to produce brain proteins at a supernormal rate—"
"Just a minute, Professor Nemur," I said, interrupting him at the height of his peroration. "What about Rahajamati's work in that field?"
He looked at me blankly. "Who?"
"Rahajamati. His article attacks Tanida's theory of enzyme fusion—the concept of changing the chemical structure of the enzyme blocking the step in the metabolic pathway."
He frowned. "Where was that article translated?"
"It hasn't been translated yet. I read it in the Hindu Journal of Psychopathology just a few days ago."
He looked at his audience and tried to shrug it off. "Well, I don't think we have anything to worry about. Our results speak for themselves."
"But Tanida himself first propounded the theory of blocking the maverick enzyme through combination, and now he points out that—"
"Oh, come now, Charlie. Just because a man is the first to come forth with a theory doesn't make him the final word on its experimental development. I think everyone here will agree that the research done in the United States and Britain far outshines the work done in India and Japan. We still have the best laboratories and the best equipment in the world."
"But that doesn't answer Rahajamati's point that—"
"This is not the time or place to go into that. I'm certain all of these points will be adequately dealt with in tomorrow's session." He turned to talk to someone about an old college friend, cutting me off completely, and I stood there dumbfounded.
I managed to get Strauss off to one side, and I started questioning him. "All right, now. You've been telling me I'm too sensitive to him. What did I say that upset him that way?"
"You're making him feel inferior and he can't take it."
"I'm serious, for God's sake. Tell me the truth."
"Charlie, you've got to stop thinking that everyone is laughing at you. Nemur couldn't discuss those articles because he hasn't read them. He can't read those languages."
"Not read Hindi and Japanese? Oh, come on now."
"Charlie, not everyone has your gift for languages."
"But then how can he refute Rahajamati's attack on this method, and Tanida's challenge to the validity of this kind of control? He must know about those—"
"No...," said Strauss thoughtfully. "Those papers must be recent. There hasn't been time to get translations made."
"You mean you haven't read them either?"
He shrugged. "I'm an even worse linguist than he is. But I'm certain before the final reports are turned in, all the journals will be combed for additional data."
I didn't know what to say. To hear him admit that both of them were ignorant of whole areas in their own fields was terrifying. "What languages do you know?" I asked him.
"French, German, Spanish, Italian, and enough Swedish to get along."
"No Russian, Chinese, Portuguese?"
He reminded me that as a practicing psychiatrist and neurosurgeon he had very little time for languages. And the only ancient languages that he could read were Latin and Greek. Nothing of the ancient Oriental tongues.
I could see he wanted to end the discussion at that point, but somehow I couldn't let go. I had to find out just how much he knew.
I found out.
Physics: nothing beyond the quantum theory of fields. Geology: nothing about geomorphology or stratigraphy or even petrology. Nothing about the micro- or macro-economic theory. Little in mathematics beyond the elementary level of calculus of variations, and nothing at all about Banach algebra or Riemannian manifolds. It was the first inkling of the revelations that were in store for me this weekend.
I couldn't stay at the party. I slipped away to walk and think this out. Frauds—both of them. They had pretended to be geniuses. But they were just ordinary men working blindly, pretending to be able to bring light into the darkness. Why is it that everyone lies? No one I know is what he appears to be. As I turned the corner I caught a glimpse of Burt coming after me.
"What's the matter?" I said as he caught up to me. "Are you following me?"
He shrugged and laughed uncomfortably. "Exhibit A, star of the show. Can't have you run down by one of these motorized Chicago cowboys or mugged and rolled on State Street?"
"I don't like being kept in custody."
He avoided my gaze as he walked beside me, his hands deep in his pockets. "Take it easy, Charlie. The old man is on edge. This convention means a lot to him. His reputation is at stake."
"I didn't know you were so close to him," I taunted, recalling all the times Burt had complained about