"Then," Yvonne said, "I'm right. You mustn't continue this search
operation. You should wait. And entertain yourself. Let her do the
coming back--since she ran away."
It was the first hope he had felt. "I wish I could believe it would
work."
"Take my word for it. I'm a woman."
"And how," he asked scornfully, "do I start this gay, forgetful act?"
"With me," Yvonne said. "I'll break my date. You can escort me to the
most conspicuous place in town."
"You?" Paul took his first careful look at her. She undoubtedly
satisfied him. But he was not altogether persuaded of the plan. It
represented merely a new idea--and, as such, offered a small unexpected
degree of optimism.
"I'd like it," Yvonne went on. "For a lot of reasons. I wasn't sure I
wanted to keep my date. I think you're nice--even if terribly foolish.
And Phil bailed me out of a tizzy the other night--so I could hardly do
less for a nephew of his."
"What if I did it--acted blasé as hell--and Marcia was just relieved
when she found out?"
"Then, Paul," she said, "nothing would have helped, anyhow."
You could see him grinding his jaw down on that one. He wanted
Marcia. He was determined to get her back. Into what he regarded as
his love had gone a good deal of unrecognized pride. Furthermore,
he had undertaken to recover her by what he thought of as logical
steps--ignoring his own hysterical condition--and unaware that his
brand of logic did not, would not, could not apply in such a situation.
Yvonne knew that to interest men you talked about them. She started,
indirectly. "Is he a good scientist?" she asked me.
"Terrific!"
I told her of his achievements in school; of his appointment. "He
didn't quite make Saipan for the first bomb drop. But he was at Bikini.
And he commutes to Eniwetok."
"I guess they're born," she said.
Paul took that up. "Born, hell! Made. You have the urge to study
something. You happen to get going on math. In the end, you're a
physicist."
I argued that. I thought an argument would change the subject from
Marcia--on whom he'd concentrated ever since he'd brought up her name
on Thursday. "Aptitude's hereditary. You can't take ten kids--even with
high IQs--and turn out ten mathematicians."
"I say you can!"
"So does the Soviet. Marx, Lenin, Stalin. Communism depends on the
theory that, given the right environment, people will turn out the
way you want--since they start with equal possibilities. If that isn't
so--communism doesn't make sense."
"It's silly on the face of it," Yvonne said.
"The geneticists think the communist idea is silly," I agreed. "In
fact, they know so."