We would have been no matter what. Its hot in here.
True. She reached up to straighten his hair and then they were kissing again, banging against the wall in a sudden blaze of passion, stronger than ever. Then she pushed him away, saying breathlessly, Okay, no more, were almost there. The door must be about to open.
True.
Confirming the thought, the elevator began its characteristic slow-motion deceleration. Frank took a deep breath, blew it out, tried to pull himself together. He felt flushed, his skin was tingling. He looked at her. She was almost as tall as he was.
She laughed. We are so busted.
The elevator stopped. The doors jerked open. They were still a foot below street level, but it was easy to step up and out.
Before them stood three men, two in workers coveralls, one in a Metro uniform.
The one in the uniform held a clipboard. Yall okay? he said to them.
Yeah, Were fine, they said together.
Everyone stood there for a second.
Must have been hot in there, the uniformed one remarked.
The three black men stared at them curiously.
It was, Frank said.
But not much different than out here, his companion quickly added, and they all laughed. It was true; getting out had not made any marked change. It was like stepping from one sauna to another. Their rescuers were also sweating profusely. Yesthe open air of a Washington, D.C., evening was indistinguishable from the inside of an elevator stuck deep underground. This was their world: and so they laughed.
They were on the sidewalk flanking Wisconsin Avenue, next to the elevator box and the old post office. Passersby glanced at them. The foreman gave the woman his clipboard. If youd fill out and sign the report, please. Thanks. Looks like it was about half an hour from your call to when we pulled you.
Pretty fast, the woman said, reading the text on her form before filling in some blanks and signing. It didnt even seem that long. She looked at her watch. All right, wellthanks very much. She faced Frank, extended a hand. It was nice to meet you.
Yes it was, Frank said, shaking her hand, struggling for words, struggling to think. In front of these witnesses nothing came to him, and she turned and walked south on Wisconsin. Frank felt constrained by the gazes of the three men; all would be revealed if he were to run after her and ask for her name, her phone number, and besides now the foreman was holding the clipboard out to him, and it occurred to him that he could read what she had written down there.
But it was a fresh form, and he looked up to see that down the street she was turning right, onto one of the smaller streets west of Wisconsin.
The foreman watched him impassively while the technicians went back to the elevator.
Frank gestured at the clipboard. Can I get that womans name, please?
The man frowned, surprised, and shook his head. Not allowed to, he said. Its a law.
Frank felt his stomach sink. There had to be a physiological basis for that feeling, some loosening of the gut as fear prepared the body for fight-or-flight. Flight in this case. But I need to get in touch with her again, he said.
The man stared at him, stone-faced. Should have thought of that when you was stuck with her, he said, sensibly enough. He gestured in the direction she had gone. You could probably still catch her.
Released by these words Frank took off, first walking fast, then, after he turned right on the street she had taken, running. He looked forward down the street for her black skirt, white blouse, short brown hair; there was no sign of her. He began sweating hard again, a kind of panic response. How far could she have gotten? What had she said she was late for? He couldnt rememberhorribly, his mind seemed to have blurred on much that she had said before they started kissing. He needed to know all that now! It was like some memory experiment foisted on undergraduates, how much could you remember of the incidents right before a shock? Not much! The experiment had worked like a charm.
But then he found the memory, and realized that it was not blurred at all, that on the contrary it was intensely detailed, at least up until the point when their legs had touched, at which point he could still remember perfectly, but only the feel on the outside of his knee, not their words. He went back before that, rehearsed it, relived itcyclist, triathlon, one mile, twenty mile, 10K. Good for the legs, oh my God was it. He had to find her!
There was no sign of her at all. By now he was on Woodson, running left and right, looking down all the little side streets and into shop windows, feeling more and more desperate. She wasnt anywhere to be seen. He had lost her.
It started to rain.
The doorbell rang. Anna went to it and opened it.
Frank! Wow, youre soaked.
He must have been caught in the downpour that had begun about half an hour before, and was already finished. It was odd he hadnt taken shelter during the worst of it. He looked like he had dived into a swimming pool with all his clothes on.
Dont worry, she said as he hesitated on the porch, dripping like a statue in a fountain. Here, you need a towel for your face. She provided one from the vestibules coat closet. The rain really got you.
Yeah.
She was somewhat surprised to see him. She had thought he was uninterested in the Khembalis, even slightly dismissive of them. And he had sat through the afternoons lecture wearing one of his signature looks; he had a face able to express twenty minute gradations of displeasure, and the one at the lecture had been the one that said, Im keeping my eyes from rolling in my head only by the greatest of efforts. Not the most pleasant of expressions on anyones face, and it had only gotten worse as the lecture went on, until eventually he had looked stunned and off in his own world.
On the other hand, he had gone to it. He had left in silence, obviously thinking something over. And now here he was.
So Anna was pleased. If the Khembalis could capture Franks interest, they should be able to do it with any scientist. Frank was the hardest case she knew.
Now he seemed slightly disoriented by his drenching. He was shaking his head ruefully.
Anna said, Do you want to change into one of Charlies shirts?
No, Ill be all right. Ill steam dry. Then he lifted his arms and looked down. Wellmaybe a shirt I guess. Will his fit me?
Sure, youre only just a bit bigger than he is.
She went upstairs to get one, calling down, The others should be here any minute. There was flooding on Wisconsin, apparently, and some problems with the Metro.
I know about those, I got caught in one!
Youre kidding! What happened? She came down with one of Charlies bigger T-shirts.
The elevator I was in got stuck halfway up.
Oh no! For how long?
About half an hour I guess.
Jesus. That must have been spooky. Were you by yourself?
No, there was someone else, a woman. We got to talking, and so the time passed fast. It was interesting.
Thats nice.
Yes. It was. Only I didnt get her name, and then when we got out they had forms for us to fill out and, and she took off while I was doing mine, so I never caught what hers was. And then the guy from the Metro wouldnt give it to me from her form, so now Im kicking myself, becausewell. Id like to talk to her again.
Anna inspected him, startled by this story. He was looking past her abstractedly, perhaps remembering the incident. He noticed her gaze and grinned, and this startled her once again, because it was a real smile. Always before Franks smile had been a skeptical thing, so ironic and knowing that only one side of his mouth tugged back. Now he was like a stroke victim who had recovered the use of the damaged side of his face.
It was a nice sight, and it had to have been because of this woman he had met. Anna felt a sudden surge of affection for him. They had worked together for quite some time, and that kind of collaboration can take two people into a realm of shared experience that is not like family or marriage but rather some other kind of bond that can be quite deep. A friendship formed in the world of thought. Maybe they were always that way. Anyway he looked happy, and she was happy to see it.
This woman filled out a form, you say?
Yeah.
So you can find out.
They wouldnt let me look at it.
No, but youll be able to get to it somehow.
You think so?
Now she had his complete attention. Sure. Get a reporter from the Post to help you, or an archival detective, or someone from the Metro. Or from Homeland Security for that matter. The fact you were in there with her, that might be the way to get it, I dont know. But as long as its written down, something will work. Thats informatics, right?
True. He smiled again, looking quite happy. Then he took Charlies shirt from her and walked around toward the kitchen while changing into it. He took a towel from her and toweled off his head. Thanks. Here, can I put this in your dryer? Down in the basement, right? He stepped over the baby gate, went downstairs. Thanks Anna, he called back up to her. I feel better now. When he came back up, the sound of the dryer on behind him, he smiled again. A lot better.
You must have liked this woman!
I did. Its true, I did. I cant believe I didnt get her name!
You will. Want a beer?
You bet I do.
In the door of the fridge. Oops, theres the door again, here come the rest.
Soon the Khembalis and many other friends and acquaintances from NSF filled the Quiblers little living room, and the dining room flanking it, and the kitchen beyond the dining room. Anna rushed back and forth, carrying drinks and trays of food. She enjoyed this, and was doing it more than usual to keep Charlie from inflaming his poison ivy. As she hurried around she enjoyed seeing Joe playing with Drepung, and Nick discussing Antarctic dinosaurs with Curt from the office right above hers; he was one of the U.S. Antarctic Program managers. That NSF also ran one of the continents of the world was something she tended to forget, but Curt had come to the talk, and liked it. These Buddhist guys would go over big in McMurdo, he told Nick. Meanwhile Charlie, skin devastated to a brown crust across wide regions of his neck and face, eyes brilliantly bloodshot with sleep deprivation and steroids, was absorbed in conversation with Sucandra. Then he noticed her running around and joined her in the kitchen to help. I gave Frank one of your shirts, she told him.
I saw. He said he got soaked.
Yes. I think he was chasing around after a woman he met on the Metro.
What?
She laughed. I think its great. Go sit down, babe, dont move your poor torso, youll make yourself itchy.
Ive transcended itchiness. Im only itchy for you.
Come on dont. Go sit down.
Only later in the evening did she see Frank again. He was sitting in the corner of the room, on the floor between the couch and the fireplace, quizzing Drepung about something or other. Drepung looked as if he was struggling to understand him. Anna was curious, and when she got a chance she sat down on the couch just above the two of them.
Frank nodded to her and then continued pressing a point, using one of his catchphrases: But how does that work?
Well, Drepung said, I know what Rudra Cakrin says in Tibetan, obviously. His import is clear to me. Then I have to think what I know of English. The two languages are different, but so much is the same for all of us.
Deep grammar, Frank suggested.
Yes, but also just nouns. Names for things, names for actions, even for meanings. Equivalencies of one degree or another. So, I try to express my understanding of what Rudra said, but in English.
But how good is the correspondence?
Drepung raised his eyebrows. How can I know? I do the best I can.
You would need some kind of exterior test.
Drepung nodded. Have other Tibetan translators listen to the rimpoche, and then compare their English versions to mine. That would be very interesting.
Yes it would. Good idea.
Drepung smiled at him. Double-blind study, right?
Yes, I guess so.
Elementary, my dear Watson, Drepung intoned, reaching out for a cracker with which to dip hummus. But I expect you would get a certain, what, range. Maybe you would not uncover many surprises with your study. Maybe just that I personally am a bad translator. Although I must say, I have a tough job. When I dont understand the rimpoche, translating him gets harder.
So you make it up! Frank laughed. His spirits were still high, Anna saw. Thats what Ive been saying all along. He settled back against the side of the couch next to her.
But Drepung shook his head. Not making things up. Re-creation, maybe.
Like DNA and phenotypes.
I dont know.
A kind of code.
Well, but language is never just a code.
No. More like gene expression.
You must tell me.
From an instruction sequence, like a gene, to what the instruction creates. Language to thought. Or to meaning, or comprehension. Whatever! To some kind of living thought.
Drepung grinned. There are about fifty words in Tibetan that I would have to translate to the word thinking.
Like Eskimos with snow, if its true what they say about that.
Yes. Like Eskimos have snow, we Tibetans have thoughts.
He laughed at the idea and Frank laughed too, shaken by that low giggle which was all he ever gave to laughter, but now emphatic and helpless with it, bubbling over with it. Anna could scarcely believe her eyes. He was as ebullient as if he were drunk, but he was still holding the same beer she had given him on his arrival. And she knew what he was high on anyway.
He pulled himself together, grew intent. So today, when you said, An excess of reason is itself a form of madness, what did your lama really say?
Just that. Thats easy, thats an old proverb. He said the sentence in Tibetan. One word means excess or too much, you know, like that, and rig-gnas is reason, or science. Then zugs is form, and zhe sdang is madness, a version of hatred, from an older word that was like angry. One of the dug gsum, the Three Poisons of the Mind.
And the old man said that?
Yes. An old saying. Milarepa, I should think.
Was he talking about science, though?
The whole lecture was on science.
Yeah yeah. But I found that idea in particular pretty striking.
A good thought is one you can act on.