Zig Zag (38 page)

"But
what if there
were
someone
else, Elisa?" Nadja insisted, clutching her arm so hard it hurt.
"Someone we were never told was here."

18

SERGIO
Marini
liked to do magic tricks. He could pull a dollar out of your ear, rip
it in half, and put it back together, all with his right hand, as
though he reserved the left for more serious tasks. Colin Craig had
copies of Manchester United's greatest matches stored on his laptop,
and he and Marini used to watch the international games when they
were broadcast. Jacqueline Clissot liked to show everyone pictures of
her son Michel, who was five, and send him funny e-mails; then she'd
sit down with Craig, who was going to be a first-time father next
year, and give him practical advice. Cheryl Ross had been a
grandmother for two years, but she didn't knit or bake cookies;
instead, she discussed politics and took great delight in criticizing
"the bloody buffoon," Tony Blair. Reinhard Silberg had
recently lost his brother to cancer and he collected pipes, though he
rarely smoked. Rosalyn Reiter read John Le Carre and Robert Ludlum
novels, though during the month of August her favorite pastime was
named Ric Valente. Ric Valente worked and worked, all the time and
everywhere; he'd stopped spending time with Rosalyn, and even taking
walks with Craig and Marini, and all he did was work. Nadja Petrova
chatted and smiled: what she liked best was not being alone. David
Blanes wanted to be alone so he could play Bach's labyrinths. Paul
Carter worked out (free weights and sit-ups) by the garrison.

That
they had in common, though she preferred running on the beach and
swimming, rain and wind permitting. Bergetti played cards with Marini
and Stevenson, and his fellow Brit, York, watched soccer with Craig.
Mendez was a comedian and liked to make Elisa laugh by telling
stories that, had anyone else told them, would have come across as
moronic. Lee was into New Age music and electronic gadgets.

That's
what they were like. That's what the only seventeen inhabitants on
New Nelson between July and October 2005 used to be like.

She'd
never forget the banal hobbies that defined them, that gave them
history and identity.

She'd
never forget. For many reasons.

ON
the
morning of Tuesday, September 27, Elisa got some very exciting news.
Mrs. Ross (who according to Marini was "like the tax man"
because she knew everything about everyone) told her at lunch. Elisa
spent the rest of the meal debating whether she should do it, and
imagining all the possible outcomes.

In
the end, she opted for long pants. It might seem silly ("childish,"
her mother would say), but she didn't want to go see him in shorts.

When
she got to his office that afternoon, she could hear the pecking of
two little birds skipping across the keys. She cleared her throat.
She knocked on the door. And when she opened it, she swore to herself
that she'd never forget the image of the scientist sitting there at
his electric keyboard, his face reflecting some form of private
ecstasy in which even physics had no place. She stood in the doorway,
listening, until he stopped.

"The
prelude to the first suite in B-flat major," Blanes said.

"It's
lovely. I didn't want to interrupt."

"Oh,
don't be silly. Come on in."

Though
she'd been in his office several times before, she felt very tense.
She always felt tense when she went there. The size of the room (it
was tiny) was partially to blame, and the huge number of objects
piled up (including a plastic whiteboard teeming with equations, a
desk with his computer and electric keyboard on it, and a bookshelf)
didn't help.

"I
wanted to congratulate you, Professor Blanes," she murmured,
still standing with her back against the door. "I was very happy
to hear the news." She saw him frown, squinting his eyes as if
she were invisible and he was making every effort to figure out what
kind of incorporeal creature was addressing him. "Mr. Carter
told Mrs. Ross..." She wiped her lips and was suddenly struck by
a thought.
Oh,
shit. He doesn't know yet. I'm going to have to be the one to tell
him.
"An
unofficial source at the Swiss Academy leaked the news this
morning..."

Blanes
looked away. He seemed to have lost all interest in the conversation.

"I'm
just a 'strong candidate,' as they call it. Happens every year."
And he banged out a chord to end the conversation, as if to say he'd
rather go back to his music than keep talking drivel.

"You'll
get it, Professor Blanes. If not this year, then next."

"Sure.
I'll get it."

Elisa
didn't know what else to say.

"You
deserve it. The sequoia theory is an astounding breakthrough."

"An
unknown
breakthrough,"
he corrected, his face to the wall. "One of the defining
features of our generation is that everyone knows the meaningless
breakthroughs, a few people know the important ones, and no one knows
the astounding ones."

"Well,
they're going to find out about this," she replied sincerely.
"I'm sure there are ways to reduce the Impact, or control it.
And I have no doubt that in the end, everyone will find out what
you've achieved, Professor Blanes."

"Enough
'Professor Blanes' already. Me: David; you: Elisa."

"OK."
Elisa smiled, despite the fact that she felt a little uncomfortable
with the fuss she had unwittingly caused. All she'd wanted was to
congratulate him and leave; she wasn't even looking for any thanks.
But it seemed obvious that Blanes didn't give a damn either way.
"Take a seat, if you can find one."

"Oh,
I just wanted to... to congratulate you, that's all..."

"Just
sit down, for Christ's sake."

Elisa
found a place to perch on the table, by the computer. It was quite
narrow, though, and the edge was sticking into her butt. Good thing
she was wearing long pants. Blanes was still staring at the wall.
Elisa suspected he was about to launch into a tirade about the
injustices that a poor Spanish physicist like himself suffered in the
face of society. But instead, what he said made her stomach tingle.

"Do
you know why I never let you respond in class, Elisa? Because I knew
you knew the answers. When I lecture, I don't want to hear answers; I
want to
teach.
And
with Valente, I was never sure."

"I
see," she said, swallowing hard.

"Then,
that day when you so foolishly answered without being called on, I
changed my opinion about you."

"Yeah."

"No.
It's not what you're thinking. Let me tell you something."
Blanes rubbed his eyes and then stretched. "Don't take this the
wrong way, but you have one of the biggest damn flaws anyone in the
world can have: you seem flawless. That was what I least liked about
you, right from the start. Remember this: it's always better—much
better—to have people make fun of you than it is to have them
envy you. But then that day when you burst forth with your injured
pride, I thought, Aha, that's it! She might be gorgeous, intelligent,
and hardworking, but at least she's an arrogant little fucker.' At
last I'd found a flaw."

They
sat there staring intently at each other, and then suddenly they both
smiled.

Friendship
isn't as hard as people often think. We tend to believe that the
things that really matter don't happen overnight, but sometimes
friendships or love just emerge, like the sun from behind the clouds:
one second it was all gray, and the next, there's blinding light.

In
that one second, Elisa became David Blanes's friend.

"So
I'm going to tell you something, to help you hold onto that defect,"
he added. "In addition to being an arrogant little fucker,
you're also a fabulous coworker, the best I've ever had. And that
excuses you from having come to congratulate me."

"Thanks.
But ... didn't you want to be congratulated?" she asked
hesitantly.

Blanes
answered with another question.

"Do
you know what the Nobel means to someone like me? It's a carrot. The
sequoia theory officially still hasn't been proven, and we can't
publicize or even talk about the experiments we've been doing here on
New Nelson because they're classified. But they want to pat me on the
back. Say, 'Blanes, the scientific community admires you. Keep
working for the government.'" He paused. "What do you think
of that?"

She
considered the question.

"I
think it sounds like the opinion of an
arrogant
little fucker,"
she
said, imitating his "cruel" intonation.

This
time they both burst out laughing.

"Touché,"
Blanes replied, blushing. "But I'll tell you why I think I'm
right." He ran his hand over his face, and Elisa knew that
they'd reached the serious part of the discussion. There were no
windows in the room, but the sound of the rain and the humming of the
air-conditioning filtered through the metallic walls. For a moment,
that was the only sound. "Did you ever meet Albert Grossmann?"

"No,
never."

"He
taught me everything I know. I love that man like a father. I've
always thought the teacher-disciple relationship is much more intense
in our field than in others."
And
how,
thought
Elisa. "We idealize our mentors to unbelievable extremes, but at
the same time, we feel this imperious need to outshine them. I think
that's because this is such a solitary job. In theoretical physics,
we're like monsters locked up in cages. We change the face of the
earth—at least on paper. I mean, my God, we're really
dangerous
...
But
I'm getting off track ... Grossmann is a strong man, a real Teuton,
full of energy. He's retired now. Recently diagnosed with cancer...

No
one knows that, so keep it to yourself... I'm just telling you that
so you see what kind of man he is. He's totally unconcerned about it,
says he's got a lot of years left in him, and I believe him. He looks
better than me, I kid you not. He was already retired back in 2001,
but the night we obtained the image of the Unbroken Glass, I went
over to his house and told him about it. I thought he'd be thrilled,
thought he'd congratulate me. Instead, he looked at me and said, 'No,
David,' so softly I thought maybe I'd imagined it. But he repeated
it. 'Don't do it, David. The past is off-limits. Don't touch what's
off-limits.' I think that was when I realized why he'd retired. A
theoretical physicist retires when he starts believing that
discoveries are off-limits." He was staring intensely at the
black-and-white keys of his keyboard. After a pause, he added,
"Anyway, maybe Grossmann was right about something. Back then,
we still didn't know anything about the Impact. But there's more to
it than that. There's also the company financing Project Zig Zag."