Beautiful strangers

He was on his way to the university where he had been working since graduation. Being a physics major was difficult, but Xavier dreamed of better understanding the workings of particles, so that in the future it would be possible to explain their nature in the world and, perhaps, to create an apparatus that could capture them. The car came to a stop at the gates. He had a lecture in the classroom. He took everything he needed and, as he walked through the wide corridors, nodding to the professors who passed by, he met Margarita, his colleague. "Oh, Xavier, you're ten minutes late, how unusual of you. She smiled maliciously, clasping her hands and narrowing her eyes. Xavier just opened the door to the auditorium, ignoring her. —Ah, well, what an ignoramus... he won't learn manners," she muttered, twisting her face in displeasure, tapped her heel and walked away. Her gorgeous blonde hair was neatly styled. Meanwhile, many students stood up when they saw Xavier. He put his briefcase on the table and nodded. After waiting for the audience to calm down, he spoke: "Hello everyone. As you remember, last time we completed a topic that I believe is a bridge between classical mechanics and more complex areas such as continuum mechanics and thermodynamics." He slowly looked around the room, as if checking to see if the students really remembered what they had discussed. "After we've covered the fundamentals of classical mechanics, including Newton's laws, rigid body motion, and rotational dynamics, we've moved on to continuum mechanics. Here, we no longer view matter as a collection of individual particles but rather as a continuous medium. Xavier picked up a piece of chalk and drew smooth lines representing fluid flow on the blackboard. "We've discussed the properties of liquids and gases and how their motion is governed by the equations of hydrodynamics. For example, Bernoulli's equation is a remarkable result that relates pressure, flow velocity, and height in a flow of an ideal fluid. It explains why an airplane can rise into the air and why water flows faster in narrow sections of pipes. He turned the page of the note-book. — Then we moved on to thermodynamics. Its three laws are not just formulas, they are the philosophy of physics. The first law, the law of conservation of energy, tells us that energy does not disappear or appear out of nowhere. The second law introduces the concept of entropy, a measure of the disorder of a system. And yes, no matter how hard we try, entropy always increases in a closed system. The third law states that at absolute zero temperature, the entropy of a system tends to a constant minimum. He looked at the students with a slight half-smile. “Last time we also touched on heat engines and how they convert heat into work. In the next lecture we will go further and look at how these laws apply to modern technological systems – from steam turbines to quantum refrigerators. Xavier adjusted his spectacles with a deliberate motion, allowing his gaze to sweep over the lecture hall. The faint ticking of the wall clock mingled with the distant hum of the radiator, as though the room itself were waiting for the next chapter in the unfolding symphony of knowledge. “Having thus concluded our exploration of mechanics and thermodynamics,” he began, his voice resonating with the calm authority of a man well-versed in his subject, “we now turn to a domain of physics that binds the invisible with the observable — Electromagnetism and the Theory of Light.” He moved toward the tall blackboard, his shoes producing a muted echo against the polished wooden floor. With a measured hand, he chalked a series of elegant symbols and arrows, the white lines stark against the dark surface. “It is here, gentlemen and ladies,” he continued, “that the abstractions of vector analysis and the formidable constructs of tensor calculus become not mere curiosities of mathematics, but indispensable tools for deciphering nature’s grand design.” Xavier paused, the faint dust of chalk still clinging to his fingertips, and let the weight of his words linger in the air. “Electromagnetism,” he said, turning toward the audience with a faint gleam in his eyes, “is not merely the study of forces between charges — it is the language by which light itself is understood.” The lecture stretched on, unfolding with the precision of a well-tailored argument. Equations flowed into diagrams, diagrams into analogies, until the room seemed a small theatre in which the play of Maxwell’s laws and wave theory took the stage. At last, after nearly an hour, Xavier laid down the chalk and clasped his hands behind his back. “Now then,” he said with a faint smile, “I should be most obliged to entertain your questions.” A young man in the second row rose from his seat, his notebook clutched tightly. “Sir, if light is an electromagnetic wave, does that mean it requires a medium to travel, as sound does?” Xavier inclined his head slightly. “An excellent question. Once, physicists believed in the luminiferous aether as such a medium. Yet the Michelson–Morley experiment, and later Einstein’s theory of relativity, compelled us to discard that notion. Light, unlike sound, requires no material carrier — it moves through the very fabric of space itself.” Another hand rose — a young woman with keen, calculating eyes. “Professor, how does this connect to the behavior of particles at the quantum level?” A faint chuckle escaped him, the kind born of genuine appreciation. “Ah, Miss Duval, you have peered ahead into the next act of our drama. The union of electromagnetism and quantum theory shall lead us into the realm of quantum electrodynamics — but that, I am afraid, is a tale for another day.” He closed his notes with a gentle thump, and the soft murmur of the students signaled the end of the day’s journey through light and field. As Xavier stepped out into the colonnaded courtyard, the waning light of the afternoon cast long shadows along the flagstones. There, amidst the slow-moving tide of students, he caught sight of a familiar figure — Jean-Baptiste, his most accomplished pupil. With measured steps, Xavier closed the distance and halted before him. Jean turned, his face brightening instantly upon recognizing his professor. Jean: « Oh, Monsieur Lamarque, avez-vous besoin de quelque chose de moi ? » ("Oh, Monsieur Lamarque, do you need something from me?") Xavier: « Ah, oui, vous avez raison. J’ai lu votre travail et il m’a beaucoup impressionné. Vous savez, j’aimerais vous proposer quelque chose, Jean. » ("Ah yes, you are right. I have read your work, and it impressed me greatly. You know, I should like to propose something to you, Jean.") Xavier rubbed the bridge of his nose, then slipped his hands into the deep pockets of his coat. Jean, pleasantly surprised and already curious as to what might be asked of him, gave a small nod. Before long, they were seated in the university refectory, surrounded by the gentle clink of porcelain and the low murmur of scholarly conversations. Jean stirred sugar into his coffee, while Xavier regarded him steadily from across the table. Jean: « Eh bien, qu’est-ce que vous vouliez, Monsieur Lamarque ? » ("Well then, what was it you wanted, Monsieur Lamarque?") Xavier: « Je voulais vous proposer quelque chose, Jean. Je sais que vous êtes le meilleur ici. Ne voudriez-vous pas vous rapprocher de moi et m’aider ? » ("I wanted to offer you something, Jean. I know you are the best here. Would you not wish to work more closely with me and assist me?") Jean: « En quoi ? » ("In what?") Xavier: « Devenir mon aspirant. » ("To become my doctoral aspirant.") Jean: « Sérieusement ? Vous ne plaisantez pas ? » ("Seriously? You are not joking?") Xavier: « Non… et ai-je l’air de plaisanter ? » ("No… and do I look as though I am joking?") Jean chuckled softly, reminded of how literal and direct his professor could be. Jean: « Eh bien, je suis honoré par cette proposition, vraiment ! Et j’ai justement quelque chose en tête : développer un modèle mathématique qui décrit comment les photons — ces particules de lumière — se dispersent sur les électrons libres. Ce phénomène, connu sous le nom de diffusion Compton, a été découvert en 1923, mais il nécessite encore une compréhension théorique plus profonde dans le cadre de la nouvelle mécanique quantique. » ("Well, I am honoured by the offer, truly! And I do have something in mind: to develop a mathematical model describing how photons — these particles of light — scatter upon free electrons. This phenomenon, known as Compton scattering, was discovered in 1923, but it still requires deeper theoretical understanding within the framework of the new quantum mechanics.") Xavier’s gaze sharpened, the corners of his mouth hinting at the faintest trace of a smile. Jean sat in the dimly lit study, his hands folded upon the polished oak desk. The air was thick with the faint aroma of pipe tobacco and the rustle of papers. Across from him, Monsieur Lemaire leaned back in his armchair, his eyes glinting in the lamplight. Monsieur Lemaire (calmly, with a faint smile): "You have a bright future ahead of you, Jean. You know, I could keep an eye on you — guide you — and in return, you might lend me your assistance. For your research, you would have to employ the intricate mathematical apparatus of the quantum theory of fields, which has only just begun to take shape. This would involve work with operators, Hilbert spaces, and wave functions." Jean shifted slightly in his seat, his brow furrowed yet his lips curving into a faint, earnest smile. Jean (with a nod): "Ah, indeed, sir — you are quite right." Monsieur Lemaire leaned forward now, resting his elbows upon his knees, his voice lowering as though confiding a secret. Monsieur Lemaire: "It shall be no light undertaking, my boy. But I will help you draw nearer to the day when you may call yourself a man of science." Jean exhaled slowly, as if weighing the weight of that promise, his gaze lingering on the yellowed maps and chalked equations that adorned the walls, each one whispering of worlds unseen. Jean straightened his notes, preparing to leave the study, when Xavier gave him a small, approving nod. Xavier: "Tu peux y aller, Jean. Nous nous verrons demain." (You may go, Jean. We shall see each other tomorrow.) Jean paused mid-step, turning back with a sudden thought. Jean: "À propos, professeur… J’ai appris que c’était vous qui aviez appelé l’ambulance pour mon petit frère. Je vous suis vraiment reconnaissant — je n’ai même pas pu vous remercier !" (By the way, Professor… I learned it was you who called the ambulance for my little brother. I am truly grateful — I never even had the chance to thank you!) Xavier froze. His mind drifted back to that day — the day he had been driving his Bugatti Type 57. ✧ ✦ ───── ❦ ───── ✦ ✧ ✦ As always, his gaze had been fixed on the passing scenery, when a sudden motion caught his eye — a boy plummeting from above, fleeing from a pack of dogs. Xavier ordered Marcel to stop. He stepped out, emerald eyes scanning downward, only to be met with the ghastly sight of the injured youth sprawled below. Without hesitation, Xavier returned to the car and instructed Marcel to take him to the police station. Marcel, puzzled, obeyed at once. Upon arrival, Xavier strode into the station, the officers glancing up in mild bewilderment. He explained the situation, his voice clipped but urgent. Within moments, they had placed a call to the ambulance via the desk sergeant. When the medics arrived and retrieved the boy from the canal, Xavier stood by, watching with a troubled frown as they lifted him onto the stretcher. The stench was overpowering — so much so that Xavier turned away quickly, retreating to the car. Xavier (quietly to Marcel): "Allons à la maison." (Let’s go home.) Marcel glanced at him through the mirror, noting the pallor in his face. Marcel: "Monsieur, vous ne devriez pas vous inquiéter autant. Tout ira bien pour lui." (Sir, you should not worry so much. Everything will be fine for him.) Xavier: "Non, Marcel… il m’est très difficile de voir de telles choses." (No, Marcel… it is very difficult for me to look upon such things.) Marcel: "Ah… alors j’espère qu’une bonne tasse de thé chaud apaisera vos nerfs." (Ah… then I hope a good cup of hot tea will calm your nerves.) The night draped its dark velvet over Grenoble, while the stars shone above like silent witnesses. The Bugatti purred through the quiet streets until at last they reached the wrought-iron gates of the villa. Marcel stepped out, opened Xavier’s door with a courteous bow. Marcel: "Je vous en prie, Monsieur." (After you, Sir.) Xavier nodded faintly, crossed the marble foyer, and was relieved of his coat by the household staff. Shoes removed, he was informed that tonight’s supper was wild boar. In the kitchen, he found his brother Gabriel — the only true family he had left — seated by the fire, fingers idly tapping a piano score. Xavier took the head of the long oak table. Gabriel: "Bonsoir, mon frère. Tu as toujours l’air taillé dans la pierre." (Good evening, brother. You always look as if carved from stone.) Xavier: "Merci, Gabriel. Je vois que tu es déjà dans les débuts de ton… nouvel élan créatif ?" (Thank you, Gabriel. I see you are already in the early throes of some… new inspiration?) Gabriel: "Ah, tu as remarqué. Je travaille sur une nouvelle mélodie. Je l’appellerai Aurora Sonata No. 3." (Ah, you noticed. I am working on a new melody. I shall call it Aurora Sonata No. 3.)