20
PARTISAN REVIEW
the mind, the means of injecting a sense of guilt into a man's veins
with a sterilized needle, of grafting a criminal past into him as one
grafts a bone-flap onto a fractured skull.
"The funny thing is," he had said with a sudden boyish giggle
which stood in unpleasant contrast to the aging bald man's face, "that
though we are not allowed to publish our results, they have in fact
been the most publicized news in our time." Then another of those
abrupt silences had descended between them in which each weighed
the consequences of having read the other's thoughts. "Of course you
understand that it was all a joke-a fantasy. I was pulling your leg,"
said Gruber.
"Of course," said Leontiev, smiling with his famous blue stare
straight into the other's eyes. "You always used to pull our legs, even
as a student. But what I wanted to ask . .. Can you somehow un–
block this-this fatigue of the synapses, in regard to my writing?"
"Hm," said the Professor. "It depends. Science is not magic. I
cannot invent your Mandarin; that's your job. I must have something
to build on-something real, even if it is only ten per cent of the goods
to be delivered. That's what I have always tried to impress on these
blockheads of ours."
"I don't follow you," said Leontiev.
"Don't you? I thought you knew the elements.... After all, you
are a writer-a profession which is supposed to require some imagina–
tion." He became irritated, started fidgeting again on his chair. With
his egg-shaped skull and frail, thin body, he gave Leontiev the im–
pression of an oversized, aged embryo-except for some irritating
detail which he could not define. Now suddenly he found out what
it was: the bald Gruber's eyebrows were dyed black, and these dyed
eyebrows had an extraordinary mobility.
"You must be a little more explicit," said Leontiev.
"Explicit?" The Professor giggled. "My poor friend, that is the
last thing you should ask for, (a) as an artist, (b) in view of the par–
ticular circumstances of our age and time...." He frowned; then
shrugged; then seemed to have made his mind up. "All right," he
said.
"If
you really want me to help you. How is Zina?" he asked
abruptly.
"She is fine. '¢'ole have no chldren, you know."
"How old is she now?"
