Soul

by Tobsha Learner

  There was an air of quiet intensity about him, a feeling of self-containment. Julia gleaned he wasn’t entirely comfortable in crowds.

  ‘And it’s an honour, Professor Huntington, to have rescued you from some B-grade gorilla in a cheap suit. I’m assuming he wasn’t the boyfriend, right?’ In that same moment he noticed her wedding ring. ‘Oops, sorry, you must think I’m a compulsive flirter. I didn’t see the ring.’

  ‘I’m separated…recently.’

  ‘My condolences.’

  ‘Accepted.’

  He smiled, his blue eyes crinkling up against the tan, and Julia realised, to her intense irritation, that she found him attractive. She walked away and took refuge behind a huge fern. He followed.

  ‘Can we talk about your research? I believe I have some information that could prove very useful.’

  ‘Which particular research? My laboratory covers a lot of areas.’

  His relaxed attitude disappeared in an instant. He took her arm. ‘Hey, I’m risking my neck just talking to you, and I haven’t got much time, so if you cut the bullshit, I’ll cut the bullshit. This report for the DOD—it’s going to affect a lot of people. A lot of people I care about. Can’t we at least sit down and trade information?’

  ‘Who are you? Military?’

  ‘Kind of.’

  ‘How do I even know you’re US military?’

  He pulled out a card and held it up. She read it quickly before he slipped it back into his pocket.

  ‘Okay, so you’re Delta, but that ID is obsolete.’

  ‘You know your protocol.’

  ‘I have to.’

  ‘I was court-martialled at the end of last year, for my involvement in Brazil.’

  ‘You know about the incident in Brazil?’

  As two men wandered past, Julia’s companion broke into a Bronx accent. ‘That’s a really brilliant way of mapping gene clusters—maybe I can incorporate that into my own work…’

  The men disappeared through the exit door. Julia turned back to her mysterious cohort.

  ‘You really have read my work.’

  ‘Yeah, and I know my alphabet too. It’s vital we talk.’

  ‘How do I know whether I can trust you?’

  ‘You don’t.’

  ‘Do you have a phone number?’

  ‘Don’t worry. I’ll find you.’

  On the other side of the hall, Gabriel stepped tentatively into the auditorium. He was dressed in a brand new Hugo Boss suit he bought on credit. It was the first suit he’d worn and the formality of the outfit made him feel self-conscious—gauche even. Horribly aware of being the youngest there, Gabriel touched the invitation in his suit pocket to reassure himself. Xandox were his college sponsors.

  A female rep hanging around the entrance scanned his name tag. She spoke briefly into a mobile phone then approached him.

  ‘Gabriel Mendalos? Welcome. The head of the Californian division is very keen to meet you.’

  ‘He is? I didn’t think he even knew of my existence.’

  ‘Of course I do.’ A long-haired friendly looking man in his late twenties, wearing a T-shirt printed with a cartoon of feuding microbes, put out his hand. ‘We track all our prodigies; after all, you are our future. Matt Leman.’

  Gabriel shook his hand, embarrassed at being overdressed.

  Taking his arm, Matt Leman lead him to the bar and, without asking his age, handed him a margarita. Gabriel, sipping the drink, gazed around: some of the faces he recognised from science magazines and pharmaceutical brochures.

  ‘Congratulations on the new laboratory position by the way,’ Leman slapped him on the back.

  ‘You know about that?’

  ‘Like I said, we like to track our investments. Professor Huntington is the top in her field. You’ll have access to the best research going.’

  ‘I know, that’s why I pursued the position.’

  ‘She got lucky, you’re going to be the best too soon.’

  ‘I’m only in my first year.’

  ‘Vision, Gabriel. You’ve got genius; you just need the discipline and vision to take you there.’

  ‘Really?’ Gabriel’s eyes narrowed. No-one had ever called him a genius before. He knew he had ambition but he was already aware that he lacked the flare of original thinking extraordinary research required—the kind of original thinking Julia was famous for. ‘Yeah, that’s all great hypothetically, but it’s a cut-throat arena—just look at all these guys totally stoked, all wanting to be immortalised for the next major breakthrough.’

  ‘All the more reason to keep your eyes and ears wide open. Trust me, you’re in the right lab, your…mentor, she doesn’t know what she’s sitting on half the time, but a guy like you—young, hungry, with a cutting-edge commercial sensibility, I just know you’ll be doing the right thing at the right time. Listen, if there’s anything that’s coming in—you know, results you want to brainstorm independently, ring me. I know Xandox would really appreciate the ongoing rapport.’

  Half-appalled and half-intrigued, Gabriel watched as Matt Leman slipped his card into his breast pocket. ‘Now, is there anyone here you’d really like to meet?’ The executive put his arm over Gabriel’s shoulders and swung him back toward the reception room. Gabriel looked around; a man in his eighties stood beside the podium, towering over the men surrounding him with a supercilious air of power. Gabriel knew who he was immediately.

  ‘The area I’m interested in is biology and genetics. Take greenhouse, for example—why can’t we bioengineer a tree that’s genetically manipulated to absorb large quantities of carbon dioxide? I’m telling you, there’s money in greenhouse.’

  ‘What did you say your name was, kid?’

  Julia, recognising the first voice, looked over to the podium, where she was amazed to see Gabriel conversing with Professor Marvin Bedelmayer as casually if he were his recruitment officer.

  By the time she swung back to her companion, he had completely disappeared. Confused, she glanced around. There was no sign of him. Who was he? Obviously some disgruntled ex-Delta Force guy, but why come to her? Even if she did locate the mutant gene function, how did he think it was going to affect him and his friends?

  Julia looked at the other delegates—they seemed oblivious to her encounter. For one bizarre second, she wondered whether the man had been a manifestation of her own imagination. Just then Gabriel’s voice travelled across the hall again, breaking into her thoughts. Determined to prevent what she perceived as professional suicide, she marched towards the podium.

  Gabriel caught sight of her. ‘Oh, here comes my PhD advisor, Professor Huntington.’

  Bedelmayer wiped a thin sheen of sweat from his face with a large handkerchief. He was grossly overweight and the temperature of the room was affecting him. He peered at Gabriel, a wry grin playing over his thick lips. ‘You look mighty young for a PhD, son.’

  ‘I’m a prodigy, sir.’ Gabriel turned to Julia. ‘Professor, I was just telling Professor Bedelmayer here about how I intend to work for Xandox—after my doctorate’s finished, of course.’

  People had begun to turn and stare. Blushing furiously, Julia faced Bedelmayer. ‘I’m terribly sorry, Professor Bedelmayer.’

  ‘What for? The boy’s got chutzpah. Besides, he’s the only one here that’s had the balls to come up and talk to me. He’s been telling me some interesting things. Hey, kid, when you come into Xandox for the job interview—say, in five years’ time—you make sure you bring that genetically engineered tree, okay?’

  The onlookers broke into laughter. Gabriel, suddenly humiliated, struggled with his embarrassment.

  ‘I’ll do that, sir.’

  Julia placed her hand on Gabriel’s shoulder. ‘Gabriel, I’ll see you outside.’

  ‘But—’

  ‘Now!’

  Gabriel disappeared towards the door. Julia turned back to Bedelmayer.

  ‘Julia—’

  ‘Huntington. I know. Interesting area—genetics and viol
ence.’

  He watched her, one thumb in a pocket, his arm rested across his huge stomach. Beneath the benign appearance shimmered absolute power. Julia felt herself suddenly trembling.

  ‘Excuse me, sir. I should go find my precocious assistant.’

  44

  GABRIEL WAS STANDING OUTSIDE the building, eating an orange from one of those packing-box stalls constructed by an innovative Mexican; a hopeful outpost beside a traffic light. Julia had never bought anything from those stands in her life. Trying not to show her disapproval, she strode over to Gabriel. The stallholder, a diminutive man of about fifty, his face a map of sun and poverty, his clothes still dusty from the drive across the border, sat on an upside-down milk crate, a small portable radio filling the air around him with tinny Mexican pop serenades, voices from a whole other world.

  The vendor looked critically at Julia then back at Gabriel. ‘Tu novia esta bonita, pero es muy vieja, hombre. (Your girlfriend’s pretty, but she’s old, man.)’

  Gabriel grinned, knowing that Julia didn’t understand a word.

  ‘Si! Pero como yo lo veo las mujeres son como el vino, entre más viejo mejor (Yeah, but good women are like a good wine, they both get better with age),’ he replied.

  Both men broke into laughter, which infuriated Julia as she sensed the joke was about her.

  ‘Gabriel, you had no right turning up at an event like that. How did you get in anyway?’

  ‘Actually, I was invited. I was sponsored by Xandox, remember?’ He plucked another orange from the stall and threw it to her. ‘Here, have an orange. What’s the big drama? Bedelmayer liked me, plus it just might inspire him to throw some more money your way.’ He looked down at his trousers thoughtfully. ‘Did I overdress?’

  He lifted one trouser leg and Julia saw that he was wearing lime-green socks. He grinned.

  ‘I figured I’d never get in in my jeans,’ he went on. ‘I heard a rumour Bill Gates might be there. Maybe if we go back in, I could find him and tell him about my computer modelling idea?’

  ‘No! Now, do you need a ride home?’

  ‘Maybe.’

  ‘Is that a yes or a no?’

  ‘Well, yes in that I’m not really into the one and a half hour ride back on the bus; and no as in do I really want to sit next to a pissy woman for an hour? Admit it, you’re angry.’

  ‘Furious. But don’t despair, with that kind of audacity I’ll probably be knocking on your door in about ten years’ time asking you for a job.’

  ‘Probably,’ he replied straight-faced as they reached her car.

  Julia clicked the doors open. ‘Get in, brat!’

  ‘Only if you promise to stop off for a drink with me in this really cool bar I know.’

  ‘Absolutely not.’

  A Mexican flag was draped above the bar, framed by photographs of famous footballers—Oscar Perez, Rafael Garcia and Manuel Vidrio. At the apex of this rainbow of athletic celebrity hung a garish painting of Jesus Christ with the traditional bleeding heart and crown of thorns; beneath him the Gaudalupe Madonna hovered in crimson and blue, faintly reminiscent of the reproductive organs of some bizarre fruit.

  A small TV to the left played a football game, the commentary in Spanish, while on the other side of the bar, surrounded by tables and chairs, a guitarist was busy setting up for the night on a tiny stage which was really a glorified corner.

  ‘He’s the best,’ Gabriel said, ‘you should hear him. Angels speak from his fingers.’

  ‘I hadn’t figured you for a poet.’

  ‘Yeah well, babe, I’m full of surprises. What would you like?’

  ‘Listen, I’m buying okay? I figure the chances of being arrested will be considerably less that way.’

  ‘In that case I’ll have a vodka martini, no olives and as dry as the desert.’

  Julia ordered the drinks. Behind them the guitarist started to play—an exquisite flamenco that spun in cool flurries around the snatches of Spanish he murmured into the microphone.

  The bar, about the size of an average lounge room, began to fill with patrons: a group of labourers, boots still dusty; afternoon office workers in suits; a couple of art students. There was even a fire fighter, still in uniform, who sat quietly down, placing his helmet below the small glass-topped table. Most of the crowd were Latino.

  ‘How do you know about this place?’ Julia said.

  ‘My father brought me here once. He taught me the art of listening, whereas Mom taught me the art of not listening.’

  She laughed, trying not to react to how handsome he looked in the half-light. He nodded to a pretty young barmaid who smiled back seductively. Noticing the flirtation, Julia wondered how much experience he’d actually had with women.

  ‘Naomi does talk a lot,’ she said.

  ‘Most of it rubbish. I love my mother but I don’t think she’s the most emotionally evolved creature.’

  ‘That’s harsh. How is José?’

  ‘You remember him?’

  ‘Sure. I knew your parents when they were first married. He was real fiery back then. Actually he was a little scary.’

  ‘He just believes in principles. He’s had to fight for everything he has. Everything. That generation had to. It’s different now. Now it’s cool to be Latino. Mom hates him. She thinks he sold her out; did the usual male thing, traded up for a younger woman.’

  ‘And didn’t he?’

  ‘Mom let herself go. She gave up on herself and the marriage long before José left her. Anyhow, if that’s true, how come younger men like older women?’

  ‘They do? That’s news to me.’

  ‘I do.’

  Julia laughed, then wondered if he was flirting with her.

  ‘Gabriel, you’re nineteen. A twenty-two year old would be an older woman to you.’

  Again, he felt his fingers itching for a cigarette. He glanced away. She really had no idea how condescending she was, or who he was. He decided to take a risk.

  ‘Age is irrelevant,’ he said. ‘What’s important is the intensity with which we experience life. So many of my older friends have switched off that intensity. It’s like their expectations of their environment, their relationships, their jobs, even the way they see, has begun to limit their actual experience of those things. They stop seeing, stop becoming excited. So they stop learning. Does this make them more adult than me? Look at Einstein—he was as curious and as excited as a child until he died.’

  Julia searched his face thoughtfully, wondering if the intensity he was talking about was youth or an imaginative zest for knowledge that, in most people, got blunted by caution. Did it matter? Just hearing him made her nostalgic for her younger self.

  ‘Sometimes things happen that make you lose your faith.’

  ‘Is that what happened to you?’

  ‘Hey, I’m still excited by my work—more than excited, profoundly inspired—but I’m a realist now. And that’s a much harder thing to be. It means you’re responsible for everything—luck, hope, belief.’

  Gabriel stared at Julia, noticing for the first time that her lower lip was fuller than the upper. If it hadn’t been for the watching barmaid—an ex-girlfriend—he would have kissed her. Instead, he slipped his hand across the table and touched her, a tentative curl of his finger against her skin.

  ‘You have to leave a little room for spontaneity.’

  Startled by the undeniable trickle of desire that had started to creep across her palm, Julia pulled her hand away.

  ‘I should get you home.’

  They stepped out onto the pavement. Dusk had settled over Silver Lake. They had a view down a canyon populated by a forest of dwellings, all idiosyncratic in their design—1920s mansions, California bungalows, 1970s apartment blocks. At times like this, Los Angeles reminded Julia bizarrely of the hills of Tuscany.

  Gabriel slipped his hand around her waist, an awkward movement that left her momentarily unguarded, then pulled her into an embrace, his mouth searching for her lips. There was no
ambiguity now as she found herself enveloped by his soft hair falling over her face, the tequila thumping in her head. And, to her amazement and shock, she opened for him, felt that instinctive rush of longing, his lust powerful enough to trigger her own. His erection hard against the linen of his trousers, insistent as he pressed himself against her; his hands everywhere, in her hair, under her blouse, reaching for her breasts; the beauty of him, his tongue, lips, his skin ridiculously soft, a wondrous contrast to the muscularity of his torso.

  Julia’s body was thrown violently into memory, this sweetness of lust, of being wanted, of wanting. But as she ran her fingers down his body, she found his hips absurdly slight beneath her hands, his skin too smooth. She closed her eyes and tried to lose herself. But couldn’t. This was not her husband, the familiarity of his bulk, of his scent. There was a desperate edge of nervousness to Gabriel’s embrace that was all wrong. She pushed him away.

  ‘We can’t.’

  ‘Why not?’

  ‘It would be exploitative.’

  Lost for an answer he tried to kiss her again, but she turned her face away and he missed, his mouth awkwardly clashing against her cheekbone.

  ‘Julia, I’m not a child and you couldn’t corrupt me if you tried.’

  But she was already walking towards the car.

  45

  Mayfair, 1861

  THE CHURCH FILLED WITH THE pealing of bells. Kneeling, Lavinia looked up at the crucifix and wondered at the lives of the saints: did they experience corporeal passions? She remembered the trials of Saint Anthony in the desert, and Jesus’s temptations in the wilderness, but what of the female saints? A large silk bonnet suddenly blocked her view.

  ‘Are there sparks crackling behind me?’ Lady Frances Morgan whispered theatrically. ‘For I am sure I am about to be struck down.’

  ‘Lady Morgan?’ Lavinia glanced around; the priest was speaking to a parishioner on the far side of the church.

  The dowager clattered her way along the pew to sit next to Lavinia. The priest—young, recently appointed, and well formed—hurried past. Lady Morgan arched her neck as her gaze followed his progress.