Written by Sammy O.
Not to be copied by anyone except by the written permission of the author.
Any illegal storage or copying will attract a lawsuit against trespassers.


Chapter One
THE BACKGROUND OF HOPE
Hope would be leaving home to live permanently in the Island of Greatness. He was the last son of Mr. and Mrs. Mediocrity who lived at plot 11, Average Street, Happy-Go-Lucky town.
In Happy-Go-Lucky, Average Street was the lengthiest , having countless houses, among which were the Abandoned Abode and Dungalow Bungalow (an ugly bungalow which was formerly a refuse site where the Hoodlum family lived). Duplicity duplex, where Mr. Cheat and his family lived was also a notable structure in Happy-Go-Lucky town.
The Dilapidation dwellingplace, little Hope's home, seemed the worst of all in Happy-Go-Lucky, since its shored-up tall muddy walls wouldn't cease to fall frequently due to the many wide cracks on them. The wooden eaves of the roof of the Dilapidation dwellingplace had fallen off several times for their weaknesses, but the Mediocres had paid little attention to it, since they had no money to put it right again. The smallest but mightiest of all was the Hurt huts, the diminutive huts where Mother Witch and her ten tenants lived. The dwellers of the Hurt huts had never had rest, living all their lives wrestling one another and extending their tussles to the rest of the residences in the street, and in the town altogether. While the Hoodlum family posed huge resistance to the Hurt dwellers, the Mediocrity family remained the most vulnerable to their attacks, since their fences weren't strong enough to serve as defence.
To get to the Island of Greatness, Little Hope must need to cross the River of Achievement believed to be somewhere around the outskirt of Happy-Go-Lucky town. But how he would cross it had not crossed his mind.
Alacrity was the firstborn of the Mediocres, but premature death would not let him get to his destination (the Island of Greatness), having tendered his life for death to tend at a tender age in a water accident. Little Hope was the sole soul who could narrate the sorry story of the sudden saddening demise of his eldest brother so well. When telling it those days, he had said, '' Alacrity my brother died due to his over-eagerness to get to the Island of Greatness. Alacrity was filled with enthusiasm when he first discovered that there was a city flowing with meat and money called the Island of Greatness. Without seeking the elderly counsel of Father Sage, that poor old priest living in the little cottage called Dotage cottage down the street, Alacrity began his journey to the Island of Greatness immediately.''
Alacrity had only tramped few miles when he met the triplets called Goodwill, Goodwish and Gooddream who vowed to wow him and accompany him through the right miles with bright smiles on their white faces that night. They hadn't trekked long distance when they ran into a bad lad called Badmanner, who began immediately to let them know that life was not all about crossing the River of Achievement.
'' There is a shortcut to the Island of Greatness without passing through the River of Achievement,'' announced Badmanner and Alacrity paid rapt attention to hear more of the seemingly good news uttered by the bad lad. Gladly, but unfortunately, Alacrity received the bad lad's mad fad and readily agreed in greed to go with him through the shortcut.
''Is there not a shortcut to the shortcut you're talking about?'' asked Alacrity interestingly and Badmanner replied ''There is'' and began to lead them to the forbidden River of Haste in haste. Alacrity turned around to observe the round faces of his three passive friends and asked, ''My kind friends, would you mind coming with me to the River of Haste?''
''Of course yes!'' replied Goodwill, Goodwish and Gooddream concurrently. ''All we want is to see you get to the Island of Greatness, and it doesn't matter to us the route you take to get there.''
Hardly had they reached the bank of the River of Haste when Alacrity wanted to plummet into it with a backflip to begin his forward journey to the island, but Badmanner held him quickly and hollered, ''Alas! Alack! Only clever people can make it through the forbidden River of Haste. You'll need to be--''
''It's enough my friend!'' Alacrity barged in..

“I've got nothing to say,” he confessed, yet in his mind he had a lot of confusions stumbling upon one another. They were the feelings of anger, wrath, indignation and bitterness.

“It means your definition is wrong, Henry. You can leave now.” The dean gnawed his fingernails. He was waiting patiently for Henry's departure but it never went that way.

“I said leave, since you insist on lying and I hate liars.”

“So do I,” said Henry with no trace of humor in his tone, “Sir why not put me to test and see what I'm talking 'bout?” The man expressed elation over his statement. He felt that he should give it a trial immediately.

“Uh—test you isn't it? Oops! That sounds sensible to me!” he exclaimed, directing his swivel chair swiftly toward the shelf. He rose up immediately from it, scrambling his hands through the top of the shelf in search of something. In a short moment, he had gotten a handful of books.

“Henry, I'm going to test you as you've said. Here are books, different in sizes, shapes and contents—styles—of different disciplines and publishers; Gynecology, Mathematics, Psychology—”

“Library of literatures,” Henry interrupted.
You are at it again Henry, trying to summarize it up, huh,” said the dean as he kept on with the selection. “Yes I found it!” he howled almost immediately. Presenting a book to the boy, he said, “Have it.” He made a loud sigh when Henry received it.

“It took me six good days to master what's in it,” confessed the dean in a genuine manner. “So—you want to prove to me that you can study it once and master all that's in it, innit?” asked the man once more, to be sure of what he thought he had earlier heard from the boy.

“Yeah,” replied Henry, already perusing the front page.

“Just read only the first chapter—” instructed the dean, “for time factor,” he added. Henry read silently to his own hearing alone. In five minutes he was through with the wordy chapter, and he raised his head to indicate that he was done with it.

“So quick!” the man yelled, “Close it.” Henry obeyed, handing it over to him after he had closed it.

“It's going to be great shock for me—” he drew in breath, “if you're able to answer these questions I'm 'bout asking you from it correctly.” He began to ask him various questions, which Henry was warding off in a succinct manner. Being enormously startled by Henry's level of adroitness, the man screamed:

“How come? I'm quite sure you've never in your life studied gynecology—how come you could supply the answers as precise as they are in the book?”

“That's what I'm talking about,” whispered Henry in a shy manner, apprehensively waiting to hear him speak. The man lowered his gaze again to fix it at the book, then he persisted in asking the questions until he was satisfied (when Henry got one of them wrong) that he had achieved his aims.

“Henry d'you know what?”

“What?” he asked, slightly nervous.

“You're a genius!” commented the man, looking rapturously at him—amazed and horrified.
Henry said, “Genius? Even after getting a question wrong?”

“Hey, don't be fooled young man. The one you missed was not related to gynecology at all—not in the book, let alone the chapter you've just read,” divulged the man, chuckling silently. Henry smiled and said ‘No wonder’ in his mind.

The dean had asked Henry the question he got wrong so as to prevent him from getting all. It was his usual practice to do such a thing whenever he was to put questions forward. No one had ever scored a hundred percent in his courses, because of the 'out-of-syllabus' questions he was wont to including in them.

“You belong to the genus of geniuses!” the dean exclaimed.
Henry replied, “Sir, you don't mean it!”

“I'm serious! I am called Wilson G for a specific reason—can you guess what that G signifies?”

“Don't know,” Henry replied. He did not want to be roped in a fresh discussion. He was yearning to get out of his office, at least to feel the natural ambience outside there once again. The man persuaded Henry to say something but he made it clear that he was not good at guessing.

“C'mon, try a guess.”
Henry nodded in disapproval.

“Okay, just say whatever you like.”

“Goat—it stands for goat,” said Henry.

“Keep shut!” cried the dean. “What d'you take me for? I ain’t Goat!”

“I'm sorry, that's what I like. You asked me to say whatever I like.”

“I mean sensible thing!”

“I like goat, that's why,” Henry said politely.

“You like goat?” the dean was puzzled.

“Yes sir. Why do you ask?”

The man kept silent, looking at Henry as if he was a weirdo.

“Then you must be stubborn—” deduced the man and coughed, “like a goat.”

“Maybe—If you say so.”
The dean rose to his feet and said, “Henry I've got a lot of seminars to deliver within two weeks, on Physics, Gynecology, Astronomy—I've got to get prepared for them all.” He faced Henry squarely and said, “That G I'm talking about stands for Genius—you know what?”

“No sir,” said Henry, slightly waving his hands to show that he did not know 'what was what'.

“I'm transferring that G to you right away because you're genuinely a genius.” The man was serious about it. Henry took his words for flattery.

“You don’t mean it, I know,” said Henry.

“Why should I flatter you Henry? Hear me, I can see in you the mark of a genius—as from now you ain’t Henry White anymore, but Henry G— accepted?”

“Provided that G of yours stands for goat,” Henry replied while the man was still speaking. Now it dawned on the man that he was only dealing with an obstinate fellow.

“Don't make fun of the whole thing,” the dean said exasperatedly.
Factually, Henry was not trying to be funny; he had developed predilections for goats since the time he had read the history of Alexander the Great. While reading in those days, he came to know the insignia of Alexander’s power—Goat horn! Thus Henry’s love for goats was developed.
Finally, the professor cleared his phlegmy throat as he was set to say something.

“Henry G—” he called him, “I’ve asked you to come here for a purpose—your result. You’re the best overall in your set, with a single B and the rest A’s so far…You know what?” said the man impatiently, not waiting for a response as he continued, “You’re not alone in this race. You’ve got a rival.” Henry’s countenance changed instantly to a resentful one.

“He’s in the Petroleum Engineering—currently, his CGPA tallies with yours.” Henry was not going to let anyone beat him to it, so he queried gravely, “Professor who’s he? I mean what’s his name?”

“Name?” asked the dean as if traumatized, “Don’t know,” the man lied. “I sent for him just two days ago—told him what I’m about to tell you now.”

"What’s that?” said Henry showing great concern momentarily.

“Well… It’s nothing,” the dean said and paused, not knowing exactly the best way to present it. “Just this—how will it be if a man like me and you can be so much endowed with knowledge to the extent of knowing what’s going to happen in the future?”

“Future?” said Henry in an impervious approach. “I think that’s no new thing. Doctors can predict the aftermath of some diseases and—” he paused to cough, “periods of childbirth. Meteorologists can tell the weather—psychologists—they read the mind…”

“Hold it!” cried the man uneasily. “Not talking about that here, something else. Henry, I mean the power of the universe, to monitor people and things without the satellite—controlling whosoever’s life you wish; lots more.” It sounded complex to the boy.

“I—I don’t seem to understand!” he exclaimed.

“Okay—take for instance someone’s going to gun you down, but you’ve seen that couple of hours ago, before the act was going to be perpetrated, are you still going to die?” said the dean, stressing his last phrase more than the rest in the complex sentence he had uttered, perhaps to serve as a mean to some ends.

“Not at all sir!” Henry replied at once, “I’ll rather prevent it—if I can.”

“That’s exactly what I’m saying,” the dean deduced, smiling affectionately, “A genius like you with this power I’m telling you about will definitely be invincible in all walks of life.”
Henry yawned—then he spoke:

“Sure?”

“Definitely! That guy isn’t going to be match f’you, because you’ll become an extraordinary genius…after getting the power.”

“Is he a genius too?” asked Henry in a very inquisitive attitude, in a way not usual with him.

“Yeah—,” he replied, then smiled as he added “but not a wise one” shaking his head in a manner that was suggesting that the chap he was talking about was not wise enough for him to have rejected his offer.

“But why?” Henry wanted to know.

“He’s never wanting this power I’ve just told you of. I told him about it, but the fool rebuffed sharply, telling me he wasn’t interested in getting any power.” Henry had deduced something from the man’s assertion just now. If he should reject the offer before him now, he was sure that the dean would talk ill of him to another too. However, Henry never made his fear conspicuous, rather he asked “Why?” and got a reply through the man’s body language—a shrug of the shoulder, meaning that he did not know why the said genius had rejected the offer. Silence followed but the dean turned it around so soon:

“Over to you Henry—” he said and sniffed, “d’you need this power? It’ll help you,” the man enticed, leaving Henry in a state of vacillation.

“Power,” recapitulated Henry in an almost inaudible voice, clicking the table with the longest finger on his right hand.
“Yeah power,” replied the dean, maintaining the tempo, “That guy isn’t going to be match for you.”
A long silence descended into the office as Henry fell into a serious reminiscence…

CHAPTER ONE

Trouble Begins

“I sent for you,” Professor Wilson said.

“Yes sir,” Henry replied, he had conjectured what the man would say next.

“You've got an idea why I sent for you?”

“No inkling,” he replied. He did not want to declare his guess for the fear that it could be wrong.

“Hmm! You've checked it, isn't it?”

“Yes of course.”

“Tell me something 'bout it.”

“Well I'll say it's fine, all A's,” replied Henry but with a puckered face. It seemed as though he wasn’t pleased with the scene. The man was not looking at his face, so he was not observing anything.

“Boy, you've got to work tirelessly now to maintain such great result. You've got three semesters to keep your head on the dean's list—or what d'you think?”

“I'm alright,” replied the boy.

“How would you maintenance your good performance?”
Henry lingered in his sudden muteness. He wasn't ready to say something.

“Speak to me dudes!” cried the irked man. Henry was not able to keep mute any longer, so he spoke:

“Well…I'll just keep doing it exactly as I've been doin' it— that's all.” The boy spoke tersely as usual with him anytime he wasn’t enjoying a conversation.

“How have you been doing it?”

“Studying of course!” Henry replied, “Just like anyone else.

“How many times before an exam do you study a particular subject?”
Henry became cold. He didn't like sharing the secret because of its unfavourable consequences in the past. Nobody had ever believed it.

“Talk to me,” the man persuaded. Henry wouldn't speak. He just bowed his head and stared vacantly at the floor as if expecting the response to germinate from it.

“I'm a busy man—got no time to waste, boy!” cried the gutted man, having lost patience.
Henry spoke and coughed along, the same time. The sound of his cough swallowed his speech and made it inaudible.

“I can't hear you,” said the dean. “Repeat, please.”

“Just once and I don't repeat,” Henry replied.

The dean was shocked.

“Hey, you said such to me, your dean? Telling me you can't repeat your speech? Are you out of your mind?” the man vociferated.

“You've misconstrued me sir. I only said that I studied each course once and never have to go back to them again for revision or whatever,” he explained. The dean burst into a loud laughter; Henry's reply had sounded incredible to him. He spoke amidst the laughter, “What do you take me for—a fool?” he paused and resumed later, “Alright, and how many days do you spend on a subject— to cover it up?”

“Days? I don't spend days—only few minutes and that's all with such course for the semester,” he replied, looking embarrassingly at his dean as he thought of the repercussion of his factual statement. The man's mouth was wide agape. He soon found his voice.

“So… what you're trying to say is that you study each subject once, within an hour, and the whole thing gets stuck to your brain just like that, even till the examination days?” Henry nodded in affirmation and the dean continued, “Got a magnet in there?” The dean pointed to Henry's forehead in a highly puzzled manner. Silence followed! The boy was feeling uneasy; therefore he was willing to hasten up the conversation:

“You won't believe it, just as no one had. Sir, can I go now?” Henry asked as he rose up.

“You ain't walking outta here except you tell me the truth, so please have your seat,” the man said ushering Henry back to the rocking chair he was once sitting on. The boy sank into it again.

“Now listen young man, you needn't tell lies to someone like me—” he paused abruptly to swallow his spittle. “Long years' experiences can tell if you are lying or not. I've been to many universities around the globe, both as student and as lecturer. I studied gynecology in Germany, Mathematics in Mauritius, History in India—even here in the US, California precisely, I studied Physics.” He sighed and resumed few seconds later.

“I read six courses all through it, came out with distinctions in all, but yet not seen anyone with a magnetic brain. Now stop the joke and tell me something factual for God's sake,” he shouted and banged the table concurrently in annoyance. Henry was gripped with nervousness. He kept mute in apprehension. “What am I going to say?” he thought.

“Ain't you going to say something?”

“I've said it already sir.”

“Stop kidding dude, you're lying to me?”

“It's the truth sir.”

“You lie,” whispered the man in a voice almost out of earshot.

“It's the truth sir.”

“I said you lie,” the man bawled.

“I'm not sir. I—” he was interrupted. “Then I lie!” the dean voiced out.

“You don't,” said Henry immediately.

“Then I'm right I said you lie!” shouted the dean.

“No sir,” he maintained.

“If I'm not lying and you're not lying too, then who is?”
Henry knew what the man was trying to drive at. He was speechless.

“Gerrout now dude! Can't bear liars—I hate them.”

“So do I,” Henry professed apprehensively.

“You do?”
Henry replied quickly, “Yes I do.”

“You mean you do?” the professor pestered him.

“Of course yes!”

“Then you should hate yourself—you can leave now,” he said with fury, eyes red in anger, just like those of a sot who had not recovered yet
from inebriation. It was a usual thing for the man to lose his temper. Even over trivial issues, he would go about shouting very loud. But the dean was not the kind of person one would think he was, in term of his oft choleric display. He was a cool-headed fellow, though sometimes his temper, if tampered with, could go out of hand.
The Professor had lost his housewife Lily to divorce and was now left with a mistress called Rose. It happened just two weeks back. A professor of his caliber needn't worry his head over a lady, he had once thought. “I've got tons of them asking me out.”
The man was forty-four but he looked much older than his age. When asked why, he explained that his days on earth had been occupied with serious studies, which had made him appear older than his age.

“You should rather hate yourself,” he concluded. “Now leave!”
Henry lingered, trying to make a protest:

“I—I'm telling…”
The dean cut him short:

“I'm a Professor of physics; do you know what that means?” he boasted.

“Yes I think I know,” Henry replied.

“What's it?” the dean asked, looking at his student's eyes.

“Your brain is as developed as that of Albert Einstein,” Henry said.

“Far more developed,” added the dean, “Einstein lived in the past but I live in the present when technology is at its peak. I'm far more civilized—got more formulae than him because millions of theories emerged even after his existence and I've got them all in here,” he prided himself on, clicking his skull, unaware of the flashes of light probably having their source from something somewhere outside the office. Henry noticed the flickers but did not afford his brain enough time to guess what they were, though it had registered into his sub consciousness.

“Young dude, inside here dwell six disciplines, hot and intact,” the dean spoke on, still clicking his skull with the index finger of his right hand, but in a more intense manner now, “You try discussing gynecology I'm with you, or you want to tell histories, I'll sure beat you to it. Astronomy, Psychology, all's intact here Henry,” he bragged incessantly, pacing about in the office. On resuming he said, “D'you know my point? All through these acquisitions, I studied very hard, spending time…and time…and time…”

“Time times time, isn't it?” intruded Henry tersely, trying to hasten him up with the wit he had just employed. The man got the message; Henry had just summarized his monotonous words mathematically. He was always at his best at that—sometimes with the aid of mnemonic.
Henry was staring at the man now, realizing what he had just done. The dean was not angry at all.

“Hmm! This boy, you're good at manipulating words,” said the dean. He had been impressed by Henry's sound ability. “Just keep it up—uh!”
Henry was trying each moment to avoid eye contacts with the dean. When he could not, he lowered his head slightly and stared blankly at the floor, eyes absentminded but ears at alert, expecting to hear the man speak again.

“Young chap—I got everything I got by hardwork. Are you trying to say that one can achieve success without thorough studies? It's a blatant lie!”

“Well,” spoke Henry, “It depends on your personal definition of working hard; I define mine as doing what you know best to give you success.” Henry smiled. He thought the man wouldn’t be able to beat that. He was shocked when the professor looked critically at him and laughed. He said, “Then it means those who cheat in exams are hardworking, aren't they?”

“I—I…” Henry stammered. He could not back up his argument. He gave up eventually.

“Speak let me hear,” the man laughed quizzically at him.

Copyright active.
This story is Sammy O. property. If copy of its softwares or hardcopy is found within your possession without the author's permission, then get ready for a legal suit.


Happy reading:

CHAPTER ONE
TROUBLE BEGINS

CHAPTER TWO
REMINISCING

CHAPTER THREE
INITIATED

CHAPTER FOUR
THE SEVENTH QUESTION

CHAPTER FIVE
THE PROFESSOR’S RETRIBUTION

CHAPTER SIX
RECEPTION BY DECEPTION

CHAPTER SEVEN
THE PROFESSOR’S AWARD

CHAPTER EIGHT
WINKIE

CHAPTER NINE
JEFF VERSUS CHEUNG

CHAPTER TEN
HARRISON BURTON

CHAPTER ELEVEN
HENRY MET GRANDWALA

CHAPTER TWELVE
STARVING IN GYRUS

CHAPTER THIRTEEN
HARRISON VERSUS KIM

CHAPTER FOURTEEN
HALLOWEEN GHOST

CHAPTER FIFTEEN
JOURNEY TO SELEMIS

CHAPTER SIXTEEN
JOURNEY TO NILE RIVER

CHAPTER SEVENTEEN
DOUBLE FOOLS

CHAPTER EIGHTEEN
WHERE IS KENT ROBINS?

CHAPTER NINETEEN
CRAZY TRICK

CHAPTER TWENTY
THE YOUNGER TED

CHAPTER TWENTY-ONE
HE WHO SLAPS LAST

CHAPTER TWENTY-TWO
EVANGELIST ROBINSON

CHAPTER TWENTY-THREE
TRICKING THE TRICKSTERS

CHAPTER TWENTY-FOUR
TIME TO SETTLE THE SCORE

CHAPTER TWENTY-FIVE
NEW TED VERSUS OLD RAUL

CHAPTER TWENTY-SIX
HENRY AND LADY HEN

CHAPTER TWENTY-SEVEN
HARRIED HARRISON

CHAPTER TWENTY-EIGHT
CATCH 22