New York, may 05, 2010, five past midnight.
The physics laboratory at NYU was dark, but there was a green lamp in the end of the room that was illuminating the otherwise dark faces of Dr. Bernstein and Dr. Hillman, casting a green glow in the ceiling of the lab. The night was slightly cold and rainy. When trying to enter the room through the large windows the city lights were distorted by water droplets that rushed down unpredictable paths.
“God exists”, said Dr. Bernstein with a confident and blissful, if arrogant, grin in his mouth and sparkling eyes, “I can prove it”.
Dr. William Bernstein was a rather young scientist, as he was only 35. He liked to obey the dress code en vogue these days in his milieu, which meant he wore a dark suit most of the time. But he looked sharp in it as he was tall and skinny. He refused to be confined to one cadre of knowledge and, although he specialized in physics he had a vast knowledge of biology, chemistry, psychology, neuroscience, sociology and many other fields of research.
“I admire your work very much Bill”, said Dr. Hillman, “I have much respect for you. But don’t you think this is pushing too far the ability of science to explain things?”
Dr. Thomas Hillman was much older than his colleague. He kept a white beard trimmed most of the time, but didn’t have much hair left in his head. He had a Socratic nose that pointed downwards. He was a renowned physicist from CERN.
“Tom, I am so fascinated by this. I don’t know what to say. I will show you my experiments and explain to you the inexplicable!” said Dr. Bernstein as he stood up. “It’s going to be a long night, let’s find a Starbucks near here. My brain needs a cappuccino urgently.”
As the two men strode down Lexington Avenue, without umbrellas, Dr. Bernstein kept talking like a madman.
“Tom, you have to dive into the worlds of biology, neuroscience, sociobiology and evolutionary psychology in order to understand this theory.” Said Dr. Bernstein switching his gaze between Dr. Hillman’s face and the sidewalk. “One field alone, like physics, can’t hold the entirety of this theory. It leaps from field to field like a hungry rabbit.”
The two men heard the sound of screaming tires and looked back. A black stretched limousine steered out of a parking space. Its headlights flashed, temporarily blinding the two scientists who turned their gaze back to the sidewalk in front of them.
“Where is the God of the Mayans, Aztecs and Incas Tom?” Dr. Bernstein continued. “Where was God when the last tsunami took place? Why do sometimes bad people strive while good people starve? These questions have troubled theologians and lay people for millennia.”
“it is a mystery” murmured Dr. Hillman glancing back at the black limo that was moving slowly, a few meters behind them.
Dr. Bernstein kept talking excitedly as if he was Christopher Columbus and had just seen the first blurred images of a beach through his lunette. “All these things actually have an explanation Tom. The monks, the priests, the pope… they were right all this time. I think science finally discovered what is God.”
The two colleagues arrived in front of one of the 115 Starbucks in Manhattan. “Let’s go in.” commanded Dr. Hillman almost freezing to death.
As Dr. Hillman stepped into the café, the limousine rushed forward and two men dressed in black overcoats with hoods jumped out and grabbed Dr. Bernstein, throwing him into the car. Meanwhile, Dr. Hillman dashed outside the café, but it was too late. He could only see the red lights of the black car disappearing into the distance. He stood there in the soft rain in disbelief. Suddenly he became aware that he was the only person who could do something to save Dr. Bernstein. He reached for his mobile phone and entered the café again, this time shouting out loud. “Somebody call the police. A man has been kidnapped” The café suddenly became very noisy. Dr. Hillman stood there in shock, entranced by the maddening crowd. A million thoughts collided inside his head, like particles inside the Large Haedron Collider. Who were those people? Something was really weird about what had just happened. He went outside the café again and sat on the sidewalk meditatively. The rain was pouring down much stronger now. “God exists.” He remembered the last few things Dr. Bernstein was saying. “I think science finally discovered what is God.”
The rain was rushing down the sidewalk and it was forming curls around an object that was near the place where Dr. Bernstein was kidnapped. He crawled towards the object and looked at it. His face instantly turned white. He couldn’t believe what he was seeing. It was a broken necklace with a golden medieval-looking cross the size of the palm of a hand.
Saturday, July 17, 2010
2
Oxford, may 06, 2010, 10pm
Professor James Craven hurried through the streets of oxford towards his laboratory at Trinity College. The night was cold and there was a heavy fog, as if the clouds had descended from heaven and were touching the ground. Or as if he had died and was now walking the streets of some obscure heaven. Or as if he was in a very realistic dream. He knew that, for the brain, the difference between a dream and reality was subtle. The clouds were rushing in front of the moon. Professor Craven looked up. It seemed like the moon was following him.
I must get to the lab before midnight. He thought. He had been traveling for more than 5 hours now, but showed no sign of fatigue. From Gare du Nord in Paris to Victoria station in London, under the English channel.
“Gentlemen, thank you for coming here at such a weird hour”. Started Dr. Craven.
“I left a blond bird talking to herself at the pub to come here mate”. Said one of the professors jokingly. “This better be good”.
“Well, you’re lucky”. Said another professor. “I will have to tame an angry wife when I get home. She said this was the worst excuse to go to the pub I ever invented.”
“I asked you to come here because we have no time to lose”. Interrupted Dr. Craven. “Gentlemen a new science is being born as we speak. The science of God.”
The room instantly turned into a turmoil of echoing voices. As if the reaction was totally expected, Dr. Craven left a childish grin in the corner of his mouth and started to connect his notebook on a projector. I will just wait a few seconds for the crowd to calm down and then I will continue, he thought calmly. Can’t they just wait to see what I have to say? I said only one sentence, how can they be fighting themselves over one sentence?
“Oil and water Dr. Craven” shouted one professor as if he was in the stock exchange room. “That’s what science and religion are. Are you trying to mix oil and water?”
The crowd became silent and turned its gaze to professor Craven.
“Yes I am” said Dr. Craven without modesty. “let me show you what we have been working on, here at the lab. It might help dissolve your oil into the water”.
Professor James Craven hurried through the streets of oxford towards his laboratory at Trinity College. The night was cold and there was a heavy fog, as if the clouds had descended from heaven and were touching the ground. Or as if he had died and was now walking the streets of some obscure heaven. Or as if he was in a very realistic dream. He knew that, for the brain, the difference between a dream and reality was subtle. The clouds were rushing in front of the moon. Professor Craven looked up. It seemed like the moon was following him.
I must get to the lab before midnight. He thought. He had been traveling for more than 5 hours now, but showed no sign of fatigue. From Gare du Nord in Paris to Victoria station in London, under the English channel.
“Gentlemen, thank you for coming here at such a weird hour”. Started Dr. Craven.
“I left a blond bird talking to herself at the pub to come here mate”. Said one of the professors jokingly. “This better be good”.
“Well, you’re lucky”. Said another professor. “I will have to tame an angry wife when I get home. She said this was the worst excuse to go to the pub I ever invented.”
“I asked you to come here because we have no time to lose”. Interrupted Dr. Craven. “Gentlemen a new science is being born as we speak. The science of God.”
The room instantly turned into a turmoil of echoing voices. As if the reaction was totally expected, Dr. Craven left a childish grin in the corner of his mouth and started to connect his notebook on a projector. I will just wait a few seconds for the crowd to calm down and then I will continue, he thought calmly. Can’t they just wait to see what I have to say? I said only one sentence, how can they be fighting themselves over one sentence?
“Oil and water Dr. Craven” shouted one professor as if he was in the stock exchange room. “That’s what science and religion are. Are you trying to mix oil and water?”
The crowd became silent and turned its gaze to professor Craven.
“Yes I am” said Dr. Craven without modesty. “let me show you what we have been working on, here at the lab. It might help dissolve your oil into the water”.
3
New York, May 06, 2010, 8:25pm
Dr Thomas Hillman was sitting at the bar of the Waldorf-Astoria hotel, on Park Avenue, on a comfy armchair in one corner, next to a bush of ornamental plants. His sit faced the fireplace from a distance. In front of him there were other armchairs and a low table in the middle with a few magazines and newspapers.
There mustn’t be any real light bulbs in this place. He thought, as he gazed at the faint light cast in the walls of the room by the hidden lamps. No real light bulb can glow like these ones. A light bulb cannot glow like a summer sunset in Ibiza.
He picked up a copy of Nature from the pile on the table. How unusual, he thought, to find a scientific magazine here. Forbes is there, that’s fine. Golf Digest could even be printed here, it wouldn’t surprise me. The Polo Magazine…why does it seem silly even here? Maybe because I can’t picture people riding horses with polo sticks in the middle of Fifth Avenue. It’s funny how nothing seem impossible to the rich.
He raised his hand and a waiter materialized beside him.
“Excuse-me sir, may I help you in any way?”
“Yes, I would like a espresso and a sandwich, please” He was worried that the waiter would start offering sandwiches with complicated french names. “a cheeseburger” he added quickly.
“Yes sir, excuse me”
A magazine like this, he continued his thought, could only interest a scientist, or a geek. And I have to force my mind to picture such person sitting here. A bed and breakfast at Brooklyn would readily receive him. What kind of geek could afford a million-dollar-per-night hotel? He quickly searched for a menu to check the price of the sandwich he just ordered. There wasn’t one. Well, how much can a sandwich cost? 30 dollars? 50 dollars?
“Hey Tom, how are you my friend?”
“Hey Peter! I’m fine mate! And you?”
Peter Cheng was the only person he could think of at this time. First because he was living in New York for the past 3 years. Second because he was a scientist from the particle physics department at NYU and third because he was actually intelligent. He was Chinese.
“I see you are enjoying my magazine!” he laughed.
“your magazine?” Thomas asked confused.
“Yes, I was sitting here waiting for you. I went to the restroom and left my magazine here. Or do you think they keep copies of Nature around here normally?
Dr Thomas Hillman was sitting at the bar of the Waldorf-Astoria hotel, on Park Avenue, on a comfy armchair in one corner, next to a bush of ornamental plants. His sit faced the fireplace from a distance. In front of him there were other armchairs and a low table in the middle with a few magazines and newspapers.
There mustn’t be any real light bulbs in this place. He thought, as he gazed at the faint light cast in the walls of the room by the hidden lamps. No real light bulb can glow like these ones. A light bulb cannot glow like a summer sunset in Ibiza.
He picked up a copy of Nature from the pile on the table. How unusual, he thought, to find a scientific magazine here. Forbes is there, that’s fine. Golf Digest could even be printed here, it wouldn’t surprise me. The Polo Magazine…why does it seem silly even here? Maybe because I can’t picture people riding horses with polo sticks in the middle of Fifth Avenue. It’s funny how nothing seem impossible to the rich.
He raised his hand and a waiter materialized beside him.
“Excuse-me sir, may I help you in any way?”
“Yes, I would like a espresso and a sandwich, please” He was worried that the waiter would start offering sandwiches with complicated french names. “a cheeseburger” he added quickly.
“Yes sir, excuse me”
A magazine like this, he continued his thought, could only interest a scientist, or a geek. And I have to force my mind to picture such person sitting here. A bed and breakfast at Brooklyn would readily receive him. What kind of geek could afford a million-dollar-per-night hotel? He quickly searched for a menu to check the price of the sandwich he just ordered. There wasn’t one. Well, how much can a sandwich cost? 30 dollars? 50 dollars?
“Hey Tom, how are you my friend?”
“Hey Peter! I’m fine mate! And you?”
Peter Cheng was the only person he could think of at this time. First because he was living in New York for the past 3 years. Second because he was a scientist from the particle physics department at NYU and third because he was actually intelligent. He was Chinese.
“I see you are enjoying my magazine!” he laughed.
“your magazine?” Thomas asked confused.
“Yes, I was sitting here waiting for you. I went to the restroom and left my magazine here. Or do you think they keep copies of Nature around here normally?
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