But if there was one thing on his mind at four o’clock that afternoon, it was a fine dinner. After twelve days in therapy, with various chemicals and a restricted diet, he had ached at the thought of a good meal. He had been about to head back to his hotel for a shower and a change of clothes when an accommodating taxi drove down C Street, the sun bouncing off its windows and obscuring any occupants. It stopped at the curb in front of him—at the behest of his signal, Michael had assumed. Instead, a passenger carrying an attaché case stepped out quickly, a harried man late for an appointment, fumbling for his billfold. At first neither Havelock nor the passenger recognized each other; Michael’s thoughts were on a restaurant, the other’s on paying the driver.
«Havelock?» the passenger inquired suddenly, adjusting his glasses. «It is you, isn’t it, Michael?»
«Harry? Harry Lewis?»
«You’ve got it. How are you, M.H.?»
Lewis was one of the few people he ever saw—and he rarely saw Harry—who called him by his initials. It was a minor legacy from graduate school, where he and Lewis had been classmates at Princeton. Michael had gone into government, Lewis into academia. Dr. Harry Lewis was chairman of the political science department at a small, prestigious university in New England, traveling down to D.C. now and then for consultation chores at State. They had run into each other several times when both were in Washington.
«Fine. Still picking up per diems, Harry?»
«A lot fewer than before. Someone taught you people how to read evaluation reports from our more esoteric graduate schools.»
«Good Christ, I’m being replaced by a beard in blue jeans with funny cigarettes.»
The bespectacled professor was stunned. «You’re kidding. You’re out? I thought you were in for life!»
«The opposite, Harry. Life began between five and seven minutes ago when I wrote out my final signature. And in a couple of hours I’m going to be faced with the first dinner check in years I can’t take out of contingency funds.»
«What are you going to do, Michael?»
«No thoughts. Don’t want any for a while.»
The academician paused, taking his change from the taxi driver, then spoke rapidly. «Listen, I’m late for upstairs, but I’m in town overnight. Since I’m on per diem, let me pay for the dinner. Where are you staying? I may have an idea.»
No government per diem in the civilized world could have paid for the dinner that night two months and five days ago, but Harry Lewis did have an idea. They had been friends once; they became friends again, and Havelock found it easier to talk with a person who was at least vaguely aware of the work he had done for the government rather than with someone who knew nothing about it. It was always difficult to explain that something could not be explained; Lewis understood. One thing led to another, which in turn led to Harry’s idea.
«Have you ever given any thought to getting back to a campus?»
Michael smiled. «How would ‘constantly’ sound?»
«I know, I know,» Lewis pressed, inferring sarcasm. «You fellows—‘spooks,’ I assume, is the term—get all kinds of offers from the multinationals at damn good money, I’m aware of that. But, M.H., you were one of the best. Your dissertation was picked up by a dozen university presses; you even had your own seminars. Your academic record coupled with your years at State—most of which I realize you can’t go into specifically—could make you very attractive to a university administration. We’re always saying, ‘Let’s find someone who’s been there, not just a theoretician.’ Damn it, Michael, I think you’re it. Now, I know the money’s not—»
«Harry, you misunderstood. I meant it. I constantly think about getting back.»
It was Harry Lewis’s turn to smile. «Then I’ve got another idea.»
A week later Havelock had flown to Boston and driven from there to the brick-and-ivy-and-white-birch campus on the outskirts of Concord, New Hampshire. He spent four days with Harry Lewis and his wife, wandering around, attending various lectures and seminars, and meeting those of the faculty and administration whose support Harry thought might be helpful. Michael’s opinions had been sought «casually» over coffee, drinks and dinners; men and women had looked at him as if they considered him a promising candidate. Lewis had done his missionary work well. At the end of the fourth day Harry announced at lunch:
«They like you!»
«Why not?» his wife said. «He’s damned likable.»
«They’re quite excited, actually. It’s what I said the other day, M.H. You’ve been there. Sixteen years with the State Department kind of makes you special.»
«And?»
«There’s the annual administration-trustees conference coming up in eight weeks. That’s when the supply-and-demand quotients are studied. Horseflesh. I think you’ll be offered a job. Where can I reach you?»
«I’ll be traveling. I’ll call you.»
He had called Harry from London two days ago. The conference was still in progress, but Lewis thought there would be an answer momentarily.
«Cable me AX, Amsterdam,» Michael had said. «And thanks, Harry.»
He saw the glass doors of the American Express office swing open just ahead. A couple emerged, the man awkwardly balancing the shoulder straps of two cameras while counting money. Havelock stopped, wondering for a moment if he really wanted to go inside. If the cable was there, it would contain either a rejection or an offer. If a rejection, he would simply go on wandering—and there was a certain comfort in that; the floating passivity of not planning had become something of value to him. If an offer, what then? Was he ready for it? Was he prepared to make a decision? Not the kind of decision one made in the field, where it had to be instinctive if one was to survive, but, rather, a decision to commit oneself. Was he capable of a commitment? Where were yesterday’s commitments?
He took a deep breath, consciously putting one foot in front of the other, and approached the glass doors.
POSITION AVAILABLE VISITING PROFESSOR OF GOVERNMENT FOR PERIOD OF TWO YEARS. ASSOCIATE STATUS PENDING MUTUAL ACCEPTANCE AT THE END OF THIS TIME. INITIAL SALARY TWENTY-SEVEN-FIVE. WILL NEED YOUR REPLY WITHIN TEN DAYS. DON’T KEEP ME HOLDING MY BREATH.
EVER, HARRY.
Michael folded the cable and put it in his jacket pocket; he did not go back to the counter to write out his own cable to Harry Lewis, Concord, New Hampshire, U.S.A. It would come later. It was enough for the moment to be wanted, to know there was a beginning. It would take several days to absorb the knowledge of his own legitimacy, perhaps several days thereafter to come to grips with it. For in the legitimacy was the possibility of commitment; there was no red beginning without it.
He walked out onto the Damrak, breathing the cold air of Amsterdam, feeling the damp chill floating up from the canal. The sun was setting; briefly blocked by a low-flying cloud, it reemerged, an orange globe hurling its rays through the intercepting vapors. It reminded Havelock of an ocean dawn on the coast of Spain—on the Costa Brava. He had stayed there all night that night, until the sun had forced itself up over the horizon, firing the mists above the water. He had gone down to the shoulder of the road, to the sand and the dirt …
Stop! Don’t think about it. That was another life.
Two months and five days ago by sheer chance Harry Lewis had stepped out of a taxi and started to change the world for an old friend. Now, two months and five days later, that change was there to be taken. He would take it, Michael knew, but something was missing: change should be shared, and there was no one to share it with, no one to say, What will you teach?