money, Owens slid out a school-sized picture of a little girl from his wallet. “Do you think she looks like me?”
Noah studied the small photograph. “No, I don’t think so. Why?”
“Yeah, I don’t either,” Owens said, slipping the picture back. He sipped his coffee and held the cup midair, perhaps trying to experience what other people must know as leisure. “It’s one of the prices I pay for my life. This woman tried to say she was my kid.” As he extracted two bills, Kaskie began to stammer, but Owens raised a hand. “Recruitment effort.”
When they left, a girl in an apron ran out after him. “Your change!”
“Oh, no, that’s for you. It’s a tip. Please tell the manager it’s such a pleasure when he’s not around.”
The girl’s face complicated, biting down the grin.
“Hey, seriously, why do you think it’s only the young European men who work in your labs? Why don’t the young French women and the young Swedish women come?”
Noah shrugged. “A lot of Europeans don’t like it here. Most of them stay just for science. That guy you talked to, he sees nothing America has contributed outside of the bomb.”
“What about the automobile?”
“Or corn, potatoes, tomatoes, I’m always telling him.” Noah’smother was the rare American Jew who’d grown up on a farm. There were pastoral pictures of her posing among rows of cabbages.
“Electricity. The telephone. The personal computer. How about the movie camera?”
“Linus Pauling. The alpha helix.”
“George Eastman, Thomas Edison, Alexander Graham Bell, Land and all of Polaroid. Robert Goddard. Rockets. The polio vaccine!”
“The Wright Brothers. Jazz.”
“Commercial penicillin.”
“I thought that was England.”
“We made it usable, during the war. The Brits discovered it but they couldn’t make it. What was it some guy said? I think it was, ‘This mold is an opera singer.’ No, Tishler did it at Merck. He grew it and then he refused to patent it. He always used to say if we discovered a cure for cancer, he wouldn’t patent it.”
They were still chanting America’s contributions when they returned to Kaskie’s lab.
“ What are you talking about?” Louise asked. She was his best postdoc, the most talented and exacting, but she made him nervous. He could usually count on his students to look at him with admiration. But not her. Also, she always wore black clothes, not the usual denim and tee shirts you saw in labs.
When Noah explained, she exploded in harsh laughter. “You’ve missed the most important one,” she said. “Of this century, at least.”
“What?”
She snorted. “The pill, of course.”
Score one for industry. It made its creators millionaires.
He thought of Louise’s parents again. They might have married for love, but they were hardly a glamorous couple now. They’d probably been together thirty, forty years. Her father worked as a postman and walked with a prosthetic shoe.
A Chain Letter
O wens sat with his feet up on the desk, listening to the girl on the telephone. Her voice was young and impressionable, but she carried a conversation well, not like Olivia.
“To be perfectly frank,” she was saying. She then went on to chat about things that didn’t require any frankness. She mentioned her aversion to tablecloths that matched the wallpaper and to napkins folded like swans.
“Swans, really?” he said. “I didn’t notice.”
They were gossiping about the people who had introduced them, the week before. Their hosts had felt honored to have Owens and pleased that Mrs. Maguire brought her daughter Albertine, who seemed to amuse him. They’d gone to great pains over the dinner party. Next to each place card, a bud vase held miniature roses. Owens and Albertine had been happy enough to eat the careful food and sip the wine, and now they were disparaging their hosts. That is the way of the social world and, especially, of flirtation. Owens enjoyed the teasing ardors of
Noah studied the small photograph. “No, I don’t think so. Why?”
“Yeah, I don’t either,” Owens said, slipping the picture back. He sipped his coffee and held the cup midair, perhaps trying to experience what other people must know as leisure. “It’s one of the prices I pay for my life. This woman tried to say she was my kid.” As he extracted two bills, Kaskie began to stammer, but Owens raised a hand. “Recruitment effort.”
When they left, a girl in an apron ran out after him. “Your change!”
“Oh, no, that’s for you. It’s a tip. Please tell the manager it’s such a pleasure when he’s not around.”
The girl’s face complicated, biting down the grin.
“Hey, seriously, why do you think it’s only the young European men who work in your labs? Why don’t the young French women and the young Swedish women come?”
Noah shrugged. “A lot of Europeans don’t like it here. Most of them stay just for science. That guy you talked to, he sees nothing America has contributed outside of the bomb.”
“What about the automobile?”
“Or corn, potatoes, tomatoes, I’m always telling him.” Noah’smother was the rare American Jew who’d grown up on a farm. There were pastoral pictures of her posing among rows of cabbages.
“Electricity. The telephone. The personal computer. How about the movie camera?”
“Linus Pauling. The alpha helix.”
“George Eastman, Thomas Edison, Alexander Graham Bell, Land and all of Polaroid. Robert Goddard. Rockets. The polio vaccine!”
“The Wright Brothers. Jazz.”
“Commercial penicillin.”
“I thought that was England.”
“We made it usable, during the war. The Brits discovered it but they couldn’t make it. What was it some guy said? I think it was, ‘This mold is an opera singer.’ No, Tishler did it at Merck. He grew it and then he refused to patent it. He always used to say if we discovered a cure for cancer, he wouldn’t patent it.”
They were still chanting America’s contributions when they returned to Kaskie’s lab.
“ What are you talking about?” Louise asked. She was his best postdoc, the most talented and exacting, but she made him nervous. He could usually count on his students to look at him with admiration. But not her. Also, she always wore black clothes, not the usual denim and tee shirts you saw in labs.
When Noah explained, she exploded in harsh laughter. “You’ve missed the most important one,” she said. “Of this century, at least.”
“What?”
She snorted. “The pill, of course.”
Score one for industry. It made its creators millionaires.
He thought of Louise’s parents again. They might have married for love, but they were hardly a glamorous couple now. They’d probably been together thirty, forty years. Her father worked as a postman and walked with a prosthetic shoe.
A Chain Letter
O wens sat with his feet up on the desk, listening to the girl on the telephone. Her voice was young and impressionable, but she carried a conversation well, not like Olivia.
“To be perfectly frank,” she was saying. She then went on to chat about things that didn’t require any frankness. She mentioned her aversion to tablecloths that matched the wallpaper and to napkins folded like swans.
“Swans, really?” he said. “I didn’t notice.”
They were gossiping about the people who had introduced them, the week before. Their hosts had felt honored to have Owens and pleased that Mrs. Maguire brought her daughter Albertine, who seemed to amuse him. They’d gone to great pains over the dinner party. Next to each place card, a bud vase held miniature roses. Owens and Albertine had been happy enough to eat the careful food and sip the wine, and now they were disparaging their hosts. That is the way of the social world and, especially, of flirtation. Owens enjoyed the teasing ardors of
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