Oh Pure and Radiant Heart, Lydia Millet [top romance novels .txt] 📗

tie. —A national security risk, is how they put it.

—Undermining American foreign policy with our outreach to other countries, said Szilard.

—Probably because we’re not campaign contributors of the president’s, said Larry.

—I can’t speak to their intentions, said the lawyer. —What I can say, Leo, is it looks like they’ve dropped us. We’ve made a couple of disclosure requests to them in the past couple of weeks and they complied gracefully, but with no fanfare. The consensus is, they want to disappear out of this.

—Fine, said Szilard. —There’s no place for the military in this question anyway. This is an issue for the civilian government.

—Leo? Can I talk to you?

Bradley stood at the door.

—Gotta go, said Szilard, dropping the melon rind in the sink and wiping his fingers on his pants. —Be right back.

Larry was sitting with Tamika at the table, writing checks.

—I like the ones with the dolphins on them, she murmured. —I think you should order those.

—When are we leaving? Ben asked Larry.

—I think a couple of hours. Don’t worry, though. We’ll send a Hut to come get you two in your room.

—For New York?

—For New York.

On his way out he glanced along the row of lawyers. Ted the rookie had become a small cog, deferring to the big guys from large firms in New York and Washington. The Christian leaders retained their own counsel but the Szilard legal team refused to work with them, citing potential conflicts of interest. The two teams did not fraternize.

—We need the Ninth Circuit on this one, said a thickset middle-aged lawyer to a young thin one, and Ben shut the door behind him.

There was a reception for Szilard and Oppenheimer before their speech to the United Nations Security Council. It was a few blocks away in a penthouse garden owned by a thin, aging heiress who wore long flowing dresses and bulging jewelry. When the old woman took Ann’s hand in her own pale claw the fingers were spread wide by thick rings, and her eyes were blue and rheumy but her smile was gentle.

The garden wrapped around three sides of a venerable building that overlooked the East River. Ann wandered along the balcony with her wine glass in one hand and Ben holding the other.

—Fermi would have liked this, he said, and touched the rim of his own wine glass to a bush of yellow roses.

He said it as though Fermi had faded away.

Scientists and diplomats milled around talking to news cameras and wealthy patrons, jabbering away in languages Ann did not know. She ducked inside to find a bathroom and heard Oppenheimer tell a man in a tweed suit that the stone carving running along the ceiling of the dining room looked like a Babylonian frieze.

—Very astute, Dr. Oppenheimer. In fact it’s from the palace wall of Ashur-nasir-apal at Nimrud.

She left them nodding speculatively at the fierce stone angels and walked along looking at photographs. One was a sepia-toned portrait of a young bride and she assumed it was the ancient patroness, with clear and unlined skin, beautiful.

When she came out of the bathroom again Szilard was speaking in the garden, booms swinging over his head. —… of course require a rigorous system of inspections …

Just inside the French doors sat the old lady on a needlepoint chair, listening.

—It’s very kind of you to open your home to us, said Ann, leaning down close.

—Anything for the cause, said the dowager weakly, her chin trembling. It took her a while to muster her next words, while Ann waited and felt awkward.

—Thank you.

—I believe, she went on softly and with difficulty, her voice quivering, —that by the time that our great-grandchildren are the age I am now, everything that we think is beautiful will be gone.

Ann lowered herself down beside the chair, squatting.

—Can I get you anything?

The old woman shook her head.

—I was sorry that Dr. Fermi could not be here, she said. —I met him, you know. When I was a young girl.

—You did?

—And now he is—sick?

—He is sick now, said Ann softly.

In his farewell speech of 1961, President Dwight D. Eisenhower famously warned of the growing power of what he called the “military-industrial complex.” Said Eisenhower, former war hero, general and Republican, “We must guard against the acquisition of unwarranted influence, whether sought or unsought, by the military-industrial complex. The potential for the disastrous rise of misplaced power exists and will persist. Only an alert and knowledgeable citizenry can compel the proper meshing of the huge industrial and military machinery of defense with our peaceful methods and goals … disarmament, with mutual honor and confidence, is a continuing imperative.”

They walked the few blocks to the United Nations complex with the crowd of scientists, stately streets lined with old doorman buildings and tall wide-limbed trees. The leaves on the trees were yellowing and Ben thought the years of his life would have been different had he spent them ensconced in one of these restrained and elegant buildings, in rooms with high ceilings and gleaming wood floors and windows that gave a view of these large and venerable trees.

Finally they turned a corner and saw the scenery change and the building was looming. Ben stopped and held Ann’s hand, watching with the cameramen as the crowd of scientists flowed past them and disappeared inside. As Oppenheimer was swallowed by the doors Ben felt he had watched him vanish over and over again. This was something Ann had known for a long time but Ben had learned recently: Oppenheimer was always in the process of vanishing. He was present only in faded effigy.

Larry was drinking with some friends at an old bar near Union Square and Tamika had promised to meet them. They had no plans of their own and so they let her lead them down busy streets and followed her like sheep, rubbernecking at the sights, the stores and the traffic and the pedestrians, all bustling and full of direction.

In the bar the wood of the counter gleamed and the ancient