The Ologist sat alone in the
corner of the large study room. The walls curved just like his back: in an
unnatural state as he leaned over to read his book, glasses threatening to drop
off the edge of his nose. All the contents of this room seemed focused on him,
slanted in a surreal state to stretch out towards him, as reaching to touch
him. Unmistakably he was having trouble with the large edition placed on the
mahogany coffee table in front of him because his dark eyebrows stitched
together every few seconds and he was murmuring under his breath, lips moving
softly. The book had been well kept, the words “Ology” printed neatly on the
binder in gold print. The pages were still readable, edges curled slightly. His
dark eyes skimmed the yellow pages slowly and every now and then he would tug
at his hair which was sprinkled with grey and white hairs. The lines on his
dark skin shone in the light of the lamp as he leaned back, closing his eyes
for a moment.

The Ologist was a man – who
before this moment in time- knew everything. He understood the true essence of
life in all of us: The Ology of the world. On the opposite side of the curious
room, a fan turned slowly around, the propellers merging into one shape. Heat was
blown around the room, just managing to keep it reasonable cool. Beads of sweat
began to form on the Ologist’s brow as the large antique clock chimed mid-day.
The sun’s rays dripped through the curtains and scattered glowing light across
the wooden floor. Tiny grains of dust could be seen spinning in the light in
endless, never ending circles.

I stepped forward, coughing
slightly to gain his attention “Hello, Ologist,” I said politely “we are glad
of your return to the village” My words came out slightly more formal than I
had meant them to be. Coughing again, I watched the old man cautiously. The
Ologist stared at the blankly for a few seconds, his eyes scanning me for
anything he recognized. He hadn’t been in the village for a decade now; people
had grown a lot since then. The Ologist was still, though, the crown jewel of
the village. People admired the fact a Sudanese man from a rural village would
hold the key to knowledge.

I relaxed slightly as a
flicker went through his eyes. Placing the book down, he turned his whole body
in my direction. “Ahmed.” He spoke in a voice which sounded like sand paper
rubbing together “Where is mama?”

“Down by the Nile, Grandpa.
She wishes to come a visit you another time” I said, shuffling my feet slightly
as he inspected me closer now. I looked down at my sandy boots and gulped
slightly, feeling as if they were out of place in the grand house. The book on
the coffee table, though, still was catching my eye every few seconds.

“And what about papa?” The
Ologist asked slowly, looking me up and down again. His eyes lingered longer on
my boots as I made an effort to run the sand off one with the other. My throat
buckled slightly when I tried to speak and I felt my face warming up “He died
five years ago, Grandpapa” I said sadly. I was twelve the last time I had seen
him, mama still forbid me to ask about the cause of his death. A dark silence
had fallen over our family.

The Ologist nodded his mind
absent from our conversation. Hot anger began to form inside of me as he opened
his book again and was engrossed in the writing. I began to edge closer to him,
curious. The book was still the main attraction in the room, apart from
Grandpa. I started to sit down opposite the Ologist, hoping he would notice me
once again. Unfortunately, he decided to turn the page instead. I still
couldn’t quite focus on the book and so I leaned closer.

The words were in perfect
handwriting, the black ink flowing across the pages like water. I leaned in
further, trying to read the first words but they made no sense. Frowning, I
leaned so close my nose was almost touching the pages. That’s when I noticed my
grandpa, the Ologist, looking at me.

“Do you read English, boy?”
He asked. I felt a red blush creeping up my face as I shook my head silently,
eyes still on the book.

“Do you read?” The Ologist
asked. His voice made me cringe slightly, the annoying texture making my reply
hinted with annoyance “I do not read any language, sir. I do not go to school.
“

The Ologist frowned “But
without school you will achieve nothing.” He said dismissively. I felt as if he
had doomed me to a life as a young village man with no life. I looked at him
and frowned, nose crinkling slightly. Looking down at Ology and up at the
Ologist I thought of something which formed a smile. Standing up, I took a step
back.

“No, there are always things
school can’t teach us and books can never tell us.” I said, nodding to ‘Ology’.
The crinkled pages were flickering slightly as the fan spun round, head facing
us. I stood there staring at the Ologist for a very long time as he studied me.
He slowly touched the leather binding and closed ‘Ology’, placing the book on
the lowest shelf of the study. Standing up again, he smiled and left the room,
dragging all his secrets with him.