“Oh, I’m already there,” Jonas said.
“If you get nervous,” she reiterated, “just focus on me. Talk to me. You’ve never had a problem doing that before.”
“No, I haven’t,” Jonas said. The love he felt for her was almost overwhelming. He felt himself bathing in it, soaking it in. He wanted to take her in his arms, to find words to capture the feelings that swelled his heart. He had just started to tell her how much he loved her when a bumptious official intruded.
The man, white and in his sixties, with a tuxedo of his own and salt-and-pepper hair in full retreat, spoke with a thick Swiss accent, his fingers tightly interlaced in front of him. “We’re just about ready to start, Dr. Cullen. How are you feeling?”
“Probably best not to ask,” Jonas deadpanned. He felt a wave of nausea well up inside him.
“He’s going to do great,” Amanda reassured him, her hand gently caressing his back.
Jonas remained unconvinced.
The official excused himself with servile politeness, and Jonas wondered how it was that his life had taken such a surreal turn. His only ambition had been to ask questions of the universe, to probe the contours of existence. Every child pondered why the sky was blue, or what created the universe, or how animals got their names. Jonas was simply one of the small subset of such children who ultimately made those questions their calling. And the questions were themselves the answer, the reason for his existence. They had nothing to do with awards or accolades or spectacle. Jonas didn’t ask these questions so he could lecture to an audience of almost two thousand people. He asked these questions and sought the answers because he had no choice. Receiving an award for it was like being honored for learning how to walk or tie his shoes.
He felt Amanda’s eyes on him, watching him the same way he occasionally caught himself watching her, trying to breathe her whole being into him, to consume her soul through his gaze, an expression of astonished bewilderment that asked how he could ever be so lucky to share his life with this other person.
“How are you feeling?” he asked, though he could not remember seeing her more content. Trying to identify what was different about her tonight was like trying to catch smoke.
“I feel like tonight is a very special night,” Amanda answered, pulling a small box from her purse. It was white and tied with a red ribbon. She handed it to him.
Jonas turned the box over in his fingers. “What’s this?”
Amanda leaned over and stared at the box in mock fascination. “Hmm. It appears to be a gift of some kind.”
Jonas chuckled. He hated the cliché that scientists lacked certain human graces, but he had to admit that some clichés rang true. He stripped the ribbon off the box and opened it. Inside was a thin stick. Two pieces of plastic glued together. One blue, one white. A faded cobalt cross peeked out from the tiny window cut into the blue side.
He felt his breath leave him as his mind raced to catch up. The plastic rod felt firm between his fingers. He wasn’t dreaming. This was real. He stared at his wife in gobsmacked disbelief. He struggled for words. His heart raced and swelled in his chest. He looked down again at the pale-blue intersection of lines and felt his whole world change. “I—I—” Words refused to come. “The doctors said,” he croaked, “that you—” He breathed hard. He didn’t know whether to laugh or cry or scream. He was overwhelmed with the desire to do all three with no regard for who might take notice.
“I know,” Amanda said. Her eyes gleamed, or maybe it was just the light hitting the thin film of tears welling in them.
Either way, Jonas had never known his wife to be so radiant or happy. “I—I didn’t even know this was possible,” he said, staring in disbelief and awe at the tiny pregnancy test. “How?”
“And here I thought you were a scientist,” Amanda teased with a puckish grin.
Jonas marveled at the little device in his hand. “Even a scientist can recognize a miracle.” She had gifted him a miracle.
“This wasn’t easy, you know.”
Jonas did. They had tried for years without success.
But Amanda shook her head slightly. That wasn’t the difficulty she was referring to. “You have no idea how hard it is to compete with a Nobel Prize.”
“I think you found a way,” he said, still cradling the little plastic stick in his fingers.
The official pulled Jonas aside. “They’re about to announce you, Dr. Cullen.” But Jonas’s eyes didn’t leave the tiny stick. It looked like a piece of a toy. How could he possibly turn away from such a wonder?
Behind the curtain, another Nobel official was addressing the crowd. Her voice was amplified by the Aula Magna’s natural acoustics. “Good evening,” she boomed. “Thank you all for coming. As you know, the Nobel Foundation statutes require laureates to deliver a lecture on a subject connected with the work for which their prize was awarded . . .” She reeled off Jonas’s academic qualifications and professional achievements, but Jonas wasn’t listening. He felt a surreal sensation, a reminder that he was living out a dream. “Tonight, it is my privilege to introduce this year’s recipient of the Nobel Prize in Physics for his mathematical theorem confirming the existence of parallel universes—otherwise known as the ‘Many Worlds Proof’—Dr. Jonas Cullen.”
The amphitheater thundered with applause. Jonas’s anxiety returned in a rush. Amanda must have noticed because she reassured him: “You’re going to be fantastic.”
“I love you too much,” he told her.
“I love you more,” she replied.
“Dr. Cullen,” the official continued, “will go into detail about the work that has garnered him this honor, and I’m eager for him to astonish you, as he has astonished the world. But the not-so-simple principle underlying his work is this: our universe is just one among countless others.”
“Ten bucks says she mentions Frost.” Amanda winked.
“The American poet Robert Frost—”
“Told you.” Amanda grinned.
“—famously wrote: ‘Two roads diverged in a yellow wood, and sorry I could not travel both and be one traveler . . .’ There are those who contend that this poem is an allusion to multiple realities, the universe diverging into multiple paths. Dr. Cullen has used quantum theory to prove the existence of such a ‘multiverse.’ And that is why he is this year’s recipient of the Nobel Prize in Physics.”
The ensuing applause trembled the building. Jonas squeezed the pregnancy test in his hand and considered it the true honor of the evening.
“I’m going to go take my seat,” Amanda said, leaving him with a kiss that he considered all too brief under the circumstances.
He forced himself to take a deep breath. And then another. The audience continued to applaud as they waited for him to take the stage. He pushed aside the curtain, strode out, and was momentarily blinded by the spotlight, which enveloped the audience beyond the first row in darkness. The Nobel official who had introduced him clasped his hand and gave him a peck on the cheek. When he took his place at the podium, he found a second copy of his speech dutifully waiting for him.
Jonas squinted against the brightness and peered out toward the front row, where Amanda was sitting in the center seat, as promised. Her smile was bright enough to compete with the spotlight. Pride radiated off her. Jonas felt the pregnancy test in his grip and experienced the little jolt that came from two people with a secret. They shared a knowing look. An instant of private rapture. The happiest moment of their lives.
Neither had any idea this would be her last night on earth.
NOW
Every night he has the same dream, and each time it sounds like a symphony. The squeal of three tires trying in vain to find purchase on slick asphalt emits a wail evocative of brass horns. The limousine’s metallic hide scraping along the guardrail of Stockholm’s Centralbron overpass makes for a perverse violin. Each ka-thunk, ka-thunk, ka-thunk of the punctured tire—as regular as a heartbeat—is a powerful strike against a timpani’s head. The chorus of honking cars as the limo leaps from the overpass rivals any horn section. All these instruments conspire in unison to craft a stomach-churning composition.
