Fare Forward (19 page)

"You never cease to amaze me, Papa." I had teased him on the phone about his insistence that I come to this particular talk. He would often suggest that I attend different lectures or performances around campus, monitoring the university website on my behalf.

"Well, Gabriella, I feel the same way about you . . ." His voice trailed off, and I thought I detected a change in his tone. Something that made me uncomfortable.

"Is everything okay?" I asked him. "You sound different, is something bothering you?" It was that feeling I seemed to be having more frequently.

He had brushed off my concern. "No, I'm fine but come early to the lecture. My old friend and associate Dr. Potter will be there too. You remember her don't you, Gabriella? She's been asking about you. You haven't seen her in a while."

"I know, I just thought there might be something else."

He was quiet for a moment before he answered, "Nothing, except that . . ." I heard his low laugh. "I just might not do what they expect. What they want from me, darling."

"What
they
expect, Papa? Who are you talking about?"

It had taken me a few seconds to respond, and I had heard the click of the phone. The conversation was over.

T
HE PHYSICS BUILDING stands beyond the central plaza of the campus.

I run up the steps, past the iconic sculpture of Alma Mater and Low Library, and look up at the Rutherford Observatory on top of Pupin Hall. In constant use since the late 1920s, this building represented those willing to step forward into the unknown. I think about my grandfather. unlike some premonitions I have had, which are very clear, there is a sense about his future that is vague, ominous—even frightening. Difficult to discern but extremely troubling.

The lobby is filled with energy and anticipation as the crowd presses toward a small woman. She reminds me of my grandmother. She looks out into the distance as she tries to back away from the enthusiastic barrage of questions. A woman before her time, her heart and mind was open and available. She was also one of the first women to enter the male-dominated field of astrophysics. For an instant our eyes meet, and I watch as she gracefully moves away from the crowd, toward me, and wraps her shawl tightly around her body. Seeing her in this very public setting seemed so different from how I knew her during the years of frequent collaborations with my grandfather.

"Dr. Potter." I approach her slowly as I reach my hand out toward her.

"Gabriella, how wonderful to see you."

She pulls me into her and embraces me tightly, reminding me of the days when she would always bring me a special surprise: photographs of stars, a subscription to
Scientific American
magazine, and even my own child-size telescope. She had been determined to pique my interest in the field of science.

"It's so hard to believe how much time has passed, that you're in graduate school already. It was just yesterday that you were little, running around the beach with your friends." I can tell that she is calculating how long it's been since we've last been together, noting the changes in me. "Time passes so quickly doesn't it?"

"Yes." Ironic that one of the world's experts on Einstein's theories is talking about how quickly time seems to be passing.

"And your painting?" she continues. "You have already sold several pieces I understand. I want to put my name in for one now. Yes, that would be lovely to have something of yours on my wall."

"Of course, but how do you know?"

"Your grandfather is quite proud of you." She winks at me as I absorb the notion that my grandfather has been discussing me with his colleagues. "And how is the architecture program? I'm sure you've met some fascinating people."

Would I even dare to tell her? I assume she might know Benjamin, but it's safer to talk about architecture and painting, I reason.

"School is challenging, Dr. Potter. We've been asked to look for new ways to think about the world, to watch and observe, then invent. Be the ones making change. But, I don't know." I know I sound frustrated.

"The same thing scientists are doing."

I look at her doubtfully. "Well, it's not science, but nonetheless. Creating, adding something, making a difference even if only in a small way."

"You've already begun, Gabriella," she continues. "You of all people know that everything is connected. Don't you remember the stories I used to tell you?"

Unlike other children, who I imagine were told fairy tales, my bedtime stories were about the magic of science, the wizard in the form of a genius named Albert Einstein, and the imaginary worlds he predicted, connected to ours by dark magic tunnels. This was the education that had lit the dark path through my childhood.

"Of course. All the amazing people . . . and Einstein."

She seems lost in her memories. "That was an incredible time for all of us, when we met him."

"I know."

She sighs, "We were so young."

Here is another powerful connection to my past.

She can see that I am trying to say something. "What is it, dear?"

"Can I ask you something?"

"Of course."

"Dr. Potter, the idea that there exist holes, I mean
bridges,
to other universes is at the center of my grandfather's research, right?"

"He is closer than he's ever been to offering proof, and yet." She twists her hands together in a nervous reflex, looking away before she continues, "I worry about what this could mean."

"For our world?" For him? I wonder. Her reaction seems to confirm my own fears and what I really want to ask her about.

"We've taken every security precaution possible. And we have been reassured, by all the governments involved, that what happened in Paris could not ever happen again."

"Paris?"

"Those people, we were assured that they were—destroyed," she says, looking into my eyes.

I try to control myself as she brings up the subject of the incident that killed my parents. I feel her hand reach out for mine.

"They murdered my family. Those, animals."

"Yes, but I fear that there may be others. As you can imagine, the information would be unprecedented. We really don't know how this knowledge would affect the course of life on our planet. Your grandfather's work raises many philosophical and ethical questions, not only scientific ones."

She stops to evaluate my reaction to the seriousness of our conversation. "Gabriella?"

"I'm fine, please continue, Dr. Potter." I encourage her.

"As an artist there is something else you probably understand. The theoretical world that your grandfather and I have always existed in is really a world that is
invisible.
You can't see it, so, to many, it seems conceptual and abstract. But it is very real. It is the world of the intangible."

"Reality," I say.

"We must change the definition of what we expect reality to mean."

I recognize in her words very specific ideas about my own art that I know to be true. "Looking for the unexpected. Making connections," I add.

"Yes, and your grandfather's theory should be considered in the same way. It's an idea that our universe is infinite, even that there may be many universes. Some theorize that these universes exist but are impossibly far away. Too far for us to reach using any technological intelligence that we possess now."

"But a possibility? Theoretically, of course," I add.

She puts her hand on my arm. "Some, like your parents, searched for a metaphysical interpretation. But these ideas are not really considered viable by the mainstream."

"I don't understand what you mean."

"Gabriella, maybe it simply depends on what you want to believe and what you are looking for."

"Unless my grandfather is right about the—wormholes," I say cautiously.

"Exactly. A connection through the space-time network."

I want her to keep going, to continue without wondering whether I am following her accelerated line of thinking. I wait to hear anything that could connect her words to Benjamin.

"The other possibility is that these universes are similar to ours yet the laws of physics could be different there."

"The laws of physics," I repeat.

"For example the experience of
time.
Different than our universe."

"Do you mean that everything could be the same but they could be farther ahead or even behind us in time?" I ask.

"Yes, that, and also that if time moved more slowly in their universe everything would shift accordingly. They could live much longer, even age differently." She could see the look of disbelief on my face. "As you can imagine, Gabriella, this is why I worry about him and the implications of his work."

"Dr. Potter, can I ask you something? Why after spending his entire life devoted to physics, has my grandfather ended up here? Working on these theoretical problems, really mystical ones? Putting himself at the very farthest edge of the scientific community?" My voice reflects the worry and frustration that I feel. A combination of fear for his safety and the realization that with his increasing age there is an indefinite amount of time left.

"Gabriella, he has always been—"

"I want him to find it," I interrupt. "I'm sorry, Dr. Potter. I just want him to reach his goals. Whatever they are. Besides, I thought it was my parents who were the ones whose lives had been devoted to the abstract and intangible. Not my grandfather."

"Try to understand why we explore the possibility of these worlds. It's very simple, Gabriella. We believe that they may hold the secret of secrets. Answers to questions that have been asked since the beginning of time."

I know that she can read from my puzzled expression that I am not willing to allow my mind to comprehend what she is saying.

"Gabriella, we are searching for the secret of the origin of everything there is."

Y
OU KNOW HOW MUCH time your grandfather has been spending in Switzerland, at CERN." She stops and her eyes burn into mine.

"Yes. The Supercollider."

"The Supercollider is, truly, one of the greatest scientific enterprises of all time. Think about it," she continues. "They're trying to see what our universe was like a trillionth of a second after the big bang. Recreating the same conditions as the beginning of time, 14 billion years ago."

"One of the new wonders of the modern world as it has been called," I add.

"People come from everywhere and are stunned by its size and what it stands for. On pilgrimages. Just like in ancient times. To see the potential, Gabriella, the promise and possibility it holds, to understand the nature of—"

"Existence." I finish her sentence. "They are the wizards of our time."

"Yes, proving the impossible," she says.

"He seems to be spending so much time there, especially, since my grandmother died." I catch myself when I say the last word, the wound still so fresh in my heart.

We stand together and watch as the auditorium fills to capacity. It's a mixed group of students, faculty, and unexpectedly—clergy. The press is everywhere. The perimeter and front of the room is lined with photographers, undercover police, and Columbia university security.

"We know that we are right at the edge, we are almost there. And when we find what we are looking for—the proof that is—well, many things will change."

"What do you mean?"

"Certain basic assumptions about our world and the universe. How it all started." She looks away from me as she wrings her hands. "Who knows, Gabriella, we might even rewrite Genesis."

I immediately recognize the potentially explosive nature of what she is saying. I see a new understanding of my grandfather and the passion he feels for this work. In a profound and surprising way, I even feel an understanding of myself. I now know, without a doubt, that there is a fundamental connection between the mystical tradition from which my family has come and the research in theoretical physics that my grandfather has spent his life pursuing.

For the first time, it all seems so clear and very simple.

The lifelong quest, the search that physics and mysticism share, asks the same questions: What are we made of, when was the beginning of time, and what does it all really mean? Maybe mine and my family's secret—the ability to see into the future and past—is really the ability to connect to other realities?

"Dr. Potter, you said earlier that you thought the terrorists, that they were destroyed, captured by the authorities? We were assured, even recently that they were no longer a threat. But you said there might be others?"

She looks at me, deciding how to proceed. "I don't want to be the one to tell you. I mean, your grandfather—"

"Tell me what?" I feel my skin tingling and a sick feeling in my stomach. "If there is something else, please, tell me."

"I'm sorry, Gabriella. Maybe he didn't want you to know. Two of our colleagues were attacked last week outside of Geneva. They had left the secure main compound at CERN on Thursday to inspect one of the experiments called 'Atlas,' near the town of Meyrin, right on the French-Swiss border. The Swiss military originally classified it as a kidnapping but—"

"They were
murdered?"
I knew what she was about to say.

She is trying to present the facts calmly, but I can see how upset she is as she continues, "Yes. The following day their bodies were found in an abandoned Saab outside a cafe. I believe it was called Cafe Solstice. There is some relevance to the name of the place."

"The solstice is believed to be the exact moment when the sun reverses direction. When time stands still," I say.

"An ironic reference."

"How did they die?" I try to steady my voice.

"Poison, a lethal injection. Right into their hearts." She stops and lifts her shaking hands to cover her own. "A note was found taped to the sole of one of the doctor's feet claiming that the solstice was one of the most ancient tools used so that a traveler anywhere in the world could pinpoint their exact location on the globe. I think the inference is that these scientists had lost their way." She takes a deep breath before she continues, "And another thing. This group they—they are linking themselves to the Divine Order. They are sworn to protect, what they call, the status quo."