Probability Theory
What we observe is not nature itself, but nature exposed to our method of questioning.
Heisenberg, Physics and Philosophy
Details assault him. In his sheets there is a hollow, a very slight concavity, which is as permanent as the scar on his ankle —
a thing his body keeps as a souvenir of a five-year-old’s fall from sharp rocks. Some of his sweaters smell of tropical flowers. There is a towel he has — once he had to fish it out of his toilet — that he has washed and disinfected but never uses; although he keeps it hanging in his bathroom and will sometimes lean against it, hugging it as it were — a foolish ritual and one which embarrasses him deeply.
His research continues to absorb him and rumours circulate that he is being considered for a Nobel Prize. He is working obsessively on several theories. One of these is his theory of magnetic monopoles, whose elusive traces are a knotty issue, an inelegance, in the grand unified theories. No experimental evidence has yet surfaced to prove the existence of the magnetic monopole, though he has conclusively established, mathematically and theoretically, that its mass is about 1016 times as heavy as the proton.
Another theory whose ramifications he elaborates is that he invented Charade in order to explore, absolve, assuage his desertion of Rachel; in order to poultice the great gaping wound where his absent children are; in order to still the earthquakes and nightmares set off by the Zundel trial.
Experimental evidence certainly exists to suggest Charade is hologram rather than substance, though relativity theory shows that mass has nothing to do with substance, but is a form of energy. It has been amply demonstrated that when two particles collide with high energies (in an accelerator, say; or in Building 6; or in an apartment off Harvard Square), the two particles break into subatomic fragments, but those fragments are not smaller than the original particles.
The most revolutionary aspect of his “inflationary” theory of the origins of the universe, he reasons, is the notion that all the matter and energy in the observable universe may have emerged from almost nothing. He is tempted to go one step further and to theorise that the entire universe evolved from literally nothing.
Another theory is that it was not he who invented Charade, but that he is being slept, or dreamed, and that she invented him. There is a certain elegance to this theory. It contains her need to articulate her search for some perfect object of adoration, perhaps her father, perhaps not. It contains her need, in the light of the tragedy of her mother, Verity Ashkenazy, to ask incessant and unanswerable questions about the nature of psychic damage, about the role of victim, about blame and responsibility.
Originally, also, this theory accommodated his niggling doubts about her father’s name. Saint Nick? Old Nick? But on this score he took a scientific and quantitative approach. To satisfy his compulsive and pedantic itch, he paid a graduate student to comb through old volumes of Index to Social Sciences and Humanities, and to check various European indexes, especially French ones. The student came up with two items. Both were references to papers on the trickster figure in medieval French fabliaux, presented (though neither paper was ever published) by Nicholas Truman, for whom no institutional affiliation
was given. One paper had been presented at a conference at Lyons in 1965; the other at a Teamed Societies conference at Queen’s University in Kingston, Canada in 1973.
He ponders Bohr and Heisenberg and the Copenhagen interpretation of interpretation: that what is observed is preselected — imposed, perhaps — by the observer. He considers Heisenberg’s warnings on the imprecision of all perception, and is consequently wary about leaping to unwarranted conclusions based on the recent and slight evidence of the unpublished papers.
Nevertheless he has formulated a revised and tentative theory whose elegance appeals to him. His theory is that Charade does indeed exist and that he is in fact in love with her. (He is old enough to find the term “love” appropriate, or at least approximate, for the confusion of pleasure and emptiness and want that swamps him when he thinks of her.) This theory assumes a considerable degree of symmetry between their two life stories, but then that is hardly a matter of surprise to a physicist.
There is a somewhat alarming hypothetical correlative, which is that he could contact her and that she might (that is, of course, if she still thinks of him with any sort of fondness, or indeed if she still thinks of him at all) that she might be persuaded to …?
This hypothesis contains so many risks that he fears, like Dirac taking fright at his own mathematics on negative energy states, he may pull back from the edge of discovery.
He has days, however, of rash and preliminary courage.
In the basement of Building 6 one day, he waylaid his colleague from the Media Lab.
“You still doing anything with holograms?” he asked casually. And had to clamber over marathons of his colleague’s moody predictions, his monologues, his obsessions; had to be dragged off to the Wiesner building to watch laser displays, Jupiter simulations, and then … suddenly, there was Charade, insubstantial and absolutely real, twirling like a tree ornament through a corner of the Media Lab.
“How …?” he asked, swallowing, his throat going dry. “How’d you do that?”
“From a photograph,” his colleague said. “Elementary stuff, I’ve lost interest in it.”
“Yes, I see. But the ah girl looks faintly familiar. She a student?”
“Hmm?” His colleague frowned. “Can’t remember now. Used to hang around the dorms, a dormie. Can’t remember who she was. Not your type, Koenig. You can be sure of that.”
Koenig keeps a crumpled scrap of memo paper attached to his fridge door with a magnet. It is next to the crayon drawings done by his cleaning lady’s son and her daughter when they were little, a long time ago, actually he was someone else then, though it often seems yesterday. There are two telephone numbers on the scrap of paper and he knows, having verified this from the long distance operator, that the area codes are for a rural town in Queensland, Australia.
One day he is going to place a call.
Actually, quite often, almost every night in fact, he lifts the receiver and begins to dial the numbers. But then he thinks of Heisenberg and the indeterminacy question, and wishes to keep the ending open.