The Falling Sky

by Pippa Goldschmidt

  But Maggie’s still motionless, staring at the hills in the distance, the wind whipping up her hair, until Jeanette prods her gently with the suitcase, ‘Come on!’

  The images are mock-ups, simulations of what Orion should be able to see if the link is real.

  ‘Looks impressive.’ There’s a precision to Maggie’s voice that Jeanette hasn’t noticed before. Perhaps it’s because she’s not used to speaking English? ‘How long will it take for Orion to resolve this detail?’

  ‘The same as a large ground based telescope. About half an hour.’

  ‘That’s really good.’

  They go for coffee in the canteen. As Jeanette opens the door she sees Richard sitting in a far corner, and she realises she hasn’t spoken to him since the last time she saw him in here, surrounded by job applications. She’s able to steer Maggie to a seat some way from Richard. She doesn’t want to speak to him now, there might be awkwardness. There’s something else too, another reason that she can’t quite put her finger on, for keeping him away from Maggie.

  She sits facing him so she can keep an eye on him. Maggie’s telling her about California and what she’s expecting to do out there.

  ‘I’ll be able to apply for time on the Lick Observatory telescopes, as well as Mauna Kea. You can come and visit me, I’m sure there’s money for visiting fellows. If you have the time, now that you’re a lecturer!’ Maggie laughs, and Jeanette tries to laugh too. But she doesn’t like the thought of going to California. How could she leave Edinburgh for any length of time, as long as Paula is in her life? There’s already so much psychological distance between them, any physical separation could be lethal.

  Richard gets up and starts walking to the exit. Jeanette watches him but he doesn’t look at her. She thinks she can hear him humming. As he passes by, he swerves smartly and walks towards them. He has wrongfooted me, Jeanette thinks, quite literally. I didn’t predict that movement.

  ‘Maggie,’ he nods at her. He’s looking ragged, not as smooth as usual. The shiny hair hasn’t been brushed as well as it should be, she can see clumps of dandruff. He even has a spot on his chin.

  ‘Oh… Richard.’ Maggie knows about his failed job application. She manages to smile at him, but she’s not a good actor and Jeanette can see pity taint the curve of her lips. But then she smiles properly. ‘Hey. Now that I’m here, can I see something?’

  He nods again, more uncertainly this time. ‘What?’

  ‘Well, because we were able to refer to the consortium’s piccie of the link in our paper, after you showed it to Jeanette, I was wondering if I could see it too?’

  After the lightning strike, a moment of silence. Then, ‘You’ve got a nerve.’

  ‘Sorry?’ Maggie glances at Jeanette, confused.

  ‘Or hasn’t she told you?’

  ‘Told me what?’

  They’re both looking at her now. For some reason they seem larger than her, and it feels like they’re her parents and she’s a naughty child. Of course she hasn’t told Maggie about the problem with the reference to the consortium’s data. It was her problem, not Maggie’s. There was no reason to tell Maggie.

  Richard smoothes a hand over his hair, restoring it to something like its past glory. ‘Well, I’ll leave it to Jeanette to explain it all to you. She’s so good at explaining things, isn’t she?’ And he walks off.

  ‘Well?’ The word sounds compressed, as if Maggie doesn’t want to say anything more than the minimum.

  Jeanette stares at the floor. ‘He let me look at the galaxies. And of course I found the link, but it wasn’t as obvious in their data so they’d missed it.’

  ‘Yes, I know that…’

  ‘He told me not to use the data, so I didn’t use it. I just mentioned it. That’s not actually using it. There was no information about it in our paper.’

  ‘For heaven’s sake!’

  ‘No information at all — apart from the fact it showed the link…’

  ‘Why didn’t you explain all this to me?’

  ‘Explain?’

  ‘Don’t you think I had a right to know? I was the other author on that paper, remember? Yes, I know you like to forget that, and just swan off and talk about it all over the place and get all the credit, but I was there too, remember?’

  Jeanette does remember, all too clearly, the cold control room at four o’clock in the morning, and Maggie was angry with her then, too. For doing something she shouldn’t have, something that other astronomers, other people, didn’t do.

  ‘I’m sorry.’

  ‘You always are sorry, after the event, aren’t you? When it’s too late. When you’ve already buggered things up!’

  ‘I haven’t buggered things up…’

  Maggie’s mouth looks too small to be able to squeeze any words out. ‘You’re supposed to be such a good observer, but you just can’t see what you’ve done. You never can.’

  Maggie leaves the next day, after spending the rest of her time at the Observatory chatting to other people. Jeanette doesn’t see her again, after the row. She supposes things might settle down, once Maggie moves to California. She’ll email her in a few weeks. They’ve got another observing trip soon. They’ll have to patch things up. They’ve had rows before. It’ll be ok.

  One day during the next week, the Death Star phones her, and asks her to see him in his office. She’s annoyed at being summoned like this, and also at having to interrupt her work on a new project, examining regions of the Universe that have less than the average density of galaxies in them. Not much is known about these regions, because by definition, not much happens in them. But she’s curious. She thinks she might try and map one. It might be her terra nova. She can do this by herself, she doesn’t need Maggie.

  Before she goes to see the Death Star, perhaps as a gesture of defiance, she phones Paula. To her surprise, Paula answers the phone and suggests that they meet in the pub later. She allows herself to feel joy for a moment, before realising this arrangement is ambiguous, they’ve always gone to the pub. It can’t be used as a proxy for Paula’s feelings.

  As she leaves her office she notices the shadow chalk-marks for the first time in ages. ‘GAG’ is still visible.

  When she reaches the Death Star’s office, she supposes he’s in there somewhere, although it’s difficult to tell. There could be bodies buried in here and nobody would be able to find them under the dry mountains of papers, or the metallic rubble of computer tapes.

  He really isn’t here. She stands in the small patch of clear floor, trying not to think about why she’s there, and why he’s making her wait. She stands very upright. She will not be cowed by him.

  She can hear him rustling along the corridor like an inescapable avalanche, so she pulls her shoulders back. But then the rustling stops. Silence. Perhaps she is reprieved. She sticks her head out of the office and sees that he’s standing still, staring at the photos of the faculty and students like an officer inspecting his troops. Why?

  He doesn’t seem to notice her, but just carries on scrutinising the shrunken heads. There are about fifty photos, and she knows that if you’re standing that close to them they lose their human qualities. It’s a bit like looking at pictures of galaxies.

  ‘You’ve been elevated.’ He flicks one of the photos. ‘Up to the top row, with the rest of the lecturers.’ He flicks the photo again, harder this time, and it falls off the wall. She watches herself spin through the air and land face down, so all she can see is the white cardboard reverse of the image. She wants to pick it up, but he moves towards her.

  ‘Come along,’ he says crossly, as if she is the one distracting him, and he herds her into his office. She’s worried about her photo now. It’ll get dirty, she needs to rescue it.

  Wisps of his hair stand out from his head, like the Sun’s corona. Every wall in here is insulated by old books with dark bindings. There’s only one bit of space that isn’t taken up by bookshelves, and on this brief part of the wall is a small plaster statue
of a face. The expression on it is wrenched and taut, the eyes twisted up, the mouth a narrow line.

  ‘What’s that?’ she asks.

  He turns to see what she’s looking at. ‘That? Newton’s death mask.’

  ‘His… death mask?’

  He doesn’t seem surprised, as if this is the reason she is there. ‘Yes. Quite common in those days, to preserve the moment of death. Do you want to have a look at it?’ He unhooks it from the wall and holds it out to her, as if making some sort of offering. Even under its shroud of dust, the thing is dreadful. She won’t touch it.

  ‘What on Earth’s it doing here?’

  ‘The Earl of Crawford gave it to the Observatory, when he bequeathed all his astronomical books and tools to this place at the end of the nineteenth century.’

  ‘But what’s it doing here in your office?’ Why does he have it? Does he use it to weave secret spells? She can imagine him muttering incantations over it. Newton was a strange man.

  He doesn’t answer her, but instead replaces the mask on the wall and removes a stack of papers of one of the piles, to reveal a secret chair which he lowers himself into. There is nowhere for her to sit. This is the reverse of Maggie and Richard in the canteen. The Death Star will keep her standing to prove he is in charge here. Why is she never in control with anyone? But she will see Paula in a few hours, and perhaps it really will be alright this time.

  He makes a little telescope dome out of his fingers and stares at her over it with his pale, rotund eyes. ‘You know why you’re here.’

  ‘No. No, I don’t.’

  He doesn’t seem disconcerted by that. He knows she doesn’t have a clue. He just wanted to demonstrate, yet again, how little she understands.

  ‘You’ll recall that your lectureship is temporary. For one year only, until and unless you can demonstrate that it should be made permanent.’

  ‘Yes.’ But nobody’s ever lost a lectureship like this before. Not when they’ve published as many papers as she has. She stares at the top of his head without moving an inch. If she’s got to be a soldier, she’ll go down fighting.

  ‘I understand Richard was lucky not to be forced out of the consortium because of your unilateral reference to their data. This is not a safe way to work, Jeanette. Not if you want to keep on good terms with your colleagues. And you need collaborators. You can’t do everything all by yourself.’

  Too late for that, she thinks, remembering Maggie’s angry face. She sighs, ‘I know. It just seemed so exciting at the time. What the data were showing seemed so much more important than remembering who was allowed to see what, and when.’ It still does, she thinks, but does not say this out loud.

  ‘I’m not even sure it made any difference to your paper, to be honest. The consortium estimated a far lower statistical significance for the link between the galaxies than you claimed.’

  Claimed. He sounds like he doesn’t believe her any more. Perhaps he never did.

  ‘What about Orion?’

  ‘Let’s see about Orion. Let’s just wait and see.’ He looks old and tired. For the first time she wonders how many times he’s been through this in the past, warned younger colleagues to be careful. ‘What are you working on now?’ He’s clearly keen to move away from the whole messy subject of connected galaxies.

  ‘I’m thinking of something to do with less than averagely dense regions.’

  ‘Good. That sounds a bit more mainstream.’ The edges of his mouth twitch upwards in what might be a smile. ‘We’ll be making a decision about the lectureship next month. I have to warn you it’s in the balance. Can you get another paper out before then? That may help bury the — ah — other stuff.’

  As usual, she can’t work him out. Is he being a complete bastard, or just trying to be kind? Outside, she picks up her photo, but the pin that held it to the wall has vanished. There’s a gap on the wall now, a blank where she used to be.

  In the pub, she wishes she’d brought some lipstick with her, even though she knows it’s pointless. She looks down at her clothes, suddenly hating them, hating herself in them, even at the same time realising that it’s not about the way she looks. Something is going wrong, but she can’t work out what it is.

  Her past relationships have ended in one of two ways; they have either faded away, or, far less often, they have exploded into a fireworks display of sadness and misery. She knows that what she feels for Paula is not going to go away, they are not headed for a quiet talk in the pub followed in the future by occasional but affectionate reminiscences. It will have to be the fireworks, then. Unless she is wrong, and Paula does care. Perhaps she’s just preoccupied with her work, her art.

  Sometimes Jeanette feels like she spends half her life waiting for Paula in the pub. She has a drink, and then another. She refuses to phone her; Paula knows where she is, knows she’s waiting. But even now, as Jeanette swirls her wine around her glass and shovels crisps into her mouth, she knows she still wants Paula. Wants to push her up against a wall and fuck her.

  Paula is an hour late. And when she does arrive, Jeanette can’t speak to her. Not because she’s angry, although she is, but because she doesn’t know what to say that won’t shatter what remains between them. She tries to choose some words but can’t find the right ones. And she knows that she’s not always good with words. She spends her life studying physical things, so when she has to manipulate the names for those things, or even worse, the symbols for less palpable aspects of life, she feels at a disadvantage.

  Paula sits down. Jeanette notices that she’s not wearing lipstick either. This is Paula naked. But it’s too difficult to look at her face, she’s frightened of what she might see there. So she looks down, studies Paula’s hands instead. Hands are more neutral. Paula’s are slightly crossed, the fingers of one covering the other. It is an oddly old-fashioned pose, more suited to a nun in quiet contemplation. But the skin around the nails is stained with paint, as if Paula has been digging in blue earth. There is more blue further up her arms. It makes her skin look even paler than usual.

  ‘Sorry I’m late,’ she says finally, and pauses, waiting for Jeanette to speak. After a bit she carries on, ‘I forgot about the time because I was working so hard. I’ve still got to paint ten more paintings before the show.’

  ‘When is the show?’ Jeanette asks. What else can she say? She supposes it could be true.

  As she sits there and listens to Paula, she realises they will never be able to communicate. They are facing each other across a scarred wooden table, across battle trenches, across the entire universe.

  Later, Jeanette does just what she imagined earlier. She does it in silence, with nothing but the sound of both their breathing loud in her ears. As soon as the front door is shut, and before the light’s turned on, she puts her hands on Paula’s shoulders and kisses her hard. As their lips smash together, Paula pulls her tight so that their bodies slam into each other. There is still this, then. They still have this. Paula undoes Jeanette’s shirt buttons, then tries to tug her jeans down, but Jeanette pushes her hands away. She only wants to get at Paula, get inside her where she’s tender. Make her feel something.

  But even as Paula gasps and her cunt sucks at Jeanette’s fingers, it doesn’t seem like much of a victory. And as soon as she gets her breath back, Paula moves away and straightens her clothes as if trying to hide any evidence of what’s happened, before reaching out and snapping the light switch. Jeanette would rather hide in the dark, she doesn’t want this scene to be illuminated. The light strikes her in the face like a blow. She tries to touch Paula’s arm, aware as she does so that this is the first physical act by either of them all evening that shows any affection, but Paula moves towards the door. She’s closed off again. In fact, in spite of its post-coital flush, her face looks angry. Her lips are pulled tight, and she won’t look at Jeanette.

  ‘See you later,’ she announces. ‘I’ve got to get back to the studio.’

  ‘When…’ but Paula is gone. The sound of
the slamming door makes her wonder if this night has connected with an earlier one, like a snake eating its own tail. She is Paula’s invisible woman.

  The next day, she gets up mechanically. In the shower it’s an effort to drag the soap over her body. Food seems too complicated to negotiate. Walking to the Observatory is more straightforward, one foot in front of another until she arrives at her desk where she can watch the smooth progression of the second hand on the wall clock, suddenly aware of how time can only be represented by spatial movement. How odd it is to rely on clocks with their proxy measurement of the passage of time. The real thing is so much more difficult to grasp and understand. She is beginning to feel a sense of distance from the events of last night, much more than she did when she woke up this morning, when it still seemed so immediate. Perhaps the passage of time is linked to a change of place. Now that she’s not in the flat, it’s easier to think rationally about Paula, and easier to understand where Paula’s coming from. Perhaps there is something to salvage. They did have sex, after all.

  When Jeanette is thirteen, her parents buy her a camera. It’s a proper SLR, and it makes a satisfying thunk when the shutter is released. She spends hours outside, taking photos with different settings. She learns that when she increases the f-stop to reduce the size of the aperture, the resulting photo is darker, but more of it is in focus. There is a tension between clarity and light.

  She’s able to bolt the camera onto the back of her telescope and she takes time-lapse photos of the sky. Her father buys a second hand enlarger and they use it in the bathroom, with duct tape stuck around the door to stop any light getting in. The resulting photos are pinned onto the washing line to dry. They’re black and white; they look like photos in an old textbook.

  She takes photos of starlings perched on telegraph poles, and of fish lying on slabs in fishmongers.

  ‘Very nice,’ says her mother. ‘Why don’t you try taking some photos of people?’

  So she offers to take photos of the school play. That year the play is ‘Mother Courage’. Jeanette doesn’t know the story before she goes to the dress rehearsal. As she sits watching in the school auditorium, she realises it’s about death. Mother Courage drags her cart and her three kids through battle zones to make money, but she can’t protect them, and they all die. The two sons’ deaths are pointless, but the silent daughter, Kattrin, dies saving the lives of a family caught in a fire.