what he was doing. Getting involved with a girl so different, living like that–a terrible mistake. And to do that for such a girl, such a sly turtle[?] of a girl! His mother was weeping, his mother was filled with worry for him. But his mother knew what sort of a boy he was. He would not change his mind easily. So she was going to leave him alone.
She was going to let him come to his senses on his own. She would be all right. She was going up to Los Angeles to see her cousin Hazel, Hazel who had three fine children and who she hadn't seen in seven years. From Los Angeles she would fly back to New York. Maybe in a few months she could come and visit again. Better, he should come home for a time. See his friends at Columbia. Come visit people in the neighborhood; they would be overjoyed to see him, the big success of the block. Until then, she would be writing him and hoping. A mother always hopes.
Gordon put the letter in his pocket and walked home. He showed it to Penny and they talked about it for a while and then he resolved to put it in the back of his mind, to deal with his mother later. These things usually cured themselves, given time.
CHAPTER NINE
1998
"Well, where the hell is he?" Renfrew exploded. He paced up and down his office, five steps each way.
Gregory Markham sat quietly, watching Renfrew. He had meditated for half an hour this morning and felt relaxed and centered. He looked beyond Renfrew, out the big windows the Cav sported as the prime luxury item in its construction. The broad fields beyond lay flat and still, impossibly green in the first rush of summer. Cyclists glided silently along the Coton footpath, bundles perched on their rear decks. The morning air was already warm and lay like a weight. Blue shrouded the distant spires of Cambridge and ringed the yellow sun that squatted over the town. This was the blissful fraction of the day when there seemed an infinite span of time before you, Markham thought, as though anything could be accomplished in the sea of hushed minutes that stretched ahead.
Renfrew was still pacing. Markham stirred himself to say, "What time did he say he'd be here?"
"Ten, damn it. He set out hours ago. I had to call his office about something and I asked if he was still there. They told me he'd left very early in the morning, before the rush hour. So where is he?"
"It's only ten past," Markham pointed out reasonably.
"Yes, but hell, I can't get started until he gets here. I've got the technicians standing by. We're all set. He's wasting everybody's time. He doesn't care for this experiment and he's making it hard on us."
"You got the funding, didn't you? And that equipment from Brookhaven."
"Limited funds. Enough to keep going, but only just. We'll need more.
They're strangling us. You know and I know that this may be the only chance of pulling us out of the hole. What do they do–make me run the experiment on a shoestring and then that sod doesn't even care enough to show up on time to watch it."
"He's an administrator, not a scientist. Sure, the funding policy does seem short-sighted. But look, the NSF won't send anything more without more pressure. They're probably using it for something else. You can't expect Peterson to work miracles."
Renfrew stopped his pacing and stared at him. "I suppose I have made it rather obvious that I don't like him. I hope Peterson himself isn't aware of it or it might turn him against the experiment."
Markham shrugged. "I'm sure he knows. It's clear to anyone you two have different personality types, and Peterson's no fool. Look, I can talk to him, if you want–I will, in fact. As to you turning him off the experiment–tripe. He must be used to being disliked. I don't suppose it bothers him at all. No, I think you can count on his support. But only partial support. He's trying to cover all his bets and that means spreading support pretty thin."
Renfrew sat down in his swivel chair. "Sorry if I'm a bit tense this morning,
She was going to let him come to his senses on his own. She would be all right. She was going up to Los Angeles to see her cousin Hazel, Hazel who had three fine children and who she hadn't seen in seven years. From Los Angeles she would fly back to New York. Maybe in a few months she could come and visit again. Better, he should come home for a time. See his friends at Columbia. Come visit people in the neighborhood; they would be overjoyed to see him, the big success of the block. Until then, she would be writing him and hoping. A mother always hopes.
Gordon put the letter in his pocket and walked home. He showed it to Penny and they talked about it for a while and then he resolved to put it in the back of his mind, to deal with his mother later. These things usually cured themselves, given time.
CHAPTER NINE
1998
"Well, where the hell is he?" Renfrew exploded. He paced up and down his office, five steps each way.
Gregory Markham sat quietly, watching Renfrew. He had meditated for half an hour this morning and felt relaxed and centered. He looked beyond Renfrew, out the big windows the Cav sported as the prime luxury item in its construction. The broad fields beyond lay flat and still, impossibly green in the first rush of summer. Cyclists glided silently along the Coton footpath, bundles perched on their rear decks. The morning air was already warm and lay like a weight. Blue shrouded the distant spires of Cambridge and ringed the yellow sun that squatted over the town. This was the blissful fraction of the day when there seemed an infinite span of time before you, Markham thought, as though anything could be accomplished in the sea of hushed minutes that stretched ahead.
Renfrew was still pacing. Markham stirred himself to say, "What time did he say he'd be here?"
"Ten, damn it. He set out hours ago. I had to call his office about something and I asked if he was still there. They told me he'd left very early in the morning, before the rush hour. So where is he?"
"It's only ten past," Markham pointed out reasonably.
"Yes, but hell, I can't get started until he gets here. I've got the technicians standing by. We're all set. He's wasting everybody's time. He doesn't care for this experiment and he's making it hard on us."
"You got the funding, didn't you? And that equipment from Brookhaven."
"Limited funds. Enough to keep going, but only just. We'll need more.
They're strangling us. You know and I know that this may be the only chance of pulling us out of the hole. What do they do–make me run the experiment on a shoestring and then that sod doesn't even care enough to show up on time to watch it."
"He's an administrator, not a scientist. Sure, the funding policy does seem short-sighted. But look, the NSF won't send anything more without more pressure. They're probably using it for something else. You can't expect Peterson to work miracles."
Renfrew stopped his pacing and stared at him. "I suppose I have made it rather obvious that I don't like him. I hope Peterson himself isn't aware of it or it might turn him against the experiment."
Markham shrugged. "I'm sure he knows. It's clear to anyone you two have different personality types, and Peterson's no fool. Look, I can talk to him, if you want–I will, in fact. As to you turning him off the experiment–tripe. He must be used to being disliked. I don't suppose it bothers him at all. No, I think you can count on his support. But only partial support. He's trying to cover all his bets and that means spreading support pretty thin."
Renfrew sat down in his swivel chair. "Sorry if I'm a bit tense this morning,
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