The Nuclear Catastrophe (a fiction novel of survival) (47 page)

The two women paused, and in that moment Sara was aware that she was being scrutinized by every person present. For one frightful second she was convinced that it was a ghoulish interest maintained by the others that caused them to stare at the wife of the dead Ben Harrington. Then she looked closer at their faces and realized that she had been wrong. The men plainly appreciated her beauty, and the women, well, at least they were aware of her.

Her black chiffon dress was floor length with full sleeves that tightly gripped her thin wrists. It fit loosely about the body, successfully hiding the small bulge that was forming in her abdomen. Devoid of jewelry, the dress was a striking contrast against the pale skin and the platinum blond hair. Huge, oval brown eyes, shadowed by many sleepless hours over the long nights, lent an ethereal loveliness to the woman.

The Senator
’
s wife accompanied Sara as she introduced her to the guests. Congeniality was the theme of the evening as each person made a special effort to meet the heroic survivors of the infamous White Water catastrophe.

Cecil had arrived with Althea. In the three days that they had been in the nation
’
s capitol, the chemist and school teacher had become steady companions. While Althea spent the morning with Senator McCauley, Cecil sat waiting patiently in the rental car for her return. They saw the sights together, and dined quietly in out- of-the-way restaurants. He had become adept at whipping out the wheel chair and helping her slide into it for strolls through historic sites. Inexplicably, he had become very attentive, very protective of her welfare. She, in turn, willingly allowed him to care for her so that their relationship was becoming a symbiotic one for their mutual benefit. His gain was in having, for the first time ever, the knowledge that a woman not only needed him, but relied on him. Hers was in being cared for.

They had been deftly separated by a matron of good intentions. While Althea was being regaled with mundane conversation about the
‘
better universities,
’
Cecil stood with a martini in his hand, talking with Senator Tanaka, but keeping Althea in constant view.

The junior senator from California remarked,
“
As a chemist, Mr. Yeager, you must have some concrete opinions as to how this business of nuclear energy can be resolved.
”

Cecil watched Althea take a proffered drink before replying to the others' comment.
“
Not really, Senator. Right now my chief concern is getting my life back together again.
”

“
Sure. I understand that. Very well, in fact. You see, although I
’
m an American-born Japanese, relatives on my father
’
s side were in Nagasaki in 1945. After the big bomb ended the war, Father began trying to get them into this country. For years his hands were tied, but finally he did manage to bring his brother over. My grandparents were killed during the A-bomb blast on Nagasaki, Mr. Yeager.
”

Cecil was only partially listening, he realized. Finally he turned his attention fully to the speaker.
“
What were you saying, Senator?
”
he asked.
“
Something about Nagasaki?
”

“
That life goes on,
”
answered Tanaka thinly.
“
That was all.
”
Looking at the yellow skin, the oriental expression, Cecil was annoyed at himself for having wanted to elude the conversation. Besides, when would he ever meet so many influential men again, all in one room? Taking a sip of the drink, he said,
“
There was a time, just a couple years ago, Mr. Tanaka, when it was blasphemous to even question the civil use of nuclear power. The proof of that is in the billions of dollars poured into nuclear research while solar, geothermal and other power sources are given sums that are embarrassingly small in comparison.
”

“
Ah ha, you do have ideas,
”
said the Senator.
“
I couldn
’
t imagine that anyone could go through what you people did without coming out with strong opinions on nuclear energy.
”

“
Oh yes,
”
said Cecil.
“
I have ideas, hundreds of them.
”
He paused thoughtfully.
“
But does it really do any good, Senator; does it really forward any cause by my standing here telling you what I think about nuclear power?
”

Tanaka seemed perplexed.
“
I beg your pardon....I don
’
t seem to follow you, Mr. Yeager.
”

For a split second Cecil sensed that he was bordering on hostility toward the politician. Why Tanaka, a man he
’
d never met before and would doubtlessly not see again?
“
Wouldn
’
t you agree, Senator, that we had been amply warned about nuclear energy, that as a nation—public and politicians alike—we should have expected that somewhere, nuclear power would turn against us?
”

The Senator replied slowly, nodding.
“
Yes....I  see.
”

At that moment announcement was made that dinner was to be served. Cecil suspected Tanaka was eager to end their exchange. The man quickly excused himself to join his wife in the dining room.

Cecil was disappointed to discover that his seat was not next to Althea
’
s. He glanced down the table at her, and smiled reassuringly as a gentleman slipped the chair in under her.

“
How do you do, Mr. Waring,
”
said a high, nervously feminine voice.
“
We didn
’
t meet earlier. I
’
m Mrs. Algernon Jackson, Senator Jackson
’
s wife.
”

He accepted her introduction with a trace of amusement.
“
How do you do. I
’
m not Mr. Waring, Mrs. Jackson. I
’
m Cecil Yeager,
”
he said to the slight, fragile-appearing woman.

“
Huh? My goodness, I could have sworn you were pointed out to me as Mr. Waring.
”
As though to reassure herself that he told the truth, she leaned over to see his place card.
“
Well, my goodness. How could I have made a mistake like that?
”

He smiled at her half-heartedly as he held her chair.
“
People are always getting me mixed up with someone else.
”
That was the truth. He had always been a shy, nondescript person who was never remembered by name, but other than being a giddy young wife, there didn
’
t seem to be much about Mrs. Jackson that would be memorable, either.

“
You must tell me all about your experience, Mr. Yeager. It must have been terribly interesting,
”
she said absently.

“
I....we..., there isn
’
t much....
”

She leaned beyond him and talked with animation to the lady on his left, her fluttering hands accenting her remarks.

Near the head of the long table sat Sara Harrington next to Senator Tanaka. Anne McCauley had evidently given some thought to the placement of her guests.  In Cecil
’
s case the order was less to his liking than he had wished.

“
Now what were you saying Mr., uh... .Yeager?
”
asked Mrs. Jackson.
“
My husband made me promise not to monopolize the conversation, but gracious, every time I meet new people I just can
’
t hush until I find out everything about them. We have only been here over a year, you know. Before that, Mr. Jackson was very big in our home state, and we were always, always having to entertain. Why, you were one of the men who discovered that the entire Russian exhibition of paintings was stolen. How exciting that must have been for you, Mr. Yeager.
”

He wondered how he could respond to a comment like that.
“
Exciting, Mrs. Jackson? Actually, I considered the discovery to have been rather sobering. After all....
”

“
Oh yes, yes. My husband says the Russians are in a positive dither about it. They seem to think we staged the whole thing just to steal their valuable works of art—which is sooo silly. As I told Algernon, if we Americans had wanted any paintings, we could have bought our own. We have far more money than the Russians, anyway.
”

To Cecil
’
s immense relief, the soup was served. His appetite was suddenly ravenous as he bent forward, enjoying the broth.

Mrs. Jackson dipped her spoon in and out of the bowl, swishing the greenish liquid around, but never pausing in her monologue.
“
You just won
’
t believe the problems of living in Washington.
”

Cecil now understood why she was such a frail, delicate-looking woman. She never ate.

“
We have had the most difficulty in finding a good school,
”
she continued.
“
Private, of course. We wouldn
’
t consider sending our children to public school. I always attended a private school, as did my husband, Senator Jackson. Algernon told me that if we couldn
’
t find an acceptable institution, we
’
d just have to send the children to English boarding schools. They
’
re very posh, you know, very posh.
”

The soup dishes were removed and huge platters of baked salmon were brought in.

“
As I was saying,
”
continued Mrs. Jackson,
“
there is nothing....
”

Cecil shut her out.

Paula Waring was far removed from Frank, to his irritation. They had arrived at the dinner together, having spent very little time with each other over the past three days, and now, this evening, she seemed to be avoiding him completely. He grew sullen as he watched her with the other guests. She was excited by the affair, and at times almost flirtatious—to his great annoyance. How could she do this, when there was so much left unsaid between them?

Across from Frank, near the host, sat the regal Sara Harrington.

“
Is it true, Mrs. Harrington,
”
asked the member of the House of Representatives who sat on Sara
’
s left,
“
what they say about convertibles?
”

“
I beg your pardon?
”
she replied,
“
I
’
m afraid I didn
’
t catch your question.
”
She wondered briefly if she
’
d lost the art of chitchat.

“
That the natives don
’
t drive convertibles in southern California,
”
said the man bending nearer to her.

She smiled pleasantly at him. His comment was a mark of the guests
’
attitudes toward her—stick to inane comments, don
’
t refer to unpleasantness.
“
As a matter of fact,
”
she answered,
“
my husband and I moved there with the idea of taking long drives in the evening with the top of our convertible down. When we arrived, we quickly learned that virtually no one drives such cars.
”

“
Why is that?
”
he asked with seriousness.
“
The terrible smog?
”

“
Oh, our smog is really not as bad as New York City
’
s,
”
said Sara. Then she continued disinterestedly,
“
Southern California was originally desert and it gets very cool in the evenings. Other than that I don
’
t suppose I
’
ve ever given any thought as to why convertibles aren
’
t popular cars in California.
”
She smiled again at him.
“
But they aren
’
t.
”

The food was excellent and the dinner was progressing nicely. Sara was surprised that she could be briefly lured away from morbid thoughts and caught up in some rather satisfying exchanges with a few of the guests.