“I was six,” he said. “We were learning addition. Two plus two equals four. Only I was thinking…”
He swallowed and watched his fingers.
“Take one point five. That rounds to two. But one point five and one point five is three. Two and two could be three.”
He shoved his hands away and stared at the ceiling.
“Or two point four…” His voice was hurried now. “Double that is four point eight, and that’s five,” he said.
He glanced at her. Her lack of reaction was purely professional. He slumped. “In fact, if you consider the whole problem space, you’ve only got a fifty-fifty chance of two and two being four.”
He was quiet then for a long time.
“Is that,” she said, “when things started to become…” She checked her notes. “Indeterminate?”
He nodded. His eyes were wet. “Things have been uncertain ever since,” he said.
