below the waist I was unclean-and if I were ever with a man again, he would find it out and be revolted and cast me out-and if he didn’t find out, he would be cheated and used, and I would be consigned to hell’s fires. Then, in all the more than fifteen years since, I began to live a fantasy-this-that if enough years passed, that filthy part of me would rot away with time, and be replaced by new clean flesh-and I would become wholesome like any normal woman-and then I could allow myself to-to accept a man-or fall in love. You know, on the boat crossing, I tried once to see if any human contact was possible, and I couldn’t-I couldn’t go through with it. Then I met you-and I allowed myself to let go a little-to think it was possible-but then I knew. I met your Lilly, and I knew, seeing her, knowing me-that she was health, and I was an incurable emotional cripple-that what I fancied for you-to offer myself as young and cleansed and virginal was-unreal, and that you had suffered too much to be robbed by life again.’
Suddenly she closed her eyes and shook her head, then opened her eyes wide, as if recognizing him as Andrew Craig, and then she pushed herself to a seated posture. ‘I think the drug is wearing off. I’ve talked too much. Did I tell you all the things…?’
‘Yes, Emily, thank God.’
‘I’m glad. Did I tell you-did I say anything about caring for you?’
‘In a way.’
‘Then you know that, and you know why it can’t ever be.’
‘I don’t know any such thing,’ he said. ‘I’m going to love you and I’m going to marry you.’
‘Don’t talk like that. Have some respect for my feelings. We can’t go on, and you know why. If we married, how would it be every night? You’d know what had been before-be reminded of all I told you-know that every move I made-the filth of it would corrupt your love-and in the end, you’d have only hate, and I couldn’t bear it.’
She patted her hair, and straightened her sweater, and began to move her legs off the bed. ‘It’s no use, Andrew. Let me go back to my room.’
He had her by the shoulder. ‘No,’ he said sharply.
The need for her to be a part of all his remaining years, the desire to possess and own her, had become an unbearable craving. ‘No, you’re not going to leave me alone, not when I can’t live without you, not when you want me equally as much.’ He took her hand. ‘Emily, think of it, Emily, I’ve heard the worst, and I love you more, and I’m not going to let you ruin my life by being no part of it. I won’t think of all that happened, I don’t now, I won’t ever in our lives. It was a black planet, inhabited by inhuman creatures, but we are human beings of the light and the earth planet, and we deserve our time. And I mean what I’ve been saying-you have not been touched by any man, because you have not known a moment’s love. And what is untouched is all that matters-and should belong to someone who must have you and care for you. Emily, I didn’t think there could be another after Harriet. When she died, I thought I had died, too. But now there is another me, a different me, alive and yearning to belong to life once more-but not alone-only with you.’
He took her in his arms, and her body relaxed in them, and he kissed her hair, her ear, her cheeks, her eyes.
‘Andrew,’ she whispered against him, ‘Andrew-you do mean what-what you’ve been saying?’
‘With all my heart and soul. I’d give my life for you. It would not be worth living without you.’
‘Yes,’ she said softly. She buried her head in his chest. Her voice was almost inaudible. ‘I believe you now. You showed that today.’ Then she said, ‘Lie down with me, dearest. Lie down and hold me and never let me go.’
‘Never in our lives,’ he said.
She had stretched out on the bed. He lowered himself alongside her, embracing her, at peace, with the contour of her warm breasts and smooth belly and supple hips as one with him, and safe at last. He kissed her face and kissed it and kissed it, and stroked her shoulders and hair, until the last of the fright was exorcised, and the old past crept away into darkness.
‘Andrew,’ she whispered, ‘now you can say it.’
‘I love you. Forever.’
She lay in bliss, and she thought: welcome earth, warm earth, the sun-warm, the green-warm, the blue- warm, the singing earth of the living. She moved her face against his to tell him her secret, to tell him-yes-yes- now I can love, too-but then she knew that he knew, and so she kept her peace which was theirs, and they rested as one…
It was 6.21 in the evening.
The majestic Ceremony in the auditorium of Concert Hall was drawing to a close. Dr. Claude Marceau and Dr. Denise Marceau had been introduced and extolled in Swedish, and greeted in French, and they had accepted their award from the King, and for both of them Dr. Claude Marceau had addressed the vast assemblage. Dr. Carlo Farelli and Dr. John Garrett had received their awards, and each spoke briefly, eloquently, in turn.
Now, Professor Max Stratman, having been honoured, had tried to dismiss his apprehensions about Emily, and was at the lectern, reading the speech he had so carefully prepared, a plea for East-West understanding, a plea for eternal peace.
He had reached his last paragraph. ‘Every year, in my country, the United States of America, we sponsor a Nobel anniversary dinner in New York City, during the month following this night. On one such occasion, a giant whom I admired and was proud to know spoke in the role of scientist and pacifist, and fittingly, his concluding words must be my concluding words. In 1945, at the American Nobel anniversary dinner, Professor Albert Einstein said, “May the spirit that prompted Alfred Nobel to create his great instititution, the spirit of trust and confidence, of generosity and brotherhood among men, prevail in the minds of those upon whose decision our destiny rests. Otherwise human civilization will be doomed.” Thank you, and good evening.’
Stratman bowed to the prolonged ovation, and he returned to his chair.
Ingrid Pahl, who was to introduce Andrew Craig, last of the laureates to be honoured, had already taken the empty seat beside Jacobsson, and, tugging nervously at the corsage on her gown, she despaired of what to say.
‘What has happened to him?’ she asked. ‘It will be a disgrace. What excuse can I make to His Majesty, the audience?’
‘You’ll have to-’ Jacobsson had begun to reply, when suddenly an outburst of applause, louder and louder, from the audience, crashed against the stage. Jacobsson saw all eyes on the platform directed to the rear, and he swung around.
Andrew Craig, resplendent in full dress, wing collar and white bow tie and patent-leather pumps, was marching slowly down the centre steps of the stage to his place in the right front row.
Ingrid Pahl, pale with relief, leaped up to shake his hand and give him the seat so long vacant, and Craig bowed to her and settled next to Jacobsson.
Immediately, Ingrid Pahl walked to the lectern and began to deliver in Swedish the speech on Craig and his writings that she had memorized. As she spoke to the audience, Craig tried to pretend attention, but he spoke, too, in an undertone from the corner of his mouth to Jacobsson.
‘Forgive me, I want to apologize,’ he said. ‘I was unavoidably detained-no discourtesy-there was some-some trouble-but it is solved. Perhaps one day I will be able to explain it to you.’
Jacobsson stared at Craig with amazement, and then deep curiosity, wondering what had detained him, and Krantz, too, Krantz across the aisle, and it occurred to Jacobsson, with not a little sadness, that no matter what he heard and saw and read, his precious Notes would never be complete. But then, he consoled himself, no record of men can ever be complete, for what is inside them, the bottomless mysteries, are not meant to be known. And, at least, at least, he told himself with relief, Craig was here, and the Notes would not be forced to record a scandal. In all, in summary, it would be a quiet and pleasant account he could make of one more placid Nobel Week.
Craig tried to listen to Ingrid Pahl, but understanding no word of Swedish, again his attention drifted. He enjoyed the gala stage, and he oriented himself to the elegant audience, and he desperately tried to remember the protocol that must momentarily be observed.
In a loge high above, his eyes caught Lilly Hedqvist, Gunnar Gottling, and Emily, his own Emily, entering, standing, staring proudly down at him. And he smiled up towards them.
He remembered how he and Emily had left his bed, and dressed, and hurried downstairs to urge the taxi to speed them to Concert Hall. Backstage, Lilly and Gottling had been waiting for his cryptic reassurance that
