The Uncanny Mathematician

By Cynthia Russell

 

His uncanny ability as a mathematician was pinpointed when he was three. His papa, holding up three fingers, said to him, “Brent take three from thirteen. I know that is an astronomical figure for a little person but…” Before hand the time that he could complete his sentence, his young man child, still sputtering in the accent of toddler youthhood, gave him the correct response. “Ten.” And then he asked Papa, quite frankly, “Papa is hail composed of gems?”

They made arrangements for him to be evaluated by a developmental psychologist, who gave a warning at the appointment. “Be ready for dissatisfaction: numerous sets of parents assume that their offspring are extremely brilliant. I must assist them to remain melancholy, you know.”

Nevertheless, after devoting time with Brent over a span of two days in a consultation room, he said, “Mr. and Mrs. Covington, I declare your three-year-old is absolutely strikingly gifted. His mathematical comprehension is intense-very intense. Presumably that of a fourteen-year-old. Impressive.”

We are aware of that, said Papa, resounding matter-of-fact instead of being arrogant.” But it is great to have it affirmed.”

They were steadfast to provide him the most prestigious childhood experience possible, by supporting his goals, likes, and dislikes. They lived in Hanover, New Hamshire's elite mathematical focal point, and he earned a scholarship that had specific tuition on the discipline.

 

The head honcho of the mathematics division said, “He is someone distinctive, this boy.” He gazed at him fondly. “But he is in solitude most of the time, wouldn’t you say?”

 

His parents realized that a long time ago. They tried their hardest to promote companionship, but Brent continued to be by himself. Then at age fifteen, when he was in his freshman year of mathematical studies at Southern New Hampshire University, he became a sidekick with an apprentice of land management. This gentleman, Seth Mosby, came from a small farm in Augusta, Maine, where his guardians raised scarce breeds of goats. He was the fickle contradiction of Brent, being one of the most prevalent and congenial constituents of the college. The ladies liked him, for his alluring individuality as much as his gorgeous face, and he was followed by many enthusiasts. But he was gentle with Brent and would allow him to be included in his societal moments.

“Peculiar fella, that chap,” said one of Seth’s colleagues. “He chases you around like a doggy, and you are not able to get him to talk about anything commonplace, can’t you? I attempted to. Polo-Zero. Females-Nada. Lager-Nothing. What is transpiring in his thought process?” “Mathematics,” said Seth:” He is a serious mathematician. That’s what they resonate. They are on a distinct planetoid.”

After they completed their studies, Seth went back to farm life in Augusta. He did not see Brent for over a year and a half, but then he invited him to come to a gathering he was holding to commemorate his betrothal. He had met a woman named Darcy, who had been tending to his parent’s horses. She originated from Chattanooga, Tennesee where her father was a pharmacologist. She was considered garish, and bold, but that was what turned Seth on. She would be the best farmer's wife for him and his family, in his opinion.

Brent came to the gathering. He observed people dancing from the back of the room. He did not get up and dance, even though Darcy tried to get him to do the tango with her, “I apologize,” he said, “I’m not the best dancer.”

Seth and Darcy had their first child two years later. Seth was running the farm full-time, while Brent was working at one of the local colleges as a post-doctoral research intern. His essays on an unusual subdivision of mathematics were now gaining attention overseas. He previously accepted many privileged awards for his hard work, went to conferences in Lisbon and Stockholm, and was showcased in an article in the Chronicle of Higher Education. He saw Seth every once and a while, mostly when Seth came to Hanover to visit friends and go to the shopping center to buy country clothes, cowboy boots, and cold winter jackets. They would drink soda in the alumni room.

 

“This surrounding is creepy,” said Seth. All of this… I’m not sure what it is. Significance? Squeaky floor panels too.

 

“I am fond of it,” said Brent. There are fascinating people here.

 

“That dude over there…” He pointed to the man drinking a hot cup of Joe from Starbucks in the corner.

 

“That chap over there understands and works in the field of quantum mechanics that is rumored to be understood by ten people in the world.” Seth smiled, “And how many people can comprehend your style of work? Six?”

 

This remark brought a solemn remark. “No marginally more than that. Twenty-five, I reckon.”

When the baby, a girl, arrived, Seth said to Darcy, said, “We should ask Brent to be Julia’s godfather.”

Darcy was delighted, “Okay. I know that he will be joyful. No one else will request for him to do something like that.”

Brent sent a gift to his goddaughter every year on her birthday. He sent postcards to Seth every few months, to give the status of his career. He told him he was surviving, wished him well, and looked forward to seeing him and Darcy. On Monday, a postcard came with a message about a decline to take a job.

It said, “My good friend, I have been offered a position at the University of Manchester in London, but I will not take it. I want to stay here in America to be a part of your, and Julia’s life. I want to be friends forever.”

Seth read it out loud to Darcy and she was shocked. Poor Brent, he is always thinking about how to get along with others. Seth felt sad for him because he knew that they were his only true friends.

 

Darcy then said, “Do you think that he is content?”

 

Seth replied, "That depends on us.”

 

Cynthia Russell from US is a writer originally from Los Angeles, CA. She writes short stories, and poetry, and is in the process of writing a novel.