The Memory Artists - Jeffrey Moore [69]
“No.”
“I’ve got another idea. Distaval. They’re coming up with radical new—”
“Distaval? You mean thalidomide? Are you out of your mind?”
“I know that’s what Norval thinks.”
“No, I’m sorry … I didn’t mean … I meant it rhetorically. And Norval doesn’t think that either.”
“He said that I wasn’t overfurnished in the brain department. That I’m as dumb as a box of rocks.”
No, what he actually said, Noel recalled, was that you have moments of spasmodic illumination, like a bulb that’s gone loose in its socket. And that I am to push him down a long flight of highly polished stairs if he ever becomes like you. “No, JJ, he doesn’t … think that, he just, you know, he’s like that with everybody. Take everything he says with a grain of salt. A drum of salt.”
“I overheard him at the party. While I was changing he asked if I was ‘crazed’. But you know what? I don’t give a beaver’s dam.”
“Well, first of all, he was quite drunk, and second—”
“It doesn’t matter, I don’t mind, it’s the brain God gave me. I’ve never complained. But I’m not as dumb as he thinks, it’s just that sometimes I get overexcited and my brain overheats and everything bundles together and sounds stupid.”
“I know the feeling.”
“You do?”
“Perfectly.”
“I think that Norval judges people only by their brains, their intellectual powers. If there’s no logic, no learning, he just … ridicules. But there are two kinds of intelligence, my mom used to say—that of the brain, and that of the heart. And I think the second kind is the most important. Don’t you?”
“Yes.”
“The best people I’ve met have something Norval doesn’t have: intelligence of the heart. Kindness, generosity, tolerance, acceptance of weakness. L’intelligence du coeur—that’s what Mom called it. And that’s what you have, Noel. You have both kinds, in fact.”
“Well, thanks, but I’m not sure that—”
“You do, trust me.”
Noel fidgeted, never good at fielding compliments; he hadn’t had much practice. “You do too, JJ. In fact, I was wondering if … well, if I could use your intelligence, if you’d like to help me out, go into a kind of partnership. I need someone like you—a Web magician, herbal alchemist, inventor.”
JJ’s face shone, taking on a shade of peach. “Really? Anytime, Noel. You can count on me, I’m your man.”
“I’ll pay you—”
“You can pay me never. You’re my friend, like a blood brother. And you rescued my scrapbook and love letters. You’re a hero in my book. You risked your life. I’ll never forget that.”
“Well, thanks, but I … I hardly …”
“You did. Now can we see your lab?”
Noel sighed. He was afraid they’d be up all night if he agreed. “Tomorrow? Aren’t you … exhausted after a day like this?”
“I only need four hours. I’m usually too excited to sleep. I need less sleep than Edison. Did you know that according to a recent study, those that sleep less than the sacred eight actually live longer?”
“I didn’t know that. I guess I’m going to live a long time.”
“Hey Noel, why did the man run around his bed?”
Noel paused. “Uh, let me see. Because he wanted to catch up on his sleep?”
“Yes! You heard that one? Shall we take a gander at the lab now?”
“Tomorrow?”
“Do you think we can make some stink bombs or laughing gas or cannon crackers?”
Noel laughed, remembering the days with his father when they made all three. “Why not?”
“You know, now that I think of it, we should ask Sam for her help too.”
“Samira? She’s an actress … I mean she’s an expert in literature, isn’t she?”
“She’s a woman. She’ll know what to do. She’ll know how to help your mom.”
“Well, fine, I’m sure she … could be very helpful. But I doubt if she’d—”
“Is Sam fly or what? Is she slammin’?”
Noel paused, wondering whether he’d misheard. What language was that? “I’m sorry?”
“Sam. Is she hot or what? Is she not swoonworthy?”
“Oh. Yes, I … I suppose she is. Swoonworthy.”
“Don’t tell her I said this, Noel, but I think she’s got a crush on you. Just a hunch