The women in Jacob's life, part 1

Texto:

Grandes sessões estas que um gajo ainda chega a casa com pica para escrever um write-up!

The following takes place between the 2 and 3 hours AM on Thursday.

"Dr. Hart?"

"Hmmm?"

"Dr. Hart, do you support Dr, Nielsen's comments on the student's work?"

Jacob was having one of those rare moments in dreams when one has the distinct sensation and awareness of being dreaming, but feels all the real-like perceptions that a dream provides. He surveyed the scene his dream was presenting him.

He was dressed in black robes and standing on a platform amongst three other men dressed as him. They all looked familiar. One was bald with a large grey beard, probably in his mid-sixties. Another was about 35, tall and lean with small nose-hung spectacles. The third was perhaps in his forties, with greyish hair (but still a large ammount of it) and keen black eyes. The man who had addressed him was the eldest one.

Jacob turned his attention to the rest of the room. There was a younger man in his mid-twenties before the platform, sweating visibly. The room was an amphitheatre, and some people were assisting the cerimony that he was participating in. He knew it well: a PhD discussion. The young man before him, what was his name, come you must recall, you talked to him about something that interested you very much, what was it, oh cryptography, yes that's it. His PhD is on cryptography and you were invited as juri. Now who are your colleagues here? The eldest you know well, he's the Dean of the Faculty. The man with the jet black eyes you know him too, wasn't he your friend? Didn't he help you do something, what was it? He is not family, no, and he is too old to be a college mate, yet somehow you know that you met him here... oh well never mind, what about the youngest one? Humm you don't like him, he's competing with you for something... he's probably Dr. Nielsen, he said something you don't agree with and now you have to prove him wrong. Now what did he say? Oh for Christ's sake come on, you don't *have* to answer him do you? Let's see who else is here...

His eyes fell almost instantly on a man sitting in the front row wearing a grey overcoat. This one he knew too well, even in this dreamland of sometimes blurry shapes. Edward Hart. His father.

He looked deep into his father's eyes, and saw the love of a parent who sees his child go further than he did himself. He saw pride and accomplishment. He saw encouragement, inciting him to reply to the poor Dr. Nielsen and baffle everyone with his superior intelligence. But he also saw a great sorrow, grief and regret large enough to encompass all other feelings. Why? He could not understand, but for a moment Jacob felt intensely alone and diminished.

He felt his juri peers waiting for an answer. It's funny how dreams can unfold apparently like a movie reel but we can never quite put them "on pause". For another moment he felt his loneliness and impotence overwhelm him. And then, as a survival instinct kicking him, he did what he did best: he sharpened his intellect and prepared to respond. Instantly he recalled what was being discussed, the subject of the thesis, Dr. Nielsen's points of argument, and why he knew better. It was really not all that complicated. He felt his understanding fill the void he had in him, and shortly after he was whole again.

"While Dr. Nielsen's views on the benefits of RSA authentication are not without merit, we must not forget elliptic curve cryptography has undeniable advantages, not the least of which being the potential for constant-effort operation, of which RSA is totally bereft, and which is explored by the student in his work. If we consider the relative key strengths of RCA versus ECC in a finite G(2^m) elliptic space, it can be readily shown that..."

Half an hour later, he was leaving the room. The student had attained his PhD, of course, but it was Jacob Hart who had succeeded in thwarting Dr. Nielsen. Now some big project which he could not recall would go to him for sure, just as he wanted. This college was more and more his playing field. And he liked it.

He found his father on the phone with someone. Mum? Quentin? No couldn't be, he seemed unhappy at the conversation in a way that one does not get unhappy when talking to family. One of Mum's doctors perhaps? No he had a sudden vivid image of his father talking with one of those doctors and his manner there was more pleading. Here he seemed to seethe with barely controlled anger and frustration.

Edward saw him, signalled for him to wait, and went into the bathroom. A few minutes later he came out, his face anew with a cheerful expression. But the drops of cold water could still be seen on his forehead. And he could not hide his deep sadness, not from Jacob. And, could Jacob hide the loneliness and despair he felt at seeing that sadness from Edward?

They met the man with keen black eyes at a restaurant. Jacob remembered who he was now: his own PhD supervisor, Dr. Maxwell Eckhert. He was a kindly soul and had become a friend to the family during the years Jacob had been writing his thesis. They sat down to eat, and Jacob went to the bathroom. Somehow he was still present at the table, close enough to hear their conversation...

"I want to thank you especially, Maxwell, for looking after Jacob. It has been hard with Cathy's illness, and I haven't spent half as much time with him as I would have liked. But as I saw him today, I was proud of what he has become, of what you have helped him become. I thank you for that."

"I thank you for your kind words, Edward. Jacob is an excellent mathematician, and would have found his path without any of my guidance. But always remember this, as a friend I tell you, for your own sake: it is *the campus*, it is life inside these walls and in this carefully protected world that provides Jacob what he needs, Edward - not you or I."

A tear formed in the corner of Edward's eye and he bent his head down. "I know", he said in a rough voice, "but thank you for telling me anyway."

Jacob found this unbearable. He went back to the table, lifted his father up, and hugged him. His father did not move, he did not even raise his head. Jacob held tighter. And tighter. He felt a tear running down his cheek, and cleaned with the back of his hand only to find that the tear was blood. And his father was still immobile, and Jacob could feel something hard wrapped around him. He could not bring himself to loosen his grip, but he knew that something was a bomb. As he clenched tighter on his father, he heard a soft click and them a loud blast. Jacob's body, as well as his father's, was torn to shreds. Jacob "glued" himself back together instantly. His father did not.

Jacob fell on his knees, sobbing desperately. Everything had vanished, the restaurant, his supervisor, everyone. He was alone in a vast barren field, stretching as far as the eye could see.

As he lay there, he felt footsteps approaching. Soft. Gentle. He felt a delicate hand touch his shoulder. He instinctively reached for the hand, which helped him up. Now it was him who couldn't raise his head. He felt himself being embraced, he felt the touch of long curly hair against his face. Who was this woman? His mother? No, her hand and the feel of her breasts against his chest had the distinct feel of youth. Who then?

He could not care less. He felt the intensity of his loneliness, and realized he had been lonely all his life. He understood now. Books and theorems and students may keep the mind busy. Athletics may focus the body into shape. Family, friends and even the occasional romantic date may feed the social animal in every human. But what can nurture the soul like the unique warmth of a woman's body holding you tight, understanding you, and telling you plain and simply that life doesn't have to be faced alone? And how much he needed that feeling now that his life almost entirely crumbled beneath his feet!

Jacob was again "detached" from the reel of his dream. "When I raise my head", he thought, "who would I like to see here?". Four possibilities instantly came to mind: Rachel. Erika. Katherine Pole. And, surprisingly, Sophia.

Which one would he prefer, that was a curious mathematical question.
Although perhaps once just once he did not want to approach it mathematically...


Para compensar das duas semanas que vou ficar sem escrever, aqui fica uma variante alternativa...

The following takes place between the 2 and 3 hours AM on Thursday.

"Dr. Hart?"

"Growl?"

"Dr. Hart, do you support Dr, Nielsen's comments on the student's work?"

Jacob was having one of those rare moments in dreams when one has the distinct sensation and awareness of being dreaming, but feels all the real-like perceptions that a dream provides. He surveyed the scene his dream was presenting him.

He was dressed in black robes and standing on a platform amongst three other men dressed as him. They all looked familiar. One was about 35, tall and lean with small nose-hung spectacles. Not much food here. Another was perhaps in his forties, with greyish hair (but still a large ammount of it) and keen black eyes. The third was bald with a large grey beard, probably in his mid-sixties. Chubby. This one would provide suitable sustenance. Fuck the rest of them.

His eyes fell unintentionally on a man sitting in the front row wearing a grey overcoat. This one he knew too well, even in this dreamland of sometimes blurry shapes. Edward Hart. His father.

He looked deep into his father's eyes, and saw the love of a parent who sees his child go further than he did himself. He saw pride and accomplishment. He saw encouragement, inciting him to reply to the poor Dr. Nielsen and baffle everyone with his superior intelligence. But he also saw a great sorrow, grief and regret large enough to encompass all other feelings. Why? He could not understand. Jacob felt intensely hungry.

He felt the three other men waiting for an answer. It's funny how dreams can unfold apparently like a movie reel but we can never quite put them "on pause". For a moment he felt his hunger overwhelm him. And then, as a survival instinct kicking him, he did what he did best: he sharpened his teeth and prepared to jump at them. Instantly he recalled what he had been taught - always aim for the throat. It was really not all that complicated. He felt the chubby man's blood fill the void he had in him, and shortly after he was whole again.

Half an hour later, he was leaving the room. Some people had managed to flee, of course, but Jacob Hart had succeeded in draining the chubby man dry. Now it was time to pee in each corner of the room to claim his territory, just as he wanted. This college was more and more his playing field. And he liked it.

He found his father on the phone with someone. Mum? Quentin? No couldn't be, he seemed unhappy at the conversation in a way that one does not get unhappy when talking to family. One of Mum's doctors perhaps? No he had a sudden vivid image of his father talking with one of those doctors and his manner there was more pleading. Here he seemed to seethe with barely controlled anger and frustration.

Edward saw him, signalled for him to wait, and went into the bathroom. A few minutes later he came out, his face anew with a cheerful expression. But the drops of cold water could still be seen on his forehead. And he could not hide his deep sadness, not from Jacob. And, could Jacob hide the fact that he had drained dry a man not so much older than Edward himself from Edward?

They met the man with keen black eyes at a restaurant. Jacob remembered who he was now: his own PhD supervisor, Dr. Maxwell Eckhert. How he had managed to escape from the room is a mistery. They sat down to eat, and Jacob sat on the floor gnawing at a large bone. He was close enough to hear their conversation...

"I want to thank you especially, Maxwell, for looking after Jacob. It has been hard with Cathy's illness, and I haven't spent half as much time with him as I would have liked. But as I saw him today, I was proud of what he has become, of what you have helped him become. I thank you for that."

"I thank you for your kind words, Edward. Jacob is a fearsome predator, and would have found his path without any of my guidance. But always remember this, as a friend I tell you, for your own sake: it is *the campus*, it is the chubby folk inside these walls and in this carefully protected world that provide Jacob what he needs, Edward - not you or I."

A tear formed in the corner of Edward's eye and he bent his head down. "I know", he said in a rough voice, "but thank you for telling me anyway."

Jacob found this unbearable. He went back to the table, lifted his father up, and began to lick him. His father did not move, he did not even raise his head. Jacob licked harder. And longer. He felt his saliva drying up, yet his father was still immobile, and Jacob could feel something hard wrapped around him. He could not bring himself to loosen his grip, but he knew that something was a bomb. As he clenched tighter on his father, he heard a soft click and them a loud blast. Jacob's body, as well as his father's, was torn to shreds. Jacob "glued" himself back together instantly. His father did not.

Everything had vanished, the restaurant, his supervisor, everyone. He was alone in a vast barren field, stretching as far as the eye could see. Jacob fell on his knees, howling madly. No-one around meant no food.

As he lay there, he felt footsteps approaching. Soft. Gentle. He felt a delicate paw touch his shoulder. He instinctively reached to smell it, and found it to be a woman's. Why was it that he now couldn't raise his head from sniffing her genitals was a mistery. He felt himself beginning to mount her. Who was this woman? His mother? No, her hand and the feel of her breasts had the distinct feel of youth. Who then? He could not care less.

Jacob was again "detached" from the reel of his dream. "When I am finished and see her face", he thought, "who would I like to see here?". Four possibilities instantly came to mind: Rachel. Erika. Katherine Pole. And, surprisingly, Sophia.

Which one would he prefer? That was really no question. Sophia and Katherine would beat the shit out of him, Erika was too thin. Rachel was guaranteed good food and sex for at least a week. No contest.

:) :) As coisas que um gajo se lembra when it's way past his bedtime...

Bom, digo já que, tanto quanto me lembro, este é o melhor write-up que até agora escreveste. Não só a ideia é boa como acho que está bem apresentada e mostra o Jacob de uma forma diferente. Além disso, temos direito a uma versão humorística como bónus :) é, de facto, um rasgo de inspiração.

Vou ter que dar máxima pontuação. 20 x 2 = 40 XPs para o Jacob.

...goes to you, as always, for the initial spark that your masterful storytelling never fails to trigger.

*bows deeply*

Até daqui por 15 dias,

Ângelo