he decided, it would only be to seek a moment with Emily.
Stratman had been conversing in an undertone with Emily, and now the physicist waddled over to Jacobsson and Mr. Manker.
‘If you will forgive me,’ said Stratman, ‘I think I will sit this one out. The spirit is willing, but the bones are weak.’ He looked off. ‘Your Skansen appears too formidable.’
‘There is a modern escalator,’ said Mr. Manker.
‘Thank you. I believe I will just sit in the car and doze. I am sure there is much more to see after this. I must conserve my strength.’
Emily had come up alongside her uncle, and her face showed concern. ‘I’ll stay with you, Uncle Max-’
‘
Some unconscious purpose, in Craig, made him speak. ‘I’ll be here, Miss Stratman, so you needn’t worry.’ He turned to Jacobsson and Mr. Manker. ‘I don’t want to be a spoilsport, but I’ve already been through Skansen, top to bottom. It’s worth another visit, but like Professor Stratman, I’d like to conserve my strength. I still haven’t got over the plane trip.’
Emily was not appeased. ‘Uncle Max, I prefer-’
‘No,’ said Stratman firmly, ‘I want you to go and tell me all about it. Mr. Craig and I have had no time together. I will teach him physics, and he will give me a course in literature appreciation. Please,
Emily glanced worriedly from her uncle to Craig, and at last capitulated. She permitted Mr. Manker and Jacobsson to lead her to Leah and Indent Flink, and together the party started for the Skansen gate. Once, Emily looked back, and Stratman reassured her with an uplifted hand.
After they had gone, Stratman shook his head. ‘The child troubles too much about an old man. It is my fault.’
With a sigh, Stratman went into the limousine, loosened his collar, and laid his head back comfortably on the rear seat. Craig took out his pipe, and after lighting it, he sat down on the front seat.
‘I have my meerschaum, but I forgot my tobacco,’ said Stratman.
‘Have some of mine,’ said Craig, quickly passing his pouch.
When Stratman was puffing contentedly at last, he spoke again. ‘As you add years, your pleasures subtract. Once, my years were few, but my pleasures were many, many. Long ago, I would fish, play billiards, hold a Fraulein’s hand, stay up the entire night with my brother in card games, go to the opera, read for pleasure, stuff myself with schnitzel, smoke my pipe, and work-work was always pleasure.’ He held up the brown meerschaum. ‘Now only pipe remains, this and work. I do not complain. It is enough.’
‘I envy you,’ said Craig. ‘I have only the pipe.’
‘And not the work?’
‘No.’
Stratman was silent a moment. ‘Emily told me you lost your wife recently. Is that the reason?’
Separate emotions struggled inside Craig. One was of elation, that Emily had actually spoken to her uncle of him. The other was of shame, that he had indulged himself in prolonged self-commiseration. ‘When I lost my wife, there seemed no point any longer.’
‘Is not work itself, creation, solitary accomplishment, the real point?’
‘One would suppose so. I remember one of Mr. Maugham’s characters once saying that an artist should let his mother starve, if necessary, rather than turn out potboilers to save her. In short, the artist’s work, his devotion to it, was all that mattered. You know, Professor, that takes terrible strength.’
‘For strength, I would substitute something else-an unrealistic sense of divinity-that the Lord gave you, only you, the Golden Plates.’
‘I used to feel that.’
Stratman nodded. ‘I am sure you did. If you had not, you would not be in Stockholm today. Then, what has happened to you? I am no psychologist, but I can guess. The unrealistic sense of divinity was violated by a horrible accident of reality-your wife’s sudden death-and you have been brought down, and your faith shaken, and you are still in shock. It happens, young man, it happens.’
Craig tried to think about this, sort it out and spread it before him, but he was not ready to understand it, and finally he decided to defer analysis for another day. ‘Perhaps you’re right,’ he said, and said no more.
Both men had lapsed into silence, puffing their pipes and listening to the remote sounds of Skansen and welcoming the winter sun as it filtered through the openings of the automobile.
‘Why did you remain behind?’ Stratman asked suddenly. ‘To keep an old man company?’
‘No, not at all.’
‘Then what? To speak of yourself?’
‘Not that either. Instinctively, I wanted to be near you, because you are close to Emily.’
‘Emily, eh?’ But there was no astonishment in the red face. Stratman emptied the bowl of his meerschaum, lifted his bifocals higher on the bridge of his nose, and peered at Craig uncritically, seeming to regard him for the first time not as a fellow laureate but as a human being. ‘So,’ he said, ‘what does Emily have to do with us?’
‘She told you that we met last night?’
‘She mentioned it. We reviewed the affair together, afterwards-we have often done that after social gatherings-and she told me a little about you-and, as a matter of fact, about some of the other guests, too, ones she had met.’
‘I see.’ Craig felt disappointed. He had hoped for more, some affirmation, some special interest. ‘Did she tell you what happened between us?’
‘What happened between you?’
‘I was drunk, and I offended her.’
‘Umm.’ Stratman digested this, perhaps tried to define it. ‘I am sorry to hear that. I could have told you-she is extremely sensitive and withdrawn about men. So-you made her angry?’
‘Yes, I did. I’ve been waiting for the moment to apologize. She won’t permit it.’
‘That is right. It is her way since childhood.’ He paused. ‘Why is this so important to you, Mr. Craig?’
‘I’m attracted to her. I want her good opinion.’
‘Then, you have an unenviable task-’
‘A hopeless one?’
Stratman shrugged. ‘I cannot think for her. I know her better than I know any person on earth. I have a father’s love for her. I raised her. I know her quirks and fancies and most of her reactions. But each day is a new creation of life, and to some minute degree, each person enters that day as a newborn. The brain, the nervous system, the muscles, the glands, the conditioned reflexes, all go through the life of the day responding in set and familiar ways-but then, there occurs one new accident or adventure or confrontation, one exceptional stimulus, and suddenly past performance means nothing-and the person’s brain or nervous system reacts differently, in a way previously unknown. So-how can anyone judge anyone else or speak for them? How can I know what Emily feels about you today?’
‘But you have an idea?’
‘Of course, I have an idea. I have past performance. After I brought my niece out of Germany, to England and then America, I saw her adhere to one pattern of behaviour, and this has remained remarkably unchanged. She does not trust men. She does without men. If by some voodooism you managed to make her lower her guard last night, and then took advantage of it, I would predict that her distrust would be stronger than ever-of men in general, of you in particular. So-you ask if it is hopeless to win her good opinion once more? As her relative, and a scientist, I would say the odds are against you, Mr. Craig. Certainly, I would not wager on your chances. But still, the imponderables-we have them in physics-a new day with a life cycle of its own, and possibly, somewhere between dawn and dusk, a new Emily. I am sorry, Mr. Craig, but this is the best I can offer. I am sorry to be so ponderous and long-winded. I am German born and raised. You are a product of optimism, a society of optimism, so your own decisions, for yourself, will be fairer than my own. And this, too-you are a spinner of tales, greatly honoured, so no doubt you have perceptions about people much keener than mine. Apply your optimism and your genius.’
Craig smiled. The old man was teasing him now, he was sure. He replied in kind. ‘My stories are of the past. I am a stranger to the present, and unarmed.’
