He didn’t notice it was beginning to get dark, and when Mills came back and flipped on the light, it startled him. He got up without a word and started for the infirmary. Lights had gone on everywhere; the hive still busy. The thin air, as always, carried gasoline fumes and coal smoke, but he was oblivious, his mind still on the blackboard. When he got to the room, he found Eisler dressed, sitting up to read. He looked over the top of his glasses when he saw Connolly standing in the door, holding the guidebook. His eyes moved from the book to Connolly’s face and stayed there, calm and bold. For a minute neither of them said a word. Then, gravely, he sighed and slowly took off the glasses.
“Mr. Connolly,” he said.
“I’ve finished my map.”
“Have you ever killed a man, Mr. Connolly? So quick. And then the responsibility, that goes on forever.” Eisler paused. “Well, as long as life. Not very long.”
The room was dim, the dark shadows broken only by the small reading lamp near his chair. Outside, the nurse was quiet, so that Connolly felt they wre lying side by side again, talking into the night. Eisler was rambling, as if in a fitful sleep, and Connolly let him lead, not knowing where to begin, afraid he would stop. “Have you come to arrest me?” he had said before, and Connolly hadn’t known how to answer. Now that he’d got what he wanted, he was dismayed. He’d imagined the scene so many times, his list of questions as orderly as a deposition, and now suddenly he felt powerless. What threat could possibly matter? He would hear what Eisler wanted to tell him, and that gentle voice came out of a depression so profound that each statement seemed a favor, one last tentative offering before it would stop altogether and stay silent. What punishment was left? So Connolly sat in the opposite chair, waiting, afraid to interrupt, as Eisler moved from Karl to Gottingen and back again, randomly stepping between remorse and cool reflection.
“I knew when I saw you at the board,” he was saying. “It was a relief. Do you understand that? But I thought I would have time-before you knew.”
“How much did you get out about the bomb?” Connolly said, trying to steer the conversation back.
Eisler paused, and for a moment Connolly thought he had lost him. Then he sighed. “Yes, the bomb. That’s the important thing, isn’t it? Not Karl, not even now. How did you know?”
“You said there was nothing to steal on the Hill. But there was always one thing to steal here.”
“Is that how you see it? Stealing?”
“Don’t you?”
“Prometheus stole the fire,” Eisler said quietly, “but not for himself. Scientific knowledge-do you think that belongs only to you?”
“It does for now. How much did you tell them?”
“I am familiar with all the principles involved in our work here,” he said formally. “Surely you already know that.”
“And now the Russians know them too.”
“My friend,” Eisler said, gentle again, “the Russians have known them for some time. These are not secrets. The mechanics, yes, but that is simply a matter of time. They will know them.”
“And now they’ll know just a little bit sooner.”
“Yes. Mr. Connolly, do you expect me to apologize for sharing this knowledge? About Karl-” He hesitated. “That was a great wrong. I accept the guilt. But the fire belongs to everybody. The bomb is only the beginning, you know. All this money-” He swept his hand to indicate the entire mesa. “It took the bomb to get this money. And since America is rich, it can afford to pay. But what we will have here, when we’re finished, is something new. Energy. Not just for bombs. Such a thing cannot be owned. Would you keep electricity to yourself? It’s not possible, even if it were right.”
“The fact remains, it wasn’t yours to give. The fact is, you took classified information and passed it on. That’s treason.”
“So many facts. I came with the Tube Alloys group. Was it treason to work with the English?”
“We’re not at war with England.”
“My friend, we are not at war with Russia either. Germany is at war with Russia. More than you can know. The real war. America is a factory and she is getting rich. England-” He waved his hand. “England is a dream. The war is Russia and Germany. It has always been. That is the great struggle. To the death. And what have you done to help? The second front? That had to wait. Tube Alloys committees for Russia? No, not for that ally. For them, the great secret. Not my knowledge to give? To defeat the Nazis, I would give anything.”
Connolly listened to his voice gathering speed, feeling the rhythm of a lecture, and looked at him in fascination: the kind face, the austere ideology. But why answer? The debate was old, and the war was over. He looked away.
“So you have,” he said quietly. “The Nazis. And who will give you permission now?”
Eisler’s cheek moved in a small tic, as if he’d been struck. “A good pupil, Mr. Connolly. You listen well.”
“Not that well. I didn’t know you were a Communist.”
“You weren’t supposed to know.”
