want from you is your opinion on the possibility of that young man having worked out the equations as he claimed.” Dr. Mines was abruptly sobered. “Yes,” he said. “Unquestionably he did. And will you excuse my remark? I was under some strain in trying to keep up with Gomez.” “Certainly,” said the admiral, and managed a frosty smile. “Now if you’ll be so good as to tell me how this completely impossible thing can have happened-?” “It’s happened before, admiral,” said Dr. Mines. “I don’t suppose you ever heard of Ramanujan?” “No.” “Srinivasa Ramanujan?” “No!” “Oh. -Well, Ramanujan was born in 1887 and died in 1920. He was a poor Hindu who failed twice in college and then settled down as a government clerk. With only a single obsolete textbook to go on he made himself a very great mathematician. In 1913 he sent some of his original work to a Cambridge, professor. He was immediately recognized and called to England, where he was accepted as a first-rank man, became a member of the Royal Society, a Fellow of Trinity, and so forth.” The admiral shook his head dazedly. “It happens,” Dr. Mines said. “Oh yes, it happens. Ramanujan had only one out-of-date book. But this is New York. Gomez has access to all the mathematics he could hope for and a great mass of unclassified and declassified nuclear data. And-genius. The way he puts things together … he seems to have only the vaguest notion of what a proof should be. He sees relationships as a whole. A most convenient faculty, which I envy him. Where I have to take, say, a dozen painful steps from one conclusion to the next he achieves it in one grand flying leap. Ramanujan was like that too, by the way-very strong on intuition, weak on what we call ‘rigor.'” Dr. Mines noted with a start that he was holding his tie, vest, and coat in one hand and began to put them on. “Was there anything else?” he asked politely. “One thing,” said the admiral. “Would you say he’s-he’s a better physicist than you are?” “Yes,” said Dr. Mines. “Much better.” And he left. The admiral slumped, uncharacteristically, at the desk for a long
time. Finally he said to the air: “Somebody get me the General Manager. No, the Chairman of the Commission.” One of his boys grabbed the phone and got to work on the call. “Admiral,” I said, “where do we stand now?” “Eh? Oh, it’s you. The matter’s out of my hands now since no security violation is involved. I consider Gomez to be in my custody and I shall turn him over to the Commission so that he may be put to the best use in the nation’s interest.” “Like a machine?” I asked, disgusted. He gave me both barrels of his ice-blue eyes. “Like a weapon,” he said evenly. He was right, of course. Didn’t I know there was a war on? Of course I did. Who didn’t? Taxes, housing shortage, somebody’s cousin killed in Korea, everybody’s kid brother sweating out the draft, prices sky high at the supermarket. Uncomfortably I scratched my unshaved chin and walked to the window. Foley Square below was full of Sunday peace, with only a single girl stroller to be seen. She walked the length of the block across the street from the Federal Building and then turned and walked back. Her walk was dragging and hopeless and tragic. Suddenly I knew her. She was the pretty little waitress from the Porto Bello; she must have hopped a cab and followed the men who were taking her Julio away. Might as well beat it, sister, I told her silently. Julio isn’t just a good-looking kid any more; he’s a military asset. The Security Office is turning him over to the policy-level boys for disposal. When that happens you might as well give up and go home. It was as if she’d heard me. Holding a silly little handkerchief to her face she turned and ran blindly for the subway entrance at the end of the block and disappeared into it. At that moment the telephone rang. “MacDonald here,” said the admiral. “I’m ready to report on the Gomez affair, Mr. Commissioner.” * Gomez was a minor, so his parents signed a contract for him. The job description on the contract doesn’t matter, but he got a pretty good salary by government standards and a per-diem allowance too. I signed a contract too-“Information Specialist.” I was partly companion, partly historian, and partly a guy they’d rather have their