I mean, my goodness, this is years and years of letters. There are thousands of letters. I guess we would have to start, what –1933 and work right on to 1952?’
‘Oh, yes. But you’ve got the subject index.’
‘We have the subject index, which is fine if the whole letter is about Bradford or to someone in Bradford. But if it’s just a stray reference to some personality in Bradford, it is not going to show up in the index. And all these batatas! Well, I just don’t know what we are going to do with the batatas!’ she said, with a glint of panic. ‘I mean, desert reclamation, okay. Saline irrigation,okay. Protein, okay. All these things are certainly in the index. But who can know if it’s batatas?’
‘Bergmann and Weiss weren’t here in 1952, were they?’ I said.
‘No. Beylis was, though,’ Julian said. ‘Do you want me to fix up a meeting?’
‘Thanks. What I think for the meantime, Connie,’ I said, ‘is press on with Bradford.’
‘Okay. I’m glad, anyway,’ she said as we left the room, ‘that you remembered you couldn’t have dinner with Meyer tonight.’
‘What delights, have you got in store?’
‘That’s a good question. You’ll see. Where in God’s name is Bradford, anyway?’
‘Everybody knows that,’ I said. But apparently everybody didn’t; and it also turned out to be a good question.
2
The muscle machine was a great disappointment. From the reference to the lifting of hands and the scratching of noses, I’d expected something brisker than the rather surly contraption that rumbled wheels and raised weights after ponderous pauses.
I masked my disappointment while the others fiddled with the machine, and presently, with Ham Wyke and Marta and the dreaded Dr Patel, who had joined the party, I followed Michael Sassoon on a tour of the building. He’d told me that a few Soviet immigrants were there, and thought they might like a chat in Russian. It seemed impolite to refuse, though I impatiently awaited a chat with Professor Beylis on questions relating to batatas.
The tour was rendered less useful still by the fact that the Soviet scientists were not only trying to forget Russia, but didn’t want to talk Russian. Ham began using his stumbling Russian on a youngish physicist who had come from Kiev University, which Ham had visited during his stay, trying to establish with him the name of a well-known immunologist on the campus. The fellow couldn’t remember the name and said so, rather reluctantly, ‘ K ’to onbil? Patom skarzhu ,’ and they were still trying names on each other when I left.
I caught Beylis signing letters and looking at his watch. But he made a phone call when he saw me and told someone he would be late.
‘Batatas,’ he said. ‘Yes, there was a bit of work done, I can just about remember it.’ He made a note. ‘I’ll get on to the plant genetics people.’
Plant genetics. Another one for the list. I made a note, too. ‘Was this in Weizmann’s day?’
‘Oh, yes. In his last days, in fact. It didn’t go far. Sweet potatoes aren’t eaten here much.’
‘It wasn’t for petrol?’
‘Nothing to do with petrol. For the desert, actually. A saline water test, if I remember aright. Batatas will grow under poor conditions, you see. It’s a climbing plant, Ipomoea , the same family as convolvulus and morning-glory. The edible varieties are able to convert low-grade materials, saline water, into a lot of starchy tuber. That was the interest for Weizmann. The desert stimulated him. Of course, it did everybody. They were quite stirring days.’
‘It couldn’t have been for his protein idea?’
‘It wasn’t for any particular idea. People were just growing things,’ he said. He was looking at me quite kindly and helpfully. ‘The land had been bare for a long time. Hills were being reafforested , swamps drained. It is quite stimulating to have a land of your own. I don’t think there was more to it than that.’
There obviously had
‘Oh, yes. But you’ve got the subject index.’
‘We have the subject index, which is fine if the whole letter is about Bradford or to someone in Bradford. But if it’s just a stray reference to some personality in Bradford, it is not going to show up in the index. And all these batatas! Well, I just don’t know what we are going to do with the batatas!’ she said, with a glint of panic. ‘I mean, desert reclamation, okay. Saline irrigation,okay. Protein, okay. All these things are certainly in the index. But who can know if it’s batatas?’
‘Bergmann and Weiss weren’t here in 1952, were they?’ I said.
‘No. Beylis was, though,’ Julian said. ‘Do you want me to fix up a meeting?’
‘Thanks. What I think for the meantime, Connie,’ I said, ‘is press on with Bradford.’
‘Okay. I’m glad, anyway,’ she said as we left the room, ‘that you remembered you couldn’t have dinner with Meyer tonight.’
‘What delights, have you got in store?’
‘That’s a good question. You’ll see. Where in God’s name is Bradford, anyway?’
‘Everybody knows that,’ I said. But apparently everybody didn’t; and it also turned out to be a good question.
2
The muscle machine was a great disappointment. From the reference to the lifting of hands and the scratching of noses, I’d expected something brisker than the rather surly contraption that rumbled wheels and raised weights after ponderous pauses.
I masked my disappointment while the others fiddled with the machine, and presently, with Ham Wyke and Marta and the dreaded Dr Patel, who had joined the party, I followed Michael Sassoon on a tour of the building. He’d told me that a few Soviet immigrants were there, and thought they might like a chat in Russian. It seemed impolite to refuse, though I impatiently awaited a chat with Professor Beylis on questions relating to batatas.
The tour was rendered less useful still by the fact that the Soviet scientists were not only trying to forget Russia, but didn’t want to talk Russian. Ham began using his stumbling Russian on a youngish physicist who had come from Kiev University, which Ham had visited during his stay, trying to establish with him the name of a well-known immunologist on the campus. The fellow couldn’t remember the name and said so, rather reluctantly, ‘ K ’to onbil? Patom skarzhu ,’ and they were still trying names on each other when I left.
I caught Beylis signing letters and looking at his watch. But he made a phone call when he saw me and told someone he would be late.
‘Batatas,’ he said. ‘Yes, there was a bit of work done, I can just about remember it.’ He made a note. ‘I’ll get on to the plant genetics people.’
Plant genetics. Another one for the list. I made a note, too. ‘Was this in Weizmann’s day?’
‘Oh, yes. In his last days, in fact. It didn’t go far. Sweet potatoes aren’t eaten here much.’
‘It wasn’t for petrol?’
‘Nothing to do with petrol. For the desert, actually. A saline water test, if I remember aright. Batatas will grow under poor conditions, you see. It’s a climbing plant, Ipomoea , the same family as convolvulus and morning-glory. The edible varieties are able to convert low-grade materials, saline water, into a lot of starchy tuber. That was the interest for Weizmann. The desert stimulated him. Of course, it did everybody. They were quite stirring days.’
‘It couldn’t have been for his protein idea?’
‘It wasn’t for any particular idea. People were just growing things,’ he said. He was looking at me quite kindly and helpfully. ‘The land had been bare for a long time. Hills were being reafforested , swamps drained. It is quite stimulating to have a land of your own. I don’t think there was more to it than that.’
There obviously had
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