"No.
Just what I deduced. He told me he liked you, and that... he'd made a
bet with you."
Elisa
stared at him.
"I
have my opinion about Blanes's theory," she said finally, "and
he has his. So we made a bet to see who's right."
Victor
waved his hand away, as if to dismiss the topic.
"Believe
me, I don't care what you're up to." Then he added, so quietly
that Elisa had to lean in just to hear his words in the noisy
cafeteria, "I just wanted to warn you ... Don't do it."
"Don't
do what?"
"Whatever
he tells you to do. It's not a game for him. I know him. We used to
be really good friends. He was always ... Let's just say he's very
perverse."
"What
do you mean?"
"It's
too hard to explain right now," Victor glanced at her sidelong
and changed his tone. "I mean, I don't want to exaggerate or
anything. I'm not saying he's ... he's crazy or anything like that...
I just mean he doesn't respect girls very much. I'm sure some of them
like that about him. Not all of them, of course, but..." He'd
turned red as a beet. "I feel like an idiot telling you this.
It's just that I like you, and I wanted.... Well, anyway, you do what
you want. I just wanted ... I didn't know you two had spoken, so I
thought I should warn you."
Elisa
was tempted to make a sarcastic comment. Something along the lines of
"I'm twenty-three years old, Victor, I can take care of myself,
thanks." But she realized that Lopera, unlike her mother, wasn't
trying to teach her a lesson. He was being completely sincere and
thought he was helping her out. She didn't want to ask him what else
Valente had told him about their conversation. At that point, she no
longer cared what Mr. Four One-Hundredths Less could say or do.
"Valente
and I aren't friends, Victor," she insisted. "And I have no
plans to do anything I don't want to," she said very seriously.
Victor
still didn't seem satisfied, as if he'd realized that the only one
who'd come off poorly after all that was him. He opened his mouth to
say something else, but then closed it again and shook his head.
"Of
course not," he replied. "That was idiotic of me..."
"No,
I appreciate it, really."
Then
came the call for them to return to the auditorium; the symposium was
about to resume.
Elisa
spent the next several hours completely engrossed, though not by the
conference. Half of her brain was concentrating on the speakers'
words; the other half contemplated Victor's immature warning. But
then she abruptly forgot all about Victor and even Valente, and sat
up in her seat.
David
Blanes was making his way to the stage. If it had been a courtroom,
the silence that greeted him would have made clear that this was the
accused.
Blanes
took up where Hawking had left off, with the comment about the tree.
"The
sequoia is leafy, but it doesn't bear fruit," he began.
In
less than ten minutes, Elisa knew that she'd lost the bet.
BLANES
spoke
for another half an hour, but he spent his time talking about how new
generations of physicists would discover as-yet-undreamed-of means of
solving the problems presented by the "past" end of the
strings. He mentioned various possible solutions, including local
variables and another one that hadn't occurred to Elisa using
imaginary numbers. But he branded them all "elegant but
pointless, like wearing a tux in the desert." She could tell
that he was depressed, tired, and probably sick of defending himself
from his adversaries' attacks. Despite the applause, Elisa was sure
the audience was disappointed with what he was saying. She felt
disdain for the man who'd once been her idol.
You
don't want to fight for your ideas. Well, I do.
Blanes's
had been the last talk of the day, but there was still a roundtable
scheduled for after the coffee break. Elisa stood and lined up with
everyone else, and made her way out into the lobby. She heard the
voice behind her, just as she had at lunchtime.
"Go
to the men's room and wait there."
"I
haven't lost yet," she said, whirling around.
As
she saw him try to slip into the crowd, Elisa stuck out her hand and
grabbed onto his shirt.
This
time you're not getting away.
"I
haven't lost," she repeated.
Valente
backed up, but he couldn't get away. They walked to the exit together
and headed for the lobby. As always, Elisa thought his appearance was
about as subtle as a neon sign that read "Valente Sharpe here!"
Bright-red denim shirt buttoned all the way to the neck, maroon belt
and trousers, red leather boots, gold chain, and earrings. He wore
his nametag (Elisa had stuffed hers into her pocket) over what was
probably his nipple. His blond bangs were carefully combed over his
right eye. The displeasure in his voice was clear.
"I've
given you your first instruction: go to the men's room..."
"No."
She
saw a gleam in his eye, as if he was mocking her, but his face
remained impassive.
"Well,
Ms. Robledo, that's very cowardly of you, going back on your word
like that."
"I'm
not going back on my word, Mr. Valente. I'll keep my word if I lose."
"You've
already lost. Blanes already said your local time variables are about
as valuable as a piece of dogshit on the bottom of your shoe."
"That's
an opinion," she objected. "He hasn't proven anything; he's
expressed an opinion. But as you know, physics is not a matter of
opinion."
"Oh,
come on..."
"There's
a lot at stake here. I just want to make sure that you're right and
I'm wrong. Or are you the one who's afraid to lose?"
Valente
stared at her without batting an eye. She did the same. Finally, he
sighed. "What do you propose?"
"Well,
I'm not going to get involved in a discussion with Blanes during
question time, that's for sure. But I have a plan. Everyone knows
that Blanes is going to pick the person to accompany him to Zurich
based on the final projects we handed in. I'm sure that if he thinks
my idea merits examination, he'll pick me. If not, and he thinks it's
stupid, he won't. So let's wait and see."
"He's
going to pick me," Valente said quietly. "Accept it,
sweetheart."
"Well,
all the better for you, then. But he doesn't even have to do that. If
he just
doesn't
pick
me, I'll concede defeat."
"What
do you mean by 'concede'?"
"I'll
go wherever you tell me to, do whatever you ask me to."
"I
don't believe you. You'll just find another excuse."
"I
swear," she said. "I give you my word. I'll do whatever you
want if he doesn't pick me."
"You're
lying."
She
stared at him, eyes flashing.
"I
take this more seriously than you think."
"What?
The bet?"
"No.
My ideas. I couldn't care less about your bet, or any of the bullshit
you told me the other night. There's no one 'watching' us, nobody's
spying on us. The whole cell-phone thing was a coincidence: I got it
back the other day. I think you're just trying to make yourself out
to be interesting. And I'll tell you something." Elisa smiled
wide enough to show off her white teeth. "Be careful, Mr.
Valente, because now I'm interested."
Valente
gave her a strange look.
"You're
a very unique girl," he said quietly, almost to himself.
"You,
on the other hand, with your 'meet me in the bathroom' crap, are
proving yourself to be more and more a cliché."
"The
terms are decided by the winner."
"Agreed,"
said Elisa.
Suddenly,
he began to laugh, as though he'd been keeping himself from doing so
throughout their conversation.
"You're
unbelievable. Literally, you're un-fucking-believable! I just wanted
to test you, see what you'd do. I'd have laughed my head off if you'd
actually gone to the men's room." Then he looked at her, serious
once more. "But I accept your challenge. I'm totally sure Blanes
is going to pick me. In fact, sweetheart, I'd say he already has. And
when that becomes clear, I'm going to call your cell phone. Just
once. I'll tell you where you have to go, and how, what you can wear
and what you can't, and you'll listen and obey every word like a dog
in a dog show. And that will be just the beginning. I'm going to have
the time of my life, I swear. Like I said, you're unique, especially
with that temper. I'm curious to see how far you'll go. Or maybe I'll
just prove what I already suspect: that you're a liar and a coward."
Elisa
calmly stood there and let him shower her with insults. Her heart
though, was pounding and her mouth was dry.
"You
want to back out?" he asked with feigned seriousness, staring at
her with his left eye (the right hidden behind a curtain of hair).
"This is your last chance."
"I've
made my bet," Elisa smiled. "Now, if
you
want
to back out, that's another story..."
Valente
looked like a kid who'd just been given a new toy.
"Great,"
he said. "I'm going to have a good old time with you!"
"We'll
see. Now if you'll excuse me..."
"Wait,"
Valente said, looking around. "I already told you I'm sure I'm
going to win. But I want to be totally honest with you. There are a
few things at this conference that make me feel like things are not
what they seem. Blanes and Marini seem a little too keen on proving
that their 'sequoia' has turned into a 'bonsai,' and I noticed
something strange." He motioned her to follow as he began to
walk away. "Come with me if you want to see."
THEY
walked
through the lobby toward the registration tables, dodging people left
and right: foreigners and Spaniards, professors and students, people
in suits and others in jeans, folks who were trying to imitate their
idols (Elisa had to laugh at the physicists sporting Einstein-style
hair) and those who just wanted to touch them (Hawking's wheelchair
had disappeared in a swarm of admirers). Suddenly, Valente stopped.
"There
they are, all together like a happy family."
She
followed his gaze. Indeed, they did form a separate group, as if
they'd wanted to isolate themselves from the rest of the pack. She
identified David Blanes, Sergio Marini, and Reinhard Silberg, in
addition to a young experimental physicist from Oxford who'd spoken
after Silberg, Colin Craig. They were all chatting away.