Читать книгу In Search of Klingsor - Jorge Volpi - Страница 14

When Bacon returned to the institute a few days later, he went straight to Frank Aydelotte’s office. Aydelotte, the institute’s director and Flexner’s successor, had been looking everywhere for Bacon. Bacon had no idea what fate this meeting would hold for him, though he was reasonably certain it was nothing positive. He figured it to be somewhere between a strong reprimand and unequivocal expulsion. To make matters worse, he had another of his terrible migraines. He felt as if a knife were lodged in his skull, splitting his cranium in two: One side was healthy and resilient while the other was trembling with the frenetic, uncontrollable energy of a piston charging at full blast. These headaches were always precipitated by nerves or a great shock, and they came on with lightning force, like a shooting star in the night sky. As soon as he saw the lights twinkling, followed by the ominous symptoms of vertigo and nausea, Bacon knew that the pain wasn’t far off. It was useless to try and resist it. He had tried household remedies like tea (which only made him more jittery), or ice cubes on his neck (which only made him feel like a filet of sole on display at a fish market), or the useless, bizarre massages of his earlobes or pinky finger. They never provided even a moment’s relief. And then the inevitable pain would come. Just as inevitable as the merciless tongue-lashing that he was about to receive from Aydelotte.

It was ten in the morning, and his body was already at the breaking point. The rays of sunlight sliced through his contracted pupils like splinters, and the faraway noises of the Princeton streets reverberated loudly in his atrophied eardrums. The vermilion walls of Fuld Hall looked like gelatin to him. Bacon breathed in, trying to pull himself together, and announced himself to the director’s fat secretary. The director ushered him in immediately; without getting up from his desk, he indicated a chair, the location of Bacon’s imminent torture. Behind Aydelotte, a tall man dressed in gray, burly as a football player, studied him expectantly.

“Sit down,” Aydelotte said.

Bacon obeyed. He didn’t want to make his discomfort too apparent, but he also didn’t want to seem too inhibited. The role of the punished child was unpleasant enough; he certainly did not wish to exacerbate it with an explanation of his physical ills.

“Relax, Bacon,” the director said generously. “This isn’t a court-martial, nor is it a firing line.”

“Before anything, I want to apologize,” Bacon interrupted abruptly. “I never meant for my personal problems … Could I at least see Professor Gödel to apologize to him myself?”

Aydelotte gave him a reproachful look.

“Slow down, Bacon. Unfortunately, it isn’t that simple. Professor Gödel had another one of his nervous episodes. He’s a very sensitive man.”

“Is he unwell?”

“Let’s just say that this is not one of his better moments. I suppose it will pass. But for the moment, he has decided to stay inside for the week.” Aydelotte coughed, on purpose, indicating the end of that part of their conversation. “I told him, Bacon, that the situation was truly an embarrassment. Can you imagine the impression it left on the other assistants? Professor Veblen has initiated a rather heated campaign against you, Bacon. Do you follow what I’m saying?”

“I would do anything at all to make up for what happened.”

“Anything at all,” repeated Aydelotte in a severe tone of voice. “It’s a shame, Bacon. I have examined your file carefully and I must tell you the truth. It’s quite impressive. First as an undergraduate and then here, you have performed your duties with brilliance and discretion—two qualities I admire immensely, especially in men of science.”

As Bacon watched him, it seemed that Aydelotte’s lips moved too much; they looked like two eels wrestling with each other.

“In any event, Professor Von Neumann has taken up your defense. He says that you are one of our most gifted colleagues. Moreover, he said he is certain that in the future, once you’ve gained the maturity that comes only with time, you will doubtless make great contributions to the field of physics.” A slight exaggeration, Bacon thought, but Aydelotte continued, “As you can imagine, your situation here is a difficult one, though not hopeless. You have so many points in your favor that one little episode such as that of the other day is hardly fatal.”

Bacon wasn’t completely sure if this solemn, officious tone of voice was a figment of his imagination or if it was just Aydelotte’s way of getting rid of him in the nicest way possible.

“Don’t worry, Bacon, I’m not saying all this as a prelude to firing you,” Aydelotte said. He stopped looking at Bacon and concentrated instead on screwing and unscrewing the cap of his fountain pen. “Of course, I do have to say what must be said, son: You no longer have a place at the institute. Your behavior the other day only confirmed this unfortunate fact.” Bacon felt a shock, as if the director had just poked him in the eye. “We have been delighted to have you here with us, yet I think—and correct me if I am mistaken—that you feel you are being wasted. Your talents are not very well suited to our style of work.”

Aydelotte turned briefly to look at the man in the gray suit behind him. His face impassive, the man nodded to indicate his approval. Aydelotte continued.

“I don’t mean to suggest you become an experimental physicist. Rather, I am trying to say that your character is—how can I explain it? Too curious. We feel that if things were to continue as they are now, you would eventually leave the institute without making any of the great achievements we all feel are within your grasp. You need more action, son. More life.”

“I … I don’t know what to say,” stuttered Bacon. “I promise, if you’d simply let me—”

“I’ve already told you, what happened during Gödel’s lecture was unfortunate but not a determining factor.” Aydelotte was starting to grow irritated. “Allow me to introduce you to Mr. Bird.”

The man in gray offered the faintest hint of a smile.

“Mr. Bird works for the government. A few weeks ago he contacted me, inquiring if I might recommend someone with the qualities necessary to carry out a special mission. The government needs a young person who also happens to be a competent physicist. When I learned the details of the request, I spoke with Professor Von Neumann and he couldn’t think of a better candidate than yourself.”

Aydelotte’s words burned in Bacons ears, for they carried the sting of what amounted to an invitation to resign. After the ambiguous introduction, Bacon contemplated the man before him, a man with a firm, formidable constitution. He was slightly burly, like a former athlete retired for several years. Bacon guessed that he was in the military, perhaps an ex-marine.

“I want you to know, dear Bacon”—Aydelotte was clearly uneasy using this uncharacteristically personal epithet—“that we would be very happy if you would work with Mr. Bird, but of course it is not an order. We’d just like you to listen to his ideas and then decide—under no pressure at all—what would be most appropriate. I think this could be a dignified solution for everyone involved.”

As he finished his speech, Aydelotte got up and, with forced enthusiasm, offered his hand to Bacon. Mr. Bird coughed slightly, indicating the end of that part of the conversation, and walked toward the door.

“Why don’t we go for a walk,” he said to Bacon, in a voice that clearly wasn’t about to take no for an answer. Bacon followed him. Aydelotte’s talk was like an electric charge that made him forget about his headache.

“Good luck, Bacon,” said the director.

Just as had occurred with his migraine, that one single sentence seemed to be a sign telling Bacon that he would not see Aydelotte—or the institute—for a long, long time.

“Have you ever visited here before?” Bacon asked Mr. Bird to break the ice.

“Once or twice, yes.”

They started their walk as good friends would, going nowhere in particular. Mr. Bird did not seem to be in a rush; he would occasionally stop to admire the daisies and the decorative shrubs along the way, as if he were an amateur horticulturist.

“So, you work for the government?” Bacon asked, starting to feel nauseated again. “Is there somewhere specific you’d like to go?”

“No.”

They walked through the entire campus and when they were finished, started over again. One thing was certain: Mr. Bird had all the time in the world. But then, all of a sudden, he stopped and looked Bacon squarely in the face, as if he finally deigned to reveal the purpose of his visit.

“Is it true that Einstein discovered the fourth dimension?”

At first, Bacon wasn’t sure he understood the question. He wondered if his headache was making him hear things.

“No, not exactly,” he said after a few seconds. “In his theory, time is the fourth dimension. Human beings live within a four-dimensional universe, one of space-time.”

“What about the formula that was published in the newspapers—does it prove the existence of the human soul?”

“No. All it says is that energy is equal to mass times the speed of light squared.”

Mr. Bird scratched his head theatrically. Then, as if he had merely asked the question to set the scene for his own monologue, he launched into his theory.

“I’m not so convinced about that relativity theory. I think there are certain things that simply aren’t relative. Good and evil, for example, are not relative. That line of reasoning only leads to crime, don’t you think? I know too many scoundrels who use the idea of relativity to try and escape punishment. Can you imagine what would happen if we all thought everything was relative and that every single one of us could do as we pleased? There is nothing relative about being a traitor. There’s nothing relative about being a murderer. To start a war that kills millions of people, as Hitler has done, why, there’s nothing relative about that.”

Bacon felt intimidated.

“I agree with you. But what you’re talking about doesn’t have anything to do with the relativity theory or with Einstein,” Bacon replied. “He was only speaking in terms of physics, not human nature.”

“To me it’s the same thing.”

“No. Einstein asserts that movement is relative only for those observers who are in motion themselves (as we are walking, for example, the women walking toward us seem to be advancing faster than they really are). He states that light is the only objective point of reference, since its velocity always remains the same, independent of where we are when we measure it. Moral issues have nothing to do with these facts, Mr. Bird.”

“And do you consider this a truly important discovery?”

“Of course I do.”

“I apologize for my insistence, but I have to disagree. If things were that way, wouldn’t we all realize it? I don’t believe there exists a fourth dimension, nor do I believe in atoms or any of those things, because I have never seen them for myself.”

“You aren’t the only one,” Bacon replied resignedly. He was beginning to get exasperated. Discussing physics with a man who probably didn’t even know the meaning of Π was ridiculous. And Mr. Bird seemed too convinced of his own beliefs to be persuaded that Einstein might know more than he did.

“Is this what you wanted to talk to me about?”

“Oh, no. I’m sorry, it was just a curiosity of mine.” Bird suddenly seemed chagrined by the digression. “I have met so many men like you that I’ve often wondered what in God’s name you think about all the time. Physicists spend hours and hours just thinking. They do it while running around their offices, when they’re at home, in the shower, before going to bed. I bet they even think about all those numbers while they make love to their wives.”

“We’re not all like that,” Bacon said, hoping to lighten the mood. “But why do you know so much about physicists and their habits?”

“I have had to familiarize myself with you. It’s my job.”

“You still haven’t told me exactly what your job is, Mr. Bird.”

“I will, in due course. Why don’t you start off by telling me why you have been following Professor Einstein every day.”

Over and over again in his dreams, Bacon had imagined someone asking him this very question. He had even invented several possible explanations, although they all flew out of his head when confronted by Bird’s question.

“Please, don’t try to deny it,” Mr. Bird assured him in a velvety voice, the kind you hear in the movies. “You have been following Professor Einstein, and we have been following you.”

“So who are you, then?”

“You haven’t answered my question, Professor.” Bird’s voice grew more menacing.

“You won’t believe my answer,” said Bacon, trying to smile.

“Why don’t you let me be the judge of that.”

“I swear to you I don’t know why. One day I thought I would try to strike up a conversation with him as he walked home for lunch, but I didn’t have the nerve, so I decided just to walk with him … from afar.”

“Walk with him from afar. And you decided to do that every day?”

“Yes. I know it sounds crazy, but it’s the truth.”

“And do you think Professor Einstein never saw you doing this?”

“Well, once, but I didn’t think he noticed.”

“And what would you say if I told you Professor Einstein had alerted the police?”

“You’re not serious.” Bacon started to perspire. “It was a harmless thing, I mean, I never meant—”

“These are difficult times, Professor,” said Bird, returning to his previous courtesy. “You do know that the Nazis despise Professor Einstein, and they are not the only ones. There are so many deranged people in this world. The United States is his new home and the United States must ensure the security of its citizens. Especially the security of someone like Professor Einstein, wouldn’t you agree?”

“So you’re a policeman?” Bacon asked, growing alarmed.

“Not exactly,” Bird said, in a voice that attempted to inspire confidence. “At least not in the usual sense. Let’s just say that I am in charge of making sure Professor Einstein feels at home. That no one bothers him. I’m his shadow, so to speak.”

“You were watching me, then? So you must know it was just a game, right?”

“Yes, I know. Still, we were forced to take the proper precautions. It took me some time to investigate it, but, thank goodness, I didn’t find anything suspicious.”

“Well, now that you know I’m not a murderer, may I go?”

“I’m afraid not.” Mr. Bird remained firm. “They tell me you’re a very competent physicist. Commendable record. Commendable behavior—well, aside from your problems with women, although that doesn’t bother me. It was for precisely that reason that we agreed with professors Aydelotte and Von Neumann when they approached us about you. We think you are just the person we need to carry out a very delicate mission that has us very concerned.”

“What can I possibly do?”

“A lot, Professor. You’re young, you’re a competent scientist, you certainly court danger, you speak German fluently, and, as it turns out, you’re now without a job and without obligations. We think you’re the ideal candidate.”

“Ideal for what?”

“I’ve already told you: for working with us. An investigation, if you will. You care deeply about your country, do you not?”

“Of course I do.”

“Then it’s time you did something for it. Don’t forget, Professor, we’re in the middle of a war. Priorities tend to get shifted around at a time like this.”

“I suppose there’s no way I can refuse you.”

“You won’t. You owe a good deal to this country and the moment has finally arrived for you to give back a little bit of what you’ve received. Doesn’t that seem fair? In addition, as Professor Aydelotte mentioned, you don’t belong to the institute anymore. Your staying on at the institute would only cause problems, not to mention the ones you already have before you. I think you know what I’m talking about.” Bird spoke to Bacon as if he were a small child who needed to hear the reasons for doing his chores. “Obviously, I must have total confidentiality. You mustn’t discuss this with anyone, and I’m afraid you’ll only be permitted to say good-bye to those closest to you, and without many details as to the reasons for your departure.”

“How can I tell them if I don’t know anything myself?”

“Tell them you’re enlisting in the army. That you’ve finally decided to do it. Later on, if things calm down, you can write to them and tell them the truth.”

“This is awfully strange. I’ll have to think about it.”

“I’m sorry, Professor Bacon, but there isn’t time for that. You’ll have to trust us—just as your country trusts you.”

Bacon knocked loudly on Von Neumann’s door, as desperate as a dying man looking for a priest to issue his last rites. His headache had disappeared entirely, replaced by a feeling of unreality, possibly brought on by his fever.

“What’s going on?” Von Neumann asked him as he opened the door, brusque as usual. Bacon walked into his office without waiting to be invited in.

“I’ve come to thank you for your recommendation,” he announced. “And to say good-bye.”

Von Neumann sat down in his chair and studied Bacon for a few moments. A paternal expression came over his face. As always, his initial surly attitude gave way to a mellow friendliness.

“I’m glad you took the offer, my friend. You made a good decision.”

“You already knew, didn’t you?”

“After the … incident, Aydelotte called me into his office. Veblen was demanding that you be expelled immediately from the institute. I simply told them the truth: that you’re an excellent physicist but that your future doesn’t lie here. Aydelotte thought it over and then told me that perhaps there was a better opportunity for you, a ‘research trip,’ he called it.” Von Neumann allowed himself a slight, acidic smile. “In the age we find ourselves in, my dear Bacon, we all have to make sacrifices. You are an intelligent man, one who can do a great deal of good for his country—but somewhere else, not here in Princeton, in this ivory tower. I know you’re anxious and upset, but I can’t say any more than this: You were chosen to participate in an important mission because you’re a physicist. You won’t be an ordinary soldier; your work is going to be terribly important.”

“I would have rather made the decision under less pressure.”

“But in a way you did make the decision, my boy. The circumstances worked in your favor. Don’t you remember our last conversation?” Von Neumann patted Bacon’s shoulder affectionately. “You yourself told me about your romantic problems, about your dilemma with those two women. I tried to explain to you that game theory also works when applied to romantic strategies. Do you follow me so far?”

“Of course.”

“Ever since that day, I knew that if you insisted on maintaining your life as it was, allowing nothing to change, that eventually you would lose everything. Instead of solving your problem, you would only make it worse. And that is exactly what happened.”

“I suppose so. You told me that I was caught in the middle of a rivalry between Vivien and Elizabeth and that the moment would inevitably arrive in which I would be forced to choose between the two. It was either that or the inverse: that one of them would leave me.”

“I’m sorry to have to tell you that I wasn’t mistaken.”

“Even so, I think you fell short. You saw what happened. In the end, they came face-to-face, and the end result is that I lost both of them.”

“That’s what I expected.” There was a touch of compassion in Von Neumann’s voice that Bacon had never heard before. “It makes sense. To fall in love with two women—which is very different from sleeping with two women—is the worst thing that can happen to a man. At first you think of it as a blessing, as a sign of virility, but in fact it’s more like a calamity, of biblical proportions at that. The truth always comes out in the end, and by that time you don’t know how or why you ever got involved in the game to begin with. It’s hard enough to love one woman, Bacon, let alone two.” Von Neumann seemed to be recalling his own turbulent romantic history. “The competition established between two women in love with the same man is a zero-sum game. If one woman wins, the other necessarily loses, and vice versa. It is impossible to satisfy both. No matter how fair he tries to be, the man in question always ends up betraying both women. In the long run this behavior provokes suspicion and in the worst cases (like your own), a confrontation between the two rivals. I wouldn’t want to be in your shoes, Bacon.”

“But you told me that there might be a logical solution to this mess.”

“There is!” It amused Von Neumann to play the role of the deus ex machina. “Once all three trains have collided, so to speak, the only possible strategy is to abandon the game altogether and begin another. That’s it.”

“Leave them both?”

“Once and for all.”

“That’s why you recommended me for the position?”

“Well, that was the catalyst. I hope you’re not upset. In all honesty, I do believe this is your only option. It isn’t running away, but rather saving what little you have left. Or would you rather stay in the little hell that seems to have swallowed you up?”

Bacon was silent. He was still reeling from the effects of the recent chain of events—Elizabeth’s pain and subsequent rage; Vivien’s abrupt disappearance; the scandalized murmurs in the hallways of the institute. He could barely think about what he wanted to do with the rest of his life. Maybe Aydelotte, Von Neumann, and Mr. Bird were right. Maybe the best thing was for him to forget about them before they could forget about him—or hunt him down.

“So … should I be thanking you?” Bacon asked, slightly incredulous.

“Not right now, but someday. It’s a rare opportunity to fight for a good cause. But don’t be sad—I’m afraid you and I have no choice but to remain in contact.”

“What do you mean?” asked Bacon.

“Mr. Bird may be a decent naval attaché, but he isn’t exactly an exemplar of wisdom.”

“You know him?”

“Of course I know him! But that’s not important right now. I’m going to tell you a secret, Bacon, because I trust you. I work for them as well.”

“You?”

“It’s one of my side projects. Perhaps not the most interesting, but one of them. In my house, I keep a small suitcase packed with clothes and, of course, a bulletproof vest. I’m only allowed to bring what’s absolutely essential. When Klara’s not looking, I can usually sneak a good medieval history book in there. Anyway, at any given moment they can summon me, and the flights to London can be very tedious.”

“London!”

“That may be the next place we see each other, Bacon. That’s where you’ll be going. At the very least we can get together for a nice cup of tea.”

“So I’m going to London?”

“You’re quick, Bacon. Yes, you’re going to Europe, under the auspices of the United States Navy. You’ll know war by then. You’ll know the world, and I promise you, you’ll be much happier than you have been here.”

Bacon sat still for a few moments, digesting Von Neumann’s words. He was going to be an agent in the service of the United States in Europe. He repeated this to himself several times over until it finally sank in and he actually believed it.

“The one thing that still troubles me is Professor Gödel,” Bacon suddenly said. It was the only aspect of his conversation with Aydelotte which he hadn’t discussed with Von Neumann. “I think that the incident had a terrible impact on him.”