4
Speed of Darkness
"As for the final question: tell me about you life around here." Francis asked, setting his books aside and lacing his fingers. He leaned forwards earnestly, ready to listen to whatever the student had to say.
"Life 'round here. I can't say it's easy. But you could say the ditches in the streets are a perfect example of why I hate it here." The young man said. He was slumped deeply in his chair. "It's shallow and when you ride over it in your car, you feel like spitting insult after insult."
"Very poetic, young man." Francis said. "Now, you may leave."
The young man bade him farewell and slumped out the door, humming a low tune to himself. As he left, another figure rushed in behind him. The door swung shut behind her and she approached Francis' desk. She set her hands on the desk and rose to her toes.
"Hello, Sam." Francis said, already digging up one of his agendas. He found the homework he had assigned his class the night before, judged what percent of the class actually did it, and tried to decide whether or not to review matrices.
"Francis?" She asked, picking up a mint from the desk and walking to the leather chair. Now unoccupied, she climbed on to it and sat, her legs under her. She wore jeans and a white shirt, picking at the wrapper.
"Yes, Sam?"
"Can you go to Arthur's room with me?"
"Did your father decide against showing up?" Francis looked up from his pencil. He could have sworn he heard an exasperated Arthur shuffling down the hallway.
"No, he's here, but I'm afraid they'll rip each other's throats out soon."
"That seems highly unlikely."
"I meant I'm afraid Mr. Kirkland would do something to my dad."
"Now that is even unlikelier."
Sam frowned. "Really?"
"Yes, take a look at their personalities as variable x and y."
Sam interrupted him hastily. "I know, Mr. Kirkland is too kind and daddy doesn't like hurting people."
Francis regarded her quietly. She was chewing on the mint, tossing the wrapper away. Her hair had been pulled into a sloppy ponytail, a trademark of single fathers, and her bright, clear eyes were waiting for his reply patiently.
Sighing, Francis set his papers aside, motioning for her to lead the way. She happily jumped off the couch and started towards Arthur's office. "Too smart for your own good, child." Francis remarked.
"That's what they tell us all the time." Sam shrugged.
Intelligence breeds more intelligence, perhaps? Francis thought about it, thinking back to his broken knowledge of biology and the section titled genetics. He fell asleep during that class three times. Only the math intrigued him. And, at times, the poetic value of tiny microbes on each living being, and living beings even smaller than that—it went on and on and Francis, a glutton for the symbolism in anything, soaked it up.
Sam pushed open Arthur's door and walked in. She took her seat on the pink plush chair. Francis stood near the book shelf. Neither man in the room acknowledged the newcomers.
Arthur was staring at Alfred. Alfred was staring at Arthur. Neither moved. Neither made a sound. Arthur drummed his fingers against the desk. Alfred leaned back on the chair, a grim look of content painted over his features.
A glanced passed between Francis and Sam.
No one knew what to do.
Arthur's hair as tangled and standing on end, a sign that he had been running his hands through it often: frustration. Alfred was also seemingly frustrated. Behind Arthur a sheet of paper scribbled over with complicated math and scientific formulas was lying. Arthur's breathing was coming in short gasps.
"I'm right." Alfred said, finally breaking the silence.
"Francis!" Arthur snapped harshly. He snatched the paper and walked to Francis, shoving the paper towards him. "Read the bloody thing and tell me it's false." he spat. Francis took a step back and regarded the paper patiently. Arthur's cheeks were bright red.
"What did you do, dad?" Sam asked.
"Sam, if you eat any more of those mints you might form an addiction. What will I do, then? All my money would go into mints, I would have to invest into mint factories, a portion of the money would come back, and then there will be jealous, confused men. Eventually, it will even out so my money circulates. I put money in, I earn it back through stocks, and steadily my little girl becomes not so little anymore."
Sam giggled.
"All right, I won't have anymore." She shoved the last one in her pocket and held out her hands.
An insane smile creeped up on Arthur. His eyes flicked between the two.
"Don't give us that look, doc." Alfred warned.
"I am not a doctor and I was only admiring your skill at parenting."
"Maybe if you become a parent you wouldn't have to stare at other people who were successful in their role of evolution."
Arthur turned away from him. He watched as Francis nodded.
"It's right."
Arthur waited for Alfred to yell triumphantly. He glowered at the young man who was currently scowling playfully at a fitfully giggly Samantha Jones. Alfred noticed Arthur's persistent stare and stopped his stretched expressions.
He returned the glare. They were back where they started.
"You get along about as well as I do with the old, dusty professor." Francis commented.
Alfred snorted in laughter.
Arthur struggled in trying not stab the two with a pen.
"What did you want from me, old man?" Alfred asked Arthur at last.
Arthur gesticulated silently.
"You wanted me to yell 'hallelujah' I was right about knowing I was right when I was undoubtedly right? Now that seems like a waste of good Oxygen."
"That was perhaps the biggest exploit of the vital element than any sort of triumphant gesture would have been." Arthur responded calmly.
Sam watched them eagerly.
Francis noted how clean Alfred's vocabulary was. "Child," he said, calling her over. She stood and traipsed across the room, reaching for another mint. Alfred shooed her hand away without turning around.
She frowned behind his back but respectfully obeyed.
"Yes?"
Francis told her to get a paper from his office, one that was yellow with green pen marked all over it, on the third drawer to the bottom.
Sam gave him a confused look.
"What is it?" he asked.
"You don't have three levels of drawers." She whispered in explanation. Something about the tension seemed to press down on the volume of her voice. "You only have two. I could tell from how big the desk was. Also, I could see that you didn't have three."
"Observant." Francis nodded. "But I never said it was in my desk."
"You mean on your book shelf?"
"Yes, there's an armoire there."
"Why?"
"Are you questioning your elders? Now follow the orders of this annoying old professor and do it, child." He smiled.
She obeyed at last. Once she left Alfred heaved a sigh.
"Look you old bastard," he said, "What else do you have for me? I can't miss much more work. Why don't you give me a few to take home?"
"Don't you have animals to care for."
Alfred's expression darkened.
Arthur pressed his lips together. Francis wanted to interpose, but Alfred shook his head.
"No, I had to sell them yesterday." Alfred gazed out the window. "We're moving into the city, into an apartment here. It'll be closer to her school and to my work anyway. A few minutes, at least."
This was Alfred's fifth visit. The first had been a grudging success. Now it seemed to have formed into a habit for Alfred, for whatever reason. Arthur leaned uncomfortably against the desk.
"I'm sorry. I didn't think I would have cut you off from work that much."
Alfred shook his head, giving the first sign that he didn't absolutely hate Arthur.
"Don't be. It had to happen anyway. The cow was getting old. We couldn't manage all this at the same time. But it was pretty damn fucking nice to live in this paradise for a little while."
Francis stared at Alfred. Was this a door into his psyche? Alfred licked his lips, shaking his head again. He ran his hand through his hair.
"But things, they've got to change, don't they? They always do. And we hate it, but it still changes. Ironically, the one thing that we can't change is how we feel." Alfred scoffed. "Look at me, blabbing like a fucking bitch about all these feelings. I should be a real man, at least, a brave hero. If anything, for Sam."
The door slid open and Sam walked in, holding a green sheet of paper with black pen scribbled notes across it. "Is this it? I didn't find a yellow paper with green writing." She said earnestly.
Francis took it, thanking her. "I wanted to look over this." Francis read through the notes describing darkness vs. light and how quick they were relative to each other. Nothing was complete yet, aside from half-done hypotheses. He took it and went back to his room, letting Alfred return to his witticism and crass slang.
He set the paper on the edge of his desk, flipping open a book and reading through it, not caring what it was. He just wanted a distraction. Something about Alfred's tone and words had offset him.