“I was born in a small town, Dr. Cameron,” the old man said. “I think the difference between this noisy and public world in which we now live and the world I remember is quite real, quite real.” There was an embarrassing pause as he seemed to wait for his heart to pump enough blood for his brain to carry on. “Men of my age, I know, are inclined to think sentimentally of the past and yet even after discounting these deplorable sentiments I think I can find much in the past that is genuinely praiseworthy. However . . .” He seemed again to have forgotten what he planned to say; seemed again to be waiting for the blood to rise. “However, I have lived through five wars, all of them bloody, crushing, costly and unjust, and I think inescapable, but in spite of this evidence of man’s inability to live peacefully with his kind I do hope that the world, with all its manifest imperfections, will be preserved.” He dried his cheeks with his handkerchief. “I am told that you are famous, that you are great, that you are esteemed and honored everywhere and I respect your honors unequivocally but at the same time I find in your thinking some narrowness, some unwillingness, I should say, to acknowledge those simple ties that bind us to one another and to the gardens of the earth.” He dried his tears again and his old shoulders shook with a sob. “We possess Promethean powers but don’t we lack the awe, the humility, that primitive man brought to the sacred fire? Isn’t this a time for uncommon awe, supreme humility? If I should have to make some final statement, and I shall very soon for I am nearing the end of my journey, it would be in the nature of a thanksgiving for stout-hearted friends, lovely women, blue skies, the bread and wine of life. Please don’t destroy the earth, Dr. Cameron,” he sobbed. “Oh, please, please don’t destroy the earth.”
Cameron courteously overlooked this outburst and the questioning went on.
“Is it true, Dr. Cameron, that you believe in the inevitability of hydrogen warfare?”
“Yes.”
“Would you give us an estimate of the number of survivors?”
“I’m sorry, but I can’t. It would be the roughest guesswork. I think there will be a substantial number of survivors.”
“In the case of reverses, Dr. Cameron, would you be in favor of destroying the planet?”
“Yes,” he said. “Yes, I would. If we cannot survive, then we are entitled to destroy the planet.”
“Who would decide that we had reached the ultimate point of survival?”
“I do not know.”
The old man, having dried his tears, was up on his feet again. “Dr. Cameron, Dr. Cameron,” he asked, “don’t you think that there might be some bond of warmth amongst the peoples of the earth that has been underestimated?”
“Some what?” Cameron was not discourteous, but he was dry.
“Some bond of human warmth,” the old man said.
“Men and women,” the doctor said, “are chemical entities, easily assessable, easily altered by the artificial increase or elimination of chromosomal structures, much more predictable, much more malleable, than some plant life and in many cases much less interesting.”
“Is it true, Dr. Cameron,” the old man went on, “that your reading is confined to
“I think I read as much as most men of my generation,” the doctor replied. “I sometimes go to the movies. I watch television.”
“But isn’t it true, Dr. Cameron,” the old man asked, “that the humanities have not been a part of your education?”
“You are talking to a musician,” the doctor said.
“Did I understand you to say that you’re a musician?”
“Yes, Senator. I am a violinist. You seem to have suggested that my lack of familiarity in the humanities would account for my cool-headedness about the demolition of the planet. This is not true. I love music and music is surely one of the most exalted of the arts.”
“Did I understand you to say that you play the violin?”
“Yes, Senator, I play the violin.”
He opened the violin case, took out an instrument, which he rosined and tuned, and played a Bach air. It was a simple piece of beginner’s music and he played it no better than any child but when he finished there was a round of applause. He put the violin away.
