CHAPTER 3
MAPUTO, MOZAMBIQUE
TWO YEARS LATER
A young boy diagnosed with severe autism sit and looked at a mouse, thoroughly focused, until his babysitter took him in her arms and started cuddling him when he wasn’t even crying and needed no cuddling at all. All he wanted was to stay and stare at the mouse.
Steve was only 2 years old. His father was a university chemistry professor and his mother a primary school teacher. She went to Church every Sunday and she always took Steve along. His father on the other hand never went to Church, as he always told his wife, not because he was an atheist but particularly because he wouldn’t like to be confused with a hypocrite.
At 5 A.M. Joan Lotch, Steve’s father, napped at his laboratory on the lower level of the house, an underground facility that he used constantly without anybody bothering him. It was his private place, nobody else’s entrance was allowed. He had been working on this special formula to cure autism, to cure his son and eventually himself.
Steve’s grandfather, Arthur Lotch, had been a great Chemist in life and that had been his laboratory. Since Steve’s father was autistic, Arthur Lotch tried several alternative methods to cure him: spiritual guidance, electroshock, and other fringe ways that seemed promising but like most alternative methods, they all proved to be only cheap marketing to steal large sums of money from desperate people.
He saw that he was causing to his son more pain than improvement by submitting Joan to such excruciating processes. He then started the search for a cure for autism by himself or at least a constant dosage to reduce or suppress its impact momentarily like the antiretroviral injections for HIVAIDS. Unfortunately, at 62, when Mr. Joan Lotch was 12, he disappeared mysteriously without being able to treat his son’s condition. Mr. Joan’s mother died shortly after that, partly of grief but mostly of her breast cancer.
Steve’s father somehow felt guilty, because he had genetically passed the condition to his son. After noticing that his son was showing clear signs of autism, to be 100% certain that his theory was correct, he shouted heavily at Steve, who just kept staring at him, indifferent to his actions. Mr. Joan Lotch immediately picked up his father’s research.
Mr. Joan Lotch had spent all night in the lab because he approached near to finding not just a momentary suppresser, but the cure for autism. All the test samples were unsuccessful but he kept trying. He also put some smart drugs or nootropics to improve his son’s cognitive functions, memory and information processing speed but he fell asleep before testing it.
After a short nap at dawn, his wife’s voice, behind the sealed door he never used, woke him up. She was an uncomfortably strong alpha woman, a relentless feminist and she always wanted things done her way. Mr. Joan Lotch was the quiet type, mostly because of his autism but also because there was no point in arguing with her. She always won. She banged and shouted so loud even a bear in hibernation would wake up.
“Joan? Joan?” His wife called him shouting from the other side of the door, “I can’t be late today. I am going to receive the inspection team to see if I am fit for the upgrade. Have you forgotten? I need a lift, right now! You get out of there. You can come back later and lock your ass in that box of yours for all I care. Are you so selfish you don’t see how important this is to me? To us?”
He thought, “She seems really pissed off”. Of course he knew how important it was but he could swear it was to be at the next day, at least not that day. He looked at his watch and it surprisingly told him already 6.47 A.M. How could he have overslept? She had to be there at 7, the school was 10 minutes away but there was a lot of traffic. Had the fuel tank any gasoline? He headed to the main door his wife kept banging. The one he never opened before. Even his father would use the back door, never that one. It didn’t even have a key because it was never supposed to be open. He did neither brush his teeth nor did he wash his face or change his cloths. He just took off his lad jacket, went towards the keys and then, the car.
After routinely giving to the babysitter the specifications required to taking care of young Steve, a child with special needs, his mother Beatriz Lotch kissed him goodbye and his father squeezed softly on his head. They both went towards the car in a hurry, his mother complaining endlessly and his father, mute, only focused on getting to her school fast.
As soon as Mr.s Lotch got into the car with her husband and left, the babysitter left Steve on the floor with lots of toys and then switched the T.V on. She didn’t have a Cable TV at her home so that was a huge bonus of babysitting a child that almost never cried. Her favourite Soap Opera Evil Stepmother came on the air and her focus shifted totally towards the Box. She idiotically tried to find out who was the villain.
Steve didn’t touching any of the toys. Instead, he kept staring at a mouse at the door. The mouse seemed to be talking telepathically to him. He crawled towards it and as it ran away from him, there he went, following it. The mouse stopped at a door no one remembered the last time it was open. Stevie got closer and closer. The door wasn’t locked. Mr. Lotch, in such a hurry forgot to close it so when Steve leaned forward to catch the mouse, his head, which was heavier than he could balance himself, banged at the door forcing it to open. He fell down the underground stairs like a rolling ball, hit an old chair that stopped him down below, yet didn’t cry. It started a chain reaction, like a domino game of the laboratory glassware lying on the table. Two containers with extremely dangerous composts lying on the shelf, Digoxin and Ethylene Glycol, chattered into pieces. All composts fell, mixing themselves with the almost finished cure for autism.
Like a cats-and-dogs type of rain, all the chemical composts fell into Steve’s tiny head and when he noticed it, he looked up, only to have the last wave enter his mouth. Ethylene Glycol gave the compost a pleasing and sweet flavour. Steve drank it all, even on the floor. Soon he had devoured every single drop he could get. He was all dirty with colourful resistant paint that even the babysitter couldn’t wash off. When he was done, he started crying like he had never cried before.
The babysitter panicked so she called her boss. Miss Beatriz Lotch told the inspection team what had happened and their boss, conveniently a woman, reassured her that she didn’t expect any different response from a mother and because of the love and care she saw in her, she planned to upgrade Miss Beatriz to headmistress of one of the schools.
None of that mattered. Little Stevie mattered the most. Miss Beatriz called her husband who was still on his way home to come back and pick her up. Steve’s father turned his car around and went back to school.
When they got home, Miss Beatriz saw her baby, embraced him in her arms. When the babysitter started talking, she put Steve on his father’s arms and started reprimanding her severely.
“You are fired. You are a stupid irresponsible woman-child who has no aspiration in life and I am going to end all your problems, oh I will. I will lodge a complaining about this and you will rot in prison for your entire miserable life.” As she kept promising endless punishments to the babysitter, Mr. Lotch was carrying several tests on Steve.
Five minutes later, Mr. Lotch came inside the sitting room and said, “Honey”. Mr.s Lotch, seeing that he interrupted and deliberately took from her the so deserved right to be mean at her babysitter, she changed targets and started reproaching her husband, “Don’t you dare to shut me out. It’s your fault our son will probably die. You left the bloody door open when you knew there was a child in this house. It’s your fault and I will never forgive you for that. ” Mr. Lotch, with his calm tone plainly said again, “Honey.”
“What?” She finally shouted, out of patience, ready to hear his stupid excuse.
“Our son is fine!”
“What do you mean he’s fine? He's all covered in dangerous chemicals.”
“I made every single possible test one is required to. The X-ray showed strong bones, the stethoscope a healthy heart, he also passed the autistic test and the IQ test was off the charts. I
have never seen anything like it. Steve’s IQ is greater than 200.”
“What? How?”
“The cure my father worked on, the one I have been trying to get right, was probably finished this morning. This accident mixed several compounds. I really can’t specify which but it produced the cure and it also made our son smarter.”
She grabbed her son and Steve smiled like he it was a new found skill, like her son’s. She had never seen him smile like that, it was heart-warming. It corresponded to having the son you almost think is perfect become even more perfect. It was almost impossible. Even the adjective perfect considered that impossible. She looked at her husband and she laughed, “This is a miracle. God really writes straightforward in twisted lines” Mr. Lotch merely nodded while in his deep thoughts all he thought was, “Sure, I am sure He has a Chemistry degree.”
Steve grew up learning everything he could. His father taught him everything he knew but most things Steve learned, no one taught him. A year later, Steve was bilingual, he spoke and read Portuguese and English. With 4 years old, he aided his mother in marking grade 7 tests. When Steve was 5, he already managed to challenge his father with some consistent Chemical theories.
When Steve became 5, his mother called him to the table and said, “Son, school”. Steve laughed not at his mother whom he loved and respected so much but at the idea, the ludicrous idea of public schooling. Interpreting his mother’s look, he understood she was actually serious and he answered, “I am sorry mom but what for? I can learn anything on my own. What will teachers teach me? Even dad has intelligence above the normal and I am almost surpassing him. What about primary teachers, mom?” Steve instantly realised he had said the wrong thing but the utterance had been done and could not be withdrawn. His mother, who was now a Primary School headmistress but used to be a primary teacher just said, “If you go and they see your potential, you will skip grades perhaps to grade 7.” Steve, to redeem himself for offending primary school teachers by calling them stupid said, “OK, mom, Monday”.
“OK, I will tell your father to take you.”
Steve had everything to skip from the first grade to at least grade 8 but the education system required to let him end at least the fifth grade and then have an extraordinary test to skip to grade 8 or to a greater grade. It wasn’t the right call.
On Monday, Steve went to school as he had promised his mother. His father took him there that day. He jumped off the car as soon as it stopped eager to see the instalments but privately to mock at the education system.
“Go easy on the teacher,” His father shouted. He simply raised his right hand and showed his thumb without looking behind. He entered the class, sat on his desk and waited for the teacher and the rest of his classmates. When they started to get in, he saw the strangest things. Some kids cried and yelled ‘I want my mommy’, others tried to get out and the teacher had to close the door, there was a kid who pissed himself and started crying, maybe because the urine temperature was too high, maybe because he was aware of the 5 hours he had to endure with wet shorts, others took off their lunch case and started devouring everything only to weep once it vanished into their digestive system, others were oddly quiet and others played with their toys, but all of them had one thing in common, none of them was paying any attention to what the teacher said, except Steve who was aware of everything, even that the old female teacher had just divorced because she had a mark on her ring and that she had no children because all that deeply annoying noise, somehow didn’t irritate her.
After a lot of approaches, from yelling, threatening to bribery for about 30 minutes, she managed to make them listen to her. She was in her early fifties, her body was thin, she dressed like a woman who never misses Church and perhaps because she never used chemical enriched cosmetics she looked younger than she was. Steve stood out and she found him mysterious, introspective and uncomfortably concentrated on her. He was different. He did nothing kids usually do. Perhaps he was the kid she was warned about, a genius and her boss’s son. Judging by his gaze, he seemed to be profiling her as well.
After introducing herself, saying that her name was Miss Erica George Gloom, she asked the whole class, “Who knows his/her full name? If you know, I will give you this candy.”
She took a piece of candy from a recipient on her desk and displayed it. A lot of kids started saying, “Me! Me! I know!” She pointed a cute young girl who had the pinkest outfit ever. The girl stood up and started saying her name, one word at a time with huge breaks between them. “My name is Melany... Liberia... Mombe.” Then she headed to take her rightful candy even before the teacher told her to. Miss Gloom picked other kids until everybody had said it. Some knew while others purely raised their hands because they wanted the candy. She gave candies to all of them though, otherwise they would get unmotivated or worst, would start crying.
A single kid was missing, little Stevie, the only one who hadn’t spoken. She had left him for last. She said addressing to him, “What about you? Do you know your full name?” Steve stood up because everyone had done so and answered a full vivid certain ‘Obviously!’
“Can you say it?” She asked.
“Steve Lotch”
“Is that it? Just two names?”
“Yes, it is. If you are not aware, some names actually follow the same pattern, two names. ”
“Of course I knew”, She said a bit irritated. Steve went on speaking, “Is Gloom your married surname or your single surname?” She didn’t know what to say. Could she say she was divorced? Steve continued, “You took your single name back after the divorce, didn’t you?” Miss Bloom’s eyes widened in surprise and shock and all she did was nod affirmatively. Steve didn’t stop, he carried on, “Aren’t you aware that glucose is harmful to our health and there is 50% of probability that we come to suffer from Diabetes in the future?”
“Well, I knew... but ...” Before she even finished, Steve interrupted, “You knew and yet you endorse this habit onto naive, blameless ignorant infants? What is wrong with you people?” He made an unsatisfied look and then resumed, “And why did the kids that knew not their full names also got to have the damn lethal candies anyway? For all I know, I could have stood up, headed towards you, taken the candy and went back to my sit.” The teacher had had enough and retorted, “I make the rules here young man, I am the Queen of this classroom, so shut up and sit down.” Steve shook his head and said, “Even in Monarchic states, it’s not the Queen who makes the rules, it’s always the ‘Legislative Organ’.
Miss Gloom murmured some words that did seem quite similar to the ones parents avoid saying around kids. She went directly to Steve’s desk, looked into his eyes as to threaten him but he remained calm for he knew that with the new laws against child abuse, he could repeat all those words she had just murmured and still, she wouldn’t raise a finger to him. She shouted at his face, “You are suspended until you bring your father. You think that because your mother is the headmistress of the school you can say and do whatever you want and get away with it?”
“What if I want to bring my mother instead?” Steve scorned. “No, she is too smart. Oh, and your boss. You seem to have a problem working with people with brains. And Miss Gloom, your name fits you still. I bet your husband married you to help you get rid of it but then left you because it was too deeply imbedded in your subconscious and it affected your behaviour by the Placebo Effect. You have no kids either, I suppose.”
That was just a shot, he wasn’t sure she had no kids but her face got even gloomier after he said that so he knew he was right. She sobbed and he knew he had gone too far so trying to right his wrong he said, “You can’t have kids. That’s why you hide yourself in kindergarten behind infantile companionship. I totally understand.” Tears fell from Miss Gloom’s eyes. She looked at him one last time and went outside. She didn’t come back again. A couple of children entertainers came and played various games with the kids. He found clown scary so he left the
room and went for a walk.
Walking along the corridor, he heard a teacher saying that who invented the lightbulb was Thomas Edison. Steve entered the class that was apparently of grade 6 and yelled to the teacher “Liar” and then he headed to the only tree left standing inside the yard. When it was 11:45, time to go home, his father was at the main gate, waiting for him. He took his bag and went to the car. They headed home.
During the way home, his father, who was quiet for about 5 minutes, started the conversation.
“Son, the teacher said either you get expelled or she leaves the school. I thought I told you to go easy on the teacher.”
Steve focused on disassembling the 12 pieces version Rubik’s cube the most complex way he could find in order to break his own record, not the one of assembling faster for he had gone passed that a long time ago when his timing beat that of the world’s champion twice. He intended to break instead, the record of disassembling the hardest way he could to make it harder to reassemble. After a few seconds of silence, he finally answered, “Father, both of us knew beforehand the conclusion of that episode. I just did this because mother asked.”
Mr. Lotch, relaxed and still focused on the road, retorted, “It is true that that outcome was part of my concluded predictions but why are you trying so hard to become the person I worked so much to avoid in you?”
“Are you referring to autism?” Steve said, this time looking at his father who kept focused on the road and didn’t turn his head, “Father, I can’t stand stupidity. Besides, I said I understood her. I tried to show a little empathy when I became aware of the gravity of my words and the burden of her sensible situation. I am not to blame.”
“Son, you have to bear responsibility for your actions. It's not just a stupid cliché for new made superheroes that with great power comes great responsibly. You have to learn how to deal with normal people so that you make friends.”
“I don’t need friends. Children are unintelligent creatures. Besides, you have mom and you have no friends. I realise your moral parenting, dad, but no thanks.” Mr. Lotch realised he had lost the battle but he wasn’t going to lose the war. He couldn’t afford to. His son entire future depended on that moment.
“Son, an intelligent being is so called for its ability to socialise, aid each other and work as a team to overcome difficulties towards evolution. It happened with the cave men and it will happen with the last men on Earth.”
“Dad, there are useless skills.”
“There is where you are wrong. Most geniuses excel in natural sciences but fail shamefully in humanitarians’. Emotional intelligence, son, is something a real genius must have. You ashamed yourself for not demonstrating empathy towards your teacher hence, traumatising an innocent woman who has decided to live life making stupid kids less stupid.”
"Ok dad, you managed to arouse my conscience. I am sorry."
“It is not ‘I am sorry’ that fixes your mistakes, it is to avoid making them in the first place.”
“I am… I mean, it won’t happen again father. I promise!”
“It’s alright son, as long as you know it’s wrong.” He kept focused on the road for a little while and then resumed, “But what exactly did you say? She told your mother that you insulted her.”
Steve started narrating all of it, even the tiniest details which he retained since he had a photographic memory. His father didn’t even say anything else, he just entertained himself with the story Steve was telling him about what happened at school. They went home, never to come to school again. Then, he started self-teaching himself.
If school aged kids read this, they would be very jealous of him but again, they had to go to school to read this unless they were geniuses like Steve and the statistics show how scarce his kind is. He believed a great future awaited him and that he would go after it.