Zig Zag

by Jose Carlos Somoza

  "Ready to lose?"

  She'd been expecting something along those lines and turned her head to reply. "Are you?"

  But Ric Valente had already slipped into the crowd. Elisa shrugged and thought about the answer to that question. Was she ready? Maybe not.

  But she hadn't lost yet.

  VICTOR Lopera asked her to have lunch with him and she gladly accepted, actually looking forward to his company.

  Despite his obsession with religion, which she felt was a slippery slope (and one that made him talk too much), Lopera was a good conversationalist and an all-around likable guy. Getting a ride home from him had become part of a routine they both enjoyed.

  They bought vegetarian sandwiches at the conference center's self-serve cafeteria. Victor had ordered his with double mayo. Elisa had a feeling that mayonnaise was one of the only things that could get her friend off the topic of Teilhard de Chardin, or when Monsignor Lemaitre discovered that the universe was expanding and Einstein didn't believe him. He devoured it with such relish that he ended up with big globs of the white stuff on his lips and around his mouth, and then, like a cat, flicked his long tongue to lick them off and clean himself.

  They couldn't find a free table so they ate standing up, talking about the speakers' presentations (he'd loved Silberg's) and waving to professors and classmates (the place was like a catwalk, and Elisa had to smile at people every five seconds). At one point, without warning, he complimented her, turning red in the process. "You look very pretty." She thanked him, though not totally sincerely. That Saturday she'd decided, for the first time in a week, to wash her hair and fix herself up a little, putting on a sky-blue blouse and dark-blue cotton trousers instead of her standard ripped jeans, which were so dirty they could have stood up and walked by themselves, as her mother liked to say. But she wished Victor had complimented her on something besides her looks.

  Nevertheless, on that occasion, she felt like his interest in her was special. She realized it before he brought it up, catching the sidelong glances he gave her when he thought she wasn't looking. It was clear he had no future as a criminal: he was the most obvious guy she'd ever met.

  After taking his last bite of sandwich and licking the remaining bits of mayo off with his tongue, Victor said in a conspicuously casual tone, "I talked to Ric the other day." She watched his Adam's apple bob up and down. "Sounds like you guys have become ... friends."

  "That's not true," Elisa replied. "Is that what he told you?"

  Victor smiled apologetically, as if he were begging forgiveness for having misinterpreted her relationship with Valente. But in no time he became serious again.

  "No. Just what I deduced. He told me he liked you, and that... he'd made a bet with you."

  Elisa stared at him.

  "I have my opinion about Blanes's theory," she said finally, "and he has his. So we made a bet to see who's right."

  Victor waved his hand away, as if to dismiss the topic.

  "Believe me, I don't care what you're up to." Then he added, so quietly that Elisa had to lean in just to hear his words in the noisy cafeteria, "I just wanted to warn you ... Don't do it."

  "Don't do what?"

  "Whatever he tells you to do. It's not a game for him. I know him. We used to be really good friends. He was always ... Let's just say he's very perverse."

  "What do you mean?"

  "It's too hard to explain right now," Victor glanced at her sidelong and changed his tone. "I mean, I don't want to exaggerate or anything. I'm not saying he's ... he's crazy or anything like that... I just mean he doesn't respect girls very much. I'm sure some of them like that about him. Not all of them, of course, but..." He'd turned red as a beet. "I feel like an idiot telling you this. It's just that I like you, and I wanted.... Well, anyway, you do what you want. I just wanted ... I didn't know you two had spoken, so I thought I should warn you."

  Elisa was tempted to make a sarcastic comment. Something along the lines of "I'm twenty-three years old, Victor, I can take care of myself, thanks." But she realized that Lopera, unlike her mother, wasn't trying to teach her a lesson. He was being completely sincere and thought he was helping her out. She didn't want to ask him what else Valente had told him about their conversation. At that point, she no longer cared what Mr. Four One-Hundredths Less could say or do.

  "Valente and I aren't friends, Victor," she insisted. "And I have no plans to do anything I don't want to," she said very seriously.

  Victor still didn't seem satisfied, as if he'd realized that the only one who'd come off poorly after all that was him. He opened his mouth to say something else, but then closed it again and shook his head.

  "Of course not," he replied. "That was idiotic of me..."

  "No, I appreciate it, really."

  Then came the call for them to return to the auditorium; the symposium was about to resume.

  Elisa spent the next several hours completely engrossed, though not by the conference. Half of her brain was concentrating on the speakers' words; the other half contemplated Victor's immature warning. But then she abruptly forgot all about Victor and even Valente, and sat up in her seat.

  David Blanes was making his way to the stage. If it had been a courtroom, the silence that greeted him would have made clear that this was the accused.

  Blanes took up where Hawking had left off, with the comment about the tree.

  "The sequoia is leafy, but it doesn't bear fruit," he began.

  In less than ten minutes, Elisa knew that she'd lost the bet.

  BLANES spoke for another half an hour, but he spent his time talking about how new generations of physicists would discover as-yet-undreamed-of means of solving the problems presented by the "past" end of the strings. He mentioned various possible solutions, including local variables and another one that hadn't occurred to Elisa using imaginary numbers. But he branded them all "elegant but pointless, like wearing a tux in the desert." She could tell that he was depressed, tired, and probably sick of defending himself from his adversaries' attacks. Despite the applause, Elisa was sure the audience was disappointed with what he was saying. She felt disdain for the man who'd once been her idol. You don't want to fight for your ideas. Well, I do. Blanes's had been the last talk of the day, but there was still a roundtable scheduled for after the coffee break. Elisa stood and lined up with everyone else, and made her way out into the lobby. She heard the voice behind her, just as she had at lunchtime.

  "Go to the men's room and wait there."

  "I haven't lost yet," she said, whirling around.

  As she saw him try to slip into the crowd, Elisa stuck out her hand and grabbed onto his shirt. This time you're not getting away.

  "I haven't lost," she repeated.

  Valente backed up, but he couldn't get away. They walked to the exit together and headed for the lobby. As always, Elisa thought his appearance was about as subtle as a neon sign that read "Valente Sharpe here!" Bright-red denim shirt buttoned all the way to the neck, maroon belt and trousers, red leather boots, gold chain, and earrings. He wore his nametag (Elisa had stuffed hers into her pocket) over what was probably his nipple. His blond bangs were carefully combed over his right eye. The displeasure in his voice was clear.

  "I've given you your first instruction: go to the men's room..."

  "No."

  She saw a gleam in his eye, as if he was mocking her, but his face remained impassive.

  "Well, Ms. Robledo, that's very cowardly of you, going back on your word like that."

  "I'm not going back on my word, Mr. Valente. I'll keep my word if I lose."

  "You've already lost. Blanes already said your local time variables are about as valuable as a piece of dogshit on the bottom of your shoe."

  "That's an opinion," she objected. "He hasn't proven anything; he's expressed an opinion. But as you know, physics is not a matter of opinion."

  "Oh, come on..."

  "There's a lot at stake here. I just want to make sure that you're right and I'm
wrong. Or are you the one who's afraid to lose?"

  Valente stared at her without batting an eye. She did the same. Finally, he sighed. "What do you propose?"

  "Well, I'm not going to get involved in a discussion with Blanes during question time, that's for sure. But I have a plan. Everyone knows that Blanes is going to pick the person to accompany him to Zurich based on the final projects we handed in. I'm sure that if he thinks my idea merits examination, he'll pick me. If not, and he thinks it's stupid, he won't. So let's wait and see."

  "He's going to pick me," Valente said quietly. "Accept it, sweetheart."

  "Well, all the better for you, then. But he doesn't even have to do that. If he just doesn't pick me, I'll concede defeat."

  "What do you mean by 'concede'?"

  "I'll go wherever you tell me to, do whatever you ask me to."

  "I don't believe you. You'll just find another excuse."

  "I swear," she said. "I give you my word. I'll do whatever you want if he doesn't pick me."

  "You're lying."

  She stared at him, eyes flashing.

  "I take this more seriously than you think."

  "What? The bet?"

  "No. My ideas. I couldn't care less about your bet, or any of the bullshit you told me the other night. There's no one 'watching' us, nobody's spying on us. The whole cell-phone thing was a coincidence: I got it back the other day. I think you're just trying to make yourself out to be interesting. And I'll tell you something." Elisa smiled wide enough to show off her white teeth. "Be careful, Mr. Valente, because now I'm interested."

  Valente gave her a strange look.

  "You're a very unique girl," he said quietly, almost to himself.

  "You, on the other hand, with your 'meet me in the bathroom' crap, are proving yourself to be more and more a cliché."

  "The terms are decided by the winner."

  "Agreed," said Elisa.

  Suddenly, he began to laugh, as though he'd been keeping himself from doing so throughout their conversation.

  "You're unbelievable. Literally, you're un-fucking-believable! I just wanted to test you, see what you'd do. I'd have laughed my head off if you'd actually gone to the men's room." Then he looked at her, serious once more. "But I accept your challenge. I'm totally sure Blanes is going to pick me. In fact, sweetheart, I'd say he already has. And when that becomes clear, I'm going to call your cell phone. Just once. I'll tell you where you have to go, and how, what you can wear and what you can't, and you'll listen and obey every word like a dog in a dog show. And that will be just the beginning. I'm going to have the time of my life, I swear. Like I said, you're unique, especially with that temper. I'm curious to see how far you'll go. Or maybe I'll just prove what I already suspect: that you're a liar and a coward."

  Elisa calmly stood there and let him shower her with insults. Her heart though, was pounding and her mouth was dry.

  "You want to back out?" he asked with feigned seriousness, staring at her with his left eye (the right hidden behind a curtain of hair). "This is your last chance."

  "I've made my bet," Elisa smiled. "Now, if you want to back out, that's another story..."

  Valente looked like a kid who'd just been given a new toy.

  "Great," he said. "I'm going to have a good old time with you!"

  "We'll see. Now if you'll excuse me..."

  "Wait," Valente said, looking around. "I already told you I'm sure I'm going to win. But I want to be totally honest with you. There are a few things at this conference that make me feel like things are not what they seem. Blanes and Marini seem a little too keen on proving that their 'sequoia' has turned into a 'bonsai,' and I noticed something strange." He motioned her to follow as he began to walk away. "Come with me if you want to see."

  THEY walked through the lobby toward the registration tables, dodging people left and right: foreigners and Spaniards, professors and students, people in suits and others in jeans, folks who were trying to imitate their idols (Elisa had to laugh at the physicists sporting Einstein-style hair) and those who just wanted to touch them (Hawking's wheelchair had disappeared in a swarm of admirers). Suddenly, Valente stopped.

  "There they are, all together like a happy family."

  She followed his gaze. Indeed, they did form a separate group, as if they'd wanted to isolate themselves from the rest of the pack. She identified David Blanes, Sergio Marini, and Reinhard Silberg, in addition to a young experimental physicist from Oxford who'd spoken after Silberg, Colin Craig. They were all chatting away.

  "Craig was one of my mentors in particle physics," Valente explained. "He's the one who encouraged me to take Blanes's admission test. Silberg is a professor of the philosophy of science with a PhD in history. And check out that tall woman in purple next to Craig..."

  It would have been hard not to, Elisa thought, given that she was absolutely stunning. Her long brown hair fell straight down to her waist like a pencil, and her form-fitting clothes were elegant yet simple. Standing with her was a girl who seemed much younger, with long, remarkable albino hair. Elisa didn't recognize either one of them.

  "That's Jacqueline Clissot, from Montpellier. She's a world-famous paleontologist and anthropologist. The one with white hair must be one of her students."

  "What are they doing here? They weren't on any of the panels."

  "That's just what I was thinking. I think they're here to meet up with Blanes. This symposium has been like a big family reunion. Meanwhile, Daddy Blanes and Mommy Marini are put in charge of telling the scientific community that the sequoia isn't going to bloom this year. It's as if their main objective is to lay their cards on the table and prove that no one's cheating. Weird, isn't it? And that's not all."

  He walked off, hands in his pockets, and Elisa followed him, intrigued despite her best efforts at indifference. They crossed the lobby, the summer light still streaming in through the large windows.

  "This is the strangest thing," he continued. "I bumped into Silberg and Clissot at Oxford a few months ago. I had to take care of some stuff with Craig, so I went to his office. He opened the door, but he was busy. I recognized Silberg and wanted to know who the hottie with him was. But Craig didn't introduce me. In fact, he seemed annoyed that I was even there. But being on friendly terms with the secretaries has its advantages, and Craig told me all about it later on. It seems Clissot and Silberg had been in conversation with her boss for a year or so, and finally they were meeting up in Oxford."

  "So? They were probably just working on a project," Elisa said.

  Valente shook his head.

  "I got pretty tight with Craig, and he used to tell me all about the projects he was working on. Besides, what kind of project would a guy like Craig, who deals with particle accelerators, be working on with a historian like Silberg and a dead-chimp specialist like Clissot? Add Blanes and Marini into the mix, and what do you get?"

  "A mess?"

  "Yeah. Or a sect of devil worshippers." Valente lowered his voice. "Or something much more ... exotic." Elisa stared at him blankly. "What are you thinking?"

  He just smiled. A musical chime announced the resumption of the symposium, and the public was drawn back to the hall like iron filings to a magnet. Valente jerked his head in their direction.

  "There they all go. Look at them. Little ducklings waddling along behind Momma Duck: Craig, Silberg, Clissot, Marini... Blanes is paying for it all, but it's not his money." He turned back to her. "Now you'll see why I'm so sure they've been 'watching' us. Check this out..."

  He'd stopped beside one of the signs propped up on an easel. It read, in English, "First International Symposium. Modern Theories on the Nature of Space-Time. July 16-17, 2005. Palacio de Congresos, Madrid." But Valente was pointing to the smaller print.

  "Sponsored by...," he read aloud.

  "Eagle Group," Elisa finished. She made out the artistic logo. The "g" in "Eagle" was used in the word "Group," too.

  "You know what that is?" Valente asked.

>   "Of course. They're a pretty new conglomerate, but they've made a big splash. Some EU consortium that finances scientific development..."

  He smiled at her.

  "My father once told me that the equivalent to the Americans' ECHELON in Europe is called Eagle Group," he said.

  11

  ON Sunday, after the last morning session, Victor went to find Elisa to ask her to lunch. Wanting to speak to him, she agreed. Something strange had happened.

  Ric Valente hadn't shown up that morning. Neither had Blanes. And that double no-show made her uneasy. It was true that Sunday's panels were devoted to experimental physics, which was not Blanes's field, but Elisa couldn't help but think that the disappearance of the sequoia theory creator and of Valente Sharpe had to be related. Nevertheless, she didn't want to seriously consider the suspicions she'd been harboring just yet.

  They found a table at the back of the crowded cafeteria and ate in silence. As Elisa sat there wondering how to broach the topic, Victor wiped the mayonnaise from his chin and then said, "Blanes called Ric this morning; he asked him to go with him to Zurich."

  She couldn't swallow.

  "Oh," she murmured.

  "Ric called to tell me. He said he wasn't going to come today because they had to meet up and plan."

  She nodded idiotically, gagging on a wad of dry bread that her mouth seemed unable to send down her throat. She asked Victor to excuse her, got up, and went to the bathroom, where she spat that ball of sawdust into the toilet. After splashing her face in the sink, she reconsidered. Well, wasn't that what you were expecting? So what's the big deal? She'd considered the possibility during long sleepless nights, and she'd been more than aware that it was the most likely outcome. After all, Ric Valente had been Blanes's favorite right from the start. She dried her face with a paper towel, returned to the table, and sat down opposite Victor. "I'm happy for him," she said.

  And she supposed she really was. She was glad about everything that had happened, now that the competition was finally over. The sequoia theory was still knocking at her door, tempting her with its amazing mathematical beauty, but soon it would get tired and leave, and she'd be in peace once more. There were other fish in the sea, scholarships for MIT and Berkeley that she'd applied for in case Zurich didn't come through. She was sure she'd end up doing her dissertation with one of the world's best physicists, no matter what. She was ambitious and knew that her drive would take her far. Blanes was one of a kind, but he wasn't the only one who was one of a kind.