Evans turned to her keyboard and typed in a command; the scene through the window snapped to a shot of broken masonry and twisted steel reinforcement rods. The view was obscured by dust caked on the camera lens and by a heavy snowfall. Evans typed in an additional command and touched one of the switches on her desk. A blast of static, a hiss like frying bacon, came from a speaker.
“That’s Dallas. The sound is a reading of the background radiation registered by detectors at the site of this camera.” She typed in another command and the image on the “window” flashed through a succession of equally desolate scenes, holding ten seconds on each before switching to the next. A desert in twilight, motionless under low clouds; a murky underwater shot in which the remains of a building were just visible; a denuded forest half-buried in snow; a deserted highway overpass. With each change of scene the loudspeaker stopped for a split-second, then the hiss resumed.
Havelmann watched all of this soberly.
“This has been the state of the surface for a year now, ever since the last bombs fell. To our knowledge there are no human beings alive in North America—in the Northern Hemisphere, for that matter. Radio transmissions from South America, New Zealand and Australia have one by one ceased in the last eight months. We have not observed a living creature above the level of an insect through any of our monitors since the beginning of the year. It is the summer of 2010. Although, considering the situation, counting years by the old system seems a little futile to me.”
Doctor Evans slid open a desk drawer and took out an automatic. She placed it in the middle of the desk blotter and leaned back, her right hand touching the edge of the desk, near the gun.
“You are now going to tell me that you never heard of any of this, and that you’ve never seen me before in your life,” she said. “Despite the fact that I have been speaking to you daily for two weeks and that you have had this explanation from me at least three times during that period. You are going to tell me that it is 1984 and that you are thirty-five years old, despite the absurdity of such a claim. You are going to feign amazement and confusion; the more that I insist that you face these facts, the more you are going to become distressed. Eventually you will break down into tears and expect me to sympathize. You can go to hell.”
Evans’ voice had grown angrier as she spoke. She had to stop; it was almost more than she could do. When she resumed she was under control again. “If you persist in this sham, I may kill you. I assure you that no one will care if I do. You may speak now.”
Havelmann stared at the window. His mouth opened and closed stupidly. How old he looked, how feeble. Evans felt a sudden wave of pity and doubt. What if she were wrong? She had an image of herself as she might appear to him: arrogant, bitter, an incomprehensible inquisitor whose motives for tormenting him were a total mystery. She watched him. After a few minutes his mouth closed; the eyes blinked rapidly and were clear.
“Please. Tell me what you’re talking about.”
Evans shuddered. “The gun is loaded. Keep talking.”
“What do you want me to say? I never heard of any of this. Only this morning I saw my wife and kids and everything was all right. Now you give me this story about atomic war and 2010. What, have I been asleep for thirty years?”
“You didn’t act very surprised to be here when you walked in. If you’re so disoriented, how do you explain how you got here?”
The man sat heavily in the chair. “I don’t remember. I guess I thought I came here—to the hospital, I thought—to get a checkup. I didn’t think about it. You must know how I got here.”
“I do. But I think you know too, and you’re just playing a game with me—with all of us. The others are worried, but I’m sick of it. I can see through you, so you may as well quit the act. You were famous for your sincerity, but I always suspected that was an act, too, and I’m not falling for it. You didn’t start this game soon enough for me to be persuaded you’re crazy, despite what the others may think.”
Evans played with the butt of her dead cigarette. “Or this could be a delusional system,” she continued. “You think you’re in a hospital, and your schizophrenia has progressed to the point where you deny all facts that don’t go along with your attempts to evade responsibility. I suppose in some sense such an insanity would absolve you. If that’s the case, I should be more objective. Well, I can’t. I’m failing my profession, I realize. Too bad.” Emotion had gradually drained away from her until, by the end, she felt as if she were speaking from across a continent instead of a desk.
“I still don’t know what you’re talking about. Where are my wife and kids?”
“They’re dead.”
Havelmann sat rigidly. The only sound was the hiss of the radiation detector. “Let me have a cigarette.”
“There are no cigarettes left. I just smoked my last one.” Evans’ voice was distant. “I made two cartons last a year.”
Havelmann’s gaze dropped. “How old my hands are! . . . Helen has lovely hands.”
“Why are you going on with this charade?”
The old man’s face reddened. “God damn you! Tell me what happened!”
“The famous Havelmann rage. Am I supposed to be frightened now?”
The hiss from the loudspeaker seemed to increase. Havelmann lunged for the gun. Evans snatched it and pushed back from the desk. The old man grabbed the paperweight and raised it to strike. She pointed the gun at him.
“Your wife didn’t make the plane in time. She was at the western White House. I don’t know where your damned kids were—probably vaporized with their own families. You, however, had Operation Kneecap to save you, Mr. President. Now sit down and tell me why you’ve been playing games, or I’ll kill you right here and now. Sit down!”
A light seemed to dawn on Havelmann. “You’re insane,” he said quietly.
“Put the paperweight back on the desk.”
He did. He sat.
“But you can’t simply be crazy,” Havelmann continued. “There’s no reason why you should take me away from my home and subject me to this. This is some kind of plot. The government. The CIA.”
“And you’re thirty-five years old?”
Havelmann examined his hands again. “You’ve done something to me.”
“And the camps? Administrative Order 31?”
“If I’m the president, then why are you quizzing me here? Why can’t I remember a thing about it?”
“Stop it. Stop it right now,” Evans said slowly. She heard her voice for the first time. It sounded more like that of an old man than Havelmann’s. “I can’t take any more lies. I swear that I’ll kill you. First it was the commander-in-chief routine, calisthenics, stiff upper lips and discipline. Then the big brother, let’s have a whiskey and talk it over, son. Yessir, Mr. President.” Havelmann stared at her. He was going to make her kill him, and she knew she wouldn’t be strong enough not to.
“Now you can’t remember anything,” she said. “Your boys are confused, they’re fed up. I’m fed up, too.”
“If this is true, you’ve got to help me!”
“I don’t give a rat’s ass about helping you!” Evans shouted. “I’m interested in making you tell the truth. Don’t you realize that we’re dead? I don’t care about your feeble sense of what’s right and wrong; just tell me what’s keeping you going. Who do you think you’re going to impress? You think you’ve got an election to win? A place in history to protect? There isn’t going to be any more history! History ended last August!
“So spare me the fantasy about the hospital and the nonexistent nurses’ station. Someone with Korsakov’s wouldn’t make up that story. He would recognize the difference between a window and a projection screen. A dozen other slips. You’re not a good enough actor.”