DISCLAIMER: As to the RGB, I don’t own anything but a piece of imagination and an ability to feel affection. None of those are extremely profitable in the financial sense. So I happily don’t make any money of my activities in this field.
NOTES: English is my second language, but thanks to Sandy A., the text has avoided being grammatically and literary crippled in some places. Sandy, your help is invaluable! I’d appreciate any comments (including the most severe criticism). Thank you in advance!
INTERLUDE 2:”Will Anything Worthy Remain?”
...I wonder... They call me a genius - some are joking, the others are annoyingly serious. I know I am gifted when it comes to math, physics or chemistry... I speak nine languages. I can repair every apparatus and any kind of equipment I have come across. I even hope to be useful in the field of my professional and scientific activities I enjoy so much. So what? All the knowledge I could share with the others might be found in encyclopedias and dictionaries.
Yes, the process of analyzing and synthesizing information is unique, but if a computer can check millions of combinations in a second, there is a high possibility that, sooner or later, it will come to the same chain of ideas and conclusions. That does not mean I consider a human brain (mine included) less valuable.
Quite the contrary. I just do not think anyone ought to be satisfied with themselves, if their mind is their only virtue. Certainly, my father would call it an unnecessary sentimental and highly unprofessional thought. In his opinion, the only thing in existence worth being satisfied with is the scientific achievement that is the product of intellectual work. He never approved playing the piano, for instance. Yet I think it was a lapse of judgment, all things considered.
On the other hand, the last time he was satisfied with me was when I invented that microwave reproductor at the age of ten, though that was not my last invention. The fact that my next project was accompanied by a number of miniature explosions has something to do with this, I suspect. Well, I’d never have supposed such a tiny inconvenience would have made my father lose his temper... But it’s understandable. He deals with theories while Uncle Cyrus conducts experiments, based on them. And I... mmm.. introduced him to that line of work just in his own home.
But it only confirms my thought. I never understand anyone’s actions, even my parents’, I can’t feel other people's needs, I don’t see the right way to help, I am not able to be a friend... When I was twelve, I couldn’t understand why nobody wanted to be friends with me. Now I know. I just have nothing to offer. I hadn’t then, I don’t have now. Hopefully I am mature enough to face the truth and to accept it. To Peter I must look like a winged hippopotamus with all the habits of an annoying fly. The consequences of that undeniable situation are predictable. But I choose my tasks myself, so I am responsible for the outcome.
Still, reduce my intellectual abilities to the middling, will anything worthy remain..?
Sometimes I hate dreaming.
Sleeping is bliss, but why aren't the things you see always worth seeing? Or, at least, why do you have to remember them best? That dream was disgusting, and Mom was crying. So I was thankful to the wind, which had struck a windowpane with a bough loudly enough to wake me up.
If I knew I was going to end up at the hospital, I would have even stayed with Egon rather than grace that party with my presence. After three weeks of knowing him I was sure he would have never challenged me to jump down from the roof, when I was drunk. His ideas of fun were... more sophisticated. Of course, he could have made something explode, but, at least, it would have happened on campus. Now it was storming outside, and I was stuck here with no hope of getting out before the weather settled down and the telephone wires got repaired. Quite melodramatic!
I sighed.
Suddenly the door burst open, and I jumped on my bed, gaping at a tall blond figure in the doorframe.
“Here you are!” A deep bass voice stated with cool satisfaction.
I shifted uncomfortably; the idea of pulling the blanket over my head and feigning sleep had an unexpected appeal in those two seconds it took the thundercloud to cross the sky... er ... the room. Well, I should admit Egon was the most controlled thundercloud I had ever seen. If my hair were that wet, I would probably be throwing things. He just brushed the most irritating lock aside from his eyes absently, then put his hands on a bedrail and gazed at me thoughtfully. If I were not quite sober by then, I would certainly become that under his stare.
“Well, how are you?” he inquired neutrally.
“It depends...” I replied warily.
“Was the party a success?” he went on.
“Um... yeah... more or less.”
“I guessed so. A broken leg is not a meaningless achievement as a result of only five hours of being an idiot.”
“You are flattering me,” I muttered.
“As a matter of fact, I have made an understatement.”
“Wonderful!” I pouted. “Pick on me, when I am down!” I was losing ground. Funny, it happens quite a lot, if Spengler is involved. How does he do it?
“If my data is correct, that is exactly where you wanted to be. But I am about to change your location to a reasonable extent.”
“English, please,” I groaned. “I am on my sickbed, you know.”
“I talked to your doctor, and he agreed to let me take you home.”
“What?!” I quacked.
“Has the impact influenced your hearing as well?”
“But it’s storming!” Involuntarily I glanced through the window. “And I can’t walk, if you care to see,” I added.
“Thank you for asking, Peter. But I am not so devoted to hiking as to walk seventy miles in such weather.”
“You’re driving?” I made a little show of shuddering in horror. “Jeez! Thank you for coming, but let’s camp here for the night, okay?”
“And allow your mother to worry?” Egon asked quietly.
My heart skipped a beat and sank down, like a cold stone. Sunday! Yesterday was Saturday! I hadn’t call her – for the first time in my life. And the week before her physician told me not to upset her. God..!
I opened my mouth to speak, but no sound came out.
“Steady, Peter. She is all right.” I hadn’t seen Egon move, but now he was sitting on the edge of my bed, and his hand was on my forearm.
“Where?” I managed through a dry throat.
“My room on campus. Sleeping.”
“Sleeping?!”
“I couldn’t take her out in a storm, when I didn’t know how long it would take me to find you.”
I don’t know how you’ve found me on the whole, I thought numbly. So I offered her a cup of tea and sleeping-pills. But we shouldn't dawdle because I suspect your mother had consumed too much caffeine to make the duration of the effect predictable.”
I nodded and started to get up, but Egon stopped me.
“They will bring your clothes...” The door opened again, and doctor Mitchell entered the room, carrying a pile of things. “... in a minute,” Egon finished, standing up.
Doc looked at him briefly, then turned to me.
“Gentlemen, I must repeat I am against this idea.”
I was going to tell him where to find the shortcut to hell, but Egon overrode me.
“Your opinion is appreciated, Doctor Mitchell, but we have an affair of the highest priority to take care of.”
“Well, as long as we would have sent him home anyway, but for the weather... But you promised.”
“I did.”
“Then let’s get your friend dressed.”
Ten minutes and a certain amount of titanic efforts later, I was dressed, cocooned in someone’s raincoat and tucked onto the rear seat of a dark blue VW.
Egon hesitated a moment to exchange a couple of phrases with Doc Mitchell, but just before my nerves screeched aloud, he got into the car and started it.
“When?” I asked immediately.
“In one hour and twenty-two minutes, if the road has not become much worse.”
“And it is...?”
“7:36. Are you okay?”
“Let’s go,” I replied shortly.
I am not sure, why Doc Mitchell didn’t declare us insane. He would've been within his rights to do so. Besides, I know I was close to that particular condition during that remarkable trip. That is – before Egon started talking.
I had never thought anyone could be that annoying, except my dear self. He tricked me into telling him about the damned party by making several offending guesses; and he was commenting upon my tale every time I paused. He dared me to prove to him why my jump would have been successful, if... And disproved all my statements as soon as I finished. He calculated aloud, what the speed should have been to send us wheels up - just while the car was being carried away on a road turn. To cut the long story short, he was driving me nuts – but in quite a different direction than I'd have taken.
I snapped and yelled, and laughed because some things sounded funny as hell. And I don’t know how he could be driving a car, as busy as he was, torturing me.
“We have arrived,” Egon said unexpectedly. For a second he seemed to be having difficulties with unbending his fingers. “9:03.” He shut down the motor.
“You have missed!” I blurted out, still caught up in our previous 'conversation'.
“Indeed. By five minutes and thirty-two seconds,” he supplied with an almost unnoticeable shade of weariness slipping into his voice. Before I could react, he got out of the car and opened the rear door behind my back. “I suppose we can succeed with the task at hand between the two of us.”
“What’s the distance?” I inquired, bracing myself because at that time I realized the pain-killer had nearly worn off.
“About twenty yards.”
“I’m game.”
Egon was literally pulling me out until I could put my good foot on the ground, while the other one was still resting on the seat. Then he took out my other limb and lowered it carefully. I glanced at him doubtfully.
“The crutch is a bit off size for me, uh?”
“Try it,” Egon suggested matter-of-factly.
I tried.
The rain, wind, pools and stairs were not exactly on our side, there. But we did it. Somehow.
The view of a quiet room, dimly lit with a desk lamp, set on the floor near the occupied bed brought me to a halt.
“Egon, I can’t.”
“Peter,” he replied mildly. “She is your mother.”
Our eyes met, and I nodded slowly. Egon placed a chair at the bed and helped me to it, taking off my wet raincoat in the process. I heard him leaving the room, but I couldn’t avert my eyes from mom’s face. She looked relaxed in her sleep, but so unhappy... I swallowed and traced her cheek with my fingertips. I didn’t want to awaken her yet, but my hands must have been too cold...
Her lashes trembled, revealing slightly confused green eyes, which became clear as soon as her stare rested upon me.
“Hi, Pooh!” She whispered.
“Mom, I...” Both the voice and words failed me, and I just looked in her face, desperate to make sure she was really all right.
“Shh!” She sat up and reached to me.
I didn’t deserve that ready absolution, but in a moment we were encircled in each other’s arms. “I know you were not just careless, dear.” Mom said softly. “That was the only reason for my worry.” She pulled back a little and inspected me from top to toe, that is, from top to cast. “Oh, Peter!”
“I am okay,” I assured her vehemently. “Ask Egon.”
She smiled at that.
“I will. Your friend is quite a gentleman, so he won’t lie to a lady.”
“How did you find him?” I muttered in her hair.
Mom laughed shakily. “I once asked you, what that Spengler figure was like. You told me he was long.”
I snorted through the limp in my throat. Egon WAS long, no two ways about it.
“So, what happened?” She prompted gently.
I confessed. Mom sighed.
“Pooh, you know what I think of it, don’t you?”
“Oh, yeah,” I confirmed.
“Then I won’t repeat it.”
“I am so sorry, Mom... You...”
“You couldn’t foresee everything, dear. Besides, when I got here and met Egon, my worries lessened, as if they had been divided... And I am absolutely fine now.”
That was the moment, when Egon entered the room again, carrying a tray with two cups of tea and a plate with sandwiches. He placed it on a small table near the bed.
“Good evening, Mrs. Venkman. May I suggest you a cup of tea?”
Trust my mom to do the right thing! She got to her feet, came up to Egon and hugged him. “Thank you!” She whispered. “For everything – tea included!”
Egon blushed faintly and looked away.
“Don’t mention it.”
“I won’t mention it, but I will remember,” she replied earnestly and released him.
Egon took his glasses off and polished them with his handkerchief.
“Mrs. Venkman, I think you ought not to return to the hotel now. I don’t have a roommate, so both the bed and couch are at your disposal.”
“And what about you?” Mom and I asked in unison.
“Well, I’ll spend most of the night studying for a test. But there is another couch in the next room.”
I glared at him. Mom didn’t know the design of students’ quarters, but I did.
“And what test are you having?” I asked sweetly.
“Advanced math,” he answered, staring at me. I would have laughed full in his face. It was hard to imagine Egon studying for any test. But advanced math, for Heaven’s sake! Yes, I would have laughed. But his eyes went to my mom and back, and I kept silent.
“In that case,” Mom said cheerfully, “I accept your offer with gratitude.” And she muffled my hair gently.
Egon disappeared again, giving us the chance to finish supper. That time he returned with a pile of fresh covers. While Mom retired to the bathroom, he made the couch and helped me “to change my relative position”, as he had put it.
“You know, we could have stayed at my place,” I said. “My roommie is away till next Thursday.”
“It would have caused a number of inconveniences for both your mother and yourself. And if your roommate is absent, there is another reason for you to stay here. You will require a little assistance in the nearest future. Now take it!”
I was going to argue, but a huge pill and a glass of water in front of my indignant nose distracted me.
“What’s that?”
“Poison, what else?” He raised an eyebrow. “I can see exactly how you feel. Would you like for her to be aware of the fact, too?”
“Blackmail, uh?”
“For a good cause,” he stated arrogantly.
I rolled my eyes and resigned myself to 'being poisoned'.
“Well, will you sleep on a chair?” I asked, giving the glass back.
“I’ll make use of the time accordingly, rest assured,” Egon replied dryly. “I have got several theories which need verification.”
“Are you sure you are not just a calculator embodied?” I teased.
“No, Peter,” he replied absently, turning to leave.
I was about to snort at this deliberately ambiguous reply. Suddenly that all struck me as a lightning bolt – and so hard that I doubled over mentally and gasped aloud. He didn’t mean it as a joke!
“Spengler, you idiot,” I yelled. “No walking encyclopedia was supporting my mom, no damned comp managed to find me and no cold-blooded microscope gave me that dressing down!”
“Peter...”
“Shut up! I WAS listening to you! It’s my turn!”
“Revenge again?” He smiled slightly.
“Don’t you hope to talk me away!” I barked. “Boy, are you crazy? For Pete’s sake, what has ever given you that idea? Or should I ask, who?”
“Peter, I don’t...”
“Oh, no, you don’t, that’s a given! Have you ever tried to wrap your genius brain around such an insignificant fact as that you are incredibly sensitive? I said 'incredibly' because I have no idea how it gets along with your supposed absentmindedness. Have you ever paid attention to...”
“Is this the way you are planning to treat your clients?” Egon interrupted me without raising his voice a notch.
“Damn straight, if they deserve that!”
“I see.” He smiled mildly, “Good-night, Peter.”
I watched the kitchen door shutting behind him soundlessly. Damn that helpful, compassionate and tactful idiot!
... Okay, Egon, you have been warned...
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