The parts have to be consistent and belong together.
This kind of picture is a lie.
Things are forced to fit because the writer or the director or somebody wanted something in that didn't belong. And it doesn't feel right."
She looked at me thoughtfully as we walked out into the bright dazzling night-lights of Times Square.
"You're coming along fast."
"I'm confused.
I don't know what I know any more."
"Never mind that," she insisted.
"You're beginning to see and understand things."
She waved her hand to take in all of the neon and glitter around us as we crossed over to Seventh Avenue.
"You're beginning to see what's behind the surface of things. What you say about the parts having to belong together—that was a pretty good insight."
"Oh, come on now. I don't feel as if I'm accomplishing anything.
I don't understand about myself or my past.
I don't even know where my parents are, or what they look like.
Do you know that when I see them in a flash of memory or in a dream the faces are a blur?
I want to see their expressions.
I can't understand what's going on unless I can see their faces—"
"Charlie, calm down."
People were turning to stare.
She slipped her arm through mine and pulled me close to restrain me.
"Be patient.
Don't forget you're accomplishing in weeks what takes others a lifetime. You're a giant sponge soaking in knowledge.
Soon you'll begin to connect things up, and you'll see how all the different worlds of learning are related. All the levels, Charlie, like steps on a giant ladder. And you'll climb higher and higher to see more and more of the world around you."
As we entered the cafeteria on Forty-fifth Street and picked up our trays, she spoke animatedly.
"Ordinary people," she said, "can see only a little bit.
They can't change much or go any higher than they are, but you're a genius.
You'll keep going up and up, and see more and more. And each step will reveal worlds you never even knew existed."
People on the line who heard her turned to stare at me, and only when I nudged her to stop did she lower her voice.
"I just hope to God," she whispered, "that you don't get hurt."
For a little while after that I didn't know what to say.
We ordered our food at the counter and carried it to our table and ate without talking. The silence made me nervous.
I knew what she meant about her fear, so I joked about it.
"Why should I get hurt?
I couldn't be any worse off than I was before.
Even Algernon is still smart, isn't he?
As long as he's up there I'm in good shape."
She toyed with her knife making circular depressions in a pat of butter and the movement hypnotized me.
"And besides," I told her, "I overheard something—Professor Nemur and Dr. Strauss were arguing, and Nemur said he's positive that nothing can go wrong."
"I hope so," she said.
"You have no idea how afraid I've been that something might go wrong. I feel partly responsible."
She saw me staring at the knife and she put it down carefully beside her plate.
"I never would have done it but for you," I said.
She laughed and it made me tremble.
That's when I saw that her eyes were soft brown.
She looked down at the tablecloth quickly and blushed.
"Thank you, Charlie," she said, and took my hand.
It was the first time anyone had ever done that, and it made me bolder.
I leaned forward, holding on to her hand, and the words came out.
"I like you very much."
After I said it, I was afraid she'd laugh, but she nodded and smiled. "I like you too, Charlie." "But it's more than liking.