The housekeeper and the professor Read Online Free Page B

been around for a
long time."
    "And that's why so many smart people try so hard to figure out
how they work?"
    "Yes, and why human beings seem so foolish and frail compared
to whoever or whatever created these numbers." The Professor
sat back in his chair and opened one of his journals.
    "Well, hunger makes you even more foolish and frail, so we
need to feed that brain of yours. Dinner will be ready in a minute."
Having finished grating some carrots to mix into his hamburger, I
carefully slipped the peelings into the garbage pail. "By the way," I
added, "I've been trying to find another pair of amicable numbers
besides 220 and 284, but I haven't had any luck."
    "The next smallest pair is 1,184 and 1,210."
    "Four digits? No wonder I didn't find them. I even had my son
help me. I found the factors, and then he added them up."
    "You have a son?" The Professor sat up in his chair; his magazine
slipped to the floor.
    "Yes."
    "How old is he?"
    "Ten."
    "Ten? He's just a little boy!" The Professor's expression had
quickly darkened, he was becoming agitated. I stopped mixing
the hamburger and waited for what I was sure was coming: a
lesson on the significance of the number 10.
    "And where is your son now?" he said.
    "Well, let's see. He's home from school by now, but he's probably
given up on his homework and gone to the park to play baseball
with his friends."
    " 'Well, let's see'! How can you be so nonchalant? It'll be dark
soon!"
    I was wrong, there would be no revelations about the number
10, it seemed. In this case, 10 was the age of a small boy, and nothing
more.
    "It's all right," I said. "He does this every day."
    "Every day! You abandon your son every day so you can come
here to make hamburgers?"
    "I don't abandon him, and it's my job to come here." I wasn't
sure why the Professor was so concerned about my son, but I went
back to my recipe, adding some pepper and nutmeg.
    "Who takes care of him when you're not home? Does your
husband come home early from work? Does his grandmother
watch him?"
    "No, unfortunately there's no husband or grandmother. It's just
the two of us."
    "So he's at home all alone? He sits and waits for his mother in a
dark house while you're here making dinner for a stranger? Making my dinner!"
    No longer able to control himself, the Professor jumped up from
his chair and began circling the table. The notes on his body trembled
as he ran his hand nervously through his hair. Dandruff sprinkled
on his shoulder. I turned off the soup just as it began to boil.
    "You really don't need to worry," I said, trying to sound calm.
"We've been doing this since he was much younger. Now that he's
ten, he can manage for himself. He has the phone number here,
and if he needs help, he knows to ask the landlord downstairs—"
    "No, no, no!" The Professor cut me off as he paced around the
table. "You should never leave a child alone. What if the heater
fell over and started a fire? What if he choked on a candy? Who'd
be there to help? Oh! I don't want to think about it. Go home
right now! You should make dinner for your child. Go home!" He
grabbed my arm and tried to pull me toward the door.
    "I'll go," I said, "but I just have to make these hamburgers for
you."
    "Are you going to stand there frying hamburgers while your
child could be dying in a fire? Now listen to me: beginning tomorrow
you'll bring your son along with you. He can come straight here
from school. He can do his homework, and be near his mother. And
don't think you can fool me just because I'll forget by tomorrow."
    He pulled off the tag that read "the new housekeeper" and
fished a pencil from his pocket. Under the portrait, he added the
words "and her son, ten years old."
    I left that evening—or rather, I was chased out—without having
time to wash my hands, let alone clean the kitchen properly.
The Professor appeared even angrier than when I had interrupted
his thinking. But his anger seemed to hide a deep fear, and I hurried
home wondering what I would