I wanted to give him the direct answer: “Tomorrow send this Narcissus with all honors back into the world and you can rest in peace.” Now I regret deeply that a foolish sense of delicacy prevented me from giving that advice Instead of saying this, I took on an air of cool correctness and answered:
“I hope you will not be angry with me, sir, if I decline to pass judgment on such a difficult matter.”
Lord Charlesbury looked directly at me, shook his head sadly and said with a mirthless smile:
“Let’s finish our wine and visit the billiard room. I would like to smoke a cigar.”
In the billiard room we saw the following picture. De Mon de Rique was bent over the billiard table telling some lively tale, while Lady Charlesbury, leaning against the mantlepiece, laughed loudly. This struck me more than if I had seen her weeping. Lord Charlesbury inquired into the cause of the merriment, and when de Mon de Rique repeated his story about a certain vain aristocrat who acquired a tame leopard in a desire to pass himself off as an original and then was compelled to sit three hours in his room with the animal because he was so afraid of it, my patron laughed loud and long, like a child …
Everything in the world is inter-related in the strangest manner.
That evening in some inscrutable fashion combined the beginnings, the engagement and the tragic denouement of our lives.
The first two days of my existence at Cayambe I remember very well, but as for the rest, the closer they come to the end, the hazier they become. And therefore, with more reason I turn for help to my notebook. The seawater erased the first and last pages and in part the intervening pages also. But some of it, with difficulty, I can restore. Thus:
December 11. Today I rode on mule back with Lord Charlesbury into Quito to obtain copper wire. It happened that the subject of the material support of our project arose (it was not merely the result of my idle curiosity). Lord Charlesbury, who, it seemed to me, had long given me his full confidence, suddenly turned quickly in his saddle to face me and asked unexpectedly:
“You know Mr. Nideston?”
“Certainly, sir.”
“A fine man, is he not so?”
“An excellent man.”
“And is it not true, in the world, dry and something of a formalist?”
“Yes, sir. But he is also capable of great enthusiasm and even of high emotion.”
“You are observant, Mr. Dibble,” my mentor answered. “You should know that for fifteen years he has believed in me and my idea as stubbornly as a Mohammedan believes in his Kaaba. You know he is a London solicitor. He not only does not take any pay for my commissions, but long ago he offered to place his own private fortune at my disposal if I so wished. I am deeply convinced that he is the only eccentric left in old England. Therefore let us be of good cheer.”
December 12. Today Lord Charlesbury for the first time showed me the force which drives the timing mechanism which turns the laboratory with the sun. It is obvious, simple, and ingenious. Down the slope of the extinct volcano a dressed basalt block weighing thirty five tons suspended by a steel cable almost as thick as a man’s leg moves on almost vertical rails. This weight puts the mechanism into motion. It functions exactly for eight hours and early in the morning an old blind mule raises this counterweight with the help of another cable and a system of blocks without any great effort.
December 20. Today I sat with Lord Charlesbury after dinner in the hothouse sunk in the heady odor of narcissi, pomegranates and tuberoses. Recently my patron has been very withdrawn and his eyes seemingly have begun to lose their beautiful youthful brightness. I take this to be the result of fatigue because we are working very hard now. I am sure that he has guessed nothing about it. He suddenly changed the subject of the conversation, as is his wont:
“Our work is the most selfless and honorable on earth. To think about the happiness of one’s children or grandchildren is both natural and egotistical. But you and I are thinking of the lives and happiness of humanity so far in the future that they will not know of us nor of our poets, kings, or conquerers, about our language and religion, about our national borders or even the names of our countries. ‘Not for those who are near but those who come later!’ Isn’t that what our most popular philosopher has said? I am willing to give all my strength to this unselfish and pure service to the distant future.”
January 3. I went to Quito today to accept a shipment from London. My relationship with Mr. de Mon de Rique has become cold, almost inimical.
February. Today we completed the work of connecting all our piping with the containers of chilling solutions. A combination of ice and salt gives minus 21 degrees centigrade, dry ice and ether—minus 80 degrees, hydrogen—minus 118 degrees, vaporized dry ice—minus 130 degrees, and it seems that we will be able to reduce the atmospheric pressure indefinitely.
April. My assistant continues to arouse my interest. He is some kind of a Slav. A Russian, or a Pole, and, so it seems, an anarchist. He is intelligent and speaks English well, but it seems he prefers not to speak any language at all, but to remain silent. Here is his appearance: he is tall, thin, slightly round-shouldered; his hair is straight and long and falls onto his face in such a manner that his forehead takes the shape of a trapezoid, the narrow end up; he has a tilted nose with great open hairy, but delicate nostrils. His eyes are clear, gray, and boundlessly impertinent. He hears and understands everything that we say about the happiness of future generations and often smiles with a benevolent but contemptuous smile, which reminds me of the expression on the face of a large old bulldog watching a pack of yelping toy terriers. But his attitude toward my mentor—and this I not only know, but feel to the marrow of my bones—is one of boundless adoration. My colleague’s attitude, de Mon de Rique’s attitude, is quite different. He often speaks to the teacher about the idea of liquid sunshine with such false enthusiasm that I blush for shame and I fear that the technician is mocking our patron. And he is not interested in him at all as a man, and in the most discourteous manner and in the presence of his wife disparages his position as husband and master of the house, although this is unwise and contrary to common sense, the result of his perverted temperament and. perhaps, out of jealousy.
May. Let us hail the names of three talented Poles—Wrublewski, Olszewski, and Witkowski and the man who completed their work, Dewar. Today we transformed helium into a liquid, and instantly reducing the pressure, reached a temperature of minus 272 degrees centigrade in our major cylinder and the dial on the electric scales for the first time moved, not one, but five whole millimeters. Silently, in solitude, I bow before you, my dear preceptor and teacher.
June 26. Apparently de Mon de Rique has come to believe in liquid sunshine—and now without sickening coyness and forced delight. At least today at dinner he made a remarkable statement. He said that in his opinion liquid sunshine would have a brilliant future as an explosive substance in mines or projectiles.
I objected, it is true, rather violently, in German: “You sound like a Prussian lieutenant.”
But Lord Charlesbury responded succinctly and in a conciliatory tone:
“Our dreams are not of destruction, but of creation.”
June 27. I am writing in great agitation, my hands trembling. I worked late this evening in the laboratory, until two o’clock. It was a matter of urgency to install a cooling unit. As I was returning to my quarters the moon shone brightly. I was wearing warm sealskin boots and my footsteps on the frozen path could not be heard. My route lay in shadow. Reaching my door I stopped when 1 heard voices.
“Come in, Mary dear, for God’s sake, come in for only a minute. What are you always afraid of? And don’t you always discover that there’s no reason to be afraid?”
And then I saw them both in the bright light of the southern moon. He had his arm around her waist, and her head lay passively on his shoulder. Oh, how beautiful they were at that moment!
“But your friend …” Lady Charlesbury said timorously.
“What kind of a friend is he?” de Mon de Rique laughed heedlessly. “He’s only a boring and sentimental drudge who goes to bed every night at ten o’clock in order to arise at six. Mary, please come in. I beg you.”
And both of them, their arms around each other, went onto the porch illuminated by the blue light of the moon and disappeared in an open door.
June 28. Evening. This morning I went to see Mr. de Mon de Rique, refused his proferred hand, would not sit down on the chair he offered and said quietly:
“I must tell you what I think of you, sir. I believe that you, sir, in a situation where we should work together cheerfully and selflessly for the sake of humanity, are conducting yourself in a most unworthy and shameful manner. Last night at two o’oclock 1 saw you when you entered your quarters.”
“Were you spying, you scoundrel?” shouted de Mon de Rique, and his eyes gleamed with a violet light, like a cat at night.
“No, I found myself in an impossible situation. I did not speak out, not because I did not want to cause you pain, but because I did not want to harm another person. But this gives me more reason than ever to tell you to your face that you, sir, are a villain and a sneak.”
“You will pay for that with your blood with a weapon in your hands,” shouted de Mon de Rique, leaping to his feet.
“No,” I answered firmly. “First of all, we have no reason to fight except that I called you a villain, but not in the presence of witnesses, and secondly, because I am engaged in a great work of world-wide importance and I do not want to abandon it thanks to your ridiculous bullet until it is completed. Thirdly, would it not be easiest of all for you to pack your bags, mount the first mule available, leave for Quito, and then by your previous route return to hospitable England? Or did you dishonor someone or steal money there. Mr. Scoundrel?”
He leaped to the table and seized a leather whip which lay there.
“I’ll kill you like a dog!” he roared.
But I remembered my old boxing skills. Acting quickly, I feinted with my left hand, and then hit him with my right below his chin. He cried out, spun like a top, and blood rushed out of his nose.
I walked out.
June 29. “Why is it that I haven’t seen Mr. de Mon de Rique today?” Lord Charlesbury asked unexpectedly.
“It seems he isn’t well,” I answered, avoiding his eyes.
We were sitting together on the northern slope of the volcano. It was nine in the evening and the moon had not yet risen. Near us stood two porters and my mysterious helper, Peter. Against the quiet dark blue of the sky the slender electric lines, which we had installed that day, could hardly be seen. And on a great heap of stones rested receiver no. 6, firmly braced by basalt boulders, ready any second to open its shutters.
“Prepare the fuse,” ordered Lord Charlesbury. “Roll the spool down the hill, I’m too tired and excited; give me your hand, help me down. This is good. And there is no risk of being blinded. Think on it, my dear Dibble, think on it, my dear boy, now the two of us in the name of glory and the happiness of future mankind, will light all the world with sunshine concentrated in gaseous form. Ready! Light the fuse.”
The fiery snake of the lighted fuse ran up the hill and disappeared over the edge of the deep defile in which we sat. Listening carefully I could hear the instantaneous click of contacts closing and the penetrating roar of motors. According to our calculations gaseous sunshine should issue from the containers next to the explosion sites at a rate of approximately six thousand feet per second. At that moment above our heads there was a flash of blinding sunlight, at which the trees below rustled, clouds turned pink in the sky, distant roofs and the windows of houses in Quito gleamed brightly, and the cocks in the village nearby began crowing.
When the light faded as quickly as it had appeared, my teacher pressed the button on a stop watch, turned his flashlight on it, and said:
“It burned for one minute and eleven seconds. This is a genuine triumph, Mr. Dibble. I assure you that within a year we will be able to fill immense reservoirs with heavy liquid golden sunshine, like mercury, and compel it to provide light, heat and drive all our machinery.”
When we returned home that night about midnight we discovered that in our absence Lady Charlesbury and Mr. de Mon de Rique in the daylight hours soon after our departure had seemingly gone for a walk but then on mules saddled beforehand had left for the city of Quito below.
Lord Charlesbury remained true to himself. He said without bitterness, but sadly and in pain:
“Why didn’t they say anything to me, why this deceit? Didn’t I see that they loved each other? I would not have hindered them.”
At this point my notes end, and at that they were so damaged by water that I could restore them only with the greatest difficulty and I cannot guarantee their accuracy. Nor can I in the future guarantee the reliability of my memory. But this is always the case: the closer I draw to the final resolution the more confused my recollections become.
For about twenty-five days we worked steadily in the laboratory filling more and more containers with solar gas. During this period we invented ingenious valves for our solar containers. We equipped each of them with a clock mechanism with a simple face, as on an alarm clock. Adjusting the dials of three cylinders we could obtain light over any given period of time, and lengthen the period of its combustion and its intensity from a dim half-hour of glimmer to an instantaneous explosion—depending on the time set. We worked without inspiration, almost unwillingly, but I must admit that this was the most productive time of my stay on Cayambe. But it all ended abruptly, fantastically, and horribly.
Once, early in August, Lord Charlesbury, even more tired and aged than usual, came to visit me in the laboratory; he said to me calmly and with distaste:
“My dear friend, I feel that my death is not far away, and old convictions are making themselves heard. I want to die and be buried in England. I will leave you some money, these buildings, the equipment, the land and this laboratory. The money, on the basis of what I have spent, should be ample for two or three years. You are younger and more active than I and perhaps you will obtain some results for your labors. Our dear Mr. Nideston would give his support at any time. Please think on it.”
This man had become dearer to me than my father, mother, brother, wife or sister. And therefore I answered with deep assurance:
He embraced me and kissed me on my forehead.
“Dear sir, I would not leave you for one minute.”
The next day he summoned all the workers and paying them two years in advance said that his work on Cayambe had come to an end and that day they were to leave Cayambe for the valley below.
They left carefree and ungrateful, anticipating the sweet proximity of drunkenness and dissipation in the innumerable taverns which swarmed in the city of Quito. Only my assistant, the silent Slav—an Albanian or a Siberian—tarried near the master. “I will stay with you as long as you or I am alive,” he said. But Lord Charlesbury looked at him firmly, almost sternly and said:
“I am leaving for Europe, Mr. Peter.”
“Then I will go with you.”
“But you know what awaits you there, Mr. Peter.”
“I know. A rope. But nonetheless I will not abandon you. I have always laughed in my heart at your sentimental concerns for men in the millions of years to come, but when I came to know you better I also learned that the more insignificant is mankind the more precious is man, and therefore I have stayed with you, like an old, homeless, embittered, hungry, and mangy dog turns to the first hand that sincerely caresses it. And therefore I will stay with you. That is all.”
With astonishment and deep feeling I turned my eyes to this man whom I had always thought to be incapable of elevated feelings. But my teacher said to him softly and with authority:
“No, you must leave. Right now. I value your friendship and your tireless labors. But I’m leaving for my native land to die and the possibility that you might suffer would only darken my
departure from this world. Be a man, Peter. Take this money, embrace me in farewell, and let us part.”
I saw how they embraced and how blunt Peter kissed the hand of Lord Charlesbury several times and then left us, not turning back, almost at a run and disappeared around a nearby building.
I looked at my teacher: covering his face with his hands he was weeping …
Three days later we left on the old Gonzalez from Guayaquil for Panama. The sea was rough, but we had a following wind and to help out the small engine the captain had sails spread. Lord Charlesbury and I never left our cabins. I was seriously concerned about his condition and there were even times when I feared he was losing his mind. I observed him with helpless pity. I was especially troubled by the manner in which he invariably referred after every two or three phrases to container no. 216 which we had left behind on Cayambe, and every time he referred to it, he would say through tight lips: “Did I forget, how could I forget?” but then his speech would become melancholy and abstracted.
“Do not think,” he said, “that a petty personal tragedy forced me to abandon my work and the persistent searches and inspirations which I have patiently worked out during the course of my conscious life. But circumstances jarred my thoughts. Recently I have much altered my ideas and judgments, but only on a different plane than before. If only you knew how difficult it has been to alter my view of life at the age of sixty-five. I have come to believe, or more correctly, to feel, that the future of mankind is not worth our concern or our selfless work. Mankind, growing more degenerate every day is becoming flabbier, more decadent, and hard-hearted. Society is falling under the power of the crudest despotism in the world—capital. Trusts, manipulating the supply of meat, kerosene, and sugar are creating a generation of fabulous millionnaires and next to them millions of hungry unemployed thieves and murderers. And so it will be forever. And my idea of prolonging the sun’s life for the earth will become the property of a handful of villains who will control it or employ my liquid sunshine in shells or bombs of unheard of power … No, I do not want that … Ah, my God! that container! How could I forget! How could I!” and Lord Charlesbury clapped his hands to his head.
Worlds Apart Page 54
