LITMIR.BIZ

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out her scent with soap and water.

      During the past few days, Bacon had begun to read up on Gödel’s life, as if he were planning to discuss the man’s biography at some later date. All the professors at the institute seemed to admire and respect him, even if they often dropped hints indicating that his personality was as difficult as his theorems. But he was one of Einstein’s close friends.

      Gödel had first come to the institute as a visiting professor in 1933, while still a professor at the University of Vienna. His lectures at that time (obviously) focused on the incompleteness of mathematics, and he tended to inspire intense (verging on obsessive) interest among those who came to hear him speak on the topic. Very few men of science, with the possible exception of Einstein, could boast of such an attentive audience. Oswald Veblen, who organized the event, was delighted by the enthusiastic turnout. And though Gödel used the very weakest voice to expound upon the fundamental theories of logic, the students devoured his sentences, as if deciphering them was an additional privilege that would grant them greater and deeper access to their master’s incredible conclusions.

      Everything had gone according to schedule until one morning, when Gödel announced to Veblen that he had to return to Europe immediately. He would not be able to finish his lecture series. Unable to invent an excuse, he simply said that he felt a pressing need to return home, that he was terribly sorry but he couldn’t do a thing about it. After apologizing to the other professors at the institute, Gödel returned to Europe. Later on, in the fall of 1934, it was discovered that upon his return he had checked into the West-end Sanitarium, on the outskirts of Vienna, for psychiatric treatment, the victim of a profound clinical depression.

      A year after this panic attack, Gödel reestablished ties with the academic community in Princeton and embarked upon another series of conferences. In 1939, shortly after Hitler had annexed Austria to the Third Reich, Gödel lost his position at the University of Vienna. To make matters worse, he was soon called into active duty by the Austrian authorities, despite his fragile state of health. In January of 1940, he and his new wife, Adèle Nimbursky, decided to leave for the United States. It was, however, the strangest sort of odyssey. Instead of traveling across the Atlantic, which they felt was too dangerous, Gödel and his wife set out for Russia, where they boarded the Trans-Siberian Railway headed for Japan. At Yokohama they set sail for San Francisco, where they arrived on March 4, 1940. A few days later, Einstein welcomed them to Princeton.

      Bacon arrived at the institute and sat down in one of the last rows of the auditorium to await Gödel’s arrival, feeling the same anticipation he often felt before Vivien’s visits. He watched the mathematician enter and it seemed to him that the thirty-six-year-old professor looked more like a priest or a rabbi than a mathematician. His nose looked like the tiny protuberance on a turkey’s beak. His little eyes, shielded by thick, dark glasses, didn’t seem to radiate any particular intelligence. Nevertheless, Bacon and the others present were convinced that the skinny, bedraggled soul before them was a prodigy, a melancholy genius whose talent clearly came at the expense of his own mental health.

      One of the unexpected revelations of Gödel’s theorem was the confirmation of the idea that genius and insanity are inextricably linked. If all mathematical systems contain statements that are true yet unprovable, couldn’t the same be true for the realm of the human mind? Just like mathematics, the mind is incapable of protecting itself in the face of chaos and confusion. It is impossible to discern one’s own sanity or insanity because there exists no such external mark of reference outside one’s own brain to prove the truth definitively. The insane person can judge himself only through the logic of the insane, and the genius, through the logic of genius.

      On this occasion, Gödel gave a speech that was nothing more than a compulsive variation on the original theme he had sketched out during his previous lecture series at Princeton. He read his speech in an erratic, weak voice, offering little in the way of professorial showmanship, and the examples he provided were skimpy, pale sketches of his brilliant metaphors. In short, he was the polar opposite of Von Neumann, whose explications overflowed with wit and cleverness. Gödel’s reflections were somber and serious, as gray and boring as his personality. At the end of the lecture, Bacon went up to him, along with some other members of the institute, and, as planned, Von Neumann made all the introductions.

      “Kurt,” he said, “you won’t believe me when I tell you this young man’s name.”

      Gödel made a gesture indicating he wasn’t especially interested. Bacon tried extending his hand, but the professor did not even seem to notice the gesture.

      “Francis Bacon. Can you believe that?” Von Neumann laughed. “Nothing less than Francis Bacon. Only this one, as opposed to the original, is a physicist.”

      “I don’t believe in the natural sciences,” Gödel responded, in a tone that wasn’t trying to be condescending, but simply rational.

      “But don’t you find it amusing, Kurt?”

      Gödel’s eyes rested on Bacon’s for a moment, but rather than scrutinize him, Gödel was trying to understand this strange joke his American friends were making. Finally, Von Neumann took him by the arm, as if he were a stone sphinx on loan from a foreign art museum, and the others hurriedly dispersed. Only Bacon stood where he was, in the middle of the corridor, nonplussed by the mathematician’s listlessness.

      When Bacon returned home that evening, Vivien was there. He was the one who had needed her so badly the night before, and now it was her turn to expose her weakness, against both her better judgment and their mutual agreement never to do such a thing. Just as she had done so many times before, Vivien was sprawled out on the bed, though this time dressed in a violet-colored blouse and black skirt, waiting for him with the serenity of a woman waiting for her executioner to arrive.

      “What are you doing here?” was all he dared to ask. He let his briefcase fall to the floor with the subtlety of an anvil.

      “I knew you wouldn’t like it.”

      Bacon moved closer to Vivien, as cautious as a panther waiting to pounce on a deer. She didn’t even have time to sit up. Unable to hold back, Bacon began to kiss her bare feet, her legs, and, finally, after peeling off her clothes like the skin on a piece of tropical fruit, his lips found their way to her belly and then her breasts. He was certain that this was a mistake (even worse: this was the second time he had made the same mistake), but he didn’t care. He melted into Vivien’s warm skin, and would have happily stayed there for at least another night. After a few hours, however, it was Vivien who put an end to it all.

      “I have to go now,” she said, still lying in his arms.

      “Why?”

      “It’s getting late.”

      “So what? You can stay if you want.”

      Vivien knew as well as he did that it wasn’t true, that they were deceiving one another, but there is nothing more false than an unwanted truth. It was better to imagine that the future was nothing more than one among many possibilities, a potential reality as nonexistent as the past. Just as adamant as Bacon had been in deciding not to see Elizabeth for the duration of Gödel’s lecture series, he was determined to savor this time with Vivien, like the derelict who squeezes his last orange down to the very last drop of juice.

      For several weeks, Elizabeth had been unable to sleep more than a few hours at a time. For her, the inclement nights had turned into a kind of prolonged torture in which images of her fiancé passed before her eyes like a movie reel. She envisioned him involved in all sorts of terrible activities, most of them incompatible with marriage. She began to lose her appetite, and soon realized that if she carried on like this, she would end up a skinny, desperate woman. The first few days of their separation, she wanted to teach him a lesson, and resisted the temptation to track him down. She was too sure of herself to doubt, even for a moment, that he would swallow his pride and come back to her. Once he realized how pigheaded he was being, Francis would begin to woo her in earnest, and then she would lay down the law once and for all, and spell out the conditions which would govern their future together. Her present hardships and deprivation were

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