(And do you know? You are a miracle. You are unique. Never before has there been a child like you.)
- Pau Casals i Defilló
Today Mr Tuniak started our meeting by showing me an old photo album with pictures from his childhood.
„These were all taken at the beginning of the 1960ies“, he explained, while quickly flipping through the pages. „All within three or four years.“
Within these three or four years Mr Tuniak turned from a baby to a teenager. On some photos I could also see other children, all of them about ten years old.
“Didn't you say that you were born in 1996?”, I asked, once we had come to the last page of the album.
“Oh, yes”, Mr Tuniak confirmed. “Which leads to which question?”
“Why did your mothers travel to the past after your birth?”
“No.” Mr Tuniak closed the book. “Why was I born in 1996? Why not 1997 or even 2064?”
“Why?”, I asked because I couldn't think of an answer.
“Because my mothers went to the cinema in 1996”, Mr Tuniak explained. “When Miriam got pregnant, they stopped their travelling and did things that were less exhausting. They went to see the plays of Shakespeare, attended Dickens' readings and saw films of...”
“Less exhausting than what?”, I interrupted him.
“I'll tell you another time”, Mr Tuniak promised. “Now, regarding my birth... I think they were watching 12 Monkey when the labours started.” He laughed for a moment. “I should have been born in 1997 or 1998. My mothers loved the film Titanic and went there several times to watch it. They are probably responsible for half of all the tickets it sold...”
There had been no complications during the birth. When Helen was finally allowed to enter Miriam's room, the baby was lying in its own little bed right next to her.
“Where have you been?”, Miriam asked exhausted.
“At the Uno-School”, Helen explained. “Everything is ready there.”
“When can I leave?”, Miriam asked. “You know I can't stand being in the same place for a long time.”
“You can stand it for another two or three days”, Helen assured her. “It's better for both of you.”
“Three days?”
“Maybe less. It depends on when the hospital figures out that we don't have any money.”
“Your mothers didn't have any money?” I was surprised.
“No, not really”, Mr Tuniak said. “I don't have much either. You know, if you're constantly travelling through time, you always need different currencies and so... In the end it's just easier not to have any, so you can't get confused.”
“What about all of this?” I indicated with my hands that I was referring the office in which we were sitting.
“That belongs to a friend”, Mr Tuniak says. “After the hospital my mothers went to the Uno-School in 1963. That's where they stayed for the next several months. It was basically our home, the place where I learned to walk and also to talk a little. Later, I went to school there. But my mothers wanted me to learn as many languages as possible and went looking for the best teachers.”
The painters were working as quickly as they could to finish the temple. Everyone in the city was eagerly anticipating the day when it would be dedicated to Pallas Athene.
“Hey, which one of you is Philip?”, someone asked.
The painters turned in surprise and saw a woman coming towards them.
“What...?”, one of the painters started, but got interrupted by another: “Helen! Over here!”
Helen looked to a man who was standing next to a column, partly obscured by it. There were several colour stains on his clothes and even in his hair. Helen went to him and said in a low voice, so that no one else but him could hear her: “You've changed again.”
“About ten years ago”, Philip answered. “You know you should not just walk in public that, don't you? Anyway: How can I help you?”
“Well, first: If you really want to complete the temple quickly, just forget about all the paint. In about a thousand years everyone will think that you left every building completely white anyway”, she said and pointed to the column.
“That may be so, but I'm not painting for people in a thousand years, but for people right now”, Philip answered.
Helen shrugged and then continued: “You know about our son, right? Good. I'm looking for someone who can teach him Greek.”
“Me?”, Philip asked in surprise. “I don't think I'd be a good teacher.”
“No, but you could recommend me someone”, Helen said. “You knew a great guy in Ancient Rome, Alex really likes him and I was hoping that... what?”
Philip was looking at her confused. “Ancient Rome? I've heard about Rome, but...”
“That's four hundred years into your future”, Helen explained. “Forget I ever mentioned it. But about a Greek teacher: Do you know someone?”
“You learned Greek and Latin in the Ancient World?”, I asked.
“Where else?”, Mr Tuniak said. “Back then they were still being spoken. My mothers wanted me to learn them so that later it would be easier for me to learn all the modern languages that evolved from them.”
“Which languages do you speak?”
“Quite a lot”, Mr Tuniak said. “But only very few of them well. Mostly, it's just sufficient so that people can understand what I'm trying to say.”
“Arabic?”
“Several dialects, yes.”
“Chinese?”
“No.” Mr Tuniak was shaking his head. “The same is true for Japanese. I know a few words in both languages, but that's about it.”
“Why not?” For some reason I was more curious about something he didn't know than for something he did.
“Because of the way I look”, he said. “It's only in the last two centuries that I could go to these countries without attracting attention. And nowadays I get by with speaking English.”
“And you went to several schools in the past?”
“No. At first I had a few private tutors, but once I got the basics of a language...”
Gaius Gracchus was no private tutor. He didn't teach grammar or tested your vocabulary. He was an orator, one of the best. When he was talking at the forum in Rome, he could be sure that a lot of people would come to listen tom him.
“Up! Up!”, Alexander begged. “I don't hear.” He was four years old and this was not the first oration that he attended together with his mothers.
Miriam sat him on her shoulders and whispered: “Only speak Greek or Latin here, otherwise you attract too much attention.”
Gracchus had just started. He didn't use any notes. He spoke only from memory and without any hesitation. He didn't make any mistakes and was completely sure about what he said. His gestures and his facial expressions were perfectly coordinated with his words. He captured his audience solely with his voice and when he was talking there was no one who could resist him.
The young Alexander didn't understand everything that was being said. Gracchus was talking too fast for that. But when he ended, the young boy knew that he had just watched a master of his profession at work.
“Are you tired or do you want to go to another speech?”, Miriam asked, as she put him down.
“Another”, Alexander said in Latin. “When...?” He couldn't finish the sentence, because he didn't know the words.
“The next one is tomorrow”, Miriam said.
“Or in five minutes”, Helen said and they went back to their time machine.
“You learned languages back when they were actually spoken”, I said. “But what about sciences like physics or biology or...”
“That comes later”, Mr Tuniak said. “That only started when I went to the Uno-School. The only thing I learned before was mathematics. For that my mothers took me to some of the best in that field.”
“Pythagoras?”, I asked. “Archimedes?”
“No, no”, Mr Tuniak said. “They were good for the times they lived in and for where they lived. But they were still missing fundamental things. The zero, for instance. No, I learned mathematics in India and the Middle East some centuries later, basic survival skills in the Stone Ages and other things like pottery I was taught by inclusi... monks and nuns in the Middle Ages.”
“With basic survival skills, I guess you mean making fire and stuff like that?”, I asked. “What for?”
“In case the time machine ever broke down and left me stranded somewhere.”
“And Pottery?”
“Because I liked it. As a child I liked it a lot, although I'm not sure I could still make anything nowadays.”
“Did you do anything else besides learning?”, I asked. “Did you have any friends?”
“My friends were the other children of the Uno-School”, Mr Tuniak said. “At first they were still a few years older than me, but that changed within a few months.” He smiled. “In the beginning they didn't know about our time machine, so they thought I was ageing rapidly.”
“Any hobbies?”
“I don't remember anything in particular”, he said. “I know that I liked to go to fortune tellers... or augurs, as they were called back then and to tell them what would happen in the next few days. But my mothers put a stop to that very quickly.” He stopped and his face took on a far away expression. As if he was remembering something and seeing it in a completely new light for the first time. But then he continued: “I guess it sounds as if I was only learning and had no spare time.” I nodded my assent. “But you have to understand: It didn't feel like learning. I didn't sit for hours in a room and studied vocabulary or anything like that. It was as if I was going on an excursion every day. A trip to a new world. That's the special gift of children: They learn automatically. Every moment. You just have to provide them with the right environment, sit back and be patient.”
“That doesn't work for everything”, I said.
“Maybe not”, he said. “And, in fairness, I should say that I learned to speak quite late, compared to other children. But at the same time, I was never under any pressure either. For me, learning was never connected to stress. And whatever I was lacking in actual knowledge, I more than made up for in curiosity.” He nodded again as if he was answering an unspoken question. “Yes... if there is one thing I've kept from my childhood it's my curiosity.”
NEXT WEEK
Immortality is a long shot, I admit. But somebody has to be first.
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