Part 7 (2/2)

I opened the box to discover not the sheaf of papers I was hoping for, but eight bra.s.s sh.e.l.l cases. They were arranged in a sequence of ascending size, in a cardboard mould stuck with green baize. Just as with the spectacles, they were numbered, 1 to 8. Their length and girth was also recorded.

”Would you kindly like to tell me what you are doing?” said a voice behind me. I turned to see Mrs Ryman, oddly round in profile as she regarded me over one shoulder. She had clearly been walking past and stopped in surprise, having seen me.

”Oh G.o.d,” I said, trying to put back the box and catching it on the bottom of the shelf. It fell open, scattering its contents, each sh.e.l.l case rolling in a different direction. I turned again to where Mrs Ryman stood watching me, then went down on my knees to pick them up. They seemed to rattle a bit.

She had entered the room, calmly watching my frantic search. Eventually I stood up, with three of the larger cases tucked under my left arm, a medium-sized one in my right hand.

I tried to speak, but could think of nothing appropriate to say in the circ.u.mstances.

”What on earth are you doing with those?” she asked, staring at the objects. It was as if she had never seen them before.

”I'm so sorry,” I finally gasped. ”I just stepped in here...I'm fascinated by your husband's work. The number-”

”Number?”

”I mean the equations,” I struggled. ”I wanted to see some. The box said number.”

”The box said number?” Slowly, incredulously, as if there were gaps between them, she repeated my words.

I took a step back. Flailing a hand behind me, searching for the box file, I knocked over the display of pivoted rods. They fell to the floor with a clatter, rolling about among the remainder of the sh.e.l.l cases.

”Oh G.o.d,” I said again.

”Are you unwell?” asked Mrs Ryman. She knelt down and picked up the fallen box file. ”Give me those, you clot,” she said. One by one, I handed her the sh.e.l.l cases. ”Now please go downstairs,” she said, starting to put them back into the box.

It was excruciating. Again I tried to find words to explain, but in the end I left her crouched over the box, arranging the sh.e.l.l cases by their size.

Thirteen.

Ryman seemed oblivious to my absence. ”That accommodation between religion and science you spoke about earlier,” he said as I sat down, red-faced and sweating. ”We might have seen a way forward to it. You could say faith is action on a hypothesis, with a view to its verification.”

I wondered how I would ever face his wife again. Should I simply make my excuses and leave right now? I felt an overwhelming need for a cigarette, but we still had to finish the meal.

The main-course plates had been cleared away. ”It's just a variant on Pascal's wager,” Grant said dismissively. ”Distinctly unchristian, if you ask me. It makes one doubt the keystone of one's belief. It's not a definition of faith that I can accept.”

The two adversaries seemed to have made an accommodation of their own. ”Interesting man, Pascal,” said Ryman. ”Went looking for G.o.d and found statistics. And the variation of pressure with height.”

At that point Gill returned, carrying some bowls and the pudding, which was suet with custard. I fancied she gave me a slight nod, but could not be certain: my eyes were fixed very firmly on the s.h.i.+ny brown table, which showed the face of an idiot. Simply to give my hands something to do, I picked up my spoon and began eating the sticky ma.s.s of suet.

”Maybe he did,” Grant was saying of Pascal. ”But it's still not a true definition of faith.”

”I don't mind what definition you you use,” said Ryman. ”So long as we understand each other. That means my not committing theological solecisms and you having a proper respect for the fundamental concepts of science-a respect which, if I may say so, you did not exercise in church this morning.” use,” said Ryman. ”So long as we understand each other. That means my not committing theological solecisms and you having a proper respect for the fundamental concepts of science-a respect which, if I may say so, you did not exercise in church this morning.”

Maybe I was wrong about a mellowing between them because, on hearing this, Grant threw down his napkin and abruptly left the room. I thought he had gone for good, but there was a rattle of the cistern upstairs.

”Don't flus.h.!.+” roared Ryman, cupping his hands towards the stairs.

”When he comes back, apologise!” his wife hissed to him.

Ryman shrugged. I sat between them in embarra.s.sed silence-doubly embarra.s.sed silence-wanting that cigarette even more.

Grant returned, stern-browed, but before he could get a word in, Ryman started berating him. ”The fact is, I didn't think much of your sermon this morning. If you want to repeat it next year, I can lend you some good books for beginners in science.”

The minister looked at Ryman in astonishment.

”By the way, I believe you have just had cause to use our lavatory,” continued the professor. ”You flushed it. That is permissible, as I have already explained numerous times, only if the deposit is a solid one. Otherwise, in this household we flush once daily.”

”Wallace!” cried Gill.

It was too late. Pus.h.i.+ng back his chair, Grant left the table again. This time he headed for the hall door, which he closed behind him quietly as if to emphasise his host's lack of grace.

As Gill gave chase, Ryman let out an explosion of breath. ”The man's a fool,” he explained, turning to me as if seeking an ally. ”In church this morning he spoke of 'the centrifugal force which drives everything inward to our hearts'. Absolute poppyc.o.c.k. At least you you understand.” understand.”

It wasn't long before Gill returned, slightly out of breath. ”He's gone,” she said. ”He's sure not to come back now.” She stamped her heel in frustration. ”Why do you always do this?” She gave me a sad smile, as if imploring me to speak and somehow rescue the situation. But I didn't know what to say. All I could think about was our secret-if it was to be a secret.

Ryman was determined to justify himself. ”My dear, in one hundred years' time the world will be facing a catastrophic water shortage. If all the civilised world was over the coming century not to flush its lavatories, not to water its lawns, it would go a little way to alleviating the problem. Of course, there are many more effective scientific processes...”

”Wallace, I do not want to hear about a scientific process...You made a guest leave our house.”

”He's an ignorant buffoon-isn't he, Meadows?”

I squirmed in my chair as their eyes fell upon me, each expecting a different reply. ”I must say,” I said, ”that his views on centrifugal forces are a little unorthodox. Still, it's a common mistake among laymen. And the clergy, it seems.”

Neither of them seemed very impressed by my answer. ”I've never been so embarra.s.sed,” said Gill, which was ironic considering how I was presently feeling. Soon enough Ryman himself would know of my poking about in his study, for it would be only natural for a wife to tell her husband of such an event.

In the window, the light darkened suddenly. There was a rumble of thunder, swiftly followed by a bolt of lightning, cutting across the sky like a scar.

Ryman looked at his watch. ”One hour, near enough.” He stood up, then c.o.c.ked an eyebrow to the window. ”That squall I referred to.”

His wife looked at me across the table. ”Will you excuse me? I ought to do the was.h.i.+ng-up.”

I nodded, looking back into her eyes. Now something told me she wouldn't sneak, but you never know what goes on between a couple.

As his wife left, I joined Ryman at the window. The southwestern part of the sky was filled with dense low cloud. It was the colour of vintage champagne, yellowing the triangular green tops of the forestry plantation. Amid the cloud I could make out dark, rolling oscillations or whirls, rapidly increasing towards the north-west, and growing visibly as they moved. It was an amazing sight, since it had progression in it, framed by the window. The window's curtailment of view gave a starting point and stopping point for what we were seeing. And what was on display there-it was nothing less than that sequence of states along the temporal and spatial axis which is at the heart of all weather. It is seldom seen so plainly.

As soon as the cloud hit the line of beech trees, streaks of rain suddenly began to fall, then stopped just as abruptly. The tops of the trees, slowing the horizontal movement of the cloud, had momentarily produced turbulence and stronger upward currents.

Ryman put it more elegantly than I ever could have done. ”One might compare the cold air to a chisel laid flat on the table, then pushed forward to shave up the warm air in front of it, with its cutting edge. The amount of rain is of the right order for such an explanation. In any case, I've seen this phenomenon before.”

We returned to the table. I could hear Gill was.h.i.+ng up. ”Over this ridge, many times,” her husband continued. ”And in France once, too. In 1917, between Nancy and Belfort.”

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