Читать книгу Space - Roger Reid - Страница 11

One of the things I’ve noticed about scientists is that they don’t speak unless they have something to say. When your mom’s a biologist and your dad’s a physicist you wind up spending a lot of time around scientists. I’ve pointed out this observation to my mom and dad. Mom said, “He that answers a matter before he hears it, it is folly and shame to him.” Dad said, “We’re used to doing the research before we publish our papers.” I took their comments to mean that you have to think about it before you talk about it.

That Monday night in a barbeque restaurant in Huntsville, Alabama, there was a lot of thinking going on.

As soon as he made his accusation, Stephen Warrensburg made a sharp right, a quick left, and then he traveled the length of the table, the length of the room, and straight out the door. His eyes never blinked, his head never turned, his body never shifted. He was one with the machine that was his wheelchair.

My dad, Robert James Caldwell, PhD and university professor, didn’t say a word.

Dr. Herman Yao, world-renowned SETI researcher, was silent. SETI stands for the Search for Extraterrestrial Intelligence. SETI has yet to turn up intelligence in outer space, and it looked like Dr. Yao couldn’t find it in the restaurant that night.

Mr. Dexter Humboldt, master’s degree in physics and high school science teacher, did not call the room to attention. He fidgeted like a kid in class who had been called on to give an answer to an unanswerable question.

Ivana Prokopov, Russian immigrant and former cosmonaut with a degree in planetary geology, could speak about the formation of the solar system. She did not speak about anything she saw form that night.

Sam Trivedi had PhDs in astrophysics and computer science. Sam was short for a first name that I think even Sam himself had forgotten how to pronounce. And Sam had no pronouncements for the Space Cadets that night.

Dr. Angie Warrensburg had degrees in astronomy and chemical engineering. Her official NASA title is Propulsion Engineer. In other words, she’s a rocket scientist. Her other official title is Mother of Stephen A. Warrensburg. Neither the rocket scientist nor the mother had anything to say. At least not right away.

When she did speak it was with her eyes. They glistened. Then they bubbled over.

“Angie,” my dad was the first to speak, “I . . . we . . .” He was the first to speak; he just couldn’t find any words to use.

Dr. Yao tried, “Angie, whatever we need to do to help . . . How long has it been since Ray’s death?”

“Year and a half,” muttered Dexter Humboldt.

“Obviously,” Dr. Yao continued, “Stephen still harbors a great deal of anger over his father’s death. If he needs someone to direct that anger toward . . .”

“None of us wants to be the object of anger,” Ivana Prokopov butted in, “but if that’s what it takes to help him through it . . .”

There was silence in the room again. My dad turned and caught my eye. He nodded toward the door. I can take a hint. I stood up and left the room.

Outside the door I hesitated just long enough to hear my dad say, “Angie, I . . . we love you. We loved Raymond. Whatever we can do for you and Stephen . . .”