that my Tatras guide possessed no such title.
‘Professor Monten?’ asked the Senior One. ‘I don’t know anything about that.’
‘But surely,’ I insisted, ‘surely you know who I mean? That famous geologist – you know. And he’s a well-known mountaineer, too.’
‘I’ve no idea, I assure you,’ she said, shrugging, and cast an inquiring glance at the Other One. The Other One just goggled.
‘Well, never mind,’ I said lightly, then added, poker-faced, ‘On the other hand, it would be quite simple to check.’
‘You could just ask,’ said the Other One, her tone clearly implying that if it was so important to me I could take the trouble of going to the source and inquiring about it myself.
‘Oh, there’s no need to bother him with questions,’ I said. ‘Couldn’t we just check the name?’
‘What name?!’ snapped the Senior One, barely controlling her impatience.
‘His father’s,’ I explained equably. ‘If it’s Constant, he must be the one. It’s not a very common name.’
‘And where do you expect us to check it?’ inquired the Other One, equally impatient.
‘Surely you must have a record of it somewhere? In this country you have to give your father’s name on every form you fill in.’
‘We’d have to call administration . . .’ mused the Other One, half to herself and half to her superior.
‘Yes, why not do that?’ I agreed enthusiastically.
‘Yes, all right, but what’s it got to do with anything, anyway?’ said the Senior One, giving way to her irritation. ‘What’s the purpose of all this? What does it matter whether Dr Monten is or isn’t the son of this professor of yours?’
‘Oh, but it does, it does,’ I sighed enigmatically, ‘it matters a great deal. You have no idea how much depends on it!’
The Senior One cast a martyred glance at the heavens, reached for the telephone and began to dial. ‘It’s me again, from the dean’s office,’ she announced. ‘Could you please check Dr Monten’s first name for me?’
‘His father’s name!’ I hissed desperately at her.
‘I mean, Dr Monten’s father’s name,’ she corrected, drumming her fingers on the desk. There was a pause, during which I shut my eyes and crossed my fingers. ‘Thank you, thank you so much,’ I finally heard her say, and the receiver came down with a crash. ‘Yes, his name is Constant. And that’s the last thing I’m doing for you today. We have work to do, you know.’
‘I’m so terribly grateful, I don’t know how to thank you,’ I said, jumping up and kissing her hand. ‘And you, too, of course,’ I added, bounding toward the Other One. ‘And now I’ll take myself off. I won’t bother you any more. I’m gone!’ I said, rushing for the door. ‘Au revoir, mesdames!’
Outside in the corridor, just as I was letting go of the door-handle, I heard the muffled voice of the Senior One exclaim, ‘Good heavens, what an odd creature! Where in the world did he come from?’
Freddy the Professor
In the bus, I took up my usual position near the rear door, facing the back window, so that I had a view of the street and not of the crowd of passengers inside, and began to arrange my spoils into some sort of order in my mind.
The information that a student from Madame’s year, someone who had studied with her, was almost certainly the son of my Mountaineer made everything else I had learned pale in comparison. Her date of birth, the title of her thesis were dry, official facts, a poor second-best beside the juicy first-hand knowledge undoubtedly in the possession of Frederick Bonaventure, to whom Fate, in her magnanimity, was now directing me.
The directions supplied by Fate, however, were no more than an opportunity, and it was up to me to make good use of it. Constant Monten’s son might be a rich source of information, but I couldn’t assume he would reveal everything he knew about Madame as soon as he saw me or heard my name. I had to lead up to it. The question was how. I couldn’t just ask him straight out. It seemed I was going to have to play more games, give another one of my performances; but I had no idea at the time of the sort of comedy this would turn out to be. All I knew was that I had to start with the Mountaineer.
That evening, after supper, when my parents were listening to Radio Free Europe in the dining-room, I took the telephone from there into my room (so as not to disturb them), plugged it in and, having closed all the doors behind me, dialled Constant’s familiar number.
‘I have an unusual favour to ask,’ I began after we had exchanged greetings.
‘Go ahead – what can I do for you?’
Even at that moment I wasn’t sure how I would open my game. It seemed sensible to begin by making sure that the precious Dr Monten from the Department of Romance Languages was indeed his son. In the end I chose a somewhat bolder opening move.
‘Does Professor . . . um, that is, Frederick, does he still work at the university?’ I asked, promoting the son as I had recently promoted the father.
‘Professor? Frederick?’ he repeated.
I froze. It wasn’t him after all! How awful! ‘Your son, I mean,’ I stammered.
‘Oh, you mean Freddy!’
I breathed again.
‘For a moment I couldn’t think who you meant, you made it sound so formal. Yes, of course, he’s still teaching at that little school.’
‘School?’ I repeated, with a return of anxiety.
‘Well, what else would you call that university of theirs nowadays? A kindergarten – not even a high school! Before the war it was a university, but now . . . it’s a joke.’
‘Seriously? Is the standard so low?’ I asked in a worried tone.
‘I’m telling you, it’s a waste of breath even to discuss it.’
‘Well, I’m glad you told me, because that’s actually what I wanted to talk to you about. I don’t know if you remember, but this is my last year of school. Soon I’ll have to decide what I’m going to study at university, and I’ve been thinking about Romance languages. But I haven’t quite made up my mind; I’m still hesitating. So I thought Professor . . . Freddy, I mean . . . might be able to give me some advice, since he lectures there, and he got his degree there as well. Do you think that might be possible?’
‘I would even say it was advisable,’ he replied wryly.
‘That’s wonderful. Thank you so much. There’s just one thing . . .’
‘Yes, what?’
‘If you could keep it all to yourself. Especially as far as my parents are concerned. You see, they’re quite irritated by my leanings toward the humanities. They’d like me to do some sort of science.’
‘Well,
