Nothing So Strange (14 page)

“That’s a pretty serious accusation,” I said at length. “How would you
prove it?”

“I have hundreds of proofs. Pages and pages of Mark’s notes. I have been
copying them out for him every night when he came home from the
laboratory— every night for months. And I know his work enough to
recognize that all the conclusions are the same … Mark was only waiting for
some final tests before assembling the whole material into a thesis.” She
tried to give me technical details, but they weren’t comprehensible; she
could only assure me that the theft was flagrant, and one thing I was
convinced of, her sincerity. My silence made her exclaim: “You do not think I
speak the truth? You think it is impossible?”

“Of course not. It just takes my breath away—the idea of Brad doing
all the work and Framm getting all the credit—”

“Oh no…. Because I am not going to let that happen. Something must be
done to upset this. Something
will
be done. Do you think I would stand
by and see my husband cheated?”

Her face then, lit by passion, seemed almost that of another person. She
was even speaking loudly enough to be overheard, if anyone else in the cafe
were acutely listening. The “carefulness” had been like a mask, suddenly
dropped, or perhaps like a habit, momentarily forgotten.

“You didn’t tell me what Brad said. You can’t do much on your own.”

“I know. That is why I sent for you. Because you are of his nationality
and would understand perhaps better how to talk to him.”

“You mean he doesn’t even know about it yet? You haven’t told him?”

“He knows. He saw it in the paper himself. But he refuses to do
anything…. That is the trouble. That is what you have to talk to him
about…. I shall go back now—alone. You visit us later, then I can
tell you all this again, in front of him, and you can say how much it shocks
you.” She stared at me hard. “But perhaps you are not so shocked?”

“Of course I am. It’s a scandalous thing that a man’s work should
be—”

“But it does not surprise you that he refuses to do anything? Perhaps you
understand him better than I?”

“Don’t be silly.”

“You have known him longer.”

“But not so intimately … ever…. And I
am
surprised, except that
I’m not surprised to be surprised, if you know what I mean….”

“
Intimately
?” she repeated. I could see she was thinking of a
specific meaning of the word. But that was equally true, and what I had
partly meant, and it certainly gave her the edge, if she needed one. There
was a deep, friendly, and highly intelligent jealousy between us, something
both of us recognized, concealed, and refused to waste time in worrying
about. It had its own queer limits too; she did not, for instance, in the
least object to my walking with Brad in the Burggarten while she stayed at
home to do his typing. But once, when she had seen me using my own portable,
she had said, almost cattishly: “Only two fingers? That would not do for me.
It is necessary for me to be quite expert when I work for Mark.”

It was towards ten o’clock when I reached the apartment,
and what happened
was much simpler than Pauli had planned. I told Brad I had seen in the Prague
paper a report of Framm’s lecture, and this was to have been Pauli’s cue, but
Brad picked it up quicker. “You’ve touched on a tender spot,” he said,
suddenly reaching for his hat and overcoat. “Pauli and I have just had our
first quarrel about it…. Tell her if you want, Pauli—I’m going round
the corner for a glass of beer.”

And he stalked out, leaving us to a conversation that was not part of our
program.

“It is unlike him to do that,” Pauli said anxiously.

I said a few drinks might not be a bad thing, they might loosen him up and
we could then hammer the whole thing out with fewer inhibitions. I asked if
there had really been a quarrel and she replied: “Of course not. I told him
what he must do and he said he could not do it, that was all.” But that, I
reflected, might well be his idea of a quarrel, even if not hers.

He came back about midnight, looking relaxed, good-humored, almost jaunty.
Perhaps the beer had done this, though there was certainly no sign that he
had drunk too much. He said he had found someone to play chess with, and had
won the game. I asked if it was the same man he had played with that night he
wrote me the long letter about science, and he answered: “No. I don’t know
his name and he didn’t ask mine. That’s the good thing about chess. You just
play it with anyone who can.”

I had suggested to Pauli that she leave us alone to talk things over, and
this she now did, though rather reluctantly. As soon as I heard her busying
herself in the kitchen I said: “Well now, Brad, what’s it all about?”

“Our little quarrel? Didn’t she tell you?”

“Yes … and is she right, that’s what I want to know. Did Framm steal
your stuff?”

He smiled, as to a child who has asked something uncomfortably naďve. “I
like simple words, Jane, but when they’re too simple they don’t always
help…. You talk about somebody stealing my stuff.
What
stuff? A few
pages of algebra—how can such a thing be
my
stuff—or
anybody’s stuff? So what do you mean by
stealing
? Mathematicians don’t
take out patents. We don’t have copyrights, trademarks, Good Housekeeping
seals of approval…. And besides, Pauli’s prejudiced—she hates Framm.
Well, that’s all right—I don’t blame her. But it’s no reason why I
should accept her viewpoint in everything. She has a great sense of
possession—most women have. To her the whole thing’s just as if I’d
left an umbrella on the tram and someone had run off with it.”

All of which impressed me only until I realized how completely it evaded
the issue. I answered: “Brad … will you answer me this question …
honestly … how much of Framm’s discovery covers the same ground as your own
work?”

“Oh, a great deal. It actually confirms my work. That’s fine. To have a
scientist of Framm’s eminence state with confidence something which you
yourself have postulated only tentatively—it’s a great encouragement if
you look at it the right way.”

“Are you being sarcastic?”

“I thought you understood me better than that.”

“I don’t. Or rather, I don’t know whether I do or not. But I think I
understand Framm a little, even though I’ve only met him once. He’s ambitious
and unscrupulous and I’d say he’s quite capable of grabbing anybody else’s
work to bolster his reputation—to cut a dash in Berlin so that if
events move the Nazi way he’ll get a big job.”

“Might be. As a politician he’s probably the worst shyster in the
world— it’s only as a scientist that I can guarantee him.”

“How about him as a man—a man of honor?”

“I haven’t any idea. We don’t cover that territory.”

“You mean you’re indifferent? Don’t you really
mind
what he’s done?
You don’t think any less of him for it? It’s what you were willing to have
happen? You feel you can go on working with him—”

“One question at a time,” he interrupted, “or I won’t remember them. To
begin with, you’re making all this far too personal. It isn’t a question of
whether I like Framm less or more or even at all. As I told you once he’s the
kind of man you don’t have to like—not when you work with him
professionally. And if you ask me whether I’m willing for him to use my work,
then that’s an easy one—of course I am. Any scientist can use my work.
And I can use his. We take that for granted…. Don’t look so indignant. Your
slant’s a bit better than Pauli’s, but it still makes everything too simple.
From pinching an umbrella we’ve progressed to quoting from a copyrighted
author without proper permission … am I right?”

“Brad, if you were in this mood with Pauli I don’t wonder she quarreled
with you. What I’m trying to get at, and what you’ve evaded so far, is
whether Framm did anything which in your own world, amongst scientists who
knew all the facts, would be considered unethical. I can’t answer that
question—maybe Pauli can’t—but you can. And so far you haven’t.
Why not?”

“Suppose I said because it’s nobody else’s damned business.”

“All right. That’s a straight answer and it leaves me nothing else to say.
I’ll go now … let me know when you’re next free for a walk.”

He answered with sudden cordiality: “Any time—tomorrow if you like,
provided we don’t get onto arguments like this.”

I went to the kitchen and whispered to Pauli that I hadn’t had any luck in
influencing him, maybe it would be better to try again some other time when
we’d both had a chance to think things over. “I’ve a feeling if I stay I
shall mess things up. It’s late, anyhow, and I’m tired.”

So I said good-night. Brad came downstairs and accompanied me along the
street to the corner where I usually found a taxi. There were still crowds
everywhere; a Nazi rally had just broken up and the participants, inflamed
with oratory, were drifting belligerently home. As we passed a cafe that was
open late, Brad suggested going in for a drink.

We found a table. The place was very hot, smoky, and noisy. “Is this where
you played chess?” I asked, for something to say.

“No, I’ve never been here before. It’s pretty bad, isn’t it? Do you
mind?”

“Not a bit, if you don’t. But I’m not exactly in sympathy with these
roisterers.”

“Neither am I. They’re getting bolder—they’re not afraid of being
arrested nowadays…. We’ll find somewhere else if you like.”

“No, there’s not time. I’ll have to go soon.”

We drank beer. A mechanical piano struck up to add to the racket. A girl
began to sing shrilly.

Brad said, contemplatively: “So you don’t like my mood.”

“I don’t, but as it isn’t normal, I guess I can stand it. In some ways
it’s an improvement. You wouldn’t normally ask me to drink beer with you at
one in the morning, and never before have you said ‘any time’ when I’ve asked
when you were free for a walk.” He called for another beer. “And it’s the
first time, to my knowledge, that you’ve drunk so much.”

“Do you mean
so
much or
too
much?”

“So much. You’re not an alcoholic yet.”

“Five beers.”

“Good. You ought to do this oftener.”

“Then you ought to be here oftener with me.”

“That clinches it. You’re
not
normal. I’ve never known you gallant
before.”

He laughed. The surface badinage was working us both into a feeling of
intimacy. “To tell you the truth, Jane, I got tired of arguing when I knew
Pauli was listening from the kitchen all the time.”

“It’s a small apartment.”

“I know. But she does have several attributes of the successful female
spy. Among them a great loyalty to whoever or whatever it is that she
serves.”

“
You
,” I said.

“I know. And I’m not really worth the kind of devotion she gives me.”

“I don’t think she’s wise to give it, anyway. She might come a cropper
sometime.”

“She doesn’t get as much out of me as she’d like. That’s my fault. I don’t
think any woman would. I guess the truth is, my work comes first. But she
knew that when she married me—she’d seen the way I work at the
lab—she knew how it—
consumes
me.”

“She probably fancied herself as a reformer. Women do. And there are women
who
could
reform you, I daresay.”

He stared at the table, and suddenly I knew he was thinking of my mother,
and that he knew I was also. It made us both somehow uncomfortable, so that I
went on with forced lightness: “Well, we were talking about your apartment. I
still think it’s small enough for her to have heard without listening.”

“And this place is noisy enough to listen without hearing. Wouldn’t you
really like to try somewhere else?”

“No—the noise is all right—especially if we’re going to argue
again.”

“But we’re not.
I
won’t, anyway. I don’t like the feeling you’re
against me.”

“I’m not against you, Brad. But I’m against other people pushing you down
and you pretending you accidentally fell…. Did Framm behave unscrupulously
or not? It’s a simple question if you choose to answer it.”

“Better not mention names here.”

“I’m sorry. Let’s call him
he. Did
he?”

“Did he what?”

“Did he do what you would have done in his place?”

He looked at me quizzically for a moment, then said: “God, I wouldn’t be
in his place for anything.”

“That’s evading the point again.”

“No, it isn’t. It’s the real point….” He leaned forward across the table
so that our faces were close; it was the only way he could drop his voice and
still be heard. “You know what Pauli wants? She’d have me raise a stink, hire
lawyers, start a fight about it. I won’t do that. I wouldn’t even if it were
actionable, which I doubt.”

“I could get an opinion. I know a very good lawyer here.”

“Don’t waste your time. I wouldn’t fight. And I don’t mind a bit if you
call me a coward. Too many people have wasted time fighting just to be
thought not a coward. Because in my own mind I’ve nothing to fight about. I
was quite sincere when I said his lecture encouraged me.”

“
Encouraged
you?”

“Yes. I’d had just a slight doubt about a certain item in my chain of
reasoning—it was beginning to keep me awake nights. His—his
announcement cleared the matter up, because he wouldn’t have made it if he
hadn’t been sure there wasn’t a flaw.”

“You have that much faith in him?”

“Yes.”

“Why?”

“Because … because he’s a much better scientist than I am—or ever
will be. Sorry to keep on using that word—scientist,
scientist.
Most people think of them as romantic pioneers, or else plodders trying one
thing after another till the miracle simply has to happen—like the
Curies with radium…. Actually it’s mostly plodding without the miracles and
pioneering without the romance. Yet there
are
moments—moments
that none of those words suit— moments when what’s needed is the guess
of sheer genius—the bull’s-eye of a first-class mind operating with a
flair. It’s hard to explain, but there’s almost poetry in it as well as logic
and luck. I’ve seen
him
at such moments. He may be other things too,
but he’s a—here’s that word again, I can’t help it—he’s a
scientist
.”