I promised; and then I suggested telephoning for a doctor to look after him.
“Not just now, Jack—I’m tired. I don’t want to be bothered answering questions. I’m very tired.... And I’ve finished my work at last. We’ve pulled through. I can take a rest.... Wake me in a quarter of an hour, will you? I want a sleep badly.”
He leaned forward in his chair and rested his face on his arms. In a moment he seemed to fall into slumber. I thought it was probably the best thing for him at the time; and I turned to the fire and to my thoughts.
I fell to thinking of all that had happened since first I met him; and then I cast further back yet to the evening I had spent at Wotherspoon’s house. How the disaster had developed step by step, spreading its effects gradually and with slowly-increasing intensity over wider and ever-wider areas. If only Wotherspoon had stuck to chemistry and left bacteriology alone; if only he had chosen some other organisms than the denitrifying bacteria; if only the fire-ball had not come that night; if ... if ... if.... All the Might-have-beens rose before me as I gazed at the flickerings in the fire. If only Elsa had followed reason and not emotion ... if only.... And so the maddening train of thought went on, minute by minute, while in the next room I could hear the click of her typewriter. Emotion! After all I could not pretend to scorn it, for what were my own feelings but emotion too?
The clock in the tower above me struck a quarter. Nordenholt did not stir and I let him sleep on. It appeared to me that rest was what he needed most.
It seemed curious how divorced I had become from the Past. The old life had been swept away utterly and I found difficulty in recalling much of it to mind. The meeting with Nordenholt, the founding of the Area, my time with Elsa, London in its last days, the Reverend John: these were the things which seemed burned into my memory. All that had gone before was mirage, faint, unsubstantial, part of another existence. Even our Fata Morgana was more real to me than that old life.
And with that I fell back into deeper gloom. I have not tried to paint myself other than I am. I had never reached the height of pure endeavour to which Nordenholt had attained, though sometimes, under his influence, I came near it. And now, at the recollection of our dream-city, I felt a keen pang. Why should I attempt to raise that fabric to the skies, why should I wear myself out in toiling to erect these halls and palaces through which I must wander alone? Why, indeed? What was the population of the Area to me, after all? But even amid my most bitter reflections I knew that I would do my best. Nordenholt had trusted me.
A fresh chime from the great bell overhead roused me from my musings. I went across to Nordenholt, not knowing whether to wake him or not. When I reached his side, something in his attitude struck me. I touched his hand and found it cold.
For a moment, I think I failed to recognise what had happened. Then I shook him gently; and the truth broke upon my mind. That great engine which had wrought so hard and so long would never move again. The brain which had guided the fortunes of the Area up to the last moment had sunk to its eternal rest.
It was some minutes before I was able to pull myself together after the discovery. When I got my feelings under control, I was still badly shaken; for otherwise I would never have done what I did do. I went straight to the door and called Elsa. She was sitting at her desk and she looked up at my voice.