Her horses were like perfect stills, drawn with a light touch, and obviously not the result of any long training. Her virtuosity burst out like a breaking dam, and that fascinated her contemporaries. How was it possible for her to leapfrog centuries of development in the history of art with just a few quick hand movements? The Australian specialists Allan Snyder and John Mitchell studied the drawings and in 1999 presented a theory, which has gradually won general acceptance, to the effect that we all have an inherited capacity to reach that level of virtuosity, but that in most of us it is blocked.
If we see a football, for example, we do not immediately understand that it is a three-dimensional object. Instead, the brain processes a series of details at lightning speed: the way in which shadows fall and the differences in depth and nuance, from which it then draws certain conclusions about shape. We are not conscious of this. But it requires an examination of the separate parts before we can register something as simple as the fact that what we see is a ball and not a circle.
It is the brain which then produces the final form and, when it does, we no longer see all the detail we first registered. We cannot see the trees for the wood, so to speak. But what struck Mitchell and Snyder was that, if only we could reproduce the original image in our minds, we would be able to see the world in an entirely new way, and perhaps even recreate it, as Nadia had done without any training whatsoever.
Nadia saw the myriad details before they had been processed, which is why she began each time with an individual part, such as a hoof or a nose, because the totality as we perceive it did not yet exist in her mind. Balder found the idea appealing, even if he saw a number of problems with the theory, or at least had a number of questions.
In many ways this was the sort of original thinking he always looked for in his research: an approach which took nothing for granted but looked beyond the obvious, down to the small details. He grew more obsessed with the subject and read on with increasing fascination until, quite suddenly, he shuddered and even cried out loud, staring at his son with a stab of anxiety. It had nothing to do with the research findings, rather with the description of Nadia’s first year at school.
Nadia had been put in a school for autistic children, where the teaching was focused on getting her to talk for the first time. The girl made some progress — the words came, one by one. But there was a high price to pay. As she started to talk, her brilliance with crayons disappeared and, according to the author Lorna Selfe, it was likely that one language was being replaced by another. From having been an artistic genius, Nadia became a severely handicapped autistic girl who was able to speak a little but who had entirely lost the gift that had astounded the world. Was it worth it, just to be able to say a few words?
No, Balder wanted to shout out, possibly because he had always been prepared to do whatever it took to become a genius in his field. Anything but the ordinary! That had been his guiding principle all his life, and yet... he was clever enough to understand that his own elitist principles were not necessarily a good pointer to the right way forward now. Maybe a few fabulous drawings were nothing as compared to being able to ask for a glass of milk, or exchange a few words with a friend, or a father. What did he know?
Yet he refused to be faced with such a choice. He could not bear to give up the most wonderful thing that had happened in August’s life. No... that was simply not an option. No parent should have to decide. After all, no-one could anticipate what was best for the child.
The more he thought about it, the more unreasonable it seemed, and it occurred to him that he did not believe it, or perhaps that he simply did not want to believe it. Nadia’s was after all only one case.
He had to find out more. But just then his mobile rang. It had been ringing a lot over the last few hours. One call had been from a withheld number and another from Linus, his former assistant. He had less and less time for Linus; he was not even sure he trusted him — certainly he did not feel like talking to him now.
Yet he answered, maybe out of sheer nervousness. It was Gabriella Grane, the lovely analyst at the Security Police, and that put a little smile on his face. After Farah Sharif, Gabriella came a close second. She had sparklingly beautiful eyes and she was sharp-witted. He had a weakness for smart women.
“Gabriella,” he said, “I’d love to talk, but I don’t have the time. I’m right in the middle of something.”
“You’ve definitely got time for what I have to tell you,” she said with uncharacteristic severity. “You’re in danger.”
“Oh, nonsense, Gabriella! I told you, they may try to sue the shirt off my back — but that’s all.”
“Frans, I’m sorry, but some new information has come through, and from an extremely well-informed source at that. There does appear to be a genuine risk.”
“What do you mean?” he said, distracted. With the telephone clamped between his shoulder and ear, he was skimming another article on Nadia’s lost gift.
“I’m finding it hard to assess the information, I admit that, but it’s worrying me, Frans. It does have to be taken seriously.”
“In that case, yes. I do promise I’ll be extra careful. I’ll stay indoors as usual. But I’m a bit busy just now, as I was saying. Besides, I’m all but convinced that you’re wrong. At Solifon—”
“Sure, sure, I could be wrong,” she cut in. “That’s possible. But what if I’m right, what if there’s even a tiny, tiny risk that I am?”
“Well—”
“Frans, listen to me. I think you’re right. Nobody at Solifon wants to do you physical harm. It’s a civilized company, after all. But it seems as if someone or even more than one person in the company is in touch with a criminal organization operating out of Russia and Sweden. That’s where the threat is coming from.”
Balder took his eyes off the computer screen for the first time. He knew that Zigmund Eckerwald at Solifon was cooperating with a group of criminals. He had even picked up some codenames for the leader of that group, but he could not understand why they would go after him. Or could he?
“A criminal organization?” he muttered.
“Yes,” Grane said. “And isn’t it logical, in a way? That’s more or less what you’ve been saying, isn’t it? That once you’ve started stealing someone else’s ideas, and made money from them, then you’ve already crossed the line. It’s downhill from there on.”
“I think what I actually said was that all you needed was a gang of lawyers. With a gang of sharp lawyers you can safely steal whatever you like. Lawyers are the hit men of our times.”
“O.K., maybe so. But listen to me: I haven’t yet got approval for your personal protection, so I want to move you to a secret location. I’m coming to collect you.”
“What are you saying?”
“I think we have to act immediately.”
“Not a chance. I and...”
He hesitated.
“Do you have someone else there?”
“No, no, but I can’t go anywhere right now.”
“Aren’t you listening to what I’m saying?”
“I hear you loud and clear. But with all due respect it sounds to me as if it’s mostly speculation.”
“Speculation is an essential tool in assessing risk, Frans. And the person who got in touch with me... I suppose I shouldn’t really be saying this... is an agent from the N.S.A. who has this particular organization under surveillance.”
“The N.S.A.!” he snorted.
“I know you’re sceptical of them.”
“Sceptical doesn’t even begin to describe it.”
“O.K., O.K. But this time they’re on your side, at least this agent is. She’s a good person. By eavesdropping she’s picked up something which could very well be a plan to eliminate you.”