Part 18 (2/2)
Newton stands thinking to himself. For the first time, the sound of the wind becomes audible in the background.
NEWTON This could be a matter of some considerable import unless I'm mistaken. Does there exist, I wonder, some method of formulation whereby these astounding truths might be reduced to some lawful mathematick? (He calls up again toward the top of the tower.) I say, how view you the possibility that these principles might be committed to some system of orderly symbolic brevity? (aside) I'm d.a.m.ned if I can understand anything written in this wretched olde worlde English meself.
GALILEO Ees getting windy up 'ere. What you say?
NEWTON (cupping a hand to his mouth) I said, perhaps we should essay the construction of a precise formulation of these discoveries. Might I suggest that we repair forthwith to an alehouse-provided such establishments be not unknown in these lat.i.tudes-in search of more congenial surroundings, suitably conducive to discussion. What sayest thou to that?
GALILEO (as the sound of the wind rises) Eh?
NEWTON Oh d.a.m.nation! (He draws a deep breath and cups both hands to his mouth.) How can we put this into numbers? Are there any pubs near here? . . . Pubs-vino, or whatever? . . . Sit down and talk.
GALILEO (nodding vigorously) Ah, si. (He gestures toward the far side of the plaza) There am one or two over de square. One meenute. I come down. (He disappears from sight.)
Newton stands frowning to himself while he waits.
NEWTON What did that fellow say? It sounded like m-one m-two over d squared . . . (He gazes down at the objects strewn around the foot of the tower and rolls one of the apples absently with his foot.
Suddenly he gasps.) Good grief, that's it! Why, the man must truly be a genius!
Galileo appears from the tower door. He points offstage and begins walking to the right. Newton remains transfixed. After a few paces Galileo stops and looks back.
GALILEO Why you standa like that, Engleesh? I thought you wanna talk somewhere.
NEWTON (disbelievingly) My dear fellow . . . An insight of sheer brilliance! I am overcome with respect, and I must confess, not a little humbled.
GALILEO What you talkeeng about?
NEWTON You mean . . . (His expression changes at once.) What exactly did you say up there?
GALILEO I said there are a couple of pubs over de square. Ees what you ask, no? (He waits impatiently as Newton produces a notebook and begins scribbling furiously.) What you doeeing now?”
NEWTON (breezily) Oh, merely a few purchases that I was reminded of, which I would not wish to escape my mind. (He stuffs the notebook back in his pocket, straightens his hat, and takes a tighter grip on his cane.) There, that should suffice. Now, where were we? Ah yes, to a tavern. Very good. Lead on, my dear fellow. Lead on.
Black-out. They exit right.
CURTAIN.
MERRY GRAVMAS.
It is a fact that Sir Isaac Newton was born on December 25 (in 1642). I mentioned this one evening when Jackie and I were with a group of friends in a Sonora bar. After some debate, we decided that the date is too much to be a coincidence: Providence is trying to tell us something.
We finally agreed that the time has come for a change. We're all part of Western scientific civilization, after all, and things have been dominated for too long by traditions rooted in ancient Palestinian mysticism. In future, therefore, we decided that as far as we are concerned, the customary holiday season celebrates the birthday of the intellectual founder of mathematical, a.n.a.lytical method. Further, to commemorate the formulation of his famous universal law, the name of the feast shall be changed from ”Christmas” to ”Gravitational ma.s.s,” or, more simply, ”Gravmas.”
Who knows?-the whole thing could spread like wildfire. Two thousand years from now, it might form the basis for the philosophy and worldview of a whole, new global culture, which by that time may revolve around a race of supertech, s.p.a.cegoing Chinese. . . .
”Is that you, Li?” Cheng Xiang called, looking up from the notescreen propped against his knee. He had been amusing himself with a few tensor integrals to clear his mind before taking his morning coffee.
The sounds of movement came again from upstairs. Moments later, his ten-year-old son appeared, floating down the staircase on an anti-g disk. ”Good morning, father.”
”Merry Gravmas.”
”And to you.” Li hopped off the disk and stood admiring the decorations that the family robot had put up overnight. There were paper chains hanging in hyperbolic catenary curves and sinusoids, Gaussian distribution bells, and pendulums wreathed in logarithmic spirals. In the corner opposite the total-sensory ca.s.sette player, there stood a miniature apple tree with binary stars on top, a heap of gaily wrapped gifts around its base, and its branches adorned with colored ma.s.ses of various shapes, a string of pulsing plasma glows, and striped candies shaped like integral signs. ”It looks nice,” Li said, eyeing the presents.
”I wonder what Santa Roid has brought this year.”
”You'll have to wait until your brother and sister get here before you can open anything,” Xiang told him.
”What are they doing?”
”Yu is sending off a last-minute Gravmas present to a schoolfriend over the matter transmitter to Jupiter.
Yixuan is helping Mother program the autochef to cook the turkey.”
”Why does everyone in this family always have to leave everything until the last minute?” Xiang grumbled, setting down the screen and getting up. ”Anyone would think it wasn't obvious that the ease of getting things done varies inversely as the square of procrastination.”
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