Silence.
On the desktop before him are papers and two large stones. Also some small porcelain bowls containing smaller stones dusted with cigar ash. Across the papers lies a magnifying glass the size of a frying pan.
‘Professor Sibbelee asked me to pass on his best regards to you.’
‘Thank you, thank you.’
Another silence.
My tongue is a hand groping in the depths of a black sack for some way of steering this conversation to my purpose in coming here. Nothing tactful comes to mind. Plunge in at the deep end, then.
‘Did you, by any chance, manage to get hold of those aerial photographs for me?’
‘Aerial photos? What do you mean, aerial photos? Of course we have aerial photos here. But I do not know whether anyone is using them at present. There are so many aerial photos.’
He doesn’t know what I am talking about! Could he have forgotten his promise to Sibbelee, that he would give me the aerial surveys I need for my fieldwork? I have a feeling that further explanations of my need will be counterproductive, but I can’t think of anything better. I can hardly give up without having tried every tack.
‘Yes, Professor, the aerial photographs …’
‘Is it the entire collection you wish to see?’
‘There has been … there was …’
My left hand is down between my knees holding my right, which is bunched into a fist. My elbows press against my sides.
‘There was mention of a set of aerial photographs I could use for my research in Finnmark.’
I am not sure what I just said rates as correct German, but I can’t imagine there was anything Nummedal would have any difficulty understanding, and I articulated the words clearly and without faltering.
He draws a deep breath and says:
‘I consider Qvigstad and Jordal among the best pupils I have ever had, and I speak of a period of many years, you understand. They know all about Finnmark.’
‘Of course. I have only met Qvigstad briefly, but Arne strikes me as someone from whom I can learn a great deal, which makes it all the more a privilege for me to accompany him.’
‘A privilege, sir? Indeed it is! Geology is a science that is strongly bound to geographic circumstance. In order to obtain results that amaze and impress, one must practise geology in areas with something left to discover. But that is the great difficulty facing us. I know a fair few geologists who went looking in places where no-one had bothered to look before because it was assumed there was nothing there. They never found anything either.
‘May I let you in on a secret?’ he goes on. ‘The true geologist never completely forsakes his gold-prospecting forebears. You may laugh at me for saying this, but I am old. Which gives me a certain right to romanticise.’
‘No, no! I know exactly what you mean!’
‘Ah, so you know what I mean. But for you as a Dutchman, the concept must be somewhat unpalatable. Such a small country, densely populated for centuries and with scientific standards known to be among the highest in the world. I can well imagine the geologists in Holland having to stand on each other’s toes, and being sorely tempted in the process to palm off a stray toe as the incisor of a Cave Bear!’
‘The country is small, admittedly, but the soil is exceptionally varied.’
‘That is what you people think, just because there is a geologist with a microscope on each square metre. That does not change the fact that there are no mountains. No plateaux, no glaciers, no waterfalls either! Marshland, mud and clay, that is all! It will end with them counting every single grain of sand, I shouldn’t wonder. To me that is not geology. I call it bookkeeping, hair-splitting. Verfallene Wissenschaft, is what I call it, verfallene Wissenschaft.’
My laughter is both civil and sincere.
‘Oh, Professor, they have also found coal, salt, oil and natural gas.’
‘But the important issues, my dear sir. The big questions! Where did our planet come from? What is its future? Are we heading towards a new ice age, or will there be date palms growing on the South Pole one day? The big questions that make science great, the questions that are the true function of science!’
Pressing both hands on the creaky desktop, he rises.
‘The true function of science! Do you understand? Coal to burn in the stove, natural gas to boil an egg for breakfast, salt to sprinkle on it — mere household words, as far as I’m concerned. What is science? Science is the titanic endeavour of the human intellect to break out of its cosmic isolation through understanding!’
2
Nummedal comes out from behind his desk. He keeps his fingertips in contact with the desktop throughout.
‘I propose taking you on a little tour of the environs of Oslo this afternoon. Where are those maps …?’
He moves towards one of the long tables covered in maps.
‘That would be very nice,’ I say.
I spoke without emphasis or reflection.
What if I had said I had to continue my journey northwards this afternoon?
He flips down his extra glasses and holds one of the maps up close to his eyes. What if I come right out and tell him the only reason I called on him was to get hold of the aerial photographs?
His jaw sags.
What if I tell him I’ve already booked a seat on the plane to Trondheim? That I must leave in fifteen minutes?
But what if he takes offence, and lets me go off to Finnmark without the photographs?
I step closer to him. We stand side by side at the long table. The map in his hands has been rolled up for a long time, the corners curl inwards. Nummedal leans forward to spread it out on the table and I help him hold down the springy paper. It is a heliotype print. Could it be an unpublished map, one he has picked out as a special favour to me?
No, it is an ordinary geological survey of the Oslo district. He says:
‘I must have a better copy somewhere, in colour.’
As he moves down the table he upsets a pile of papers, spilling them across the floor. I squat on my heels to retrieve them.
‘Oh, there is no need!’
Looking up, I see he’s holding another map, a cloth-backed one this time. With my hands full of papers, I straighten up. Nummedal takes no notice.
‘Here it is. Come along now, let’s go.’
I lay the papers on the table and follow him.
Which map has he got now? While I hold the door open for him, I see it is the coloured version of the geological survey of Oslo. Does he really have no idea why I am here?
‘This one is mounted on linen,’ he says, ‘but not in the proper way. It can’t be folded.’
And he hands me the map.
The corridor. We move towards the stairs, me on his left with the roll under my arm.
‘I was in Amsterdam before the war,’ Nummedal says, ‘I visited the geological institute there. Splendid building. Fine collections from Indonesia.’
His right hand trails along the wall.
‘Losing the colonies must have been a terrible blow for geologists in your country.’
‘It would seem so on the face of it. But fortunately there are plenty of opportunities elsewhere.’
‘Elsewhere? My dear young man, don’t delude yourself! Other countries have their own geologists. The science is bound to suffer in the long run if your geologists have no alternative but to set their sights abroad.’
The thirteenth tread of the second flight down.
‘Maybe,’ I say. ‘Still, you know, nowadays, with all the new international organisations, and borders becoming so much easier to cross …’
‘All that looks fine on paper! But where does it leave the profound insights and natural affinity with the big questions, if people receive their training in a tiny, flat country of mud and clay without a single mountain?’