water, water is the stuff that keeps him going! It's what makes plants grow. It's what makes fish swim! It's what drives the clouds and the rain and the sea! Rivers flow from the mountains to the sea. The tide moves everyday. Water gives motion and motion gives life.”
“I see.”
“I don't think you do! And that's not a slight at you, not at all, because it needs a little more explanation. For if we make the statement that water is the stuff of life, so what is to say that water, with its amazing properties, is not bound to life?”
“Bound to it?”
“In science, we have the principle of symmetry, and it works well on many levels. If A leads to B, one may argue, then surely B can lead to A? For example, if an electric current may make a magnetic field, then cannot a magnetic field create an electric current?”
“I don't know. Can it?”
“Yes, from what I have heard. It's an exciting prospect, isn't it, that one might create a current without the use of messy piles, only from a bunch of magnets so arranged,” he hummed, looking off to the wall, “Electromagnetism, it is called, a most fascinating read, but that is not in my field of expertise, and that is not what we are discussing right now. No, it was only to serve as an example.”
“Yes, Professor.”
“So, you see, using the principle lets us imagine that, if one thing leads to another then, given the right circumstances, the other may lead back to the one.”
“So with water?”
“Yes, water. Imagine, if you will, a parched field. It has a few tufts of grass poking out from it, all barren and dry, looking much like a desert. Then the rain comes! It soaks the ground. It threatens to flood it, it is so strong! All night and all day it rains, the skies rumble, the lightning strikes,” he bellowed, enacting with his hands the rain clouds, “The wind blows to a gale, and the water drenches everything above and everything below, to a depth we cannot imagine! Then, to the barren field, life springs forth!”
“But there must be a difference between a field of wheat that has been sown and a dilapidated house off Grosvenor.”
“The principle is still the same! Now, listen. I'm not sure how good your mathematics is, and there is no doubt in my mind that we will need to work upon it rigorously, but trust me when I say that, through my research I have derived that there is a strong correlation between water and suspected activity,” he explained, “And that includes running water, subterranean water, precipitation, lakes, rivers, bogs, ha! Even just the damp.”
“Yes, Professor.”
“It was raining last night.”
“I noticed.”
“And the house received that rain. It rained over the roof and down the pipes, it leaked into the cavity and dripped onto the floor. It made a couple of puddles. It probably even added to the musty smell by allowing a mould colony or three to propagate, eh?” he giggled, a foreign noise to pass from his lips, “And so, can we not suggest, from the principle of symmetry, that if the waters bring life to the fields, if they bring life to the desert, surely, surely they can bring life to the barren house?”
My eyebrows dropped. I was conscious of them. I did not wish to appear doubtful, or angry, or show any emotion, really, but there they were, pushed down so hard over my eyes that I had trouble seeing the Professor.
I drank some of my beer to hide my face.
“What is it, lad?” he asked.
Evidently my manner showed through the glass. I took my time, lowering the glass carefully, so that I might choose my words carefully.
“Professor,” I said, “I'm a little out of sorts at the moment. There's something, well, many things, but one thing in particular I should s...”
“Oh, out with it!”
“You said, um, in fact, you made it quite clear, precisely, that there was no mistake...”
“I haven't got all day, lad!”
I blustered, “You said that the house was for calibration! You said that there was nothing unusual about it! But there was everything unusual about it! Everything!”
A dribble of beer trickled down my chin, but I was so maddened that I did not care for it, nor for the light spray that came with my words.
“I expected to be within a house without motion, without noises, without voices! I was prepared to do my best, to record instruments with as much accuracy and diligence as I could. What kind of base reading could I get from a house that was so – so troublesome?” I burst.
The Professor put his glass down, smirking to himself. I did not know him so well as I do now, and, if I had known then what I know now, I would have suspected straight away that the cunning fox had well and truly pulled the wool over my eyes.
He hitched himself onto a stool, so that he was perched above my small frame, and he smoothed his goatee in thought.
“Lad,” he said, tugging a little at the end, “Could you be calm for a second, just breathe a little, and think. Think about my position as a scientist. I needed readings. I can train a monkey to take readings.”
“So I'm a monkey?” I fumed.
“No. Listen. I needed readings. But I needed accurate readings. I can train any vagrant off the street for this.”
I remained silent. He was building up to something, and interrupting him would do no good.
“But more than this, I need unbiased, accurate readings. And this is something that I cannot drill into just anyone.”
“I am unbiased, Professor,” I blurted, “I only recorded what I heard and saw!”
“And I would accuse you of being nothing but! That, my laddy, is why I had to bend the truth a little. That particular house, you see, had presented me with many, many opportunities as a scientist to explore and investigate things that do not belong,” he explained, “It is a house rich in activity, and, if I could, I'd spend more time than is healthy in that place. But, back to you. If you had gone in, expecting to experience this or that, why, the recordings would have to be thrown out! Your own interpretations would have biased the results and made the whole investigation useless.”
I scratched my head, unsure.
He went on, “Now I have excellent evidence, lad, excellent, untainted evidence. This is such wonderful stuff! Can you testify to all that you wrote?”
I nodded, “Of course, Professor.”
“And you would do so undo scrutiny by my peers?”
“What, um, kind of scrutiny?”
“The intense kind. The only kind that matters. That kind that will determine whether you are a liar, a blithering fool, or someone of reasonably sound mind and body. I should hope you prove yourself to be the latter,” he said pushing his chest out.
“My notes hardly constitute strong evidence, Professor. Would it not be considered hearsay?”
His smile dropped from his face a little, then returned just as quickly. I thought I might have offended him some, but, if this was the case, he did not show it.
“Indeed it would. Indeed. And that is why you must be strong in your resolve.”
He poked underneath his desk and drew out an envelope.
“I returned to the house this morning, bright and early.”
“Did you?”
“I took the liberty of investigating the shelf you mentioned. I saw, immediately, where it was that you had placed your hand, and I saw, too, the print next to it. Both were fresh marks.”
“Yes, Professor, that's right.”
“Rather than take a photograph, which would hardly be of interest, I applied a technique I learned a little while ago. I took some parchment, applied some solvent to one side and, with a steady hand, I took an impression of the dust!” he said, drawing out the parchment.
I looked at it with curiosity, seeing how the dust clung to the white cloth. Rather than leave the evidence where it might spoil, I understood, the Professor decided to take it with him! The two prints, parallel to each other, showed up quite clearly.
“Can you say which one is yours?” he asked excitedly.
“That's my hand,”
I said, pointing to the lighter patch on the left.
“Are you certain?”
His tone of voice made me doubt myself. I squinted as I looked a little closer. Something was not right.
“No, that won't do, lad! You need to be definitive! I ask you a straightforward question, and any answer you give must be as straightforward. My peers will accept nothing less.”
“Oh. Well, in that case, um, yes, that's the one,” I said, nodding my head.
“And there is no doubt?”
“It's the right shape and size, I suppose, only that, if my memory is correct, I made my mark on the left, but that one on the right, I am certain, is mine.”
“Aha! Good lad. Well spotted. Well spotted indeed!” he laughed, turning the parchment around, “That's because when I took the impression, like so, the prints come out as a reflection of their true self. Your honesty is compelling.”
I patted myself on the back mentally, remaining stoic on the outside, “Yes, Professor.”
“What makes this remarkable are a few things. Firstly, as you have noted the event in your journal, it corroborates exactly what it was that you recorded, to the point where it is the actual evidence that we are looking at. Secondly, the size and shape of this print doesn't match your hand, and it certainly doesn't match mine,” he said, holding up his plumper digits for inspection, “And unless you have hands of differing sizes, then it indicates quite clearly that this print was made by someone else!”
“Yes, Professor.”
“But let us go one step further. Here, please put your hand in this, then make a hand print on this other parchment,” he said,