CBC - Origins

John Nash  (by: Ree ©05/2005)

“Excuse me, are you John Nash?” I asked the elderly man, one of several people seated at one of the large tables in the library. Although in his seventies, the man still appeared solidly built, with barely a trace of the posture common to men his age. The man looked up at me with a vacant expression, as if responding to a noise, not to someone calling his name. “I said, are you John Nash?” I repeated. This time the man seemed to recognize his name.

“Yes, yes I am,” he replied before returning his attention to his papers.

“I am sorry to bother you, but could you spare a few minutes of your time to speak with me, Professor Nash?” Nash looked up again, taking in what was said to him.

“Certainly. Sit down,” he replied, gesturing to an empty chair next to him. “Please.”

“Actually, Professor Nash, I was hoping to speak with you in private, could we take a walk?”

Nash turned to address a student that was sitting across from him.  “Young lady, do you see a gentleman standing next to me?” 

The young sheila looked at me, then Nash, and giggled.  “Yes, Professor, there’s a very handsome man standing right next to you.”

Nash nodded, stood and stashed his papers in his briefcase before pulling on his worn raincoat. We left Fine Hall and went out into the quad. “So, I suppose you’re wondering who I am.”

“I assumed you’d tell me when you felt it appropriate to do so,” Nash replied.

“My name is Terry Thorne, and I’ve been sent here to bring you home with me.”

“Home? Alicia asked you to give me a ride back? She didn’t say anything to me this morning.” Nash replied. He suddenly stopped in his tracks and studied the crossroad of sidewalk before them. “I always have to get my bearings here now. They’re renovating so much these days; it hardly looks like the Princeton I know.” I looked around. Sure, there were some obvious renovations, but most of the buildings still looked old and ivy-covered. “I know you think that sounds odd, but once you get used to a place, it’s hard to adjust to the changes.” I nodded and remained silent; it was clear that Nash was on a train of thought, and I didn’t want to interrupt. “I used to know this campus like the back of my hand. That’s an odd expression. Back of one’s hand. Who knows what the back of one’s hand looks like, do you?” He chuckled to himself, staring down at his hands.

“John, there’s something...” I began again.

“You know that building over there?” John continued, without acknowledging the interruption. He pointed to a nondescript modern brick building at the other end of the quad. “That used to be one of the mathematics lecture halls – now it houses administrative-something-or-other. Didn’t spend much time the classrooms, but underneath…now that was a different story.” He seemed to smile at the memory.

“Underneath?” Now my curiosity was piqued.

“Steam tunnels – there was an entrance in the basement of that building. There’s a whole network of them below the campus connecting all the buildings. The engineering students especially liked to play pranks – moving fellow students in their beds to the other side of campus – while they slept.”

“You did this, John?” I liked the thought of this bloke playing pranks, a streak of mischievousness he recognized.

“From time to time,” he responded with a sly smile. “But you were telling me why you had come here.”

I was taken aback by this sudden shift back to the topic. “Yes, John. I’m here to take you home to live with us.” As we continued our walk, I rendered my well rehearsed explanation of Central, of the Brothers gathering in a new place, and the Sisters who would take care of them. Nash said not a word; in fact, he appeared to be barely listening at all.

We walked in silence for some minutes, stopping at last at the rear of the building Nash had pointed out. “Do you understand what I’ve been saying, John?” I asked.

“Yes. And you think I am one of these brothers of yours. Me?” John stopped and looked at me in the eyes, the first time he had done so.

“Well,” Terry hesitated. There was something wrong. The others seemed to have a spark of recognition. Even if they were confused, they somehow knew and accepted his story. Nash’s eyes registered none of this. “I thought…you are John Forbes Nash, the mathematician, aren’t you?”

“That is indeed my name, but I don’t think I am the man who you seek. My life is here, with my wife and my students, here at Princeton.” He looked at his watch. “And my wife will be expecting me shortly. I must leave you now.” He bent over and pulled out some items from his briefcase, handing them to Terry. “These will help you. Good luck, Terry Thorne.” He shook Terry’s hand and walked away. Terry stared at him in disbelief as he disappeared out the campus gate.

It was only after Nash was out of sight that Terry looked at what Nash had given him: a map, and a flashlight. He looked carefully – it was a diagram of the steam tunnels that Nash had described with a head house just a few paces ahead. Terry walked over and tried the door to the head house – it was open. Down he went to a lower anteroom. Behind another door was an entrance to a tunnel. After taking a few minutes to study the map and get his bearings, Terry determined which pathway would best lead him to the red ‘X’ marked on the diagram. “Here goes,” he said quietly as he took a few steps into the tunnel. It was humid and a bit rank, but he soon adjusted to the odor and made his way down the tunnels. He could see how a student would find it such a lark to explore down here. Finally, after several twists and turns, he began to hear voices. As Terry drew closer, he saw the shadows of two men, one taller than the other, lit by the light of a lantern on the floor of the tunnel. He could soon make out what they were saying.

“John, I will not play this silly game with you any more. You always win. Let’s do something fun for a change,” said the taller one.

“Now Charles, it’s an easy game, but perhaps it’s too sophisticated for lesser mortals like you,” replied the one named John.

“Oh, that’s charming, John, simply charming,” laughed the one named Charles.

“Halloo,” Terry called out; the two men looked in his direction. Terry shone the flashlight in their faces. The face was very familiar, and not just in its resemblance to the older man with whom he’d just spoken. He appeared to be as young as some of the students he saw in the library.

John winced at the light shining in his eyes, so Terry lowered his flashlight, pointing it up to illuminate his own face. A look of recognition flashed in John’s eyes, and he walked over to Terry, hand outstretched. “Ah, there you are. What took you so long? Let’s go, you two.”

“John, aren’t you going to introduce us?” asked Charles.

“Why? Surely even you can tell we’re brothers. The rest is just details...what?” He paused, noticing the look the two were giving them. “Okay, okay, introduce yourselves.” He waved the two together.

“My name is Terry Thorne, and you are?”

“Charles Herman, roommate, raconteur and bon vivant,” Charles replied. “I’m to come with you, I think, to keep John on the straight and narrow. He can be a dick at times.” The two laughed together.

“Well, sure, okay,” Terry said with surprise. “Let’s go. I think we should go this way," he said, pointing in the direction from which he came.

John ignored him and headed off in the opposite direction. Terry and Charles soon caught up. “So these sisters," John began, “they do know I can be somewhat direct, don’t they? They won’t be put off by my way of speaking?”

“No worries, mate, you’ll be fine. They’re an understanding lot, especially where we brothers are concerned.”

“That’s good. I’m hoping not too much demanding social interaction is necessary before they will engage in intercourse with me.”

“John! You have to at least try,” Charles laughed. “See why he needs me?”

Terry laughed. Yep. This was the right guy.