Writing for Fun
October 2017
Secrets - Jan Norman
I gazed transfixed by the latest and very elegant argument Dan had just scribbled down on one of the two huge blackboards in our laboratory in Cambridge University’s Faculty of Applied Mathematics.
Leaving me to ponder the immense import of the words he had dashed to the canteen to grab us rolls and coffee.
Both Professors, Dan Maslow and I, Ivor Bernstein, had spent the last year collectively trying to resolve the Hodge Conjecture: A problem in algebraic geometry. There was a prize of one million dollars to be awarded by the Clay Mathematics Institute to whomever could prove the equation to the satisfaction of their peers.
Together the money, prestige and acclaim, if we won, would be the culmination of a lifetime’s work for me, ensuring a comfortable and happy retirement and a promising career for young Dan, the youngest professor in Cambridge and my protégée.
Suddenly the random thoughts in my mind crystallised. I knew the answer. I knew how to prove the equation mathematically! Dashing over to the second blackboard I started filling it with mathematical and algebraic symbols. Line after line spewed from my squealing chalk stick.
When I had at last finished I stood back panting with exertion, my heart was pounding and my head was splitting. All I could think was that Dan had to see this! I grabbed my smart phone and clumsily called his number.
I yelled, ‘Eureka’ down the ‘phone and told him to hotfoot it back to the lab. Suddenly the pain in my head increased tenfold, my words became disjointed and thoughts confused. Spreading numbness caused the ‘phone to slide from my nerveless grip. Through blurred vision I suddenly realised I had got the last line of the formula wrong. Lurching against the board I furiously scrubbed out the last piece of the proof and putting chalk to the surface started its completion when I found myself drawing a long line downwards until I hit the floor and lost consciousness.
I opened my eyes to find myself in a strange bed in a strange room. I tried to sit up and was horrified to find I could not move. I yelled but could not find my voice. Drips and tubes festooned my body. Out of the corner of my eye I saw the nurse move towards me. She explained that I had had a severe stroke and was paralysed and without speech. In fact all I could do was blink. I blinked and found out that she was wrong, I could also cry. Tears rolled down my cheeks.
A few weeks passed and then one day, after lunch, the nurse popped her head round the door and announced that I had a distinguished visitor, a colleague, Professor Boris Petrov.
What was he doing here I thought? He wasn’t my colleague but he was my sworn rival in the field of mathematics.
‘Ah dear Ivor, I just had to come old boy.’ He unctuously slithered over to my side and stuck out a hand. ‘Oh, of course you can’t can you, silly me. He smiled maliciously and withdrew his hand and dropped it down by his side.
‘How are you, old boy? Oh, I forgot, you can’t answer me, can you. Do they hold out any hope for you I wonder?’ he mused out loud. ‘Well it seems likely that the million dollar prize is still safe. The world will never know just what your solution was to be and in the circumstances will never know. I wonder how much of your formula you told Dan on the ‘phone and whether it registered with him? Poor disconsolate Dan. I think I will befriend him and, you never know, we might just crack the Hodge Conjecture together. If we do I will be the first to tell you of our success. Well, enjoy what is left of the rest of your wretched life, Old boy! I will surely enjoy mine.’ With that he turned on his heel and without a second glance marched out of the door.
The only saving grace for me was that in that short time we were together my facial expressions were still limited and my speak still fractured, otherwise I would have given the game away. What charming Boris was not aware of was that in the few weeks since being admitted I had made a great recovery and with intensive rehabilitation I could now shuffle around, although with residual weakness and a dragging left foot but more importantly I could make myself understood even if I had to resort to pictures and symbols.
Dear old Dan had been my constant companion and I had his devotion to thank for my speedy recovery. Well, he would not go unrewarded.
We will soon be announcing our joint resolution to the Hodge Conjecture to a large gathering of fellow academics and the media.
I am determined to hand write an invitation to the esteemed Professor Boris Petrov, even if it takes me a week. I will remind him that the press will be there.
‘You can have your minute of glory on TV singing our praises, Old Boy,’ I shouted to the wall and then laughed and laughed and laughed.