I had been again, but I was
not in the least scared on my own account—though that may partly have
been due to a family background of wealth and security. When I was a child it
really mattered to be a Waring, and I was fortunately grown-up before I
realized it could also be a handicap.
I was, however, a little bit scared on account of Brad. That he had got
himself in a jam of some sort seemed obvious, and I wanted to help him,
whatever it was, but without exactly perjuring myself. Of course if he turned
out to be guilty of something serious my attitude might have to change, but
so far I hadn’t been allowed to discover anything. This gave me a sort of
alibi; even if Brad were guilty of anything serious I could give him
every benefit of every doubt so long as I was myself kept in these
doubts.
Throughout the plane journey to California that night I kept turning over
question and answer in my mind. I wondered if I had been merely cautious, or
so over cautious that I had actually made things worse. How much did
Mr. Small already know about Brad in Vienna?… I tried to sleep, and between
Chicago and Kansas City succeeded; but after that the climb to high altitude
wakened me and I stared for miles out of the window. We were flying through
cloud, and all I could see was a part of the wing, shimmering like a silk
dress with silver buttons; there must have been a moon, but the effect was of
pale air, infinite, shadowless. Gradually I dozed off again, and then Vienna
came back to me, eager to be remembered, over the wastelands of New
Mexico.
* * * * *
I went there with my father in the summer of ‘37. Earlier
in the year I
had returned to London after a short trip to America, and had failed to pass
the examination that was the first step to a history degree. I don’t know
quite why, beyond the obvious reason that I didn’t get enough marks; I had
studied fairly hard, and am not exactly stupid, but perhaps I am also not a
good examinee—if a question interests me, I spend too much time on it,
so that I have to rush through some of the others. The only relevance my
failure has here is the effect it had on my father; it made him just slightly
aloof, as if I had told him a risque story he had heard before. My mother’s
attitude (by letter) was to ignore the whole thing completely. She had lost
her interest in educational attainments since Brad’s departure, and I never
heard that she ever attended a physics lecture again.
My father’s business would take him to several European countries, so he
picked me up in London when term ended and we made a tour that included
Paris, Berlin, and Rome. We flew most of the way, were given parties and
receptions, and met various people of political and financial importance.
Being the first time I had traveled alone with him as a social equal, it
proved an exciting experience for a nineteen-year-old. In Rome he learned he
would have to go to Budapest, and only this chance put Vienna on our
itinerary. We stayed a night at the Bristol, and after some trouble the next
morning I managed to telephone Brad at his laboratory and ask him over to
lunch. His voice was calmer than mine and he told me he couldn’t ever lunch
so far from his work, because it would take up more than the hour he
permitted himself, but if we cared to sample a local restaurant he would be
pleased to entertain both of us.
This sounded chilly, and when in due course I saw the place I was glad my
father had excused himself at the last moment. It was a pavement cafe on the
Mariahilfer Strasse, crowded and rather dingy, the outside tables occupied by
unshaven furtive men who looked as if they were plotting revolution but were
probably only watching for some girl. Brad waved from an inner table as I
entered; he seemed well enough at home there. He was cordial, rather
detached, and said he was sorry my father couldn’t come, sorry also our stay
was so short (I had told him on
not in the least scared on my own account—though that may partly have
been due to a family background of wealth and security. When I was a child it
really mattered to be a Waring, and I was fortunately grown-up before I
realized it could also be a handicap.
I was, however, a little bit scared on account of Brad. That he had got
himself in a jam of some sort seemed obvious, and I wanted to help him,
whatever it was, but without exactly perjuring myself. Of course if he turned
out to be guilty of something serious my attitude might have to change, but
so far I hadn’t been allowed to discover anything. This gave me a sort of
alibi; even if Brad were guilty of anything serious I could give him
every benefit of every doubt so long as I was myself kept in these
doubts.
Throughout the plane journey to California that night I kept turning over
question and answer in my mind. I wondered if I had been merely cautious, or
so over cautious that I had actually made things worse. How much did
Mr. Small already know about Brad in Vienna?… I tried to sleep, and between
Chicago and Kansas City succeeded; but after that the climb to high altitude
wakened me and I stared for miles out of the window. We were flying through
cloud, and all I could see was a part of the wing, shimmering like a silk
dress with silver buttons; there must have been a moon, but the effect was of
pale air, infinite, shadowless. Gradually I dozed off again, and then Vienna
came back to me, eager to be remembered, over the wastelands of New
Mexico.
* * * * *
I went there with my father in the summer of ‘37. Earlier
in the year I
had returned to London after a short trip to America, and had failed to pass
the examination that was the first step to a history degree. I don’t know
quite why, beyond the obvious reason that I didn’t get enough marks; I had
studied fairly hard, and am not exactly stupid, but perhaps I am also not a
good examinee—if a question interests me, I spend too much time on it,
so that I have to rush through some of the others. The only relevance my
failure has here is the effect it had on my father; it made him just slightly
aloof, as if I had told him a risque story he had heard before. My mother’s
attitude (by letter) was to ignore the whole thing completely. She had lost
her interest in educational attainments since Brad’s departure, and I never
heard that she ever attended a physics lecture again.
My father’s business would take him to several European countries, so he
picked me up in London when term ended and we made a tour that included
Paris, Berlin, and Rome. We flew most of the way, were given parties and
receptions, and met various people of political and financial importance.
Being the first time I had traveled alone with him as a social equal, it
proved an exciting experience for a nineteen-year-old. In Rome he learned he
would have to go to Budapest, and only this chance put Vienna on our
itinerary. We stayed a night at the Bristol, and after some trouble the next
morning I managed to telephone Brad at his laboratory and ask him over to
lunch. His voice was calmer than mine and he told me he couldn’t ever lunch
so far from his work, because it would take up more than the hour he
permitted himself, but if we cared to sample a local restaurant he would be
pleased to entertain both of us.
This sounded chilly, and when in due course I saw the place I was glad my
father had excused himself at the last moment. It was a pavement cafe on the
Mariahilfer Strasse, crowded and rather dingy, the outside tables occupied by
unshaven furtive men who looked as if they were plotting revolution but were
probably only watching for some girl. Brad waved from an inner table as I
entered; he seemed well enough at home there. He was cordial, rather
detached, and said he was sorry my father couldn’t come, sorry also our stay
was so short (I had told him on
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