The week before the public hearing, the Lab had arranged a meeting to brief all employees on how they would be expected to conduct themselves should they choose to participate in the hearings. Dr. Palmer, the Lab director, stood once more at the podium in Anderson Hall, addressing the assembled employees. “I’m sure you all know by now,” he began, “that the public hearing on the projected super collider will be held on Wednesday at the Nicolet Public High School. For those of you who have preregistered to speak — and I understand there are a number of you who have — I’d like to make a few important things clear. If you choose to speak, and we encourage you to do so, you may identify yourselves as Lab employees, but you must also make it clear that you are speaking for yourselves as private citizens, that you are not speaking on behalf of the Lab. Please remember that your conduct at these hearings will reflect on the Lab and may well influence the Department of Energy’s decision regarding the collider. We would urge you to do your best to talk in terms that will be easily understood by laypersons.”
Here there were chuckles from the audience.
Dr. Palmer held up his hand, smiling. “Yes, I am aware that this is difficult for many of us. In light of that, Gerald here,” he gestured at Dr. Cardiff in the front row, “has been working over the past few weeks on something we’re calling the checkout-line project. Essentially, it’s a quick physicist-to-layperson translation of some of the central issues. What we’re thinking about is how you might quickly and clearly describe what we’re doing to one of your neighbors in the checkout line at the Jewel. Gerald will be handing out some of the talking points he’s put together, and I’d encourage you all to make use of them.
“Now,” he continued, resting his elbows on the podium, “I know there is a good deal of frustration in this room with the people who want to put a stop to this project, and I know there is also significant concern over what will happen to the Lab if this collider isn’t built. But the thing we’ve got to remember at this hearing is that these are our friends and neighbors.”
Here, Abhijat thought he detected the voice of Dr. Cardiff in Dr. Palmer’s remarks.
“And no matter how unfounded we think their concerns are, the most important thing to remember is that they believe them to be true. All we can do is to try our best to educate them and to allay those fears.”
In the atrium after the meeting, over coffee and Danish, Abhijat listened with concern to his colleagues, wondering how well those who had chosen to speak would be able to adhere to the director’s advice.
“I don’t know what we can say to these people,” one of Abhijat’s junior colleagues was saying to a circle of fellow physicists. “These are the same geniuses who think a mobile phone is going to give them cancer.”
“Or living near power lines,” added another.
“It’s not looking good for us, is it, mate?” one of his colleagues said, patting Abhijat on the back, and setting a few tiny muffins on his plate.
“I have confidence,” Abhijat said, nodding as if to demonstrate this. “I have confidence in our fellow citizens.”
“I hope that’s not misplaced,” his colleague said, popping one of the muffins into his mouth and looking out over the prairie.
Though it had always been Abhijat’s habit to collect the mail at the end of the day when he returned from the Lab, Sarala had begun to do this, hoping to intercept any return correspondence from Abhijat’s mother before he might see it and wonder why his mother should be writing to Sarala alone as opposed to both of them, as she always had before.
When the letter arrived, Sarala snatched it out of the pile of mail she left for Abhijat on the kitchen counter and took it into the living room to read.
My dear Sarala,
I was both touched and saddened to receive your letter. Touched that you should think of me as a confidant, and sad to see how unhappy this has made you both. You are correct that I had hoped that you might help Abhijat to see beyond his often very limited horizons. I had hoped for this, and you have — you and Meena both.
You must always remember that you have allowed him to live a much fuller life than he would have otherwise. And though he may not yet see that, I believe he will someday come to recognize this, that he will someday come to understand how important it has been.
He is a difficult man to love, I imagine. Yet without those parts of him, he would not be the man we love, all three of us.
My great hope for my son is not that he becomes a renowned and famous physicist, but rather that he should look up from his work and come to see the beauty of the world he has — the world that is tangible and knowable and present.
CHAPTER 17. Charm and Beauty
WITHOUT A WORD TO ANYONE, SARALA HAD MADE THE APPOINTMENT, her long hair falling into a pile around the stylist’s chair. With a blow dryer, the hairstylist restrained Sarala’s dark curls, shaping them into soft wings that fanned out around her face, drawing attention to her high cheekbones, the whole arrangement set with a soft lacquer of hairspray. Sarala was unsure whether she could reproduce the effect, but, for the day, at least, it was enough to catch a glimpse of herself in the mirror each time she passed.
When Meena and Abhijat returned home that evening, Sarala revealed her transformation.
“You look,” Abhijat said, after regarding her for a moment, “like Carol.”
“I think it looks great, Mom,” Meena said.
Abhijat excused himself to change out of his suit. As he made his way up the stairs, he permitted himself another peek at Sarala and admitted, only to himself, that it did, in fact, suit her.
Upstairs, he slipped out of his jacket and returned it to its hanger. He stood for a moment in the large walk-in closet, which had, when they first bought the house, seemed to him excessively large. Pushed to the back were the bright saris Sarala no longer wore, her side of the closet now filled with matching jogging suits, Velcro tennis shoes, and holiday-themed sweaters. He ran his fingers over the saris’ thin, delicate fabric, then turned back to his side of the closet, removing his tie and returning it to its place among the others.
At the dinner table, Abhijat looked down at his plate, scooping up a bit of the grey-green matter on his spoon and letting it slide off with a resounding splat. “What is this?” he asked, sounding weary, tired of it already, before Sarala even answered.
“Green bean casserole.” She held up the photo from the cookbook. “I learned from Carol.”
“Carol,” Abhijat said under his breath. He held up another spoonful, sniffing at it suspiciously.
From across the table, Meena raised her eyebrows, nodding at him like a mother cajoling a toddler into taking a bite.
He exhaled into the quiet of the room. “I don’t like you spending so much time with her,” Abhijat said. He had not failed to notice the NOT UNDER MY HOME sign that had appeared in Carol and Bill’s front yard.
Meena watched nervously from her place at the table.
“Surely there is someone more, more…” Abhijat searched for the word. “…edifying for you to spend time with.”
Sarala didn’t answer. For her, it had become answer enough to say nothing.