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(Jenny found herself intrigued. Of all of the adventures she had expected to find in Lizzie’s journals, building a loom and weaving a dresser scarf was never considered. She knew enough about her aunt to know that Lizzie always had a reason for everything she did. It surprised her to find her aunt pursuing something so mundane, but something about the account made her wonder about this professor and what in the world he could possibly have meant by putting Lizzie to this task.
Chidwi had evidently decided to follow Tidbit out into the garden to observe the koi or perhaps to chase butterflies, something they both enjoyed. Of course, they never even tried to actually catch them. They would have been horrified at the idea of harming such an ethereal little creature, but nevertheless, they both seemed to enjoy them.
Jenny knew they would be happily occupied. For now, she just wanted to find out where Lizzie was going with her narrative.)
After two days at the loom, Lizzie woke with pain in her shoulders and lower back. She wasn’t used to this particular activity, and her body was telling her about it. As she entered the office, before she entered the lab, she noticed a note on the desk. In Professor Cormier’s bold, striding script, it simply said, “Call me,” with the phone number inscribed below the words.
Lizzie promptly sat at the desk, picked up the heavy receiver of the black telephone, and dialed the number. The process of dialing had always been an irritant to Lizzie, especially when there were nines and zeroes in the number. It seemed to take forever for the wheel on the dialer to make its slow progress back to the starting point to dial the next digit in the sequence. Finally, the phone rang, and in two rings the professor answered the phone.
“Professor, you asked me to call you,” she said before he could say more than his usual professional greeting.
“Ah, Lizzie. You are prompt and at it early, as usual. I’ll be dropping by to see your progress at the weaving later today. Please have your notes ready. Although I will want you to continue with your weaving project, I want to hear your early thoughts about it, as I may have something more for you at that point. Also, have you been away from the lab at all since last we spoke?”
“No professor. I have been focused on getting this project done so we can move forward.”
“As I thought. Okay, we’ll also discuss that when I get there. I’ll bring us some lunch. How do you feel about hamburgers and some fries?”
“Sounds like a treat, professor.”
As she hung up, she realized that the dividing line between professor and student was changing. She remembered as a child being surprised to find a teacher in a grocery store, as if they didn’t have a life outside of teaching students. It was almost as if they just magically appeared to teach every morning and then disappeared each evening when they were no longer needed. Of course, she no longer thought that way, but it was interesting to realize that she still felt teachers were somewhat outside of the realm of everyday life, like they stood apart somehow.
Eating meals with the professor was both disconcerting and enjoyable, and she found herself looking forward to the meal with him.
As she sat down to the loom moments later, she groaned quietly when she raised her arms to begin the process. The project was only about half finished after several days of constant effort, due partially to her own perfectionism. More than once, she had painstakingly unwoven several rows of threads when she had discovered a flaw in the weaving. And now it seemed that her body was rebelling at the posture she had to assume at the loom. She hoped that in time her body would accustom itself to the action with arms raised, leaning slightly forward, but for now it was not at all comfortable.
By the time the professor arrived with a bag full of burgers and fries and (surprise!) two strawberry milkshakes, she was in considerable pain. She generally didn’t take any kind of medicine, preferring for her body to repair itself, but this time she was beginning to be tempted to take some aspirin at least.
She sat down carefully across the office desk from the professor and couldn’t repress a small groan when she leaned forward to grab her burger. He arched a brow. “You appear to be in pain,” he commented, before biting into his burger.
“It’s okay. Just a little sore from sitting at the loom.”
“Ah, yes, one of the things I wanted to talk to you about. I don’t believe you have budged from the lab since you started the project. Am I right?”
“No, I wanted to get the first project done.”
“Well, then, I will add a new requirement for you. Every day you will take a full one-hour break. You will leave the premises and not return until the full hour has passed. During that time, you will either walk or ride your bike to someplace that is not a library. You will move during that time either on foot or pedal. I do not want you used up and burned out. Your continuing health is vital to the endgame of our association. You will do this every weekday. On Saturday and Sunday, you will pursue other avocations of your choice that are not related to your lab work, even if that is just resting and reading a book. This means a complete break from working in the lab. Are we clear?”
Lizzie wanted to object, but she knew she had made a commitment to follow his rules and she wasn’t one to go back on her word, so she nodded, chewing thoughtfully on a mouthful of burger.
“Over time, the reasons for this will become increasingly clear, but for now I hope you trust me enough to continue until you understand more fully what is at stake.”
Once again, she nodded. She wasn’t sure why, but she actually did trust him.
“Good,” he said between bites. “As soon as we finish this fine repast, we’ll head into the lab and discuss your project and its ramifications so far.”
So, they ate in companionable silence. Lizzie finished quickly and the professor wasn’t far behind, so they cleaned up their lunch mess and donned lab coats.
The professor pulled up a stool to the worktable beside the loom and solemnly inspected her work for a few minutes.
“Nicely done so far. I see you mastered the joining of the two colors, a somewhat finicky part of the process.”
“Professor, are you a weaver? I was wondering, as you seem to know a lot about it.”
“Actually, no, but my wife was. She left behind a lot of her materials, and I decided not to waste them. I learned a lot by watching her and listening to her discuss it with her weaving friends.”
“And your wife is passed?”
“About a year ago. I miss her, but I look forward to crossing paths again in a future time,” he replied softly.
“I’m so sorry....” Lizzie replied, one hand to her cheek, feeling awkward. “I shouldn’t have brought it up.”
“It isn’t a problem, Lizzie. Thinking of her is always a joyful thing to me. I believe our parting is temporary. Don’t fret yourself about it. As I was saying, I learned a lot about weaving from an observer’s point of view. You, on the other hand, are learning it from a start-from-scratch experience. I would like to hear your thoughts. I notice you have made copious notes. Have you answered any of your questions yet?”
Lizzie thought about where to start, turning the pages of her notebook.
“One of my observations is that apparently simple things are not always as simple as they appear. The loom, even this simple one, is not just the sum of its parts. It made me consider how anyone even decided this was a possible or desirable thing to try. When did we go from animal skins to weaving cloth? What person was just sitting around one day and decided they could knot a bunch of strings together and make cloth? Where did the first strings come from? Who decided they could take the fiber from a sheep or a cotton plant and turn it into strings that they would use on a loom that probably wasn’t invented yet?
“My mother loves to crochet and knit. I know those arts originally came from net-making by fishermen, or so it is said, but there seems to be so much more to this than just weaving string in and out, over and over and over again, to make a piece of cloth.
“I have gained a great deal of respect for those early pioneers of the weaving craft. Even a simple loom like this one with good tools at hand takes time to build and master. My results so far seem inadequate, although I intend to finish the project.
“It never ceases to amaze me the inventiveness of the human mind and the diversity of its applications. My frustration now becomes, if this one simple thing that isn’t as simple as it appears is actually this complex, how will I ever learn enough? What is this path you are leading me along?”
“Ah yes,” he said with a sparkle in those bright eyes. “As I had suspected and hoped. Curiosity is a driving factor. I had wondered if you would see beyond the mundane into the nearly arcane world of true science. So, let’s see if you can answer the first question you asked me. Why did I set you this task and what does it have to do with science?”
“Well, I think there is more than one answer to that question, professor.”
He raised his hand to stop her. “Lizzie, let’s make this whole thing a little easier. Call me Gaston. Our work together does not require such formality. Please continue.”
“Erm, uh, okay. Well, it seems to me the first thing is that you were testing to see if I would follow instructions carefully and take care in my work to do my best, not discounting the simplicity of the task and the apparent lack of connection to the high science I aspire to. I admit I wasn’t exactly thrilled at the assignment, and it took a lot of pondering to decide there was some sort of ‘method’ to your ‘madness,’ as you say.
“Secondly, I realized that maybe there was a broader point to it. Upon consideration, I also realized it was a simple way to introduce me to protocols in the lab and to test my work ethic.
“On a deeper level, I also realized that this ended up being a study in the scientific process on a very basic level that turned out not to be so basic after all. I kept asking myself the question you asked in your office last week: why am I here? The answer is both complex and simple, but it boils down to what you just said. Curiosity drives me. I always have more questions than I have answers, and I would really like to jump ahead. But I can see you have a specific course charted for this journey, and I will only learn where it will lead me one step at a time.
“This requires me to trust you to lead me right. I learned some things about the mechanics and interaction of separate parts to make a machine that is functional and was able to ponder in the process the whys and hows of what drives the creativity of the brain. I found myself wondering if, had I lived back in the time when this simple tool was high-level innovation, I would have had the insight to put all of these pieces together in such a workable format.”
“Such deep thoughts,” Gaston said as Lizzie paused. “Exactly why I chose you for this project! The loom is a metaphor, which I hope you will continue to ponder. Even when we go on to other projects, I hope you will continue to use it and master the craft. Weaving definitely lends itself to contemplation, the rhythm of the process is soothing.
“Tell me, Lizzie. What is your least favorite branch of the sciences?”
“Biology and medicine. Hands down. They are messy and more unpredictable than their practitioners are willing to admit, most of the time. Organic creatures tend to have too many variables. I prefer things that are more quantifiable.”
“Hmm. I think I understand. We tend to separate the sciences into categories, which includes levels of logic and what we think of as ‘hard fact.’ We scientists, as a whole, are often much too sure of ourselves. We fail to remember that almost all science is theoretical in one sense or another. Whether it is physics or mathematics, we often find that things we had thought were immutable turn out to have a lot more to them than we had previously believed. We must be careful not to confuse science with truth. Although they often coincide, they are not necessarily synonymous.”
Lizzie nodded thoughtfully. This sounded very much like what she had been trying to say in many of the papers she had turned in to her science professors. Not all of them had appreciated her attitude in this regard.
“I think,” she said, treading carefully, “that one of the reasons you started me with this project was to allow me to teach myself that science is a lot more than supposed ‘facts and figures’ and that there is a lot more to any of it than we generally think. I think I have learned that I may have bitten off more than I can chew. Making the loom taught me not to assume and not to underestimate your cunning. What have I gotten myself into?”
Gaston laughed. “Always another question with you. Good!
“I really can’t tell you. This is a journey that needs to be taken carefully. It’s like the difference between taking a walk in the forest or driving through one in a vehicle. Details, often important and amazing ones, are lost when you speed through. Likely, looking back, you will think that it has all flown by too fast, regardless of our current pace. But when you do, I hope you will have at least gotten the answer to some of your questions.
“I think we will be ready to start your next project tomorrow. Take a break today. Get away from the lab and give yourself some time to think. No libraries or museums. Get out to the beach or a park and just be for a bit.”
“Thank you, Gaston,” Lizzie replied, still somewhat uncomfortable using his given name. “I will do as you say. Thank you for the burger and the food for thought. Both were delicious.”
