Richard Greene admired the view of Johannesburg from the 8,000 square feet Cupola Suite of the Michelangelo Towers, 400 feet above the skyline. Steven Hoskins, his assistant, was busy filtering the phone calls from South African media. A last minute indiscretion by Dr. Pieter Coetzee to the press had revealed their whereabouts in Johannesburg and the phone in their hotel suite had been ringing off the hook since 7:00 a.m. this morning.
– “No, you’re wrong sir. Prof. Greene has no prejudices against blacks. The article you mentioned is taken out of context—Yes, he’d said that but that doesn’t mean—No, Prof. Greene thinks that black people are as smart as white people—What? Look, if you printed that, we will sue you for libel and diffamation of character, you can count on that. Have a nice day, sir.”
Hoskins slammed down the phone. “Damn, those journalists.” He turned to Greene who was still admiring the view.
– “Every time we’re somewhere in Africa, that damn article resurfaced.” said Hoskins in a defeated voice.
Greene turned around, insensitive to his assistant’s woes. “Relax, Steven. All I did in that article was stating a fact, that there had never been a black physicist Nobel laureate. What’s so wrong about that? I just don’t see it. Anyway, have you sent out the invitation to Miss de Vries for tonight?”
– “I did. By courier. She should be receiving it in less than an hour. She lives in Elizabethtown.”
– “And?”
– “And she knows. Coetzee talked to her himself.”
– “Good. Who else’s on the list?”
Hoskins looked at his laptop. “Let’s see, Coetzee and his top two physicists, Gert Botha, a particle physicist and Jan Kruger, a string theorist, both of them in awe of you not counting Coetzee himself I might say and—uh—you’re not gonna believe this, but Trevor Plato himself had done everything he could to get invited.”
– “Ah, the famous South African professor of mathematics anti string theory.” said Greene with a hint of sarcasm.
– “Professor? Pleeeaaaa—se. He has only a Ph.D. in Physics from Stellenbosch and was a nontenured math instructor somewhere in Cape Town. Talking about low-status post in the physics community; it’s not that he’s at the bottom of the ladder, he isn’t even on it. He had been selected to lead the Physics Department at the University of Pretoria only because he was a member of the African National Congress, the black majority ruling-party. ”
– “And what book had he written already?”
Hoskins knew that Greene, like other world-renowned physicists, had read Plato’s book but would never admit it publicly.
– “Strings: The theory of nothing.”
– “Ah, right. I’ve heard it was some kind of bestseller, wasn’t it?”
– “It sold by millions.”
– “By millions, really? Who read them?”
– “The usual crackpots’ believers, the readers of pseudo-science books. The same people who bought McCutcheon’s book, The Final Theory.”
Greene looked genuinely surprised. “Who’s he?”
Hoskins laughed, “No, no, Richard. I won’t go there. It’s beneath my dignity to talk about McCutcheon’s book.”
– “About this Trevor Plato, what did you do?”
– “I had to call the South African Minister of Sciences to explain to him that it would not be a good idea to invite him not because their Trevor Plato is black but because of his anti string theory stance. Everything here is about race, I swear.”
Greene walked to the bar and poured himself a drink. “Talking about string theory, what about Charlize? Which side is she on?”
– “None. She’s mostly into the interpretations of quantum mechanics.”
Greene raised his glass. “Perfect.”
