Weaver

II

Julia Fiveash seduced Ben Kamen. No, she consumed him.

She took him inside three days of her arrival in Princeton from England. He couldn't have stopped her if he'd tried. He wasn't a virgin, with men or women, but after she pushed him to the carpet of his room and wrapped him in her long English limbs he felt as if he had been, before.

The second time they made love it was actually in the study of his mentor, Kurt Godel. And Ben started to fret about her motives.

He lay on Godel's sofa, his jacket pulled over his crotch for modesty. Julia, boldly unclothed, stalked around Godel's room, flicking through the papers on his desk, running her delicate fingertip over the books on the shelves. Many of the books were still in their boxes, for Godel had not been here long; reluctant to leave his beloved Vienna, he had hesitated until the last possible minute, when the Nazis had already started to roll up Europe like a giant carpet.

Julia's golden hair shone in a shaft of dusty sunlight. She was tall, her limbs long and muscular, her belly flat, her breasts small; she walked like an animal, balanced, confident. Her body was the product of a lifetime of English privilege, Ben thought, a life of horse-riding and tennis, her sexuality mapped by one healthy Englishman after another. She had conquered Ben as easily as the English had conquered much of the planet.

He longed for a cigarette, but he knew he dare not light up in Godel's own room.

He plucked up his courage to challenge her. 'What are we doing here, Julia? What do you want?'

She laughed, a throaty sound. She was twenty-eight, three years older than he was; her age showed in her voice. 'That's not a very nice question. What do you think I want?'

'I don't know yet. Something to do with Godel. You used me to get you in here, didn't you? Into this study.'

'Can you blame me for that? Kurt Godel is the world's greatest logician. He's building a new mathematics, so they say. Or dismantling the old. Something like that, isn't it true?'

'You're a historian. You're attached to Princeton University, not this institute of math and physics. Why would you care about Godel?'

'You're ever so suspicious, aren't you? But those suspicions didn't make you fight me off. He's such a funny little man, isn't he? Short and shabby with that high brow and his thick glasses, scuttling like a rabbit in his winter coat.'

'He's been known to take lovers among his students. Despite his unprepossessing looks. I mean, he's still only in his thirties. Back in Vienna-'

'The first time I spotted Godel he was walking with Einstein. Now you can't miss Einstein, can you? Do you know, he was walking in carpet slippers, out in the middle of the street! Is he friendly with Godel, do you know?'

'They met in 1933, I believe. Friends – I don't know. Einstein is the most exotic of the European beasts here in this American zoo, I suppose. But even Einstein had to flee Hitler.'

'Ah, Hitler! I've been in his presence, you know.'

'Whose?'

'Hitler's. I shook his hand. I wouldn't claim to have met him, exactly; I doubt he remembers me at all. I was an exchange student. I wanted to see for myself what the Germans were up to, rather than swallow the usual horrid propaganda. The transformation of that country from economic ruin in just a few years is remarkable. They made us very welcome. Hitler has a very striking presence; he has a way of looking through you. Goebbels, on the other hand, pinched my bum.'

He laughed.

'And now you've all come scuttling here, haven't you? Running from the monster, all the way to America.' She wrinkled her nose. 'Such a poky, dusty room, to be lodging a world-class mind. Godel should have come to Oxford. Einstein too. Better than this. I mean, they have cloisters built of brick! Bertrand Russell says that Princeton is as like Oxford as monkeys could make it.' She laughed prettily.

'Perhaps Einstein and Godel feel safer here than in an England which contains such people as you.'

'You're not very nice to me, are you, all things considered? Anyway Godel would be under no threat in the Reich. He's not even a Jew.' She began plucking books from the shelf, and flicked through their worn pages.

Ben gathered his clothes from where they had been scattered on the floor, and began to pull them on. 'You've had your fun. Maybe it's time you told me what you want from me.'

'Well, there are rumours about you,' she said smoothly. 'You and your professor. Look at these titles. Being And Time by Martin Heidegger. An Experiment With Time by John William Dunne. On the Phenomenology of the Consciousness of Internal Time, Edmund Husserl. You worked with Godel in Vienna, and now that he is here at the IAS you're starting to work with him again, aren't you? But not on the outer reaches of mathematical logic.' She glanced at a pencil note on the flyleaf of the Husserl, scrawled by Godel himself. 'My German is still poor… "The distinction between physical time and internal time-consciousness. Is that right?' As she leafed through the books there was a scent of dust, and stale tobacco – of Vienna. 'Ah. The Time Machine by H.G. Wells. Thought I'd find that here!'

He began to feel defensive, shut in, a feeling he remembered from Vienna, when he had been the target of the 'anti-relativity clubs' and other anti-Semitic groups. 'How did you find all this out? Slept with half the faculty, did you?'

She smiled at him, naked, entirely composed. 'And I know what else you've been working on. Something even Godel doesn't know about. Something to do with relativity, and all this mushy stuff about internal time and the mind… Something that goes beyond mere theory. And I know you haven't been working alone. I'm talking about Rory O'Malley.'

'What do you know about Rory?'

'I have a feeling I know more about your Irish friend than you do.' She ran a languid finger up the length of his bare arm; he shivered, despite himself, and buttoned his shirt. 'Come on, Ben. Spill the beans. The rumour is-'

'Yes?'

'That you and your Irish boyfriend have built a time machine.'

He hesitated. 'It's not like Wells's fantasy, not at all. And we played with ideas – concepts – that's all. We went through some of the calculations-'

'Are you sure that's all?'

'Or course I'm sure! We haven't done anything. We decided we mustn't, in fact, because-'

'Rory O'Malley isn't terribly discreet. Surely you know that much about him. That's not what he's been saying.'

As the import of her words sank home, Ben's stomach clenched. Was it possible? But how, without his knowledge? Oh Rory, what have you done?

Julia saw his fear, and laughed at him. 'I think you'd better give Rory a call. We've a lot to talk about.'