Nevin’s apartment was in a rooming house a block from the science building. By now Anson was so groggy that he just walked willingly at Nevin’s side as they left the building, occasionally reaching out to steady himself on Nevin’s arm. He intuitively trusted this towering man and felt safe under his guidance, so Anson shut his mind to the sights and sounds around him as they walked. He never remembered actually entering Nevin’s apartment.
Anson lay resting on the couch in the one-bedroom apartment, while Nevin sat at the kitchen table pondering this peculiar situation. He was pretty sure this curious small man who called himself “Anson of Huxley” was not dangerous. Most of his story was a little hard to comprehend, but there had to be a logical explanation. Nevin finally decided that the next thing to do was call the police and see if there was any report of a missing person, possibly a small mental patient.
He made calls to the town police, county sheriff and state police. Not only did he fail to get any leads, he sounded to the police like he was having his own problems with reality. They did not respond very positively to questions about little people who were escaped mental patients with spear wounds. Maybe he should take a different approach and try to find out something about the word “gilsum” and a place called “Huxley.” He went from the kitchen to the front room, which was furnished with little more than a shabby couch, desk, two wobbly end tables and a small aquarium with several goldfish. A nested stack of empty cardboard boxes sat in a corner. Located about the apartment was an impressive variety of houseplants, including several ferns, philodendrons and Nevin’s prized ficus. Opposite the couch, where Anson was sound asleep, was an old rear projection television set. A laptop computer was open on the desk.
Nevin sat at his desk and laid his hands on the computer keyboard. Reflecting for a minute until it booted up, he typed some commands that gave him access to various reference sources. He checked dictionaries, encyclopedias and a world atlas and found nothing that would help pinpoint the meaning of “gilsum” or the location of “Huxley.” It was a long shot anyway because these were probably fabricated words in what now seemed an incredibly elaborate delusion.
As intriguing as this situation was, Nevin decided that he had to turn his attention to his own affairs. He would have to move from his apartment within the week, so it was time to start packing. He needed to get to the bank to close his account and withdraw what small savings he had accumulated, which would get him to his aunt and uncle’s farm downstate. They were his closest relatives and getting on in years, so they would welcome his help in working the farm through the summer months. During that time he could look for another job and get himself better situated. Well, that was enough for now. Nevin got up to sprinkle some food for the goldfish. He half-consciously concluded that he should offer the aquarium to Mrs. Nelson, his landlady, who always admired it and would take good care of the fish. Maybe she would take the houseplants, too. After helping out Anson, he definitely had to get on with solving his own personal problems.
He had a plan for his immediate future, more or less. Some future, he thought. How he would miss sharing the wonderful insights of science and the discourse with students. Those wonderfully idealistic, open-minded souls who would get so excited about the marvels of science and its potential applications to improve the human condition. Even if he never had the chance to apply any of his scientific knowledge to help people in need, there was always a chance to inspire others like Mr. Thompson.
Nevin was slowly realizing that the prospects for inspiring students had been taken from him. He felt as empty as those cardboard boxes in the corner of the room. He had to decide what to pack first, momentarily forgetting about the strange little man asleep on his couch.