Swirl E-Book

D. J. Augustine

• Herausgeber: novum publishing
• Kategorie: Gesellschafts- und Liebesromane
• Sprache: Englisch

Seitenzahl: 374

Veröffentlichungsjahr: 2025

Beschreibung

Love, lust for power, hope, doubt, faith and conviction are intertwined in the cosmic adventure of young Ratio Stanson, who breaks down the rigid walls of dreams and reality like a torrent of water to transport our imagination to a new and hitherto undiscovered world.

Leseprobe

Foreword

Lights, flashes... places, people - some you've seen before, others unknown.

Feelings, waves, sounds, thoughts - it's all starting to look like a kaleidoscope. Or rather... something else entirely.

Something more confusing.

Something more incomprehensible.

Something inexplicable.

Certainly, nothing is connected here. At least according to the boy who has to face this almost every night. Well, yeah, he dreams - sometimes he knows it, sometimes he just goes with the flow - but he doesn't seem to enjoy it. The experience he's having is more unsettling than comforting. Not the kind of light nap that clears the head on a lazy spring afternoon, or helps solve an engineer's - or perhaps a great mathematician's - problem when late-night brainstorming has failed to yield results.

No, this is quite different. Not even the kind the boy dreamed of as a child. Long, rambling fairy tales - or rather, cinematic dreams from which he wished he'd never woken up, or even shivered under his blankets after waking up, and was sincerely grateful that what he'd experienced wasn't real.

But he hasn't dreamed like that for a long time. Maybe his mind is infected with something. Who knows what?

After all, he had just crossed the threshold of adulthood, which, like most children, was a confusing and mysterious adolescence. No wonder, then, that a young man who has grown up without a father is a little confused. In fact, most psychologists firmly believe that those who grow up in a broken home have little chance of avoiding a life of complexes and confusion of all kinds. So what it is that causes our hero to have restless nights and tired, enervated mornings is hard to say. Just as it is not easy to decipher what in this jumble of thoughts makes sense, and what rightly ends up - on waking - in the digestive pit of oblivion.

I think that the sleeping boy is now at the height of his adventure, because he is becoming increasingly restless. He is sure that his experiences are incomprehensible to others, for he does not really understand them either, and although his consciousness is only flickering, like a faint lamp in the mist, he is waiting for something.

In his dreams over the years, he has discovered only one sure point. What it is, he does not know, but its presence can be felt. He has seen it many times. A man, a woman, a goat, a monster, a puppy, a baby, trees, all kinds of natural phenomena.

That was it.

And that is what surrounds him now.

You can't see it, but you can feel it getting closer. Maybe he could touch it, but this is the first time he's spoken:

- Ratio!

1. 1Ratio...

When he woke up, the simple word was still ringing in his ears. As if he had just been spoken to.

For yes, his name was indeed Ratio.

He looked around his room, which, being north-facing, was usually dim all the morning, and out of this gloom slowly emerged the familiar objects which began to remind this sleepy young man of his room.

The big brown stain has become a wardrobe, the white owl perched on a huge log has turn to a computer monitor. The table, the shelves with their contents, and the increasingly colourful posters on the wall began to come into focus, and the large, bizarre, flickering lamp turned out to be the window after all.

But what excited Ratio most was the one right next to him - on the small bedside table. Surely it was his red-eyed enemy.

The alarm clock.

He had to rub his sleepy eyes several times to get the exact time, and when he finally did, he threw his head back on the pillow and sighed:

- Fantastic! - I've managed to wake up twelve minutes before my alarm again!

He continued to think:

- It's not enough that you have to get up scandalously early during school hours. No! Mr. Stanson adds to that and wakes up twelve minutes earlier, right?! Couldn't we, say... wake up two or three hours earlier to make it worth the while to go back to sleep. Ah... Plus, of course, I'd have to go to the loo to make going back to sleep even more hopeless.

As he pondered these things, he grew angrier and angrier, and anger drove the sleep from his eyes entirely. So he threw off his blanket, slipped into his slippers and slowly made his way to the bathroom.

By the time Ratio had gathered himself, dressed and hurried to the kitchen, his mother, Myriam, had already served his breakfast and was packing his lunch. She always got up well before her son so that she could get everything done before she left for work. But the earlier he was up, the fresher he was, apparently, than Ratio.

Yes. She had an exuberance about her in the mornings, and she went about her business with a zest that was always admirable to him. He was willingly and unwittingly buoyed up by it, and to tell the truth, he needed that buoyancy to keep him going day after day.

Myriam was just over forty, and a very beautiful woman for her age. Her long, dark hair, slender figure and soft, velvety skin made her look much younger, and the steady pace of her life did not lie abuout it. She worked as a teacher at the local language school and often gave private lessons in their home. She always found time to exercise, in addition to her housework and other chores, which she could only rarely involve her son in. She always tried to make the most of every aspect of her life, but she was not very good at raising children, however hard she tried.

She spoiled Ratio rotten.

- Good morning, my boy!

After a pause, Ratio mumbled back a greeting and sat down at the table.

- Enjoy your meal, son!

Ratio did not respond. Not even a "thank you" - he was not used to it in the morning. More precisely, he was in the habit of not replying to anything until he felt alert enough to converse.

He found "bon appétit" and such clichéd greetings particularly superfluous, because one always wishes the best for one's family anyway. Right? Why say "Bon appétit" when the other person is eating, or "Cheers" when he sneezes?

Of course, in company - at school, at training, on occasions - that's different. We all have it in our guts to wish the person we'd rather have a bite to eat, and to say "Cheers!" even if we'd rather wish them dead. We don't really know what we are saying exectly, we just say it at the right time or in the right situation. Ratio was exactly was like that, and as a formality, he felt like a stranger in his family circle.

He just stared at himself as he slowly raised his spoon to his mouth and began to chew his dry cornflakes.

Unlike the vast majority of mankind, he hated being spilled milk, and could express it angrily if his mother was very rarely inattentive. That morning, of course, milk was carefully served alongside the cornflakes as cocoa.

Only that day, the irresponsible mother was careless in another way, and, forgetting herself - and the strict unwritten rules of the house, of course - dared to ask the young master a reckless question.

- How did you sleep, sweetie?

And she asked this with a smile on his face and a kindness in her voice that would have softened the heart of an Egyptian Pharaoh in Moses' time.

Only Lord Stanson was made of sterner stuff than all the pharaohs and kings, and his heart was as cold as the spoon that stopped halfway between his bowl and his mouth. He raised his eyes to his mother, who by this time was aware of the weight of his transgression, with a grim, slow pace.

- Shit... - and he pressed the beginning of the words like when you want to stuff the last pair of slippers into your suitcase before going on holiday. - as... uSual... Shitty!

For his mother, the cruel alliteration was like stabbing her heart with tiny knives.

That was the end of the conversation.

Even though she knew her son well and was aware of every little manifestation of his personality, she felt very bad about these scenes. She had had so many of them, and yet her heart always sank when her little, only, spoiled child could not moderate himself. Mostly because he wasn't like that in general.

During the day - when he was not tired - he could often spread it on bread. He was helpful and kind. Sometimes, even when he was in a bad mood, he was gentle and communicative with his mother, and shared many things with her. Even things she didn't expect.

But when Ratio was upset, offended and nasty, she always felt that she was to blame and that she shouldn't have upset or hurt him. Parental responsibility was a heavy burden on her frail soul, and she wondered, wittingly or unwittingly, how she could make amends. But she would have to wait until the afternoon to do so, especially as Ratio had got up without a word and rushed off to school. He only ate half his cornflakes, but at least he took his lunch.

Spring has sprung. Rivercastle was in bloom. Literally. The roadside cherry, sour cherry and peach trees were already dropping their petals, covering the sidewalks in many places like a carpet of colour in the mornings. In addition, almost every lamppost was dangling from a trellis with a variety of colourful flowers. Not to mention the public squares, parks, groves and of course the mayor's favourite, the roundabouts, with fountains in the middle of them wherever possible.

Carl Dawson - the city's mayor - may indeed have been attracted to these man-made road formations, at least according to the statistics that show that the number of roundabouts and fountains in the city almost doubled during his term alone. Some people jokingly remarked: "It's becoming a city of roundabouts and fountains, not just flowers!"

The city was a special place in the heart of New York State anyway. It was quite different from the surrounding towns. It was founded in a nineteenth-century European style, unusual for the area, especially in its centre. The mixture of architectural and stylistic features of the houses made the town sufficiently colourful and interesting, and it was a little as if different nations and cultures had merged, yet in a kind of unity and harmony.

Its classic circular, paved main square was unique in the state, not to mention its large Gothic cathedral and its stately Baroque town hall. Its street system was also a departure from what was common in the area. Instead of the usual parallel system, the streets here ran mostly from the centre - like a spider's web, - irregularly interconnected here and there. Tourists or visitors often got lost or couldn't find their next destination before the GPS era. And there were plenty of them at almost every season of the year. They were the main source of livelihood for the city, according to many. Well, if that wasn't entirely true, the fact is that they brought in a considerable income to the town and Rivercastle proved to be a very good host.

Hotels, guesthouses, restaurants, cafes, private accommodation, not to mention the town spa and the "tiny train" that roamed the streets from morning till night, showing every attraction that would interest a stranger.

These included Lafayette High School, where Ratio attended. The building, which was recently declared a historic monument, was once a hunting lodge that its wealthy owners gave up for the city, dedicating it to science and wisdom. Or so the urban legend goes.

Perhaps this was just a way of deceived the gullible students, to deepen the school's "glorious past" in their minds and make them even prouder. True enough, the school had a distinguished history, since a few years ago a plaque was unveiled in the lobby to mark the centenary of its foundation, making it by far the oldest school in the city.

The building has recently been restored to its former glory and extended with a very impressive gymnasium, which has been used for physical education classes, house tournaments and school forums.

Of course, there was plenty of the latter. The new principal had a knack, you might say, of summoning the students and faculty to tell them things that everyone had probably already heard about from the loudspeaker or from their classmaster.

Who knows? Maybe he just wanted to be seen as a figure, but it could also have been a way of consolidating his authority in his new position.

But the fact is that the renovated school building was very impressive. It retained its classical character, which was most evident in its roof and windows. It was covered with rustic red concrete tiles, while the walls were painted yellow. Its authentic white wooden window frames were shine in the sunlight, as was its spacious entrance, through which Ratio was hurrying to enter.

- Just in time! - If you're a minute late, your check will jump!

In Lafayette, all late checkers were collected and forwarded to the class masters.

- It's hard to get out of it - Ratio replied casually.

- Go on, you'll be late!

The boy hadn't even heard that. He stormed across the lobby, then took the stairs by threes to the third floor, where classroom 39 was just a few steps away.

By the time he walked in, the crowd was pretty much full, except for the state competition participants, and Joey of course.

Joey lived closest to the school. In fact, right across the street from it, so it was just natural that he was always the last one to get to his first class - if he got there at all.

Ratio said hello, and hurriedly sat down in the penultimate bench in the middle row, next to Phil. Now he didn't greet and shake hands with everyone as usual. He was still not in a very sociable mood.

For Phil, more so.

- Ratty! What's up, buddy?

- Not much. Everything's cool... at least it's Thursday.

- Yes, it is! Tomorrow is finally Friday! Big party at the Garden. We're gonna do it, right, buddy? And on Saturday, the Crown! We can go there...

- Relax, Phil, - he smiled, - We'll make it through the weekend, I promise.

Phil has been on a roll lately. He wasn't a very popular guy, and as a result he wasn't having much luck with the girls. Many people didn't even understand why Ratio was friends with him at all, as they looked almost nothing alike.

Ratio was tall and handsome, although a little thin. He wasn't the most popular dude in school, but he had lots of friends, was known by almost everyone, and was at home in most circles.

Phil, on the other hand, could have been an illustration of mediocrity in the encyclopaedia: average height, average build, average face - still dotted with acne, ruining an already not very bright overall picture. - Not to mention his extremely greasy, chalky hair, which he tried to style according to the latest fashions, but somehow it never really worked.

They were seniors, and although all his classmates and classmates seemed to be climbing out of the deep and sordid pool of puberty, Phil seemed to be stuck in the middle.

His looks wouldn't have been that much of a problem, as many boys of more modest appearance were popular, or at least had a girlfriend. But he lacked what they all had: attitude, spiel, and unwarranted confidence.

It wasn't that he couldn't talk to girls, but he was the type of guy who could tell when he was embarrassed or nervous. During tests, for example, his face would usually change not only in colour but also in shape as the teacher leafed through the diary looking for a victim. That's why, among other things, he couldn't shoot his gun. Although he tried it a few times in ninth grade, he soon realised that it was not his thing. He failed every time, without exception.

But ever since Ratio managed to lure him to a school party, where he accidentally got mixed up with a ninth-grader girl for a dance, he's had a bloodlust and wanted to party almost every weekend since. If Ratio was available, of course. Nor was particularly worried that graduation time was fast approaching.

Not that Ratio cared for. He had long since not caring about school. He wasn't worried about going to university, because he had no idea if he wanted to go at all. His mother had spent a lot of time orienting him together towards any career that might pique his son's interest, but to no avail. The boy had long given up the fight, even though he was not a bad student: his average was around 4.5 in every year of school.

He was always envious of those who had been preparing for a career from an early age, and who stubbornly stuck to it. They had already decided at primary school to become doctors, teachers, lawyers, chemists or engineers. Accordingly, they chose high school and later university.

Secretly, he too longed for this infinite certainty, this single-minded determination.

Or perhaps just the sense of identity that essentially defines a person. What makes his steps sure, what guides his will. What gives meaning and purpose to his life.

It is in this awareness that one chooses a vocation, and thus the vocation becomes not an end but a means. It is the ultimate means of self-realization.

He has often longed, knowingly or unknowingly, for that something that was never given to him.

But he no longer cared. He had applied to UoR, but he honestly didn't care whether he got in or not. There was no excitement or anticipation, no fear or uncertainty.

Just not at all. He gave a shit about on going to school, he gave a shit about on teachers, on homework...

Homework!

- Phil, your homework!

- What about it?

- It's done, did you do it?

Phil knew what the track was straight away. He hurriedly dug out his notebook, opened it at the drafting stage, and thrust it in front of Ratio.

But too late.

The Gypsy entered the classroom in a hurry.

It would not have been the first time he copied the task from a friend. In fact, he was really good at it. He had a knack, you might say, of copying down any foreign text with the speed of a secretary, and he had no trouble rewording it in the process. His brain was at its peak and his creativity soared.

Most people do great at home, in relaxed conditions, when they have everything they need to prepare, but as soon as it's competitive, they stall. All their preparation, all their work, goes for naught because they are bound by excitement.

But Ratio was one of the few.

To those who have really delivered. More than once, he prepared for tests or exams during the breaks that preceded them. The excitement only made him tense.

But it was too late.

Mr. Benett was already in the room.

His ragged breathing immediately told him he had to hurry to get to class on time. He absentmindedly dumped his things on the teacher's desk, then opened the diary and quickly scribbled in the required information.

He didn't even say hello.

- Is there anyone missing?

- Joey! - came almost in chorus.

- Oh... sure, Joey... who else? And is he coming, or will he arrive by time... - He put down the pen for a moment and rubbed his eyes.

- I have to apologise to you all, but I'm very distracted today. I don't know where my head is at and I'm on my second coffee this morning.

The class looked at him, and he at them, in silence and bewilderment. He put the diary aside, pulled back his chair, leaned back and began, worried but proud:

- You know, the principal... Yesterday, our dear principal, the wise head of our institution, realised that we should put on the school play after all. And who else would he have entrusted with the task of rehearsing it but me? - He gesticulated fiercely and pressed the word "me" in particular. - Well, not that I don't like to do that, but you know, when you have so little time for such a grandiose...

The class suddenly showed much more interest. They loved listening to the literature teacher because they were always amused by the way he presented himself. Not to mention the fact that Mr. Benett was easily lost in the adventurous highway of life, and more than once he would narrate the entire lesson.

There was no need to worry about the homework any longer: it was obvious that Mr. Bennett's last task was ahead of his homework check.

He told them how much the unfortunate director has to do less than a month before the premiere. He told of the improvised casting, the difficulties of building the sets, the refusal of the costume designer to show any semblance of cooperation, and of course how lucky the principal was to find a sucker who would take on the job even in these dire circumstances.

- You can be absolutely sure that you would not have found anyone who would have done it under this circumstances. - After a pause for effect, he added: - If there was anyone in this institution who could do it anyway...

Mr. Benett was a thin young man in his thirties. The kind of guy who, at first glance, you could tell was an artist. His agitated movements, always disheveled hairstyle and flamboyant dressing had already caused quite a stir among the teaching staff. His older colleagues often made dubious remarks in his presence. On one occasion, the principal even called him a clown. He did not really fit in with the serious, long-established image of the school. Yet he never seemed to take these incidents to heart.

On the contrary.

He got exactly what he always wanted.

Attention.

He has just recently started teaching at Lafayette. He has never hidden the fact that immediately after college he spent almost five years wandering around the country with an noname company. Much of the adventurous stories in his lessons were based on this period, and it was for this reason that his students nicknamed him "Gypsy".

He was quite proud of his background as an actor, and his speech and gestures did not betray this. Sometimes he could perform so theatrically that it was a comedy in itself. On such occasions, he was so in tune that he could not tell the difference between a stage and a classroom.

While the bohemian literature teacher was talking at the front, the back rows were mostly free for chatting or phone tapping. True, this was strictly forbidden by the house rules at Lafayette. Mobiles, - at least in theory, -were supposed to be turned off and dispose in the bags during lessons.

If someone was caught, their device was ruthlessly confiscated, and in most cases only returned to parents during office hours.

But Mr Benett has never done anything like this before. He even found it difficult to discipline himself, let alone the students. If he noticed someone on the phone, he would simply warn them to put it away as soon as possible, and the conversation was hardly disturbed unless there was a particularly high noise level in his class.

- You know that Christine's messing with Jeff? They're supposedly together they say.

- Which Christine? - Ratio knew exactly who it was. Anyone in the school would have known.

- Christine White, mate!

- Where do you get it?

- Several people have seen them together in town recently, after school... and going home together. And she's supposed to wait for Jeff to finish his training...

- I've never seen them together before, - Ratio interjected as calmly as he could. - And we train at the same sports hall.

He was trying with every nerve to hide his embarrassment. Not much had been stirring his soul lately, but Phil had managed to trawl right into the middle of it.

Ratio has recently been consciously careful not to show his feelings. Perhaps because he feared that his peers might perceive him as weak or take advantage of him, or perhaps simply to express his indifference to the world around him.

Without a father, he had no clear vision of how a man should behave. The habits of the adults around him, the "made-up" characters created by the media and the general expectations of society settled in his subconscious as a thick, confusing mixture. By the age of seventeen, there was hardly a doctrine he was sure of, or a moral law he did not question. His inward insecurity made him distant and indifferent to his surroundings.

But when he heard Christine's name...

In fact, many times, if he just heard a word with a similar sound, his heart would start to pound in his throat. His breathing also changed, and this was the most significant problem, because it affected his speech the most.

Not to be unmasked required conscious practice and deliberate, well-timed technical manoeuvres.

He had to learn to slow down and hold his breath, to gently clear his throat or pretend he had just woken up from his thoughts.

Once you have managed to delay the answer without being noticed, the most difficult and most self-control demanding part is to make eye contact with the interviewer, of course, but not too forcefully.

Ratio has put a lot of effort into mastering and perfecting these and similar skills, but it has been worth it.

Phil didn't notice anything.

In fact, he never had much difficulty with him: even the most obvious signs were hard to take down for him. In this prespect, he was like a blind man in an unfamiliar room.

The girls were generally rude to him, because if one of them smiled or spoke nicely to him, she was sure that couldn't brush him off easily.

He was considered a real illiterate in this area, but for Ratio it didn't matter at all. Only one thing mattered:

He got away with it.

It was not disclosed.

He has not become vulnerable.

Although Phil had no idea what a sensitive point he was touching on, he fortunately quickly changed the subject.

- Coming over to do some gaming this afternoon?

- This afternoon? - He suddenly remembered that they had a training session that day. He completely forgot. Hadn't even thought about it the day before, even though the master didn't tolerate skipping. If someone was absent, it had to be a very serious family or health problem.

As he put it, "When you bring your feet in your hands!" He's dragged more than one talent out from the team because he didn't have the right attitude. Ratio knew this very well, yet he didn't speak up.

- A little NBA? I'm totally humiliating you.

- In your dreams.

- I beat the shit out of you last time.

- Yeah, because I had to play with that old shitty controller. It doesn't even respond to the mount button anymore. When are you gonna get a new one?

- Of course, - Phil said sarcastically, nodding slowly and understandingly. - Hold it on the controller...

Suddenly they were interrupted by sharp, crackling sounds.

- Hohohooho!

Both of them immediately fell silent and turned slowly towards the sound. They moved their limbs instinctively, knowing that any sudden movement would only attract more attention.

It was Mr Benett, of course. The first few seconds seemed like a small eternity. It was difficult to decide why he was making these rather annoying noises, which irritated Ratio all the time. Moreover, he did it with such gaiety and mischievousness that the boy felt he could smash his face in whenever he heard this idiotic, bouncing noise.

It was not easy to say suddenly what was the cause of this whim, which Mr. Benet was quite used to.

Maybe he heard what they were talking about? Not likely. There were four benches between them and the teacher's desk. Anyway, they were whispering quietly. Well, not whispering, but quiet enough to blend into the background noise. Or was it? In such situations, everyone immediately has the feeling that they've been caught, and even if it was the most unlikely possibility, they had to be convinced otherwise.

He cautiously raised his head higher and higher. His tall stature meant he had no problem looking over anyone. When he was fully upright in the chair, he stood out almost a head from the rest of the row. Of course, that wasn't always an advantage, especially when it came to the questioning. That's why he always pulled his chair back a little, so that he could easily fall back onto the bench in an emergency. He also talked to Phil in this position, just in case, but he still had to find out what had suddenly upset the buffoon.

- I almost forgot about it! - Mr. Benett said, as he slowly and delicately pulled the diary towards him and began to turn the pages.

Ratio immediately realised what it was all about.

He remembered! He didn't get away with it!

Together with Phil, he had retreated to his previous position: they were lying on the bench.

- How could I forget our dear Longfellow and his wonderful Nature. - He even chuckled to himself for being so terribly witty. - So... whose masterpiece shall we listen to? Who has the most uplifting interpretive poem analysis of Longfellow's unique work, Nature?

One by one, he turned the pages of the diary, taking his time on each page, and then, when he got to the middle, he picked up the pace a bit.

Of course, the noise level in the classroom has fall down in a minute. Not too much, just enough to hear the ticking of the old antique wallclock. He was near the end of the roll call when he slowed down again.

He paused, then took a turn back.

- Ahh, there it is! Mr Stanson!

Interestingly, as soon as he heard his name called, he slipped back into the same calm indifference that was characteristic of him anyway. The excitement was a passing fancy, a temporary instinctive manifestation.

Without a word, he stood up slowly, with dignity. His movements, his stance and his gaze radiated a brazen elegance.

- Oh, no, no. You don't have to show. Just read it. You can stay standing if you feel it's easier to perform.

Meanwhile, Phil was routinely putting his feet to the ground, and was already starting to push his homework to front of his friend.

It would have been a smooth affair.

Although literature was never Ratio's favourite subject, he was more interested in realistic subjects, he was always inventive, and generally good at improvisation. He shouldn't have pushed himself too hard. A tiny slice of his creativity would have been enough to get him out of this mess.

It would have been enough.

But he has already decided.

- Not ready.

- Oh... - Something seemed to fade in Mr. Bennett's eyes. He lowered his head, which seemed to be increasingly vacant, and then asked in a low, fading voice. - Is... is there anyone else who hasn't done it? - Meanwhile, he turned his head and tried to cover his eyes with his left hand.

He almost believed himself that he were disappointed.

Of course, there was no reply.

No one wantedany bad grade before the end of the school year. Moreover, by this time, no teacher was pushing homework too hard in the final year.

The school prided itself on the high average graduation scores it achieved almost every year. Not to mention successful admissions, as the vast majority of Lafayette graduates went on to study at one of the elite universities.

Teachers didn't really want to overburden their students in the last semester, so it followed that graduates didn't take it too seriously either.

Not that Mr. Bennett took it too seriously. He didn't take anything very seriously, except maybe the lectures.

And the show has already sat.

- Well, well - and with a sudden jerk of his head he reverted to the sharp, crackling tone Ratio hated so much - at least you admit it!

In one movement, he pushed the chair out from under him, jumped up and started pacing back and forth in front of the teacher's desk. He walked with graceful, long strides as he gazed dreamily, sighed, and mumbled in a barely intelligible voice: "...you confess your guilt... your guilt...".

Ratio was bored watching the show: it was not the first he had seen. The whole class was already familiar with the entire repertoire, which was not much broader than that of a street performer. He usually played the same characters over and over again, and he didn't change them very often. He followed him with his gaze as he finished his short walk with a witty half-turn, leaning over the diary.

He leaned one hand on the table and gestured with the other, reaching for his pen.

- Well, well, Mr. Stanson. What would I to do with you now? What would I supposed to do as a naive judge? How could I possibly do justice? Perhaps... I shall ask for your help. Yes - and his eyes lit up again. - Because, to quote Dostoyevsky: "For no one can judge a criminal until he recognizes that he is just such a criminal as the man standing before him" - he said with such poignancy that he had to pause for a few seconds at the end to make sure that his core message had sunk in. - In the light of all this, I ask you, Mr Stanson, whether or not you want me to take this F grade on board or not? - And he has already stuck the tip of his pen in the corner of the appropriate column.

All eyes in the classroom were on Stanson. He was still standing. Classmates whispered, muffled fragments of laughter could be heard from here and there.

Then he pulled himself up, lifted his chin, made a few exaggerated gestures with his right hand, then reached out to the teacher, and noted as theatrically as he could, almost affectingly:

- To quote Shakespeare, Mr. Benett: "As you like it!" - He even closed his eyes at the end.

The laughter and the sound of the bell merged. The hour was over. Mr. Benett smiled and slowly, raised his pen.

2. Build it up...

The classroom now looked very different. It was interesting how the position of the sun at any given moment could affect the view. In the early afternoon light, grains of dust flew like tiny sparks. They swirled in the warm spring breeze that gently swung the red rayon curtains. The colours and shapes became more vivid, so did the students.

- Then a bit quieter! - Mr. Miller entered through the thick, creaky wooden door of the classroom, flanked by a slightly shorter, bearded fellow.

The lesson has not started yet. There were still at least five minutes before the bell rang, but it was almost customary for the classmaster to arrive early. Mr Miller had always taken his job seriously and usually allowed himself time to prepare. He was never in a hurry, in fact, no one had ever seen him in a hurry at school, yet he always arrived on time. He was a point of reference in the teaching staff and in his class as well. If he promised or undertook something, it could be considereditdone. He worked with the precision of a maths teacher and the thoroughness of a class master. He sat the bearded guy down in front of the blackboard, facing the class, exchanged a few words with him quietly, and then began unpacking his small handbag on the teacher's desk.

- Who is this guy? - Ratio pushed aside Phil, who was playing on his phone.

- Not now, Ratty... just not now! - he said excitedly. He knew he didn't have much time if he wanted to finish the course before the bell.

Ratio hardly took his eyes off the stranger, although it was not his habit. He was deliberately careful not to stare too long even at girls, because he considered it degrading to himself to waste too much attention on anyone just because of their appearance.

But this thin, bearded fellow had caught his interest with an elemental force, and he didn't seem to want to let go easily.

From the penultimate bench in the middle row of desks, which was Ratio and Phil's perpetual seat in that classroom, he had just a glimpse of the person between Mickie and Judy, yet he was well enough hidden not to be too conspicuous. He just stared at him as he had probably never stared at anyone before. His build was similar to his, except that he was much shorter than he was. He must have been about thirty-five or forty, but to belie that, he dressed extremely youthfully. He wore trainers and jeans, and his T-shirt could have been worn by any teenager. It was reminiscent of Mr. Bennett's style, but not nearly as dishevelled or flashy.

But what really caught by Ratio was the stranger's eyes.

He was handsome, but not like the "Don Juans" in the drippy movies. His dark hair, short cheekbones and brown eyes made him instantly sympathetic to the boy - he didn't know why. His style was also appealing at first sight. He waited demurely yet confidently in his chair, surveying the class with a slight smile on his face that seemed perfectly natural. Ratio couldn't stand the forced grin. His every movement and gesture radiated confidence, kindness and calm.

The boy was overcome by an inexplicable feeling. Perhaps he had experienced it for the first time as a child, but he had been a part of it several times since, he knew that for sure. As it came, so it always went.

Like when your nose is hit by a familiar smell. A tiny fragment of life from the past, just one whiff of which is enough to scratch or tickle our insides with a thousand fragments of emotion. According to some researchers, the human brain is most intimately connected to our memories through smell, and for Ratio, that's exactly what the alien was.

A scent that took him back to a distant, perhaps imaginary corner of his childhood. A place where there is always safety and peace.

He is completely relaxed. He tried to hold on to the moment.

His mind knew it would soon be over.

That it cannot last forever.

That soon it will all dissolve and that suffocating atmosphere will return, which is almost so natural that you wouldn't even notice it around you. Like cold water. If you swim in it long enough, you get used to its temperature, but splashing in from the pleasant warmth is always painful.

In fact, it probably couldn't have been more painful. He had always hated the noise of the bell, finding it insidiously loud, but now it felt as if they were deliberately trying to rupture his eardrums.

- Then class, attention!, - Mr. Miller said, solemnly that the ends of his words almost touched.

He was extremely good with the class, and with all his students in general. He wasn't too strict, but he didn't need to be. His personality commanded respect in itself. His strong physique, piercing eyes and manly, deep voice could make even the most voluptuous students sneer.

His classes were always in order.

- Meet Eteelle... Excuse me, am I saying that right? - The reverend just smiled and nodded. - Reverend Etele, who will be our guest today of the form class. Before he starts his presentation, I would like to share a few important things with you about the prom. I tried to convince the principal of several of your requests, but...

That was it!

Ratio was not interested in the prom at all, because he was sure he would not go. Ever since he broke up with Samantha, he had lost interest in the whole thing, and he wasn't a big fan of school events anyway.

It's true that he promised to take Jasmine with him, but that was a totally rash and ill-considered decision. Obviously he couldn't have meant it, either, since they were only talking in generalities, so to speak. Besides, it was so long ago. Back in February, after the break-up was it any wonder he was confused? They'd hardly seen each other since. She probably doesn't even remember it.

Ratio did not remember either.

Jasmine was totally out of his mind.

Reverend

That was the only word that had been in his head since he heard it.

Another idiot missionary in the class! Of course, everything suddenly came to mind.

At Lafayette, it had become a minor tradition by then to devote one formclass each month to religious education and outreach. These were usually arranged in advance by the class masters with an outside contact, so that they could plan more freely with their remaining hours - three a month.

They could pass them or, in the last resort, cancel them. However, this was very rarely done, because they had to submit a detailed justification in writing to the principal. Needless to say, in the eyes of most of the class masters, it was just an extra chore, which deprived them of a 'free' lesson. This was particularly resented at the end of the year, when they were often trying to keep up for any subject they had missed.

In Mr. Miller's class, these peculiar occasions, which could not, with the greatest charity, be called religious instruction, were usually held on the last Thursday of the month. The official name was "Religious Knowledge and the General Extension of our Faiths", which consisted largely of educational lectures, interpreted by a wide variety of people. These "sessions", unlike traditional religious education, were not intended to disseminate or propagate the views of one religion, such as Catholic, Protestant or Mormon.

On the contrary.

Their aim was to expose students to as many views as possible during their high school studies, thus broadening their perspectives, problem-solving and reasoning skills. Moreover, this fitted in well not only with the inviolable ideal of freedom of speech and religion, but also with the school's progressive, free-spirited image.

Each time there were different speakers from different parts of the country, each with a different belief or vision of the world and of humanity in general. They were not all priests, rabbis or yogis. They included lay thinkers, philosophers, and on one unusual occasion even a hippie who played on a strange flute. What they all had in common was that they could rarely offer plausible explanations for their often difficult-to-understand theses, but they were absolutely sure of them.

Perhaps the biggest success was achieved by a Japanese-born Buddhist monk who tried to back up his confused views on the carmic cycle, so fashionable these days, with what he claimed were actual events. His odd accent and extremely sluggish speech were the butt of jokes years later. When he said the word 'carmic', at first everyone thought he was talking about ceramics, and it was just one of many words he couldn't pronounce properly.

Few people could stand it without laughing, but Ratio was one of them.

He hated religion, and in general anything that was not scientifically backed up.

He didn't even watch or read fantasy, but he don't like science fiction neither