“Well, what happened?” I said finally.
“Oh. What happened. She came in here, asked to be alone, so I went outside. It was about five minutes, and she came out. Crying. And she went away. That’s all.” He picked up his sandwich, took another bite.
“You didn’t go in with her?”
“No. I respect her privacy.”
“So you don’t know what happened.”
He shrugged. “I have a guess. But no.”
I was envious. Another man had acted as Alice’s protector in this chilly subterranean theater.
Braxia stared at me, plainly amused. “What’s the matter?” he said.
“Nothing.”
“Nothing? My dear fellow, you look like shit. I’ll tell you what is the matter with you. You are worried that Professor Coombs, Alice, is going to put herself up here”—he slapped at the table—“and that’s it, no more Professor Coombs.”
“Yes,” I admitted.
He smiled again. “Come here,” he said.
I stepped up, unexpectedly fearful, to the table. It was the nearest I’d been to Lack, though I’d certainly been nearer in nightmares.
Braxia put his hand on my shoulder, coaxed me up even closer. I moved forward and put my hand on the smooth, cool surface of the table. Braxia slid his sandwich to one side, leaving the strawberries where they sat.
“Look,” he said. He took a ring off his left hand and hid it in his fist, then slowly moved the hand with the ring forward, across the space of the table, past the point where Lack began. He drew his fist back, opened it up. The ring was still there.
“He doesn’t like Professor Alice, and he doesn’t like my wedding ring,” he said. “But, watch.” He picked up a strawberry, closed it in his fist, and repeated the demonstration. When he drew his hand back and opened it the strawberry was gone.
“Me and Lack, we have the same taste in dessert. Hah! It’s a good magic show, but I keep the rest for myself.” He popped a strawberry into his mouth, then twisted away the stem and laid it on a corner of the wax paper.
Lack doesn’t like marriage, I thought. Alice and I should have gotten married. That was our mistake. Lack would have left us alone.
“It is very interesting, this idea your Professor Coombs has. Or is it more of an emotion than an idea, eh? I think so. To put herself into the Lack. You think it’s terrible, I can see. But myself, I understand it a little. I feel it in myself too.” He met my eyes. “You wish I didn’t know about this idea of hers.”
Humbled, I nodded.
“Here.” He gestured at his sandwich. “You want some? Hen salad.”
“Hen salad?”
“I’m losing a word. Rooster?”
“Rooster salad,” I said. “No thank you.”
He shrugged, took another bite of sandwich, and chewed it into one cheek. “You seem afraid that I am going to make some trouble for Professor Alice, eh? But you are wrong. I think it’s charming. I want to help her.”
“How?” I was jealous. “Help her disappear?”
Braxia swallowed the cheekful. “You know the outcome of the experiments,” he said.
“Yes.”
“The Lack never changes his mind. If he refuses something once, he refuses it forever. He is consistent in this way, yes?”
I nodded, feeling thick.
Braxia put down his sandwich and extended his arm through Lack again. “He will never take my ring, and he will never take Professor Alice. No matter what her passion dictates. No matter how often she tries. So it might be better, if she needs to try, that we let her. Yes?” He pulled his arm back. “Have a strawberry.”
The barbed wire loosened from around my heart. “You really think he’ll never take her?” I said.
“I really think he’ll never take her,” said Braxia, through another mouthful of sandwich.
“Would he take someone else?”
“I don’t know, my dear fellow. It is a good question, but hard to ask, don’t you think? Not too many volunteers. Strap on a transmitter, jump across the table. Hah!”
“Where would they end up? What’s on the other side?”
“That’s the whole question, isn’t it? That’s what we all want to know. Is it a tiny little universe in there? Maybe every time I drop a strawberry I crush three or four little suns! But who knows. We’re trying.” He indicated the roomful of equipment, with obvious pride. “When I have my answer, be sure, my dear fellow, you’ll hear about it.”
“You’re sure it’ll be you who gets the answer.”
“Hah! Very good. Yes, I think so. Soft, he’s not so strong anymore. He’s in retreat. And your Professor Coombs, she’s asking a very different kind of question now, I think. More about herself than about the Lack.”
“What about the graduate students?”
“The graduate students.” Braxia snorted. “Yes. Have you heard their proposal?”
“No.”
“The idea is to build a monitor, an information-gathering device, out of only those materials the Lack desires. A Lack-compatible device, to launch across the table. Hah!” He slapped at Lack’s table again. “It is very clever, and also deeply idiotic. Lack will refuse the device. You know why? They will build it out of driftwood, strawberries, whatever Lack likes. Then one day Lack changes his mind, says no more strawberries. Besides, the Lack likes things for themselves, not for components. A device is no longer the things it is made up of, it is a device. The students will be very lucky if Lack eats their monitor. No, they are in no danger of learning anything.” He poked me in the chest. “If you were a physicist, perhaps you would be my competition. But.”
“You seem to be saying that Lack is a metaphysical phenomenon. So I should be just as qualified as you to uncover his meaning. If he is, as you say, interested in the idea of things in themselves. Meanings. Texts.”
Braxia’s eyes bugged with excitement, as if he might inflate and float to the ceiling. Instead he seized up the final corner of his sandwich and pushed it into his mouth.
“Okay,” he said. “Very good again. I like talking with you. Yes, Lack is interested in the idea, but not metaphysical. There is nothing metaphysical. We only have to uncover the underlying physics behind it. Soft created an experiment, remember? He wanted to do some fancy physics, bring something new into the world. And he succeeded. Hah! So now we take a good look at this thing. Texts, yes. That’s a good word, texts. Soft has written a new text. But it is a physics text. From physics comes physics. I will prove it to you personally.”
“I look forward to it.”
“Oh, but don’t stop your own work. I won’t hear of it. Please, come and decode the text in your own way. I will follow your work eagerly. And while you read the book, I will tell you how and why there is a book, and more. I will tell you how there is a shelf for the book, and a house for the shelf, and so on.”
“I’m sorry,” I said. “I don’t quite follow you.”
“Listen, my dear fellow. I’m studying the universe. Lack is just a part, a clue. I’ll explain Lack, and then I’ll explain the rest to you, too. The whole thing. That’s my job.”
“So you’re getting somewhere. You’re learning something about Lack.”
He screwed up his forehead. “I’ll tell you something, Mr. Engstrand. I have twelve men here, young, headstrong ones, who can think of nothing but physics. Like Soft, or me, ten years ago. They do what I tell them, they work around the clock for me. We will shoot the Lack with sonar, radioactivity, demagnetized particles, tachyons, whatever I can cook up. I am very patient, Mr. Engstrand. I am going to find the signal that can bounce back out, and then I am going to describe the world to which the Lack is a door. Trust me, my dear fellow.”
“But there’s nothing yet.”
“Just strawberries.”