Expo 58

by Jonathan Coe

  Breaking the reflective pause that followed, Emily said: ‘Well, who could blame her? It’s quite heavenly here.’ She rested her wine glass carefully on the grass and sat back, reclining on her elbows, tilting her face towards the sun. ‘Look at that sky. Listen to that stillness. This is one of those places – one of those days – that just makes you wish time could stand still. Don’t you agree?’

  ‘Today, I suppose, we might allow ourselves the luxury of thinking like that,’ said Andrey. ‘Although it strikes me as a somewhat decadent viewpoint. We are not typical people, after all, and the situation in which we find ourselves this afternoon is not typical. To be sitting here as we are, in these circumstances, marks us out as privileged. None of us lives in extreme poverty, or want. Yet there are workers all around the world whose lives are a daily fight for survival. They would not want time to stand still, even on a day like this. They are hungry for progress. Which reminds me . . .’ (he reached into the pocket of his jacket and pulled out the latest issue of Sputnik, carefully folded) ‘. . . have you seen this yet, Thomas? It contains the essay I was telling you about.’

  ‘Ah! The famous essay,’ said Thomas, taking the paper from him.

  ‘Thanks for the lecture on workers’ living conditions,’ said Emily, allowing Andrey a smile which was at once fond and challenging. ‘And what essay is this, exactly?’

  ‘I have commissioned one of our most eminent scientists to gaze into a crystal ball, as it were, and tell us what life will be like for us all in one hundred years from now. I think the results will impress you.’

  Thomas had found the relevant page and was scanning the opening paragraphs of the article with interest.

  ‘Well, come on, then,’ said Emily. ‘Read it out loud. I’m sure everybody here would like to know what it says.’

  ‘Very well.’ Thomas folded the paper in half for easier reading, cleared his throat, and announced: “ ‘The Man of the Twenty-first Century.

  “ ‘The science which deals with man’s life, his development and nutrition is progressing year after year.

  “ ‘What will man be like 100 years hence?

  “ ‘This was the question put by our correspondent” – Mr Chersky, in other words – “to Honoured Worker of Science” – very impressive! – “Prof. Yuri Frolov. The substance of the answer is as follows.

  “ ‘Imagine that we are living in the year 2058. The boundaries between manual and mental labour have been obliterated throughout the century. All the necessary conditions exist for the normal and harmonious physical and psychological development of man. Although people are already using atomic energy in every sphere of the national economy, and have tamed the forces of nature, they have not grown weaker; on the contrary, they look stronger than 100 years ago. They are always cheerful, they feel at ease everywhere and . . . pray, let this not trouble you, they eat and drink comparatively little.’ ”

  ‘That doesn’t trouble me at all,’ said Emily. ‘But do carry on.’

  “ ‘Biochemists of the 21st century have succeeded in synthesising carbohydrates and even proteins, with the result that new foods have been produced; although their nutritive value is good and they taste as nice as bread or meat for instance, they are not as bulky. The internal organs are performing entirely new functions connected with the special qualities of deuterium. Taken in minute quantities instead of ordinary water, this isotope of hydrogen is performing a formerly unknown function; it is inhibiting the processes of dissimilation, i.e. decomposition of substances in the organism.’ ”

  ‘Hmm. So what is he saying, exactly? That a hundred years from now, we’re all going to be spared the embarrassment of having to queue for the ladies’ room?’

  ‘Possibly. But more importantly – listen: “That is why the height of people in the 21st century will be much above average. They will all be healthy, irrespective of their age, though some of them will be over 100. Together with fruit juices they will drink heavy water in prescribed doses.

  “ ‘Physical culture and sport are popular among the young and old. All the cities have been converted into garden cities, and every city has stadiums, swimming pools and other athletic facilities. And most interesting of all, one does not meet any grey-haired or senile people in these cities. They all walk proudly erect, with a springy step, their complexion is healthy and their eyes shine with vigour and happiness.’ ”

  ‘It sounds wonderful,’ said Anneke. ‘What a shame that none of us will be alive to see it.’

  ‘Well,’ said Emily, ‘if we all manage to stagger on until, say, 130 or 140, then there’s hope for us yet . . .’

  “ ‘This rejuvenation has not come at once,’ ” Thomas continued. “ ‘It was a gradual process, and it is the result of the measures taken by the state” – ah yes, I was wondering when we were going to get around to that – “to improve the health of the people, with special stress on the investigation and elimination of the causes of ageing.

  “ ‘Even more astonishing than the appearance of the people, are the novel features of life and work connected with the inordinate development of the sense organs. The organ of sight has become much more powerful and complex. At the end of the 20th century, scientists were gradually expanding the range of electromagnetic vibrations detected by the eye and raised its potentialities by means of electronic and other instruments.

  “ ‘With the aid of electronic instruments the human eye is now able to ‘see’ not only in impenetrable darkness, in infra-red light, but also in the shortest ultraviolet light. All mysteries have been pierced. Man has learned to see through all obstacles, his vision penetrating even the inner structure of matter, as we can see on X-ray pictures, for example.’ ”

  ‘Goodness, what a frightful prospect!’ said Emily. ‘I don’t want any man using his electromagnetic vision to see through my clothes, thank you very much. Never mind casting his eye over my internal organs.’

  “ ‘Thanks to electromagnetic reduction of the frequency of sound vibrations, the man of the 21st century can easily hear what he cannot see: how grass is growing, how liquid is moving in a glass, how broken bones are growing together, and much else.’ ”

  ‘Hmm, that’s more like it . . .’ Emily sipped some more wine, and stared into the distance, contemplating this prospect. ‘I like the idea of being able to hear the grass grow. I’m sorry, Andrey, I know this is a serious piece of scientific research, but this is the sort of thing that appeals to my poetic nature.’

  Andrey smiled at her and took her hand. ‘Don’t apologize,’ he said. ‘There is a place for science, and there is also a place for poetry. Your response is . . . charmingly feminine.’

  Thomas flashed him a disbelieving look, and continued: “ ‘It is now possible even to trace by hearing all the processes at work in the nerves and nervous centres upon which man’s health and life depend.

  “ ‘Greater knowledge of nature has made it possible to improve the sense of smell. Man is now able not only to recognise thousands of scents, but also to determine the dimensions and shapes of one or another object by means of his sense of smell amplified by the new technique.

  “ ‘The discovery of the ultra-short wave nature of smells has made it possible to transmit them over distances by means of a new ‘tele-scenting’ unit. The air in the theatres, homes, factories and laboratories is now kept not only pure and fresh; it is filled with fragrant scents which have a soothing effect on the nervous system.

  “ ‘Much else could be told about the man of 2058, about his life and work. And there is nothing unusual in all that. Much of what we are dreaming of is already becoming part of daily life.’ ”

  Thomas laid down the newspaper and looked around at the circle of faces, each one, it seemed, preoccupied with some aspect or other of these unlikely predictions.

  ‘Well,’ said Clara. ‘I find that all very inter
esting.’

  ‘Me too,’ said Anneke. ‘I love this idea, that we will be able to transmit smells over a long distance.’

  ‘True,’ said Emily. ‘We will have a lot to thank the state for, if that comes to pass. As soon as someone finds a way of taking the air from this place and broadcasting it live to New York, believe me, I’ll be the first to tune in. Just take a mouthful of it! Feel how clean it is! So clean and sweet-smelling.’

  She breathed in deeply, and the others followed her lead. There was an appreciative silence.

  ‘Cigarette, anyone?’ Thomas asked.

  He handed round the packet, and they all helped themselves.

  Now Thomas and Emily were alone.

  Emily was lying in the grass, on her side, turned towards him. Her ear was to the ground and her eyes were closed, although behind the lids could be sensed traces of quick, flickering life.

  Thomas had taken out his mother’s map and was examining it closely, looking around him and trying to match the features of the landscape with this cartographer’s approximation from more than fifty years ago. Closing in on a particular area, he attempted to fold the map down to a more manageable size. The noise made Emily open her eyes.

  ‘Ssh!’

  ‘Why, what’s the matter?’

  ‘I almost heard it then. I swear that I did.’

  ‘Heard what?’

  ‘The sound of the grass growing.’

  Thomas smiled, put the map down and stretched himself out beside her. They lay side by side, facing one another. It felt, suddenly, like a very intimate situation.

  ‘Can you hear it?’ she asked.

  ‘I’m not sure.’

  Thomas rested his ear close to the ground and tried to concentrate. But he found himself distracted, alarmingly distracted, by the proximity of Emily. Her face was just a few inches away from his. He could see freckles, pores, wrinkles, that he had never noticed before. The freckles, in particular, were adorable. There was a tiny patch of them on either side of her nose. Her pearl-grey eyes stared back at him, with unnerving directness.

  ‘I can hear something,’ he said. ‘A kind of rustling.’

  ‘Maybe that’s it.’

  ‘Well, how do you account for it? The man who wrote that article –’

  ‘The “Honoured Worker of Science”, you mean?’

  ‘Yes – he said that we wouldn’t be able to do this for another hundred years.’

  ‘Well, I don’t know quite how I account for it. Perhaps this place has … special properties.’

  ‘Special properties?’

  ‘Perhaps, you know, it has a high concentration of those electromagnetic vibrations we were told about.’

  ‘That could be it.’

  ‘You think?’

  ‘I think you’ve solved it.’

  Was it Thomas’s imagination, or had they inched a fraction closer to one another during this curious, affectionate exchange of whispered frivolities?

  ‘Mr Foley?’ Emily said now.

  ‘Yes, Miss Parker?’

  ‘Do you mind if I ask you rather a dangerous question?’

  ‘I suppose not,’ he said, bracing himself. ‘What is it?’

  ‘My question is this . . . What is your impression – your truthful impression – of Mr Chersky?’

  Thomas did not know, exactly, what sort of question he had been expecting. But it wasn’t this one.

  ‘Well . . .’ he said. ‘I shall have to give that a certain amount of thought.’

  ‘Don’t hurry yourself. Take your time.’

  ‘I suppose . . . Well, if I might make a particular observation, rather than a general one . . .’

  ‘By all means.’

  ‘I would say that he did not seem especially pleased, just now, when you decided to stay behind here, with me, instead of returning to Brussels, with him.’

  ‘Oh, you noticed that, did you?’

  ‘I could hardly fail to.’

  A few minutes earlier, Andrey had announced that he was leaving. The car had to be returned to the embassy in Brussels, he said, by four o’clock, and he seemed to assume that Thomas and Emily would accompany him, as before. But Emily had demurred. She was having such a wonderful time, she said, and they had only been here for a couple of hours, and today was her day off, and she saw no reason why she had to go back to Brussels right away. Andrey had been unable to conceal his disapproval; but, at the same time, he was in no position to put obstacles in her path, apart from raising an obvious question: How did she and Thomas propose to get back to Brussels, without his help? To which, eventually, an answer was found: Clara and Federico (both of whom were required to work at the Expo that evening) would come with him in the car, leaving their bicycles behind so that Emily, Thomas and Anneke could all cycle home together whenever the mood took them. To say that Andrey disliked this suggestion would be a gross understatement. But he had agreed to it, through gritted teeth, at Emily’s insistence. And so he, Clara and Federico had set off together, back along the path towards the bridge; and Anneke had gone with them, presumably to say a fond, temporary goodbye to her new friend; although, just before they left, Clara had leaned in confidentially towards Thomas, and whispered in his ear, ‘He means nothing to her, you know. You’re the one that she cares for’ – after which she had turned and left, hastening to catch up with the others, leaving Thomas to chew over these befuddling words as he watched the four retreating figures dwindling into the heat-hazed distance.

  ‘I would go so far as to suggest,’ Thomas now went on, aware that he was about to say something audacious, ‘that Mr Chersky is beginning to grow fond of you.’

  ‘Really?’ said Emily. ‘That’s your impression?’

  ‘Yes.’

  ‘Well, that is very surprising, I must say. What would you advise me to do about it?’

  ‘Nothing. To be perfectly frank – I don’t trust the man. Emily, you won’t do anything stupid, will you? You won’t throw yourself at him?’

  The words had burst out before he could stop them. But Emily, to his relief, did not seem offended.

  ‘Of course not.’ She raised herself up on one elbow and said to him, earnestly: ‘You know, whatever anyone else may think of me, I don’t need protecting. Do remember that, Thomas. I’m a big girl, and I can look after myself. It’s not your job to protect me and, to speak truthfully, I wouldn’t thank you for it.’

  Thomas nodded. There was something in her words, and her manner of speaking, that he found wounding, but none the less, there was no doubting that she meant it.

  ‘And as a matter of fact,’ she added, ‘I happen to agree with you. I don’t entirely trust him either.’

  That seemed to bring an end to the discussion, for once again she lay full-length on the grass and closed her eyes against the sun. After a few moments Thomas lay back as well, and they rested like that for some while in silence.

  ‘Have you ever thought of marrying?’ she then asked him, without preamble.

  He sat up again and looked at her in surprise.

  ‘Yes,’ he answered. ‘In fact I have been married. In fact, technically speaking, I still am.’

  ‘Technically speaking?’ said Emily. ‘You have an odd way of expressing yourself.’

  ‘Back in London I have a wife, and a daughter,’ said Thomas. ‘But my marriage is over.’ It was strange, saying these words. If he had spoken them to Emily at the Grand Auditorium concert, as he had half-intended to do, he would have been lying to her; but now, nine days later, he could make this statement, and know that he was telling the truth. Still, there was something final and irrevocable in the act of speaking it aloud. ‘It happened a long time ago,’ he said (which was a lie, but a necessary one), ‘and yet the wound is still very fresh’ (which was true).

  ‘What went wrong?’ Emily ventured. ‘If
you’ll permit me to ask, that is.’

  ‘My wife was unfaithful,’ said Thomas.

  ‘Ah. I’m very sorry. I didn’t mean to drag up something so painful.’

  ‘It’s all right. I’ve never spoken about it to anyone. I’m happy – that is, I don’t mind talking about it with you. I’m beginning to feel a . . . sympathy between us.’

  ‘Don’t get carried away,’ said Emily, ‘with those electromagnetic vibrations. Did you know the fellow involved?’

  ‘Yes. He was our neighbour. Perhaps I was to blame. I neglected her.’

  ‘To my mind, that hardly excuses –’

  ‘Of course, you’re right. But she can’t have been happy. If you saw the man, you would know … It could only have been an act of desperation.’

  ‘How did you deal with it? What did you do?’

  ‘Nothing,’ said Thomas. ‘In a situation like that, what can you do?’

  ‘I would have thought a punch on the nose, for one thing. For him, that is.’

  Thomas laughed bitterly. ‘What would that have achieved?’

  ‘Well, it might have made you feel better. It might have made your wife realize how much she meant to you. And it might have stopped him from behaving like a louse again, the next time he took a fancy to the married woman next door. I doubt if any court would have convicted you. Not in the state of Wisconsin they wouldn’t, anyway.’

  Thomas shook his head. ‘It’s not really . . . my style.’

  ‘Then perhaps you should change your style.’ She sat up, now, and wrapped her arms around her knees, hugging them tightly to herself. She frowned in thought for a second or two, choosing her next words carefully: ‘Besides, sometimes we don’t really understand our own natures. We don’t really know who we are, until a new circumstance comes along to reveal it to us.