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(Jenny found herself wondering who this professor really was and where he was going with this line of thought. She could feel the conflict of emotions within her aunt. Of course, she had an inkling of where Lizzie’s journey would eventually take her, but she was beginning to understand why Lizzie had made a point to ask Jenny to read the journals.
Neither she nor her aunt could have expected Jenny’s own journey to have been so precarious. Jenny was sure that if she had been given the luxury of taking her own training step by step, she would have taken the time to read these before now. She found herself grateful for the break she was getting to finally read the journals and get this insight into her aunt and the chance to fill in some of the gaps in her training so far.)
Lizzie found herself impatient when she followed Gaston’s direction to take a break between assignments. She was ready to plow forward and see what new surprises the professor had in store for her. Even the request to call him by his first name had made her wonder. It was as if he was trying to put them on an equal footing, and she wasn’t sure if she qualified for that.
She decided to head out to the beach. It was in the middle of the work week for most people, so the beach would be uncrowded, especially since the day was a bit overcast. She hopped on a “Red Line” bus, making connections that eventually took her out to Long Beach. She walked onto the Pike, a favorite stop for her, especially when it wasn’t crowded with the usual weekend mobs.
High above towered the Cyclone Racer, the second largest roller coaster in the United States. Thrilling and even dangerous (there had been some loss of life among riders over the years), it was a focal point among the shops, carnival games, and other attractions along the pier. She decided the risk was worth it and paid the fifteen cents for a ticket. She needed some perspective.
The ride was exhilarating and, although it only took a couple of minutes, she loved the elevated view at the tallest of the steep climbs of the little car. From that vantage point she could see far out to sea, if only for a moment, like one of the seagulls that swooped and circled along the beach. As she dismounted from her car, she realized she hadn’t done anything like this in an age.
As a kid she had sometimes come out to the pier with her family. Of course, in between there had been the Second World War, six years of uncertainty and incredible sadness. Her father had volunteered in the navy, and her mother had worked as a seamstress. Lizzie and her siblings had necessarily had to take care of themselves a large part of the time. The boys had done a number of things to bring in money. Her family had barely survived through the Great Depression, and the war had been yet another blow to them and their neighbors.
Now, five years after the treaty was officially signed, people were mostly thriving. Her father had come home from the war, more serious than before and intent on moving forward. Her mom had returned gladly to being a homemaker, and her siblings had all moved on to their various occupations. As the youngest, Lizzie was just now exploring her options.
Leaving the Pike to stroll along the beach, she found herself deep in thought. What was she really doing? It was all well and good to think she was flouting the educational system, and Professor Cormier’s offer did seem generous on the surface. But what was he getting out of all of this? And in the final analysis, what would she get out of it? He kept asking that question: why was she here? Why was she making the choices she was making, and where would it all lead?
She knew herself well enough to know that curiosity was her constantly driving force. At the age of four, she had taken her father’s alarm clock apart while her parents were occupied elsewhere. Her father had been surprisingly calm when he asked her why she would do such a thing. The only answer she could give was, “I wanted to see why it worked.”
He had made her promise to ask before she took something apart again and didn’t punish her. He went out and bought a new alarm clock and had given her the parts of the old one, which she did finally assemble into a working clock (with a few parts left over).
Was she ever going to get the answers she was looking for? Was she kidding herself that she could ever find an occupation that would pay her to live while still allowing her to satisfy her urges to disassemble everything that intrigued her? Obviously she couldn’t continue as an apprentice forever.
What she had said to the professor was true. She really didn’t aspire to wealth. As long as she had her basic needs met, and she could continue to study what she wished, she was quite content. But there was always a cost to education in one form or another.
As she watched the breakers crash against the shore and looked out to the horizon which appeared to be endless, her thoughts seemed to swirl in an equally endless vortex. As she often did, she pictured in her mind the spiral arms of the Milky Way reaching out into extended space, spaces so large as to overwhelm the human mind. And yet, she knew there was so much more out there, far beyond where any telescope could reach. Inversely, she also pictured endless iterations of smaller and smaller bits of matter. No end in either direction was both soothing and disturbing to contemplate.
However, this did mean that her search for ultimate knowledge was beyond her ability to fathom or complete. Was she being foolish to want to soak up every bit of knowledge she could find? Or was she really searching for understanding and meaning to it all?
She leaned down and picked up a still-living starfish from the sand in front of her and tossed it as far as she could out into the waves. It might have a fraction of a chance of surviving even then. It might just wash up onto the shore again to die. A small thing. A miniscule thing. But wasn’t she a miniscule thing in the great pattern, one single thread in the warp of an enormous weaving?
She sighed and sat on the sand just above the tide mark and stayed there for a long time, just letting sand sift through her fingers. Ultimately, she decided her time with the professor would be a tiny fraction of her time on the Earth, if all worked out as she hoped. In the final analysis, it was like all investments, potentially worth the risk. Regardless, she had signed a commitment, and she wouldn’t renege on her promise.
It startled her when she noticed the sun was descending towards the horizon when she came out of her reverie. She hadn’t eaten since her meal with Gaston. She hurried back to the pier, picked up some fish and chips from a vendor, and consumed her meal on her way back to the Red Line stop. She noticed her back was no longer hurting, and she actually looked forward to sitting down at the loom in the morning. Tonight, she would finish The Hobbit, and tomorrow she would see what the professor had for her when he checked in on her at lunchtime.
Sure enough, it was close to noon when he showed up the next day, once again with a burger and fries and a lumpy grocery bag. They ate their lunch chatting about her thoughts on the beach the previous day.
Gaston listened thoughtfully, simply nodding and making polite “hmms” and “reallys?” as she went along. When she wound down, he blotted his lips with his napkin and said, “This leads us nicely into our next project. Are you finished? Good. Come into the lab.”
They cleared up the detritus of their meal, donned lab coats, and went to a new workspace, separate from the woodworking area. He set a bag on the table. “I’ll be right back,” he said. “Don’t peek.”
She heard him leave the office and go out to his car. He returned quickly. He had two boxes, one, which was covered with a cloth, he put on the desk in the office. He practically bounced on his way back over to the worktable with the other box under his arm. With a flourish he emptied about five pounds of small oranges from the lumpy grocery bag onto the table. They went everywhere. Some of them rolled off onto the floor. He laughed, and she helped him retrieve them and set them back on the table.
What in the world? she thought.
He laughed again at her perplexed expression. “You should see your face!” he said, wiping tears from the corners of his eyes. “Come now, your eyes will pop out of your head if you continue like that!”
Lizzie shook her head, not sure what to think.
“Okay! Okay! Let’s begin a new adventure. Are you familiar with the ‘Kissing Number’ problem in geometry? It’s also known as the ‘stacking problem.’”
“Hmm. Isn’t that something to do with the number of touch points created by any multiple of geometric structures, usually spheres, when placed next to one another? I can’t see why it is a big deal, actually. It should be a simple calculation based on the number of sides or number of potential contact points and how you decide to stack them. What does this have to do with anything?”
“Ah, Lizzie. It has everything to do with, well, pretty much everything. As we speak, physicists all over the world are puzzling on this. For now, I want you to practice stacking these oranges as many different ways as you can to get the maximum number of kissing points. It may seem basic and even obvious, but, like the weaving project, upon further contemplation you may begin to see new possibilities.
“I’m not necessarily looking for a quantitative answer or a formula. There are plenty of those in abundance in the math and physics community. I am more interested in your observations as you proceed. Once again, you will write these down in your work journal. Leave a few extra pages between projects as you go, as you may discover that, in retrospect, you will continue to have new insights into previous projects.”
Lizzie just nodded. He smiled and then opened the box and pulled out a cube-shaped aquarium and set it on the worktable. “I will leave it up to you how you use this in your project. You may choose to ignore it, but I believe it may spark something if you decide to include it. At the very least it will contain the oranges in some kind of visual and organized way.”
Lizzie shook her head and barely prevented herself from rolling her eyes. Based on her earlier experience with the loom, she decided she needed to withhold judgment.
“Any questions?” he asked, ignoring her reaction as if he had expected it and maybe even had been looking forward to it.
“Is this about the math or physics, or something else? The equations are already out there.”
“Hmm. I would prefer you to not consult any of your geometry or physics textbooks in regard to this project. This is more about your observations than anything. Pretend you are Newton, or Pythagoras just starting out. Observation and curiosity are always where the math begins. Math is just one way of expressing the results of your observations.”
“Okay. I’ll do my best.”
“One thing I have observed about you, Lizzie, is when you are fully engaged, you always do your best. It’s one of the many reasons I chose you for this apprenticeship.”
Lizzie blushed. She hadn’t expected such effusive praise, especially since she still wasn’t completely sure what this was all about. In classwork, she was always used to dealing with clear expectations of the outcome. And this was all so far from clear, that she couldn’t help but suspect she might be missing the point. Or was there a point?
Gaston held up one hand as she began to ask him again about the point of these exercises. He turned and went back out to the desk in the office and carried the cloth-covered box into the work area and set it on the worktable next to the cubed aquarium.
“This is a big space,” he said, pointedly looking around the perimeter of the lab. “And one of the things I first noticed, working alone in here, is that after a while the very size of the space is not only distracting but sometimes disconcerting. I tried just playing the radio when I worked, but it was also a distraction; commercials and all of the announcements. Records didn’t work because I had to keep stopping to change the record. I finally decided I needed some companionship.
“I’m pretty sure you will come to these conclusions yourself, so, I got you a lab partner.”
He pulled the cloth off of what she had assumed was a box, but it wasn’t. Under the cloth was something like a small rectangular bird cage made out of wicker. The inside appeared to have a little loft instead of a perch for a bird. On the loft was a tiny cushion and a little blanket. Curled up on the blanket was something...
“Professor, what is that?”
“Lizzie Japhet, meet Thumble, a friend from far away.”
The tiny creature was about seven inches from head to tail, covered in curly dark brown fur. It lifted its tiny round head topped with two bumps, which might have been ears, and opened dark brown oval eyes and blinked at her and the professor. It stretched and arched its back like a cat, except it had six legs! Its front paws seemed hand-like; three stubby little fingers and an opposable thumb. It had a button-like tail, much like a sheep whose tail had been docked. Standing on all six feet, it probably was about five inches tall at the shoulder.
Thumble cocked its head to one side, examining Lizzie curiously without any apparent fear.
“It’s cute, professor, but do you really think I have time to care for a pet along with everything else?”
She had noticed he hadn’t really answered her question as to what she was looking at. Everything she had ever learned in biology told her that a creature with six legs must be an insect, but this little thing was covered with curly fur and looked every inch a mammal.
“Thumble can care for himself,” he replied. “He’s very independent. He knows where his food is, although he wouldn’t say no to an occasional piece of fruit, especially pineapple. He likes rock and roll music and is usually given free reign of the lab. He has his own ‘necessary’ and uses it. He also keeps his little house as neat as any innkeeper. He doesn’t generally make loud noises, and he’s a good listener.”
He unlatched the little wicker door. “Come on out, Thumble. Lizzie, lay your hand out on the table, palm up.”
Lizzie did so, and Thumble ambled out of the little wicker house and onto her palm. His tiny feet were warm and soft on her hand. By settling on his rear haunches, Thumble fit nicely on her palm. She lifted him so she could see him close up. Thumble regarded her calmly, his big dark brown eyes with large black pupils fastened on hers as if he could see what she was thinking.
“Hi, Thumble. Gaston seems to think we can be friends. What do you think?” She wasn’t about to do the whole cooing and baby-talk thing people tended to do with cute animals. And this one definitely was cute, the big eyes and curly fur, tiny nose, and bowed mouth made for classical cuteness. But if she were going to spend time with the little animal, she wouldn’t fawn on it.
To her surprise, Thumble nodded his little head and appeared to grin, showing tiny, squared teeth (obviously not a carnivore).
“Do you understand me?” she asked in surprise.
“He has a surprisingly agile mind,” Gaston replied for him. “He is his own little person, with his own ideas about things. I think he will surprise you.”
“He already has, Gaston. I’ll ask again. What is he?”
“Ah, well, he’s not from around here and kind of a hush-hush subject. I promise to fill you in at some point. As you recall, I told you that everything in this lab is covered under your nondisclosure agreement. Thumble is one of those things. He can come upstairs with you, but always either in his wicker home or in a small carry bag.”
He reached back into the box that had housed the aquarium and pulled out a small cloth bag with a square reinforced bottom and a zipper opening. One side of the bag was mesh that you could see through.
“When you carry him in his travel bag, always make sure the mesh is toward your body, so no one outside can see him. The mesh allows him to breathe and have light. It also has a flap you can put down when it is raining. The flap doesn’t fasten at the bottom, so it still lets in a modicum of light and air.”
He handed the bag to Lizzie.
“Now that I’ve told you the essence of your project and introduced you to Thumble, I have to leave. I have a student conference in just a bit. I’ll just make it on time if the traffic isn’t terrible.”
And with that and a wave of his hand, he scooted out the door. In a minute she heard the purr of his car as he pulled out of the parking lot.
Lizzie turned to Thumble, still sitting on her outstretched palm. “So, what do you think about that? He just makes his introductions and skedaddles. I’ll say this much about this mess I’ve gotten myself into: I’m not going to be bored. Would you like me to set you down? You can help me figure out this puzzle.”
Thumble rubbed his head against her thumb, which she took for assent. She put him gently down on the worktable and then considered something. “Would you prefer I put you on the floor? And the professor neglected to tell me where your house goes.”
Thumble made a very soft sort of mrrr in his throat and proceeded to jump lightly to the floor on his own and then turned and sprang back up onto the table.
“I see. So, you can get around on your own quite nicely. How about we set your house on the bench back here for now, and I’ll get to work?”
She suited words to action and Thumble scampered off. Apparently, he already had his own things to attend to.
Turning to the worktable, she examined what Gaston had given her to work with. Scattered over the tabletop were two dozen small oranges and a cube-shaped glass aquarium with no top, and she sighed. It was going to be a very long day.
And it began. Week in and week out, every week a new challenge. Instead of answering all her questions, each new project seemed to generate new queries, and the idea intensified that this was heading in a direction that was beyond anything she had imagined.
Gaston was easy to work with and work for. She enjoyed their twice-weekly lunches where they discussed her findings and thoughts about the various projects. The orange stacking problem had been followed by nightly stargazing, looking for anomalies in the night sky.
For that project, Gaston had revealed a platform at the top of the lab where the roof retracted, and the platform rose level to the peak of the roof, where an observatory-quality telescope was revealed.
From the street below, an observer would notice the housing of the telescope only if it was being used. Lizzie didn’t go up to the roof except after most people were sleeping, so the likelihood anyone would notice in this industrial park area were minimal. Also, by that time of the evening, the light pollution was greatly reduced.
After that project, she was set to studying the sciences of plastic molding, glassmaking, silver refining, and even herbology. The projects were so diverse and so seemingly disconnected that Lizzie was having a hard time fathoming where this would all lead.
Thumble had become a rather nice lab companion. He mostly kept to himself. Gaston had created a little gym and playground for Thumble in his own tiny lab apartment towards the back of the lab.
These days, however, they had also constructed a smaller version of his space up in Lizzie’s apartment. Each evening she would carry Thumble up the stairs in a sturdy basket-like wicker purse she had purchased specifically for this purpose, which she considered a better option than the cloth bag Gaston had provided for her originally.
She had carefully removed the lining from the sides of the purse, so light would filter in through the slats, and padded the bottom with a scrap of an old blanket for Thumble’s comfort. He happily would hop inside anytime she invited him.
During the day, as she worked on her projects, she could hear him puttering around in his lab area, humming to himself. He never seemed to be bored with watching, as if he were supervising, as Lizzie worked. She found herself talking to him as if he could understand her, explaining in detail her thought processes in her current project. It actually helped to be able to vocalize her thoughts and didn’t feel as odd as when she talked aloud to herself.
She discovered that Thumble really did like rock and roll music. During their break times for lunch or occasional breaks to stretch and move, they would put his favorites on the worn record player in the break area, and he would dance for her. After a while, when she found her toe tapping, she would join in, to his seeming delight and her own surprise.
Day in and day out, she did as Gaston had instructed and went out to exercise, either walking or riding her bike. As she did so, she found she could think deeply about whatever she was working on at the time. She continued to spend time every day at the loom in the evening after she had cleared and washed the supper dishes. Over time she had gotten good enough at it that she could allow her mind to wander, and it did. Surprisingly, she found herself thinking about how she could have taken each of Gaston’s assignments farther and could have gone into more depth.
None of her projects seemed to have a point in and of themselves, but they were definitely stretching her mind. All of them were so disparate that it made no logical sense to her how this would ever connect over time. She had to admit, though, that she was never bored, and it was much better than sitting listening to lectures in a classroom. She had to hold her biggest question back, however. He had warned her from the beginning she might not understand it until he was ready to connect all of the dots for her.
As she continued, she found herself falling into a rhythm. The tasks began to be harder and last longer. What had been fairly consistently weeklong projects began to be two- or three-week investigations into new and different types of crafts, processes, or research.
The research projects were her favorites. They always began with a question she needed to answer and a trip to the library. Gaston had arranged her to have free access to the university library, which made things easier. She would come back to the lab with three-foot stacks of research materials and a couple of fresh notebooks and sit for hours in the study, alternating between the comfortable reading chairs and the cast-iron typewriter at the desk.
By the end of the assignment, she would hand Gaston a large stack of typed pages with her conclusions, which he would take home with him, and the following day their lunch together would include discussing her thesis and her conclusions and theories. There was no grading here, and there were no written tests or formal evaluations.
During this time, just as she had while at the university, she stayed in loose contact with her parents and siblings via mail, with an occasional long distance phone call. There had been no major emergencies that required her presence at home. She and Gaston observed Thanksgiving together at a local restaurant that featured “good old-fashioned home cooking.”
As the weather got colder—not that it ever got very cold in Los Angeles—Lizzie realized that the time had passed without her even noticing the holiday decorations that had sprung up everywhere, even in the industrial park. She wondered what Thumble would look like dressed as a little elf.
By this time, she realized that Thumble was no longer this furry little guy who happened to also live in the lab and up in her apartment. He was now a companion. In the apartment, he had taken to sleeping on a pillow next to hers on her bed. He was always around, and most of the time they lived in harmony. She did have to occasionally ask him to stop humming, especially when she was working on a complex research assignment.
At times like that, she noticed he seemed to understand her when she spoke. He would immediately stop the humming, which she knew he didn’t often realize he was doing until she pointed it out. It was kind of like an uncle of hers who would whistle as he went about his chores. He had told her it helped him think. She couldn’t imagine how that would be helpful, but she was beginning to realize that everyone had a different way of doing things.
In the various projects she had worked on for Gaston, she noticed how different scientists and inventors functioned with their own processes and eccentricities. One of her assigned projects had been to read the biographies and autobiographies of many of the prominent scientists and inventors in history. They each had not only different skillsets but completely different approaches to their study and application of what they observed. The common theme, however, seemed to be intense curiosity that always led to some kind of action on their part.
