"Is that all you have to do, poke into everyone else's life?"
"No. I feed the ducks. too. You already know that." he said.
The ducks, seeing we weren't going to give them any more, set out for the other side of the pond.
"You know a lot of people here?" he asked. "No. Just my mother's friend and her husband."
"Two? Well, that's already more than I know, I know about people. but I don't know any." he confessed.
I turned and grimaced. "You're kidding, right?"
"It depends on your definition of kidding and of knowing. In my opinion, which I'm told will carry a great deal of weight someday, people don't really get to know each other at all. Or let's say it's rare when they do. Which is fine," he added quickly. "It makes it all more interesting. You know, surprises,
disappointments, little betrayals, big betrayals. For me most people are predictable, and that makes them very boring. I can't hide it, and they don't like it. so I have no real friends. Comprenez? That's French for..."
"I know what it is."
"Oh, parlez vous francais?"
"No, but I know some words. Do you speak French?" I wanted to add big shot.
"Mais oui, et allemand et italien or un peu chinois Manderine."
"You speak German. Italian, and a little Chinese?"
"Tres bien. You do understand a little. Yes, to
answer your question. Permit me to fully introduce
myself. Augustus Brewster, genius extraordinaire. I
was discovered in the second grade reading Dickens's
Tale of Two Cities and promptly sent to the school
psychologist, who decided I belonged in some special
educational environment. You are now looking at one
of a select dozen students attending a special
government school preparing me to become a research
scientist. They hope I'll invent a better bomb or bomb
shelter or something."
"How old are you?"
"Chronologically, sixteen. Mentally, off the
board. Probably about thirty. We are taking what
would be considered graduate studies and beyond," he
added dryly.
I tilted my head.