by Joseph Kanon
She nodded. “A little. Is that so naughty of me? I suppose it is.”
“You want to see if he’s still attracted to you.”
“I just want to see if he notices.”
He stood under the shower, letting the water sting his face awake, feeling apprehensive. He hadn’t expected to be a bystander. But if he couldn’t trust her, what was the point? When the shower stopped, he heard her talking, low and indistinct, and he had to stop himself from flinging open the door. Instead he went over to the sink and started shaving, his ears straining to make out her voice. It had to be him. What was taking so long? He stood there, his face half covered with soap, listening, then turned on the tap to rinse the razor so that he wouldn’t hear any more.
When he came out of the bathroom, a towel around his waist, she was still sitting with the phone cradled in her lap, looking out the window.
“Any problems?”
“Twelve, not twelve-thirty,” she said, still looking away. “That all right?”
“Sure,” he said. “Why?”
She looked at him, a wry smile at the corner of her mouth. “He has to be back for a meeting.”
“A meeting?”
“You overrate my charms. Still, he did manage to fit me in.”
Her voice seemed light and wounded at the same time, and he didn’t know how to respond. “How did he sound?”
“Surprised.”
She got up and began putting on her dress.
“Did he know the place?”
“He’ll find it. Third and forty-fourth, right? He did wonder why we couldn’t meet nearer the office, but I said since I’d come halfway across the country he might manage a trip uptown. My God, do you think it’s possible for someone not to change at all?”
“Did he ask why there?”
“Yes. I told him I’d always wanted to see the Thurber murals. You got that wrong, though—never heard of him. Stop worrying, it’s all right.”
“And you?”
“I’m all right too,” she said, going over to the mirror to put on lipstick. “A little funny right now, but I’ll be fine. I’m even beginning to look forward to it.” She blotted her lips. “You needn’t fret. This is going to be easier than I thought.”
“A piece of cake.”
“Well, a piece of something. Right,” she said, packing her handbag. “I’m off. What do you think?” She flounced her hair. “Something off the shoulders? But not too gorgeous.”
“You’re beautiful,” he said seriously.
She stopped by the door and looked at him, her face soft. “Thanks,” she said. Then, determined to be light, she winked at him. “Next time try saying it with your clothes on. Shall I meet you back here? We’ve still got the morning to get through.”
“No, let’s go for a walk. I’ll meet you at the library. Over on Fifth. Out in front, by the lions. Patience and Fortitude.”
She looked at him blankly.
“That’s what they’re called—the lions.”
“The things you know,” she said.
When she was gone, the room was quiet, and he walked around nervously, at loose ends. Everything was different from the way he had imagined it back on the Hill. The air was close, smelling of her perfume. He went over to the suitcase and took out the envelope with Oppenheimer’s papers. He held it for a minute, staring at it as if the weight of what was inside would ground him, but now it seemed no more serious than a prop. It was a piece of the greatest secret of the war, and all he could think about was how she’d feel when she saw him, the first man she’d loved.
She took hours. He waited at the library, hiding from the sun under the wispy trees on the terrace, then pacing back toward the lions, afraid he would miss her. The day was hot, but not as humid as before, and occasional drafts of baked air would sweep down the avenue, blowing skirts. He stood for a long time watching the traffic, streams of buses and shiny cars and not a military vehicle in sight, shading his eyes against the glare. Everything seemed too bright and buoyant, as if the city had opened up to the sun and even furtive meetings would have to be drenched in light. He smoked, impatient, and then he saw her coming across the street and all the waiting disappeared. He knew as she stepped off the curb that it was one of those moments that becomes a photograph even as it’s happening, flashed into the memory to be taken out later, still sharp. She was wearing a white dress with padded shoulders, spectator pumps, a bag clutched under her arm. Her skirt moved with her as she walked, outlining her legs. Her hair, just grazing the back of her neck, swung as she looked back and forth, eager and expectant, her red lips already parted in a smile when she caught his eye. He felt he had never seen her before.
“How do I look?” she said, bright and pleased with herself.
“A woman only asks that when she already knows the answer.”
“Tell me anyway.”
“Like a million dollars. How do you feel?”
“Not quite that rich. These shoes,” she said, grimacing.
They went behind the library to Bryant Park and watched people, pretending not to look at the time. She sat with her legs crossed, one shoe dangling off the end of her foot.
“Hadn’t you better give me the papers?” she said casually.
He reached into his breast pocket for the envelope and then unconsciously held it in front of him, reluctant to let it go.
“What’s the matter? Think I’m going to run off and give it to the Russians or something?”
He handed her the envelope and watched her slip it into her bag.
“None of this seems real, does it?” he said. “I’ve just committed a crime and we’re making jokes.”
“Sorry,” she said coolly. “It’s just nerves.”
“No, not you—everything.”
“What’s it supposed to be like?”
He shrugged. “I don’t know. Trenchcoats and fog, I guess. Anyway, not a nice, ordinary day in the park.”
“You sound disappointed,” she said, then looked up at the sky. “You might get your rain, though. Would that help?”
“It might.”
“Your trouble is, you’re stuck in some Boy’s Own story. Secret drawers and lemon-juice ink and all the rest of it. But maybe it’s always like this, really. Out here in the sun. Feed the birds, exchange a little information, and go about your business. Maybe they’re all up to something.” She nodded toward the people on the other benches.
“They don’t look it.”
“Well, neither do we. Neither did Professor Eisler. I still can’t quite believe it.”
“He didn’t feel he was doing anything wrong. He was just an altar boy.”
“You always feel something,” she said, looking out at the park. Her voice was darker, as if a cloud had passed over it, and he was quiet for a moment, not sure how to change the subject.
“What about the woman over there, in the straw hat?” he said, a parlor game. “What’s she up to?”
“Her?”
“She doesn’t look like an agent.”
“Perhaps she’s cheating on her husband.”
“Not the same thing.”
“It feels like it,” Emma said. “It’s exciting, all the pretending. And then always something awful underneath.”
He turned to face her. “I won’t cheat.”
“No, don’t,” she said, smiling a little. “I’d know.” She looked down at her watch. “You’d better push off now. I think I’d like a few minutes alone. Get myself in the mood. You know. I can’t concentrate with you around, mooning and getting into a state. What’s it like anyway, the restaurant? Gloomy?”
“Noisy. It’s a news hangout.”
“So much for your atmosphere,” she said, laughing. “No, don’t—you’ll smudge.”
“Okay,” he said, getting up. “You remember where it is?”
“Yes, yes. Come on. Push off.”
“You’re sure you’ll be all right?”
She looked up at him. “I’ll be fi
ne. I’ve had lots of practice.”
“You’re not going to get me in any trouble with that, are you?” Tony said, watching Connolly string the wire between the booths.
“Would I do that to you?” He sat in the corner of his booth, cupping the earpiece in his hand so that he appeared to be merely leaning his head against the wall. “Can you see anything?”
“Trouble. That’s all I see.”
“How about a beer?”
“Sure. You want something to eat? You got a whole booth.”
“What’s cold?”
“Fried clams.”
Connolly grinned. “Fried when? Just bring me a tuna sandwich.”
“Tuna sandwich,” Tony said, moving away. “For a whole booth.”
The bar in front was beginning to fill up, but Connolly still had the dining room to himself. He hid the earpiece behind a sugar canister and pretended to read the paper, everything in him alert. The Thurber murals, the pride of the house, were the color of adobe, oversized women and wary men chasing each other around the room in a plaster frieze while no one, except the dogs, paid the slightest attention. There was a burst of laughter in the bar. Connolly had forgotten the sheer energy of New York. He thought of the polite academic murmurs of meals on the Hill. Here everyone seemed to be slapping everyone else on the back.
He had begun the crossword puzzle when Emma appeared, pointed in by Tony, who gave him a look when he saw her go past to the next booth. Connolly lowered his head to the paper, so that all he saw was the streak of red nails at eye level. Her perfume stayed behind her in the thick air. He was tempted to turn around—a last reassuring look—but instead he imagined her sitting in the booth, composed, winning Tony with a smile as he brought her iced tea. She was right, there was excitement in pretending. Absurdly, he thought of her shoes being tight and the fact that no one else knew.
He glanced up as each new arrival entered the room, then walked past to the back tables. Tony brought the sandwich, but Connolly let it sit there; too anxious to eat. How could Lawson be late? But they had been early.
When he did appear, five minutes later, Connolly knew it at once. He was tall, his bony frame covered in rumpled clothes that seemed just thrown on—dark cotton shirt damp at the armpits, plain tie knotted tightly, yanked down from the unbuttoned collar, jacket held by two fingers over his shoulder, a Village look. His pale hair, receding but still full on top, glistened with sweat; his face, the boyish soft face of a perennial teenager, was red, as if he had been running in the heat. He looked around nervously, then broke into a broad smile when he saw her.
“Emma,” he said, coming over to the booth. “My God, you look a treat.” He continued to stand for a second, and Connolly imagined him awkward, staring at her. “What do I do? Do I kiss you?”
Connolly heard no response, but she must have nodded, because there was a rustle of clothing as he bent over, then took a seat in the booth. Connolly leaned into the wall, picking up the receiver and hiding it against his ear, his crossword pencil lifted to write.
“I can’t believe it,” Lawson said, his voice still English and hurried, enthusiastic. “All this time. You turning up like this.”
“The bad penny,” Emma said.
“No, it’s marvelous. But what are you doing here? How long have you been in the States? How did—where to begin? Tell me everything.” His words rushed out, happily infectious, with the guileless wonder of meeting an old school friend.
“It has been a while, hasn’t it?”
“My God, look at you,” he said again, and Connolly felt him lean back against the booth to take her in.
“You’re the same,” she said, an appraisal, but he took it for a compliment.
“Well, the hair,” he said, evidently brushing it back at the temple. “I expect it’ll all go one day. But you—I can’t get over it. How’s your family?”
“My family?” she said, disconcerted. “They’re fine. I haven’t seen them in years. I’m living here now. I’m married.”
“Married?”
“Matthew, I divorced you years ago,” she said smoothly. “Surely you knew?”
“No.”
“You weren’t there to contest it. You wouldn’t have, would you?”
He was silent for a minute. “How could I? Look, I never explained—”
“Darling, don’t. Really. It was all a very long time ago, and it doesn’t matter now. I haven’t come for that.”
“I don’t understand.”
“We haven’t much time. I need to talk to you. We can save all those happy days unter den linden for another time.”
“You’re still angry with me.”
“I’m not really,” she said softly. “I was. Well, I don’t know what I was—not angry. But that was a lifetime ago. Before the war. We were just children, weren’t we? Anyway, never mind. We’d better order.”
Connolly looked up, surprised to see Tony standing at the next booth. They ordered sandwiches.
“It wasn’t all bad, was it?” Matthew said when he’d gone. “We had fun. In the beginning. God, your father—”
His voice was bright again, and Connolly thought he could hear the mischief of those years, the delight in provoking. Is this what she’d liked, the way he thumbed his nose at the world?
“You were the most marvelous girl,” he said.
“I’m still pretty marvelous. What about you?”
“Me?”
“Still working with the comrades?”
“Of course.”
“Doing what, exactly?”
“I work on the paper. It’s quite good, actually. There was a falling off after the Pact—reporters jumping ship, you know. But of course the war changed all that. Shoulders together. Now, well, we’ll see.”
“You mean to stay, then?”
“If I can. We’re not exactly Uncle Sam’s favorite publication, but we’re still in business. Browder’s worked miracles. Anyway, this is the place now. Politically, it’s all a bit like your Uncle Arthur, but everything will change after the war. It has to. The pressures will be enormous.”
He stopped as the plates were put in front of them.
“You are the same,” she said, a smile in her voice. “Still on the march.”
“I can’t help that,” he said, catching her tone. “It still needs doing. I grant you, it’s not Spain,” he said, reminiscent again. “It’s a different sort of fight, but as you say, we’re not young anymore.”
“I never said that. I said I was still marvelous.”
“Yes,” he said, his voice lingering. “But married. Who did you marry, by the way? Someone here?”
“A scientist. No one you know. Matthew,” she said, pausing, “I need you to do something for me.”
“Anything.”
“No, don’t say that till you hear what it is. Something important.”
“Is that why you looked me up?”
“Yes.”
“Funny. I thought it might be—I don’t know, about us.”
“What, after all this time?”
He didn’t answer.
“There’s nothing about us. Do you understand? I want to be quite clear about that.”
“Why, then?”
“I need somebody I can trust. Or maybe it’s the other way around, somebody who’ll trust me. Who knows me.”
Connolly cupped the receiver closer to his ear, feeling literally like a fly on the wall. The approach, smooth and plausible, was all hers.
“I don’t understand. Are you in some sort of trouble?”
“No, not exactly. We all are, in a way. That’s the point. God, this is complicated. I’m not quite sure where to begin. It’ll seem fantastic to you. It is fantastic. Sometimes I don’t quite believe it myself.”
“Emma, what are you talking about?”
“Right,” she said, verbally sitting up. “Here goes. It won’t make sense, but hear me out. Do you have a cigarette?”
“You smoke now?”
&
nbsp; “Oh yes, I’m all grown up.” Connolly heard the match strike. “That’s better. My husband is a scientist.”
“You said.”
“A physicist. Working for the government. We’re at an army base out west.”
“Where?”
“I can’t tell you that,” she said, then caught herself with a nervous laugh. “Sorry. Force of habit. New Mexico. It’s a secret base, you see. They’re very strict about that. They’re making weapons.”
“What kind of weapons?” he said, his voice lower.
“Bombs. Do you know anything about atomic fission? No, I don’t suppose you do. Nobody does. It doesn’t matter. The point—”
“I know what fission is. There was talk before the war. Nothing since. Do you mean to say they’ve actually gone ahead? I thought it was supposed to be impossible.”
“No, they’ve done it. At least, they think they have. They’re going to test it very soon. That’s why there isn’t any time.”
“Do you know what you’re saying? It’s fantastic.”
“Yes. Funny, you get so used to it, you stop thinking about it that way. But it’s real. Twenty thousand tons of TNT.”
“Jesus.”
Connolly had told her ten. He wondered if she had simply forgotten or had begun to be swept up in her own story. Why not twenty?
“It’s capable of wiping out a whole city,” she said. “Berlin, even.”
“Berlin’s gone.”
“Tokyo, then. They’ll use it somewhere. And there’s something new—it’s not just the explosive power. They can reckon that, but no one knows about the radiation effects. They’re going to use it on people and they don’t even know yet what it will do. And there’s no point now.”
“Slow down.”
“No, let me finish. As long as it’s secret, they will use it. Unless someone makes a stink. The scientists can’t—they’re terrified. But if we don’t get the word out somehow, it’ll be too late. They mustn’t, you see. We’re talking about thousands and thousands of lives, and they’ve already won. Someone’s got to stop them.” Her voice slowed. “Anyway, I thought of you.”
“Me? I don’t understand. Do you want me to put this in the paper?”
“No, of course not. They’d arrest you. It’s a military secret—no paper’s going to be allowed to print it. Otherwise the scientists would just leak it.”
