I said 'What is that?'
You said 'The Magic Mountain.'
I thought — I will read it when you are gone.
I said ' — On this mountain path there is a stone, a gateway, a spider; everything has happened eternally before and will happen eternally again — '
You said 'Oh I know that!'
I thought — For these messages, there has to be some code.
There were the moments at night when we were one: this is the experience; then afterwards one is on one's own. You looked back, I suppose, at your past life; your lost family, your friends. Then again you might need me to hold you. I wanted to say — We will always be one: we will be like two of those particles -
You said 'Would you really choose to live every moment of your life again?'
I said 'If one were ready to say that, then perhaps one would not have to.'
You said 'I want to say it.'
I said 'Then our lives may be good enough.'
When the time came for me to take you to your uncle, or cousins, or whoever they were, in Zurich, they were calm, grave men in knickerbockers like gardeners. In becoming separated from you there was a terrible violation like a seed-pod being torn apart: my head and heart were being split, crushed: I thought — It is necessary, I know, to put oneself into the hands of gardeners: knowing this does not alter the pain of having to grow.
Your uncle sat behind his desk with catalogues to do with his business of chemical fertilisers. He said to you 'You now want to study psychology? We no longer know if it is psychology or alchemy that we have here at the university in Zurich!'
You said 'Psychology or anthropology, it will be the same.'
Your uncle said to me 'And what will you do?' He had found it difficult sometimes to acknowledge that I was there.
I said 'At Cambridge I will take my degree in physics, then I want to change to biology.'
He said 'Why?'
'In physics we don't seem to be finding out about the nature of the world, we seem to be finding out about the nature of the equipment we're using.'
'And in biology?'
I said 'Well, in biology I suppose things either do or do not stay alive.'
You and I went for a last walk through the town. I remember the lake on the edge of which the turrets of the town appeared like sandcastles. I said 'You're sure I have to go back? You have to stay here?'
You said 'Aren't you sure?'
I said 'It's pride to think that one can alter the world!'
You said 'Isn't it pride to think that one shouldn't?'
Your uncle and cousins came on to the steps to see me off. I thought — At the last moment, there might be something like a war; a bomb going off.
I said 'Even if something is unique, it can be repeated.'
You said 'Repeat it then.'
I said'Goodbye.'
You said 'I'll see you.'
When I got back to Cambridge there were the people like shadows moving against the walls of ancient buildings. I had to go to see the head of my college because I had missed a part of the winter term. I said 'I'll take my degree: but then I'd like to change from physics.'
The head of my college was a small bald man with eyebrows that were like the wings of a bee. His room was lined with books; he walked up and down and glanced at the backs of them from time to time as if they were flowers.
He said 'What do you want to change to?'
I said 'I wondered if I could combine physics with biology.'
'Why would you want to do that?'
I thought I might say — Why does not everyone want to do that?
I said 'It seems that in the connections between the two there might be some sort of objectivity.'
He walked up and down. I thought — He has, yes, made of his life a sort of honeycomb from flowers.
I said 'In physics you manipulate what you see or you can't see it. In biology you at least know you are part of the nature you are studying.'
The head of my college said 'You don't think that what you see is conditioned by the physical properties of the brain?' I could not tell whether or not he was being hostile. Then he said 'Are you interested in religion?'
I said'No.'
'Can you read German?'
'Yes.'
'Have a look at this.' He took down from his shelves a German translation of a book by Kierkegaard, of whom I had not at that time heard.
I said Thanks.'
He said 'Let me have it back sometime.'
I said'I will.'
I went to see my father, who was behind his desk on which were piles of catalogues and periodicals to do with plants. I said 'The trouble is, people keep the subjects they study in separate compartments. So how are you ever in contact with the whole?'
My father said 'Your mother tells me that you've got a girl in Germany.'
I said 'She's had to get out of Germany.'
My father said 'Is she a Jew?'
I said'Yes.'
My father said 'They cause a lot of trouble.'
I wondered — Do people know why they are embarrassed when they use the word 'Jew'?
I said 'I suppose they feel they have some destiny.'
My father said 'You see in that some contact with the whole?'
I said 'I wondered if I might go and study in Russia for a time. They seem to be doing there some experiment with reality.'
My father said 'I suppose if you get shot in the back of the head, you can call that reality.'
There were two Russian scientists I came across during my years at Cambridge: one was a physicist called Kapitsa; the other was a biologist called Vavilov.
Kapitsa was an impressive, sparkling man with a large oval head like one of the sculptures in polished metal that were fashionable at the time. He came from an aristocratic Russian family and had survived the revolution because of his talent as a student for physics; he had come to Cambridge in 1921 as part of a Russian scientific delegation. Then he had been allowed to stay on as a pupil of Rutherford's — allowed by both the Cambridge and the Russian authorities. I had thought — He is someone who is able to move from one compartment to another; who has had to learn a trick or two in order to stay alive.
In Cambridge he had started a club called the Kapitsa Club in which scientists and others could meet and indulge in speculation and fantasy no matter how apparently absurd: I had been told about this by Donald, who had been taken to one of the meetings. I had
said 'You mean, old ideas have to be broken up before new ones can come alive?' Donald had said 'Oh everyone likes a bit of nonsense every now and then.'
In the summer of 1933 I met Kapitsa at one of Melvyn's parties. I thought suddenly — He is not, is he, the man whom I saw Mullen with at that pub outside Cambridge, when they pretended not to see me?
At the party Kapitsa laughed and joked and was a centre of attention. Once, when he was talking with Melvyn, he looked across the room towards me and pulled the corners of his mouth down like a clown. I thought — No, he is not that man who was with Mullen; but still, it is as if he might know me.
Melvyn came across the room to me. He said 'I've been telling Kapitsa that you want to do post-graduate work in Russia.'
I said 'Oh I didn't really want you to ask him!'
Melvyn said 'It's all right, ducky, he won't make a pass. He'll just want to get you to sell some secrets to Russia.'
I waited till Melvyn had left me and then I went over to Kapitsa. He was, as it happened, now standing with Mullen. I thought — The impression that I have known Kapitsa before is some trick of the mind?