child, your name shall be Luca. Named for the father of accounting. Live up to it, it carries great historical significance."
"And you," I moved on, turning my attention to the next turtle. He was naturally assertive, a leader at such a young age, who carefully attended to the needs of his brothers before his own. He was intelligent in that he was cautious, but unafraid. "For you, I choose the name…Pythagoras. The father of numbers. Its importance is great, I have faith you will not disappoint it."
The next was chosen with ease. The child was intelligent beyond his years, if you will. He had been the first to understand his ability to manipulate his environment. By shifting the straw I had collected in my nest, he had made himself a bed that his brothers were envious of. I knew it was only the beginning of an intellectual future, and told him, "You will be called Gauss. A genius mathematician. I know of nothing more fitting for you."
And the last. I slowly stroked my chin in thought. He was a difficult child to name… His spirit was immense. Always willing to explore or taunt his brothers, I knew he would keep me on my toes as he aged. He rarely listened. He heard and acknowledged my requests to 'Stay here' or 'Sleep,' but never headed them less they be on his own terms. I spent longer skimming my newly discovered book than I had in the past, before I found a name to suit the child. "Finally, you… You I will call Archimedes. Honor it, he was a great historical scholar."
I was content with my decisions as I looked over the turtles. With a satisfied nod, I closed my book and pushed it aside, rereading the cover for a final time before turning my attention away.
A History of Mathematics.