Prizes (63 page)

They took their seats in red velvet armchairs, across from the royal party.

From a modest black podium bearing a large gilt copy of the Nobel medal, the chairman of the Foundation delivered a brief introduction.

The awards were then bestowed in the order listed in the benefactor’s last will and testament.

Physics was first.

In presenting Isabel da Costa, Professor Gunnar Nilsson wasted few of the precious words accorded him. He placed her in a progression that began with Galileo, then reached—and surpassed—Einstein. He also gratified the audience by noting the phenomenon of her age:

“She now displaces Sir William Bragg—who received his award at the tender age of twenty-five—as the youngest ever recipient of the prize.”

The royal party led the entire auditorium in a standing ovation for her.

Radiant in a dark blue satin gown, complemented by a single strand of pearls, Isabel had no airs of childhood precocity about her. For the little girl with the dark curls was now a handsome woman, whose dignity was ample
demonstration that the circus aspect of her life was over.

They expected her to speak in Swedish, and she did. But only a single prefatory sentence:
Ers Majestät, Ärade ledamöter av akademien, Jag tackar Er för denna stora ära.
“Your Majesty, members of the academy, I thank you for this great honor.”

The rest of her strictly rationed words thanked “my father, Raymond da Costa, without whose devotion and sacrifice I would not be here today, and my fiancé Jerry Pracht, for his loving, moral, and emotional support.” He had made Isabel promise not to mention any scientific assistance she “thought” he might have given her.

The two men singled out for her special recognition sat side by side in the audience—each in his own way profoundly moved. Although he had promised Isabel not to shed tears, Ray was on the verge of involuntarily breaking his vow when Jerry clasped him affectionately and whispered, “Congratulations, Dad.”

The single obligation of all laureates is to deliver a lecture at a time of their own choosing. Isabel had deliberately scheduled her own for the day after the festivities, lest the nature of her remarks cause too much of a stir.

For, counter to the cynics who argued that the moment she left the podium “she would turn her brain off like a lightbulb and just have babies,” she intended to use the occasion to call the “definitive” nature of her work into question.

She was bent on proving that her own achievement was not the be-all and end-all of physics. If there was no one on a par to criticize her work, she would have to take on that responsibility herself. And so she proclaimed, “The theory for which you are honoring me could not be proven in the world as we know it.

“For the true unification of all forces can only be seen at temperatures so high they cannot be reached in
any lab—nor found even in the fiery fury of a supernova.

“They were united long ago at the birth of the world and may yet be unified again when the great gravitational forces cause the universe to collapse. Thus, the answer will lie forever beyond our experience and our understanding.”

She was determined to leave the way open for more scientific exploration. And concluded with graceful eloquence, “Nature and Divinity still have enough secrets to make humility the most important watchword of any physicist.”

Traditionally, the ceremonies themselves are rarely characterized by high drama. Any strong feelings aroused by the selections would have been vented back in October, when the announcements were first made.

This year was an exception, at least as far as the award in Physiology or Medicine was concerned. At this moment an extraordinary tension gripped everyone in the Grand Auditorium.

The spectators waited breathlessly and the reporters with pens poised.

Two months earlier, when he had called her on the morning of the fateful decision, Professor Bergstrom had not felt it necessary to mention to Anya that the institute had voted that the year’s award be shared. To him, the important thing was that Adam was one of the recipients and there was a human urgency to convey that information.

Sandy Raven, inexplicably abandoned by his most passionate supporter, Lars Fredricksen, had quickly fallen by the wayside. And although Adam was now a certain winner, thanks in great measure to the efforts of Helga Jansen, the doctors had been persuaded that whatever else they decided, they had to honor general advances in cellular transformation to combat disease—a
rubric that would cover not only Adam’s achievement, but also that of Dmitri Avilov.

When the announcement was made, the electors had not been aware that Dr. Coopersmith’s wife had once been married to the corecipient of the award.

But it was not long before the press unearthed this piquant bit of information. Furthermore, their thorough investigations also revealed that the parting had been far from amicable. Indeed, during the intervening years, Dmitri and Anya had never exchanged a word or appeared in each other’s presence.

When the hypersensitive organizing committee learned of this, they nervously cooperated in “desynchronizing” the two scientists’ schedules to minimize the strain on Anya. At the parties and receptions during the early part of the week, Anya, accompanied by the Rosenthals, Lisl, and Heather, managed to avoid any communication with Dmitri. She and Avilov were not even seated together on the stage.

But there would be no evading him when they would be summoned by His Majesty, King Carl XVI Gustav.

Their imminent appearance on the podium therefore took on a heightened dramatic dimension.

At last Anya Coopersmith and Dmitri Avilov were both invited to come forward to receive their honors. All present were struck by the physical contrast between them. She seemed like a delicate sparrow, he like an unruly bear.

The king bestowed the prizes, first to her as her late husband’s representative, and then to him. Each of them now had an instant to express their thanks.

Even at so sublime a moment, Avilov was still petty enough to want to punish Anya for being there. And he had the secret means of doing so. For only she could comprehend the hidden significance of his seemingly innocuous expression of affection for his wife and family.

“I owe many gratitudes, but I wish especially to
thank my wonderful wife and beloved children. For it is for them, and their future, that we scientists do our work. And without them our life would have no meaning.”

Anya had expected unpleasantness, yet she did not anticipate how much it would hurt. Not the remark itself, but the mere fact that he would be so hostile to her on this sublime occasion.

Her own speech balanced gratitude with regret.

“This is for me a time of great joy and profound grief. Your recognition of the achievement of my husband, and before him Max Rudolph, rewards not merely work of enormous scientific imagination, but of great human compassion.

“That the progress of science is truly like the ancient Greek torch races is nowhere better demonstrated than in the lamp Max Rudolph passed to Adam Coopersmith and which I have the humble honor of holding before you today. It illuminates this podium as I accept this award in their names.”

She caught a sudden glimpse of Lisl, gazing up at her with tear-filled eyes, moved beyond words. Instinctively, Heather put her arms around her godmother.

In the normal course of events, joint recipients always make some polite reference to one another’s accomplishments. But the feelings between Avilov and his former wife were anything but civil. Indeed, during their entire appearance center stage, both had managed to smile at the king and the audience, but not each other.

The press was disappointed but not despairing. They could not keep their feelings bottled up forever. Sooner or later, their true emotions would show.

During the early part of the week, Anya had been numbed by ceremony. Though she had steeled herself for this awesome moment, she nonetheless felt a wrench in her soul. And a feeling of pain beyond words. At that moment she missed Adam more than
ever. If she could, in some way, she would have given her life for his.

The presentation was followed by a magnificent banquet for thirteen hundred guests in the Blue Hall of the Stockholm Statshus.

For Isabel, the best moments were those that appealed to the child in her. She was transported by the almost make-believe moment when she stood before the eyes of the world, facing a real king to receive a certificate and a twenty-three-carat gold medallion whose obverse showed a profile of Alfred Nobel, and whose reverse depicted the Genius of Science uncovering the veil of Nature. As on all the medals, there was a Latin quotation drawn from Virgil: “Those who have enhanced life by newfound skills.” A check for one million dollars was at that moment being wired to her bank in Boston.

But for her the money was less exciting than the fabled Ice Cream Parade.

At the conclusion of the banquet, a seemingly endless phalanx of white-gloved and epauletted waiters marched across the marble floor, bearing scoops of pink on silver platters.

Isabel even insisted that Ray break his rigorous diet so they could all enjoy this delicacy.

Avilov had hounded Isabel for days, desperate to establish his personal credentials with her. Ever on the lookout for an opportunity to inform the world that he had saved this girl’s stepfather from certain death.

As his behavior was unsettling Isabel and impinging on her unsullied enjoyment of this high point in her life, Jerry buttonholed the Russian at one of the elegant receptions.

Wearing an expression that belied his words, he said, “Professor, I’d be very grateful if you would keep the hell away from my future wife.”

“I beg your pardon?” Avilov responded, eyebrows raised.

“Perhaps I can put it more scientifically so that someone of your intellectual level can understand,” Jerry countered. “How about ‘keep your slimeball hands off my girl or I’ll break every bone in your goddamn body’? Am I getting through to you, Doctor?”

Avilov nodded and moved away with extraordinary speed. To Jerry’s enormous satisfaction, he made no further attempts to engage Isabel in conversation.

In a real sense, Jerry had also acted in Ray’s defense as well—if not as a bodyguard, as a soul guard. For in establishing a barrier between the da Costas and the Avilovs, he would be certain that Ray would never learn the truth about his daughter’s paternity.

At the dinner, Anya and Dmitri were once again diplomatically separated. After the extravagant dessert and toasts, the guests repaired to the Gold Hall, where an orchestra was tuning up to play for dancing.

It was at this point that Dmitri made a final attempt to force Anya to acknowledge his scientific apotheosis.

As the musicians struck up a waltz, he strode over to her and with a deferential bow murmured, “May I have the honor of this dance, Anya Alexandrovna?”

She smiled beatifically. And a part of her, she had to admit, felt an irrepressible surge of triumph.

“I’m afraid I’m not allowed to,” she answered politely. “Doctor’s orders.”

Her glance indicated the physician in question, who was seated at her left.

“Hi there, Dmitri,” Charlie Rosenthal called affably. “I hope you’re enjoying the party—I mean, it’s your night too.”

“Thank you, Dr. Rosenthal,” Avilov answered grudgingly. “May I ask what brings you to Stockholm?”

“I’m here in a professional capacity,” Charlie declared.
“Dr. Coopersmith’s my patient. May I tell him, Anya?” he asked.

She nodded her permission.

“It’s this way,” Charlie explained to the professor. “Anya’s pregnant.”

Avilov’s jaw dropped. “What? That is impossible.”

“No,” Charlie explained. “It’s completely possible. Idiopathic reversals of ovarian failure are well-documented in the literature. I’d give you the references—but the proof is right here.”

The Russian was flustered. “Oh, yes, of course,” he babbled. “But I mean, I …” He composed himself and forced a smile in Anya’s direction.

“You must be very happy, Dr. Coopersmith,” he said.

“I am, academician Avilov,” she replied, deliberately recalling his former status.

Anya’s announcement had the anticipated effect on Dmitri’s pride. Even after so many years, he felt obliged to explain what now paradoxically could be regarded as his failure.

“Well, Dr. Rosenthal,” he proclaimed, “another triumph for medical science.”

“No,” Anya corrected him. “It is quite simply a miracle.”

The Nobel Prize ceremony is a concerto for numerous soloists. And its final chord is not sounded in the auditorium or Golden Hall.

For early the next morning the victors, all lodged in the famous Grand Hotel, are awakened by the sound of singers heralding the advent of St. Lucia, the Swedish Festival of Light.

To each of them standing at their windows, this moment had its own special significance.

Dmitri Avilov delighted in the very name of this holiday as a reference to the site of his own triumph. But then, even the day after the banquet, he was already
hungry again. And he could not comprehend that the larder of honors was bare.

To Anya the gentle flutterings of new life within reminded her that Adam had not only been there in Stockholm, but would remain with her forever.

Isabel and Jerry gazed out at the choristers, arms around each other.

“Beautiful, isn’t it?” she murmured.

“Isa, this whole thing has been beautiful. But the best part is that it’s over. Now we can concentrate on something really important.”

“Oh? And what is that, pray tell?”

“Each other.”

They had won the ultimate prize.

As a twentieth-century stranger in a twenty-first-century world, I owe many debts for the patient advice I received from experts at the cutting edge of science.

It was a privilege to visit their labs and talk to the next generation of pioneers they are training. Excitement was in the air.

Dr. Joseph Hill and his wife Dr. Deborah Anderson, both Professors of Immunology at Harvard Medical School, were a constant source of advice and information. It is, in fact, Joe’s own research on multiple-miscarrying women that he “lent” me for use by Adam. It was the opposite of plagiarism—an act of unprecedented generosity.