“Me?”
“There’s a lot to suggest that.”
“‘Could very well’ and ‘suggest’... it all sounds very vague.”
August reached for his pencils, and Balder concentrated on that for a moment.
“I’m staying where I am,” he said.
“You’ve got to be joking.”
“No, I’m not. I’d be happy to move if you get more information, but not right now. Besides, the alarm Milton installed is excellent. I’ve got cameras and sensors everywhere. And you do know that I’m a stubborn bastard, don’t you.”
“Do you have a weapon of any kind?”
“What’s got into you, Gabriella? A weapon! The most dangerous thing I own is my new cheese slicer.”
“You know...” she said, letting the words hang.
“Yes?”
“I’m going to arrange protection for you, whether you want it or not. I doubt you’ll even notice it. But since you’re going to be so damned obstinate, I have another piece of advice for you.”
“Tell me.”
“Go public. Tell the media what you know — then, if you’re lucky, there’ll be no point in someone getting rid of you.”
“I’ll think about it.”
Balder had detected a note of distraction in Grane’s voice.
“O.K.?” he said.
“Wait a moment,” she said. “I’ve got someone else on the line. I have to...”
She was gone, and Balder, who should have had much else to mull over, found himself thinking of only one thing: will August lose his ability to draw if I teach him to talk?
“Are you still there?” Grane asked after a short while.
“Of course.”
“I’m afraid I have to go. But I promise to see to it that you get some sort of protection as rapidly as possible. I’ll be in touch. Take care!”
He hung up with a sigh and thought again of Hanna, and of August and the checked floor reflected in the wardrobe doors, and of all kinds of things which seemed irrelevant just then. Almost absent-mindedly he said to himself, “They’re after me.”
He could see that it was not unreasonable, even though he had always refused to believe that it would actually come to violence. But what, in fact, did he know? Nothing. Besides, he could not be bothered to address it now. He continued his search for information on Nadia, and what implications this might have for his son, but that was insane. He was burying his head in the sand. Despite Grane’s warning he kept surfing and soon came upon the name of a professor of neurology, an expert on savant syndrome called Charles Edelman. Instead of reading on as he normally would — Balder always preferred the written to the spoken word — he called the switchboard at the Karolinska Institute.
Then it struck him how late it was. This Edelman was unlikely to be at work still, and his home number was not on the website. But wait a moment... he was also the head of Ekliden, an institution for autistic children with special abilities. Balder tried calling there. The telephone rang a number of times before a woman answered and introduced herself as Nurse Lindros.
“I’m sorry to disturb you so late in the evening,” Balder said. “I’m looking for Professor Edelman. Might he possibly still be there?”
“Yes, in fact, he is. No-one is setting off for home in this dreadful weather. Who may I say is calling?”
“Frans Balder,” he said, and in case it might help he added: “Professor Frans Balder.”
“Just a moment,” Nurse Lindros said, “I’ll see if he’s available.”
Balder stared down at August, who was once again gripping his pencil hesitantly, and that worried him somehow, as if it were an ominous sign. “A criminal organization,” he muttered again.
“Charles Edelman,” a voice said. “Am I really talking to Professor Balder?”
“The very same. I have a little—”
“You can’t know what an honour this is,” Edelman said. “I’m just back from a conference at Stanford where we actually discussed your work on neural networks; in fact we were even asking ourselves if we neurologists don’t have a great deal to learn about the brain through the back door, as it were, through A.I. research. We were wondering—”
“I’m flattered,” Balder interrupted. “But right now I have a quick question for you.”
“Oh, really? Is it something to do with your research?”
“Not at all. I have an autistic son. He’s eight years old and hasn’t yet said a single word, but the other day we passed a traffic light on Hornsgatan and afterwards...”
“Yes?”
“He just sat down and drew it at lightning speed, completely perfectly. It was astonishing!”
“And you want me to come and take a look at what he’s done?”
“I’d like that. But that’s not why I called. The fact is that I’m worried. I’ve read that perhaps drawing is the way in which he interacts with the world around him, and that he might lose this ability if he learns to talk.”
“I can tell that you’ve been reading about Nadia.”
“How do you know that?”
“Because she’s always mentioned in this context. But... may I call you Frans?”
“Of course.”
“Excellent, Frans, and I’m so glad you called. I can tell you straight away that you have nothing to worry about. On the contrary — Nadia is the exception that proves the rule, no more than that. All research shows that speech development actually enhances savant abilities. It can happen, of course, that children lose those skills, but that is mostly due to other factors. They get bored, or there’s a significant event in their lives. You probably read that Nadia lost her mother.”
“I did.”
“Maybe that was the reason, even though neither I nor anyone else can know for sure. But there’s virtually no other documented case of a similar evolution, and I’m not just saying this off the top of my head, or because it happens to be my own hypothesis. There is broad consensus today to the effect that savants have everything to gain from developing their intellectual skills on all levels.”
“And you’re sure of that?”
“Yes, definitely.”
“He’s also good at numbers.”
“Really?” Edelman said thoughtfully.
“Why do you say that?”
“Because it is extremely rare in a savant for artistic ability to be combined with mathematical talent. These two different skills have nothing in common, and sometimes they seem even to block each other.”
“But that’s how it is with my son. There’s a kind of geometric precision about his drawings, as if he had worked out the exact proportions.”
“How fascinating. When can I see him?”
“I don’t really know. For the time being I only wanted some advice.”
“In that case my advice is clear: make an effort with the boy. Stimulate him. Let him develop his skills in every way.”
“I...” Balder felt a strange pressure in his chest and found it hard to get the words out. “I want to thank you,” he said. “Really thank you. Now I have to...”
“It’s been such an honour to talk to you; it would be wonderful to be able to meet you and your son. I’ve developed quite a sophisticated test for savants, if I may boast a little. I could help you get to know the boy better.”
“Yes, of course, that would be terrific. But now I must...” Balder mumbled, without knowing what he wanted to say. “Goodbye, and thank you.”
“Oh, my pleasure, really. I hope to hear from you again soon.”
Balder hung up and sat still for a moment, his hands crossed over his chest, and looked at his son. August was still gazing at the burning candle, the yellow pencil in his hand. A shudder went across Balder’s shoulders, and the tears came. Whatever else you might say about Professor Balder, he was not one to cry easily.