Point Blank

other.
    ‚My name is Grief,‛ the man continued. ‚Dr. Grief. I am very pleased to meet you and to have you here.‛
    Alex stared at the man who was the director of Point Blanc, at the white-paper skin and the eyes burning behind the red eyeglasses. It was like meeting a skeleton, and for a moment he was lost for words. Then he recovered. ‚Nice place,‛ he said.
    ‚Do you think so?‛ There was no emotion whatsoever in Grief’s voice. So far he had moved only his neck. ‚This building was designed in 1857 by a Frenchman who was certainly the world’s worst architect. This was his only commission. When the first owners moved in, they had him shot.‛
    ‚There are still quite a few people here with guns.‛ Alex glanced out of the window as another pair of guards walked past.
    ‚Point Blanc is unique,‛ Dr. Grief explained. ‚As you will soon discover, all the boys who have been sent here come from families of great wealth and importance. We have had the sons of emperors and industrialists. Boys like yourself. It follows that we could very easily become a target for terrorists. The guards are therefore here for your protection.‛
    ‚That’s very kind of you.‛ Alex felt he was being too polite. It was time to show this man what sort of person he was meant to be. ‚But to be honest, I don’t really want to be here myself.
    So if you’ll just tell me how I get down into town, maybe I can get the next train home.‛
    ‚There is no way down into town.‛ Dr. Grief lifted a hand to stop Alex from interrupting.
    Alex glanced at his long skeletal fingers and at the eyes glinting red behind the glasses. The man moved as if every bone in his body had been broken and then put back together again.
    ‚The skiing season is over. It’s too dangerous now. There is only the helicopter, and that will take you from here only when I say so.‛ The hand lowered itself again. ‚You are here, Alex, because you have disappointed your parents. You were expelled from school. You have had difficulties with the police.‛
    ‚That wasn’t my bloody fault!‛ Alex protested.
    ‚Don’t interrupt the doctor!‛ Mrs. Stellenbosch said.
    Alex glanced at her balefully.
    ‚Your appearance is displeasing,‛ Dr. Grief went on. ‚Your language also. It is our job to turn you into a boy of whom your parents can be proud.‛
    ‚I’m happy as I am,‛ Alex said.
    ‚That is of no relevance.‛ Dr. Grief fell silent.
    Alex shivered. There was something about this room, so big, so empty, so twisted out of shape. And this man who was both old and young at the same time but who somehow wasn’t completely human. ‚So what are you going to do with me?‛ Alex asked.
    ‚There will be no lessons to begin with,‛ Mrs. Stellenbosch said. ‚For the first couple of weeks we want you to assimilate.‛
    ‚What does that mean?‛
    ‚To assimilate. To conform … to adapt … to become like.‛ It was as if she were reading out of a dictionary. ‚There are six boys at the academy at the moment. You will meet them and you will spend time with them. There will be opportunities for sports and for being social. There is a good library here, and you will read. Soon you will learn our methods.‛
    ‚I want to call my mom and dad,‛ Alex said.
    ‚The use of telephones is forbidden,‛ Mrs. Stellenbosch explained. She tried to smile sympathetically, but with her face it wasn’t quite possible. ‚We find it makes our students homesick,‛ she went on. ‚Of course, you may write letters if you wish.‛
    ‚I prefer e-mail,‛ Alex said.
    ‚For the same reason, e-mail is not permitted.‛
    Alex shrugged and swore under his breath.
    Dr. Grief had seen him. ‚You will be polite to the assistant director,‛ he snapped. He hadn’t raised his voice, but the words had an acid tone. ‚You should be aware, Alex, that Mrs. Stellenbosch has worked with me now for twenty-six years and that when I met her she had been voted Miss South Africa five years in a row.‛
    Alex glanced at the hostile face. ‚A beauty contest?‛ he asked.
    ‚The weight-lifting championships.‛ Dr. Grief glanced at the fireplace. ‚Show him,‛ he said.
    Mrs. Stellenbosch got up and went over to the fireplace. There was a poker lying in the grate. She took it with both hands. For a moment she seemed to concentrate. Alex gasped. The solid metal poker, almost two inches thick, was slowly bending. Now it was U-shaped.
    Mrs. Stellenbosch wasn’t even sweating. She