January 1
Jerry kissed me.
I confess it’s something I had often dreamed about but never thought would really happen. For a second I was so scared I was kind of dumb. I could scarcely feel the pressure—I should say gentle touching—of his lips.
All the time I was so terrified that Dad might see us that I couldn’t react at all. Jerry must have thought I was a total innocent.
Actually I am, because no one’s ever taught me how to kiss. And yet after another moment, I realized that if your feelings about the person are strong, the rest comes naturally. And though our whole embrace might have taken thirty milliseconds—or even nanoseconds—by the end of it I was no longer a neophyte.
I suddenly ceased worrying about my father and kissed Jerry back. It was the loveliest moment of my life. I only wonder when I’ll ever get a chance to repeat it.
As we quickly walked back toward the house, I saw Dad standing outside the back door and waved casually at him.
Still, for all my efforts to hide my emotions, I wondered if my face would show any telltale signs of what had happened. Would he notice that I was just a tiny bit unsteady on my feet?
But he didn’t seem annoyed or anything. He just muttered very calmly, “I think Pracht is trying to talk me to death. Let’s get out of here.”
And we left …
For the first time, Isabel was unable to focus like a laser on her studies. Her mind wandered. She daydreamed of Jerry. Perhaps her father noticed, but he misinterpreted what he saw. Scientists also let their minds roam in search of ideas.
Even at his most paranoid, Raymond would never imagine that thoughts of Jerry Pracht could possibly take precedence over his daughter’s research.
Since she was taking only graduate seminars now, there was no possible pretext for Raymond to be present in the small classrooms. He merely escorted her to Le Conte Hall, and would be waiting like a stage-door Johnny when she emerged.
It did not take her long to ferret out the most secluded public phone in the building. As soon as she was sure that Ray was well on his way home, she would call Jerry. Knowing how limited her pocket money was, he would call her right back and they would chat until it was time for him to get ready to leave for the club.
A sure sign of their deepening relationship was the fact that they could talk endlessly about everything—and nothing. She would tell him about what she was studying, and he went to great lengths to protest that it was all too far above his head. Yet by the time she had explained things to him in broad strokes, she was sure he understood.
The study of theoretical physics follows no timetable. The activity goes on as long as the brain holds out.
Isabel’s afternoon sessions exploring the theoretical possibilities for her master’s dissertation began to stretch out later and later into the evening. Since going out to eat might break the momentum of her thoughts, she would bring sandwiches with her so she could stay in her carrel and keep concentrating.
“The most important issue in high-energy physics deals with certain properties of a particle called the kaon,” she explained to Jerry. “For some of the latest thinkers, this calls into question Einstein’s principle of equivalence.”
“God, poor Albert,” he lamented. “They use the old guy like a football, don’t they? What are they doing to him now?”
“Well,” Isabel expounded, “the classic example is of a man riding in an elevator mounted on top of a rocket, smoothly accelerating into outer space Despite the speed of the rocket, the man inside—”
“Let’s call him the elevatornaut,” he joked.
“Fine. A real ‘nautcase,’ ” Isabel countered with a grin. “Anyway, as the elevator is climbing, the guy is somehow still rooted to the floor. According to Uncle Albert, that’s because the force of gravity and the acceleration are indistinguishable.”
“In other words, if my brilliant dad and his brilliant protógé are right,” Jerry interjected, “then Einstein takes it on the chin, right?”
“Right. In fact, this information can actually be traced back to Newton.” She glanced at her watch. “Ohmigod, I have a meeting with your father in about four minutes, and he’s going to want to hear what I’ve come up with.”
“I’ll give you something really novel,” Jerry suggested. “Tell him you want to take a sabbatical and come with me on the indoor tour.”
“Come on,” she protested. “If you keep bugging me about that, I’ll encourage him to pressure you into going back and taking your high school exams.”
He reacted in mock horror. “Anything but that! Now, when am I going to see you in person?”
“I don’t know,” she answered earnestly. “I’m trying to figure something out.”
“Well hurry the hell up,” he urged. “Take a look at my father’s forehead. The men in our family lose their hair early. Don’t you want to know me before I’m bald?”
By mid-February, Isabel was putting in so many hours in the library after dinner that she looked haggard and on the verge of exhaustion. Uncharacteristically, even Raymond began to plead with her to ease up, but her only reply was, “I can’t yet, Dad, I’m into something really important and I’ve got to finish it as soon as possible.”
“Any little hints for your poor old father?” he asked with mock pathos.
“Sorry, Mr. da Costa.” She smiled mischievously. “This item is still strictly classified.”
Raymond was disappointed but did not press the issue, though this was the first time she did not share the totality of her thoughts with him. She had never before been secretive with any of her projects—and yet she had never been so deeply involved as she was now.
He consoled himself with the thought that she was nearing a breakthrough that would bring her recognition transcending the now tired journalistic superlatives like “child prodigy” or “girl genius.” They would simply trumpet, “Isabel da Costa, the renowned physicist, today announced …”
One evening just after nine P.M., while Ray was finishing a session with one of his pupils, the phone rang. He assumed it was one of his students, pestering him about something trivial.
He could not have been more wrong.
“Dad, come to the back of Le Conte and pick me up right away. I’ve got to talk to you.”
Her tone was urgent. There was even a touch of fear in her voice.
“What is it?” he asked anxiously. “Are you all right?”
“I can’t talk on the phone. Please hurry.”
Terrified, Ray summarily dismissed the pupil he was teaching, and rushed for the car.
During the short drive to the campus, a worried Raymond tried to imagine what might be wrong. He could only conclude that his daughter was truly ill. All the way to the Physics building he berated himself for not heeding the signs of her fatigue.
The moment she saw the car, she rushed out laden with a pile of lab notebooks. Far from being pale, her face was flushed, and, with an air of what seemed like apprehension, she demanded, “Quick, Dad, open the trunk and put this stuff inside.”
He obeyed wordlessly as Isabel climbed into the car.
“Let’s get out of here,” she urged like an escaping prisoner.
“Relax, honey,” Ray said gently. “We’ll be home in a minute—”
“No,” she interrupted. “Let’s go someplace where we can speak really privately.”
“What’s wrong with home?”
“Dad, you don’t understand. This is something really top secret.”
“Well, for heaven’s sake, we’re not being bugged or anything,” he countered. And then, looking at her frightened expression, he relented. “Okay, I’ll think of something.”
Ray racked his brains and finally decided on Oscar’s Den in Oakland, which was usually not student turf.
They sat down at one of the booths, separated from its neighbors by tall wooden partitions.
“Now, Isabel, I insist you order something to eat.” He was genuinely concerned, since lately her appetite seemed to have vanished.
“No thanks. I’m not hungry.”
“Hey, listen, I humored you, now you humor me by at least having a hamburger.”
“Okay, Dad,” she said with exasperation. “And a cup of black coffee. I just want to talk.”
Raymond quickly ordered. The moment the waitress bustled off, he leaned toward her and whispered urgently, “Now, what the heck is all this about?”
She replied with a single enigmatic syllable. “Karl.”
“I don’t get it,” he said. “Has Pracht done anything … improper?”
“No, no, it’s nothing like that.”
“Then for God’s sake, what’s the matter?”
Isabel’s face revealed the gravity of what she was divulging and the pain it had caused her.
“He’s wrong,” she said quietly.
“What?”
“Karl’s off base. His theory doesn’t wash. I’ve gone over all his calculations again and again, and they don’t jibe with his conclusions.”
“But he’s a world-class figure in the field,” Raymond protested.
Isabel slapped the table. “Dad, I don’t deny he’s got a great mind. And he’s already done important work that justifies his reputation. But this time he’s wrong—dead wrong.”
Raymond shook his head, worried—and confused. It was the first time he’d ever doubted his daughter’s abilities. For he was concerned that she had made an error in her own computations.
He tried to be calm and objective. “Isabel, why is this so important to you? Isn’t it Pracht’s problem?” He looked at her squarely and could see she was clearly hiding something more.
“Dad,” she murmured, “I’ve come up with some ideas of my own, and I think my data argues conclusively against the existence of any Fifth Force.”
Raymond was silent for a moment, aware—as perhaps she was not—of the potential danger in what she was saying.
“Do you realize what you’re doing?” he finally asked. “Instead of taking a leap into uncharted territory, you’re throwing a firebomb into a roomful of some of the most important scientists in the world.”
She nodded. “I know, Dad, I know. But I’ve never in my life been more sure of what I’m saying. I mean, the refutation isn’t complex—its greatest strength is its simplicity.”
Raymond da Costa was gradually finding the courage of his daughter’s convictions. After all, she had never been wrong before. “Who else knows about this?”
“No one, of course. That’s why I wanted to speak to you so desperately.”
“Where’s your proof?”
“In my notebooks in the trunk of your car. But if you want to see it boiled down into the basic formula, take a look at this.”
She reached into the pocket of her flannel shirt and handed him a piece of paper that had been folded many times. As he quickly scanned the data, Raymond found his anxiety rapidly transmuting into intense euphoria.
“Jesus,” he murmured half to himself. “This is unbelievable.”
“Trust me, Dad, I’m right. My theory will stand up to the most minute scrutiny.”
“I know, Isabel. That’s why I’m so knocked out. Just imagine what an impact this will have. What a debut—”
She lowered her head.
“What’s the matter?” Ray asked.
“You don’t get it! Can you imagine what would happen if I refuted my very own thesis adviser?”
Yes, Raymond thought to himself. That will really make headlines.
Isabel shook her head. “God, this is so painful. I don’t think I can do it to him.”
Raymond had his work cut out for him. He launched into a homily. “Isabel, scientific truth is no respecter of rank or eminence. Its only criterion is integrity. You’ve got to publish your findings.”
“I know—but it doesn’t have to be right away.”
“If I let the deadline for this year’s conference go by, then there’s no way of endangering Karl’s appointment at MIT. I mean, what’s my rush?”
“Isabel, you owe the man absolutely nothing.”
“That’s not true. He’s a great teacher. He’s been more than generous to me.”
“Come on,” he remonstrated. “If Pracht were in your place, would he withhold publication of something that would be so important to him?”
Isabel reflected for a split second and then answered quietly, “I think he would. I honestly think he would.”
Ray shifted gears. “It’s getting late, and you’re incredibly wired. Why don’t you get some rest and we can discuss it again when our minds are fresh?”
“Okay, Dad,” she replied, inwardly grateful to postpone the moment of decision.
They drove home in total silence.
Knowing his daughter as well as he did, Ray could easily sense her sadness and disappointment. But then, he convinced himself, that was why he had continued to remain by her side.
Once more he was playing the central role in her life.