Increased capability comes next.”
“In other words, you predict that the world is going to end up a chessboard, and all of us will be pawns manipulated in an eternal game by two mechanical players.”
Sciss’s facial expression was arrogant. “Yes. Only I’m not predicting, I’m drawing conclusions. We are already at the end of the first stage and the rate of escalation is beginning to increase. All this smacks of the improbable, I admit. But it’s happening, believe me. It is.”
“Yes…” Gregory murmured. He leaned across his plate. “Uh… what would you suggest… about all this?”
“Peace at any price. You may find this odd, but all things considered it seems to me that even extermination would be a lesser evil then the chess game. I’m only drawing conclusions. I don’t have any illusions. That’s pretty awful, you know… not to have illusions.” Sciss poured himself some more wine. Reluctantly, almost compulsively, he kept drinking. Gregory didn’t have to worry about keeping his glass filled. Downstairs, the orchestra started playing again. A couple walked past their table: the man was swarthy with a thin mustache, the paleness of his face emphasized by the bluish streaks of his beard. The girl, very young, had a white stole over her bare shoulders; it was embroidered with gold threads the same color as her hair. Sciss watched as they went by, staring at the girl with his lips contorted in a pained expression. He pushed his plate away, closed his eyes, and hid his hands under the tablecloth. It looked to Gregory as if he was checking his own pulse rate.
“And what shall we do next on this lovely evening that began so splendidly?” Sciss said after a while, raising his eyelids. Smoothing down his gray hair around his ears, he straightened up in his chair. Gregory crossed the silverware on his plate. The waiter came over at once.
“Would you like some coffee?” Gregory asked.
“Yes, good idea,” Sciss agreed. He kept his hands hidden under the tablecloth.
“I think I’m drunk…” he smiled in embarrassment, looking around with a surprised, uncertain expression.
“It does you good every once in a while,” Gregory said, pouring only for himself.
The coffee was hot and strong. They drank it in silence. It was stuffy and getting stuffier. Gregory looked around for the waiter and, not seeing him, stood up. He found him behind a column near the bar and asked to have the windows opened. By the time he got back to the table a cool, delicate whiff of air was already moving the steam rising above their coffee cups. Sciss was still in his chair, leaning against the railing, his red eyes drooping. He was breathing heavily and the small hard veins of his temple were protruding.
“Do you feel all right?” Gregory asked.
“I can’t take alcohol,” Sciss said with his eyes closed. “That is, my organism can’t. My insides are all muddled, simply muddled, that’s all.”
“I’m sorry,” said Gregory.
“Oh, it’s nothing,” Sciss kept his eyes closed. “Let’s not talk about it.”
“Were you against a preventive war? I mean back in ‘46.”
“Yes. But no one really believed it would work, even the people who were advocating it. There wasn’t any psychological readiness at the time. We were all under the spell of a universal peace euphoria. You know, if you proceeded gradually, you could lead anyone — even the College of Cardinals — into the practice of cannibalism. But you must move slowly, step by step. Exactly like now.”
“What did you do then?”
“Various things. I started many things but actually wasn’t able to finish any of them. I was the proverbial stone on which the scythes were sharpened, you see, and nothing much ever comes from that. I won’t finish this last case either. I always run into a dead end. Bah, if only I believed in determinism… but with me it’s all due to a character defect — I can’t compromise.”
“You’re not married, are you?”
“No.”
Sciss gave Gregory a suspicious look.
“Why do you ask?”
Gregory shrugged his shoulders.
“Simply… I wanted to know. Excuse me if—”
“Outmoded institution…” Sciss muttered. “I don’t have any children either, if you want all the details. Well, maybe if they could be created intellectually… I don’t care too much for this genetic lottery, you see. It looks like I’m your guest — shall we leave now?”
Gregory paid. As they were going down the stairs the orchestra bid them farewell with some ear-piercing jazz. They had to slip around the edge of the dance floor, jostled by the dancing couples. Once through the revolving doors, Sciss, with a sigh of relief, took a deep breath of cool air.
“Thank you… for everything,” he said languidly. Gregory followed him to the cars. Sciss had some trouble finding the key in his pocket. He opened the door, unbuttoned his coat, then took it off and threw it onto the back seat. He sat down behind the steering wheel. Gregory stood beside the car.
Sciss didn’t close the door and didn’t move.
“I can’t drive…” he said.
“Move over, I’ll drive you,” Gregory offered.
He bent down to get in.
“But what about your car?”
“Don’t be ridiculous. I can come back for it.”
Gregory got in, slammed the door, and quickly pulled away from the parking spot.
7
Leaving the empty car in the courtyard, Gregory returned to the lobby. Sciss was leaning on the bannister of the staircase with his eyes half-closed, a vague, pained smile playing about his lips. Gregory waited without saying good night. Breathing deeply — it sounded like a sigh — Sciss suddenly opened his eyes. The two men stared at each other.
“I don’t know,” Sciss said at last. “Do you have… time?”
Gregory nodded his head and quietly followed him up the stairs. Neither spoke. Outside his apartment Sciss stopped with his hand on the doorknob as if he wanted to say something; finally he swung the door open.
“It’s dark inside, let me go first,” he said.
There was a light on in the foyer. The kitchen door was open but there was no one there, only a tea kettle whistling quietly on a low flame. They hung up their coats.
The living room, bathed in light from a white globe on the ceiling, had a neat, festive look. The wall behind the desk was lined with bookshelves; pens and pencils were arranged symmetrically on the desk; a glass table stood just below the bookshelves, with two low green club chairs, their bluish cushions decorated in a geometric pattern, pushed next to it. The table was set with cups, whiskey glasses, trays of fruit and pastries. Spoons, forks — everything was arranged for two people. Sciss rubbed his bony, arthritic hands.
“Why don’t you sit down next to the shelves where it’s more comfortable,” he said with perhaps a little too much liveliness. “I had a guest this afternoon — let me offer you some of the leftovers.”
Gregory wanted to say something lighthearted to help Sciss out, but nothing came to mind. He moved one of the chairs and sat down on the arm, turning toward the books.
He found himself facing an impressive multilingual collection of scientific literature — one shelf was filled with works on anthropology, a plastic card attached to the next shelf had the word “Mathematics” written on it. Out of the corner of his eye he noticed some photographs in an open drawer of the desk, but when he turned in their direction, Sciss moved — or, rather, practically hurled himself across the room on his long legs — hitting the drawer with his knee and noisily slamming it.
“A mess, it’s a mess,” he explained with a tense look. He rubbed his hands again and seated himself on the radiator next to the window.
“Your new attempt to find me guilty is just as half-baked as your last one,” he said. “You try too hard…”
“You’ve had several bad experiences,” Gregory commented. He picked a thick volume at random and flipped
