Charlie peered around, aware that the room was full of tension. The men at the desks stared toward the back. Wilson stood with crossed arms. “We deserve an answer.”
Whoever he was addressing did not respond. Charlie saw dissatisfaction on every face. Why weren’t they debating?
“The whole idea of this project,” Wilson continued, “was civilian control of a potential military instrument, because that device could exceed the military’s capacity for restraint. We have men here”—he gestured to the desk on the left—“who see the war as nearly over, our role ended before it began. Professor Joseph Rotblat, for example.”
An affable-looking fellow nodded his head.
“While other men”—Wilson gestured to the right—“say that eventually some nation will obtain atomic knowledge, and the rightful possessor ought to be a democracy, so everyone participates in these decisions—namely the United States.”
Wilson stepped forward. “But after three debates, we remain stalled by the moral implications. We already know the army’s answer. We do not want President Roosevelt’s answer. They are not men of science. We want your answer. If we have the courage to demand it, you must have the courage to say it.”
Charlie wished he knew who Wilson was speaking to. He felt the silence’s pressure. One of the men at the desks lit a cigarette. No one else moved.
Finally a chair slid on the floor in back, and a man came forward into the lights. It took a moment for Charlie to see who it was: Oppenheimer. Wilson immediately gave ground. The Los Alamos director was painfully thin, his head balanced on a neck too slender. He arrived at the front of the room, and stood rubbing his face with one hand.
“A demonstration,” he said. But there was a catch in his throat. He coughed and began again.
“We must build the bomb, because someone will. I trust our government and people to manage that challenge better than any other nation. Also, we are so close. The uranium Gadget is theoretically sound, no test is needed, only a sufficient supply of materials. The plutonium Gadget has greater potential yield, but we need a test to know if that is attainable as a practical matter.”
He crossed to the man who was smoking, and asked for a cigarette. As Oppenheimer lit it, and took a long draw, Monroe leaned toward Charlie. “The lives being saved or lost, while he up and has a smoke.”
Oppenheimer returned to the front. “I will personally encourage General Groves and the oversight committee that the Gadget must not be used on human subjects. Its power is too great. Rather, to prove decisive American military superiority, and the futility of opposing our army and navy, we ought to conduct a public demonstration.”
He took a long draw on the cigarette. “We will build a Gadget to prove that it can be done, and to show that our nation alone possesses the capability. Perhaps we will also fabricate the impression that we have dozens more, ready for use. Then we will demonstrate it, for all the world to see. Hitler will understand its significance. Nothing more will be necessary. Therefore, a demonstration.”
Oppenheimer did not take questions, or remain to elaborate. Instead he strode up the aisle, grabbed his overcoat, and charged out into the swirling snow.
Returning to the barracks after the debate, Monroe and Charlie trudged through growing drifts. Giles had stayed to argue with boys from Theoretical. Not until they’d passed Ashley Pond and the tech areas did Monroe speak. “So, Mister Charlie. You think Oppie believes that horse manure?”
“He has no reason to lie to us,” Charlie said.
“Sometimes you are as naive as a mouse. One nibble of cheese can win you over.”
“He could have said, ‘I want to drop this thing on Berlin and Munich, and you are all ordered to build it.’ Telling the truth costs him nothing.”
Monroe considered a moment. “Maybe it don’t matter if Oppie believes that demonstration noise, long as the fellas do.”
“What fellas?” Charlie asked.
“All of us, I reckon. Now we can keep right on going.”
“I’m not following you.”
“I mean,” Monroe said, kicking a clod of snowy clay, “Oppie gave us cover, morals-wise. Building a Gadget for demonstration, everyone can work without having to answer the ethical questions. If someday the bomb gets used on humans after all, well, that was someone else’s decision, and our consciences are clear.”
“If I’m naive,” Charlie said, “then you are cynical.”
“Could be,” Monroe said. “Or maybe he just gave them all an out.” He realized they’d reached the barracks. “’Nother loop round the pond?”
“Thanks, but I’ve got a letter I’ve been saving.” Charlie opened the door. “Glad to see the Southern boy enjoying the snow, though.”
“Like ice in whiskey.”
Charlie watched Monroe wander into the darkness, until someone inside the barracks yelled to close the door, he was letting the heat out.
Dear Charlie:
By the time you read this I will be ready to go. To New Mexico, I mean.
I have made this decision without asking you for two reasons. One, it could take weeks of letters back and forth for us to get comfortable, and arrange the details, and I cannot wait any longer. And two, life here is changing quickly enough that there is no point in staying in Chicago.
Last week all we sold was one accordion. No pianos, no organs, no sheet music or lessons. One blessed accordion, and it was a beginner’s model.
Also I think the war is wearing on my mother. I test her patience, when she has almost run out. I hate to say this because I am going to miss her so much, but I think she might be happier if she does not have to take care of me. She is closing the store, so she won’t have that responsibility either.
But the main reason I am coming is you. Your last letter told me I should say good-bye if I am done with you. Instead I am doing the opposite. You’re a smart guy, you can figure out what that means.
I have landed a job, and a room in a boardinghouse. I am coming to Santa Fe.
I read the train schedule. Now I appreciate how difficult the trip must have been for you. I have one reassurance to make it easier: you are waiting at the end of it.
I appreciate everything about you much more now. I am not afraid to say it. Or write it, anyhow. There is a kindness about you, and it brings out the kindness in me. Which is a thing I think everyone would say is good. Ha.
Charlie, I hope I won’t be crowding you, or interfering with your work. I hope I don’t get grouchy, like I can sometimes. Because this is all a leap of faith for me. The thing I imagine over and over is an evening, after you’re done with work, and we go for a walk. It’s slow, because there is no hurry, and no destination except returning to where we started. And we see so much of each other, we are talking about ordinary, everyday things. And when it’s done, we have a good long kiss, because oh how I have missed your kisses, Charlie.
I put my new address down at the bottom, where I’ll be in two weeks.
Your Brenda
33.
First thing that morning, I did my push-ups. Nine; I was getting up there.
By then I checked more than my makeup in the bathroom mirror. I raised my arms and marveled. They were leaner, they had a shape. I hoped Charlie would like it. I knew full well that I did not have many more chances with him. Maybe only that day, our first meeting since he’d received my lost letter.