7 – Message in a Bottle

Sonia and Pedro spent a good part of Sunday morning organising the information they already had about the Brainy Hacker. They not only worked on what he (or she) had left by way of the weird messages, but they also made a summary of what they remembered from the other appearance that hadn’t left a printed record. They read it all over and over and made lots of notes, using up piles of scrap paper.

They only interrupted their work for lunch, which was a fantastic Sunday spaghetti dish cooked by Sonia’s Italian grandmother. The tomato sauce had been left cooking over a low heat since morning, filling the house with a tempting smell that made it harder and harder for the kids to concentrate as the clock moved forward and their stomachs told them it was time to eat.

‘You’re staying to lunch with us, Pedro, right?’ said Mrs D’Angelo hospitably. ‘I’m going to set an extra place at the table.’

‘Nonna’s food is amazing,’ said Sonia.

There was no need to insist. Pedro had heard of her famous spaghetti, even though he’d never tasted it. And the delicious smell was irresistible.

‘I didn’t tell my mum I was staying out for lunch,’ said Pedro. ‘But yes, I’ll stay, thank you. I just need to phone home and let them know.’

When he hung up the phone, he asked, ‘Is it alright if I use your phone again? My mum says there’s an urgent message for me. Apparently, Matt has called my house three times already. If he has spent his Sunday morning calling me, something must have happened.’

Something certainly had. A new attack from the Brainy Hacker.

By now, almost all the friends had been exchanging ideas and impressions about the joker’s activities. All except for Faye, who was too scatterbrained (or at least that’s what they all thought), and Matt, who had heard all the stories but never had anything to tell. To be honest, he was starting to feel a bit jealous that nobody had sent him any mysterious messages. He was also slightly anxious that his friends would start thinking he might be to blame for what was happening. After all, if he was the only one who wasn’t getting these weird messages, that made him a natural suspect.

That was why he got so excited when he joined the club: he had finally got a message. This was what he wanted to tell Pedro so urgently, why he’d made all those phone calls, as the other two soon found out.

‘Now the guy says he’s a priest, Pedro! Can you imagine?’

‘No, I can’t imagine,’ answered Pedro. ‘You couldn’t make this stuff up. Did you manage to print out the message?’

‘Of course!’ said Matt. ‘After everything you have been saying, how could I let this pass? I printed everything out. I’ve got the page right here in my hand. Want me to read it out for you?’

‘Yes.’

Matt read it, and then Pedro asked Matt to email the document to him.

By now, Carol had got interested in all this as well. It really bugged Sonia, but her younger sister wouldn’t go away, so there the three of them were, all curiosity, standing around the computer. Sure enough, the message came through, and soon they were reading on the screen:

Although you have an evangelist’s name, you do not seem to apply yourself much to the written word, which is a shame. Especially during an epoch in which there is such ease to learn to read.

There were times when almost all people in a society were illiterate. Only a few had access to written pages. Books were rare and precious, and none but the very rich could afford to own them. It is no wonder that it was so, as each volume demanded painstaking and intensive work from all of us, who dedicated ourselves to copying so that the texts could multiply and perpetuate themselves.

In the West, in monasteries such as the one where my companions and I worked in our scriptorium in teams of five at a time, only the Church and the universities could claim to gather people skilled in reading and writing. Even kings and emperors were illiterate.

Fortunately, I had the opportunity, years later, to experience different realities. Even when fate brought me to your continent centuries later, as a member of the Jesuit company, so many among us had this skill that we even managed to assemble a small compilation of the vocabulary of the peoples found on these shores.

The written word of some of my companions managed to reach a larger extension, to go beyond the immediate surroundings and the people who were close to them and defend poor locations from the cruelty and evildoings of those who thought only of enslaving them, as if they were not human and had no soul. In a way, this written word had an effect, by influencing our society so that it would not accept that the peoples found in the New World were reduced to captivity and treated as animals. However, such protection ultimately directed the cruelty to other peoples, and the sad fate of slavery fell upon the shoulders of our African brothers, who were for centuries victims of this atrocity.

Therefore, one cannot help observing that humanity only walks in slow and short steps, on a path with abundant setbacks and detours. Even if sometimes one has the impression that there have been improvements, we are soon obliged to note melancholically that there are other aspects to consider.

At any rate, it seems doubtless that without the transmission of wisdom and knowledge from other generations through the art of the written word, our situation would look grimmer still. Each individual would be forced to start from the beginning and reinvent it all. And Our Lord’s work would move in circles, condemned to repetition throughout the centuries, as the pagans would tell with the story of poor Sisyphus.

As this poor scribe who, try as he might, can never succeed in finding a kind soul to free him from his sorrows, woe is me!

It ended just like that. Suddenly. No goodbyes. They rang Matt again, asking if there was anything missing. There wasn’t, he said. But he couldn’t contain his excitement any more and wanted to meet them.

‘Can I come over?’ he pleaded.

Of course he could. Soon they were all gathered, rereading the printouts of the message that Matt brought for everyone.

‘Hey, you know what? There’s something new here!’ said Pedro, as he finished reading the message again.

‘What’s that?’ asked Matt. ‘Do you know this priest?’

‘No, that’s not it. But look: he repeats a lot of the stuff he already said before, in the other messages. He makes a big deal about writing, says he’s all proud that he’s one of the few who knew how to read and write, stuff like that.’

‘He always says that,’ Sonya interjected. ‘That’s not new, Pedro.’

‘No, you’re right, that’s not the new bit.’

She did like Pedro, but sometimes she wished he didn’t have to go round and round when he was talking. She sighed inwardly and waited.

‘What’s different this time is that he is quite clear about living in different centuries. See, in the second paragraph, he says “in monasteries such as the one where my companions and I worked in our scriptorium …” A scriptorium is where medieval monks made their manuscripts, so that’s the Middle Ages, right?’

The others nodded.

‘And then, look, later it says, “Even when fate brought me to your continent, centuries later, as a member of the Jesuit company …” So now he’s a Jesuit missionary to the Americas, and he even says “centuries later”. That’s what’s new, Sonia. He is specifically saying he has lived in different times. It’s a bit like what the wizard’s assistant was saying before, but this time it’s much clearer.’

Sonia had to agree.

‘What about this Sisyphus person?’ asked Matt. ‘Do you know anything about him?’

‘I do,’ said Sonia. ‘I’ve heard of him. My grandpa was talking about him the other day. It’s a Greek myth, I think, and it’s about a man who was condemned to push a huge rock uphill for all eternity. I don’t know why, but I remember that as soon as he arrived on the top and stopped to rest, the rock would roll downhill and he had to do it all over again.’

‘Listen, Matt,’ Pedro said. ‘Before I talked to you, Sonia and I were making a list of the things that we have gathered from all the messages.’

‘Show him the list,’ suggested Sonia, and they showed it to him.

• It’s someone who’s proud of knowing how to read and write.

• It’s set in a different place and time in each message.

• His grammar is pretty mixed up.

• He writes in an old-fashioned style, but the text arrives by computer.

• Changes sex.

‘Wait, I don’t get it,’ said Matt. ‘What do you mean, “changes sex”?’

‘Oh, yeah, right, we didn’t explain that,’ said Sonia. ‘What we meant was that sometimes the hacker says they’re a woman: an Egyptian queen, a merchant’s wife, whatever … But at other times they write as if they’re a man.’

‘This priest, or the notary from the ship, for instance,’ Pedro recalled. ‘Or the alchemist’s assistant. And Marco Polo.’

‘What assistant?’ asked Matt, feeling a bit left out of secrets the others seemed to be in on. ‘What alchemist? What notary? What are you talking about?’

‘You should explain it to him properly,’ said Carol. ‘You can’t expect him to guess!’

She was right, of course. A lot of the messages Pedro had mentioned were very recent. They’d only come in over the weekend. He and Sonia hadn’t had a chance to tell the others yet.

‘Well, the alchemist’s assistant is this wizard who appeared in the middle of Will’s computer game and started writing on the screen, but he didn’t leave a written message, because Will closed it,’ Pedro began. ‘The notary guy is new too – we only heard from him last night.’

Matt was obviously putting all the pieces together in his head as he read the messages and listened to what Sonia and Pedro were telling him, and at last he said, ‘I think we can add something to that list of yours.’

‘What?’ asked the other two together.

‘I’m not exactly sure – I can’t explain it properly. But I get the impression this guy’s asking for help. And I feel like helping him.’

‘Help?’ asked Sonia, puzzled. ‘Who? The hacker? You mean this person wants to turn us into accomplices or something?’

‘Hey, listen,’ said Pedro, ‘hacking into other people’s computers is a crime: we could go to jail for that. You can count me out.’

Matt didn’t know what they were talking about.

‘I’ll tell you what I’m thinking,’ said Pedro. ‘This is clearly not a virus, but a hacker, right?’

Matt agreed that it did look like that.

‘We’re dealing with someone smart and competent,’ said Pedro, ‘someone who’s really good with computers, someone who knows his history and uses that as a kind of disguise. He changes what he says depending on who he’s talking to. He moves from ancient Egypt to Babylon to Medieval times to the time of the explorers, and so on. And he or she takes on the character of a queen, an alchemist, a scribe, a priest, a merchant …’

‘We think this person knows us pretty well,’ Sonia added, ‘because he is able to pick up on what we are thinking or working on.’

‘This last message to you, Matt,’ said Pedro, ‘mentions your name being the same as one of the Evangelists. Those were the people who wrote the gospels, and one of them was Matthew. That’s pretty personal, right? This guy really does know us.’

‘Or he can read thoughts,’ suggested Carol, but nobody took any notice of her.

Pedro continued. ‘These weird messages look like some kind of joke or game. But it may not be a game at all. The way I see it, this is a way of marking territory, of showing that someone has been there and has left a trail. That’s what hackers do. We still don’t know who it is, or why they’re doing it, or why we were chosen – or if perhaps this is happening also to other people out there, but we haven’t heard about it.

‘The thing is, this might be serious. And I hate to keep saying this, but hacking is a crime, and I really don’t like the idea of getting mixed up with a hacker.’

The others stayed silent, thinking.

‘I mean,’ Pedro went on after a while, ‘what if the guy breaks into a bank system and steals a load of money? Or hacks into some government stuff, destroys a security system? He could do anything. Stuff we can’t even imagine. People could get hurt, you know?’

Sonia got goosebumps all over again. Feeling a bit awkward, she made a suggestion. ‘Should we maybe tell the police? Instead of trying to figure this out ourselves.’

‘I’m not sure about that,’ Pedro said hesitantly. ‘They might not take us seriously. I mean, it does sound very weird. They might just laugh at us.’

Sonia nodded. Very likely.

‘But, listen, I have another idea,’ Pedro said. ‘I thought of maybe talking to Colin and showing him everything. He’s experienced – he’s a lawyer – so maybe he could help us out, give us a few tips.’

‘Who is this Colin?’ asked Matt.

‘That lawyer who’s dating Sonia’s sister. He’s the one who sent us a copy of the message that a clerk in their office found, all mixed up with a legal document. Actually, he left a message for us, saying he wanted to have a chat about it. I’d forgotten that.’

Matt thought it over. ‘Yes …’ he said hesitantly. ‘I suppose.’ But he did not seem convinced.

He thought a bit more and then he said, ‘What if it’s not that at all?’

‘What do you mean?’ asked Sonia. ‘Not what?’

‘Do you have a better suggestion?’ said Pedro.

‘No,’ said Matt. ‘I can’t say I have a suggestion or that it’s any better than your ideas. But I just keep thinking it may not be a hacker or a criminal or anything like that. Maybe it’s just a cry for help. Like this is someone who needs help and has been gradually trying to gain our confidence, to make friends with us.’

‘Yeah, right, so they can use us later!’ said Sonia.

‘I don’t think so,’ said Matt. ‘I don’t see any sign of that. I think this person is trying to get to know us so that he or she can open up and tell us what they want. I honestly don’t see them using us. In fact, I think it’s the other way round – we’re the ones who used that first message to get a good grade on the history paper.

‘And by the way, we’d definitely lose that grade in a second if we went around telling people that the famous project that got all those compliments from Mr Costa wasn’t done by us, but was actually plagiarised from Nefertiti or somebody else who sent us everything ready-made and full of details.’

Silence.

‘See, I read these messages quite differently,’ Matt went on. ‘I mean, I do agree with all that stuff you two wrote in your list: it’s someone who’s proud of knowing how to read and write, who has lived in different places and through different times and all that. But I also see someone who is polite, who apologises for butting in, who treats us with respect. And it’s someone who’s really hooked on this idea of how important it is to study.’

‘That’s right,’ Sonia agreed.

‘But it’s also someone who’s trying to communicate,’ Matt said. ‘Desperately trying, actually, in any way and over a long time. Someone who sends one message after another. Someone who says they are suffering, who needs to be set free from some kind of a sentence. Someone who hopes that we can give them a little help. And what is our response? We couldn’t care less. Or worse: we think they’re a criminal.’

Silence again.

Pedro and Sonia hadn’t seen things from that angle. They remained quiet, thinking. Since thoughts don’t make noise, there was no sound to be heard.

The person who finally spoke was Carol. They had all forgotten she was there. She was usually very nosy, but on this occasion she’d really been trying to control herself and not ask too many questions, so she wouldn’t get kicked out by the older kids.

It was Carol, though, who summed up the situation, saying, ‘Cool! It’s a bit like a message in a bottle, like you see in cartoons, floating in the middle of the waves until it reaches a beach and someone opens it. And we are the ones opening it, right?’

What if this were true?