Serious Men

so stupid. It was not too late yet to withdraw. He could end it right now. He could tell the reporter that Adi was not feeling very well.
    But the fear somehow subsided and the chill in his throat was now the chill of excitement. He had thought carefully about this for many days and he knew in his heart that nothing could go wrong. ‘You look so smart, Adi, Ayyan said. ‘Now show them what you know.’
    Ayyan took a few steps back. Adi waited for a little while, and began the recital: ‘Two, three, five, seven, eleven, thirteen, seventeen, nineteen, twenty-three …’
    The Feature Writer listened with a keen face. The photographer took some pictures. Ayyan made a gesture to the photographer to suggest that he should not take pictures now. It was very important that the pictures were not shot at this point. Ayyan had not considered the possibility of the photographer jumping the gun, and he kicked himself for overlooking that. It could lead to disaster, Ayyan knew.
    Adi went on, occasionally swallowing his saliva but without disrupting the pace of the recital: ‘One seventy-nine, one eighty-one, one ninety-one, one ninety-three, one ninety-seven, one ninety-nine, two hundred and eleven, two twenty-three, two twenty-seven, two twenty-nine …’
    The reporter referred to a printed paper. It was a list of the first thousand prime numbers. She was checking if Adi was on the right track. Ayyan heard the clicks of the camera again, but when he turned, the photographer stopped.
    Adi went on: ‘Six sixty-one, six seventy-three, six seventy-seven, six eighty-three, six ninety-one, seven hundred and one, seven hundred and nine, seven hundred and nineteen, seven twenty-seven, seven thirty-three …’
    The reporter looked at Ayyan and raised her eyebrows.
    Adi went a bit faster now: ‘4943, 4951, 4957, 4967, 4969, 4973, 4987, 4993, 4999, 5003 …’ He went on and on like this andraised his voice as he finally said, ‘7841, 7853, 7867, 7873, 7877, 7879, 7883, 7901, 7907, 7919.’ And he stopped.
    The reporter lifted her head from the sheet and clapped.
    Adi removed the earpiece and threw a quick glance at his father when he realized his mistake. He put it back. The photographer started clicking.
    ‘Actually,’ Ayyan said, standing between the photographer and his son, ‘Can I make a request?’ He removed the earpiece from Adi’s ear and pushed it inside the boy’s shirt, ‘Can you take pictures of my son without the earpiece? You see, we don’t want him appearing as though he is handicapped in any way.’
    ‘I understand,’ the reporter said.
    ‘Could you please ensure that he does not appear in the paper with the hearing-aid?’
    ‘Don’t worry about that,’ she said, kindly.
    The photographer asked Ayyan to stand by his son. And he started clicking.
    ‘How many pictures are you going to carry?’ Ayyan asked, somewhat amused.
    The photographer did not respond. He continued to click and then stopped abruptly. He put the camera back in his bag and left without a word.
    The reporter set her scribbling-pad on her lap, poised a pen in the air and smiled at Adi.
    ‘You are really brilliant, Aditya,’ she said in English. ‘Can I ask you some questions now?’
    Ayyan put the earpiece back in the boy’s good ear. It was a Walkman earpiece, fixed to the shell of the hearing-aid. The Walkman was inside the boy’s shirt, taped to his stomach.
    ‘Can you hear?’ Ayyan whispered to his son. The boy nodded.
    ‘I’d like to ask you some questions now, Aditya,’ the reporter said.
    ‘OK,’ Adi said, gulping down a glass of water.
    ‘Why are you interested in prime numbers?’
    ‘Prime numbers are unpre … unpredictable. So I like prime numbers.’
    ‘How are you able to recite all these numbers, so easily, from memory?’
    The boy lifted his finger as though to point to the earpiece. Then he started giggling. ‘I don’t know,’ he said.
    ‘What are your future plans?’
    Adi shrugged and looked at his father. ‘He is very shy, you know,’ Ayyan said.
    ‘What do you want to become?’ the reporter asked, ignoring Ayyan.
    Adi looked at his father again and giggled coyly.
    ‘He is not very easy to talk to,’ Ayyan said. ‘I can answer for him, if that makes it easier for you.’
    She considered the offer.
    ‘About a year ago,’ Ayyan said anyway, his voice soft and conspiratorial, ‘When I was teaching him numbers, I observed that he was seeing patterns. He would select numbers like three,