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In the still and quiet Berkely morning, Oppenheimer walked through the empty, tree-lined avenue to head to the classroom early. Reaching his destination, he sat down in his chair in a careless motion, lounging while lighting a pipe to smoke and think. Someone pushed open the door and entered. Lazily, with his gaze never rising, Oppenheimer called out, "Lomanitz? You’re too early, it's not time for class yet."
A tall, broad figure approached, and Oppenheimer finally looked his way. Surprise crossed Oppenheimer's face. With a slight smile he breathed out, "Lawrence." Ernest Lawrence, his friend and fellow physicist, handed him a container. "I brought you breakfast." Oppenheimer tilted his head slightly in response, "I already had breakfast."
Lawrence's sharp eyes were fixed on him through his lenses, "No, you haven’t. You were hosting that party until late at night yesterday, with a group of Communists so drunk that all they wanted to have were martinis. Eat some, I made the sandwiches myself." Lawrence's height advantage was quite annoying, Oppenheimer thought to himself, feeling a bit like a young child being scolded as he looked up at Lawrence. He was a full head shorter. He opened the cardboard container, and, prying the bread open, saw the ham, tomatoes, and cucumbers inside, and finally took a resigned bite, "You always say people are watching, but I don't think anyone pays more attention to me than you."
Is that so wrong? Lawrence suppressed the irritation that came with the thought. J. Robert Oppenheimer is just this kind of person, provoking everyone indiscriminately, even his friends. Lawrence tapped Oppenheimer’s waist. Oppenheimer frowned but did not move. "What? Is there a stain there?" He really is a shameless womanizer who takes great pain to look good, Lawrence thought with some amusement. "When you first came to Berkeley, this custom-made suit fit your body perfectly, Robert. But now you're getting thinner and thinner." Oppenheimer reluctantly finished his sandwich. "Lawrence, if you don’t go now, Lomanitz will be scared to death once he walks in." Lawrence belatedly realized that this was too intimate, and Oppenheimer kicked him out with a chide of, “I have a class to teach soon.”
That night, there was a bonfire party hosted by the faculty of the Berkeley Physics Department. There was no special meaning or reason for it, everyone was just looking for an opportunity to have a barbecue and drink beer. Oppie didn't come. Lawrence smiled and chatted with people, but couldn't help feeling restless. Why is Oppie always like this? You’re so close with those dangerous and radical communists, but you can’t be bothered to associate with your own colleagues? Lawrence barely held back on leaving the party early and finally, after the party drew to a close, went straight to Oppenheimer's house. He had the key, which Oppie had given him out of the blue one day, and when Lawrence asked why, Oppenheimer simply replied, "Just in case there’s an emergency.”
The living room was dark, quiet, and almost empty. Lawrence fumbled to turn on the lights, walking through the living room, past the kitchen and bathroom, and finally reached Oppenheimer’s bedroom on the second floor. The window was blown open by the wind, and the heavy rain poured down, soaking the windowsill. Lawrence stepped closer to close the window. Only then did Lawrence see Oppenheimer, laying on the bed breathing shallowly, his gaze distant. "Oppie! Why didn’t you say anything?" Oppenheimer stared blankly away, eyes glazed over and looking faintly miserable. Lawrence hurriedly walked towards him, "Oppie? Do you need medical attention? Can you hear me?" Oppenheimer finally looked over to him, in a movement that seemed costly, and suddenly, steady tears began falling. Lawrence sat on the edge of the bed and embraced him, not knowing what to do in the face of his tears.
Oppenheimer seemed to regain control of his body with great effort. He took the initiative to hug Lawrence in return. "It was a problem that began in middle school. Sometimes I would have an emotional breakdown for no reason. No need to call for anyone." Lawrence was torn between happiness and worry. "Is there anything I can do for you?" Oppenheimer smiled slightly, "Let me hold you for a little while. Ernest, it’s so comfortable to rest on you." That thin, frail looking body slowly sat up and leaned into Lawrence's arms.
Lawrence had never felt his heart beat so hard. He had always been broader than others, and Oppie felt so short in comparison. When Oppenheimer softened his sharp edges and leaned against him like a wounded animal, the smell of high-end cologne lingering faintly, Lawrence felt a sick desire. He wanted to nip at his ear, sneak his hands under that thin shirt, and even pry him open, so that Lawrence could become even closer to him, as close as possible. Instead, he just held Oppie in his arms and rubbed his back like he was a child, until Oppenheimer fell asleep.
Lawrence held him all night, until daybreak.
Lawrence and Oppenheimer were both renowned figures at Berkley and were known to be very close. Their friendship was the talk of many professors and students, because those two physicists were opposites in almost every way.
Lawrence got along well with everyone, with a smile that reached his eyes, and the physique of a football player. Privately, Lawrence was a hard-working laboratory geek.
As for Oppenheimer, he was elegant and flamboyant, and often criticized his colleagues’ mistakes relentlessly when it came to physics. But his brilliance couldn't be denied. After all, he brought the theory of quantum physics to America. Oppenheimer was truly an erudite man, proficient in many languages. He could paint and write poetry with great skill. He was like a butterfly who flitted from subject to subject, mastering it all with ease. The complete opposite of Lawrence who delved deeply into the subject of his passions and stayed relentlessly fixated on it. Oppenheimer was also very attractive to women. He was waif thin and hardly ate. His body seemed to run on martinis, cigarettes and endless dogged resolve.
Oppie and his brother invite Lawrence to vacation at their ranch in New Mexico. They slept in tents for a few nights along the way, but Lawrence had never met people with worse hand eye coordination and dexterity than those two brothers. While setting up the tent, having long since taken up the task so that he didn't have to wait half an hour for the tent to be propped up, he asked, "Frank, do you work on the ranch?" Frank patted his outdoorsy clothes with pride and replied, "Nope. I work, and come back to the ranch for fun. Robert usually paints oil paintings in the barn and flirts with the owner’s wife. I like to go horseback riding." Suddenly it felt a little harder to breathe for Lawrence. He had long since heard rumors that Oppie liked to have affairs with married women. He usually doesn't get involved in that kind of thing, but for some reason, he felt an indescribable anger swelling up at the thought.
Robert and Frank both happily accepted the fruits of his labor and entered the tent together. Lawrence stood outside and looked up at the stars, silently calming down. At night in the wilderness, there were persistent winds, blowing sand and dust violently, and the vast and bright stars overlooking it all. When you breathed with the land, it felt like all your worries were being blown away by the wind. Oppenheimer came out, his face illuminated by the bonfire, and Lawrence immediately noticed his dark expression. "What's wrong? Is Frank alright?" Oppenheimer shrugged, "He's fine. It’s unlucky that he has such a terrible brother." Oppie noticed Lawrence’s awe in the face of the stars, and began to tell him about various constellations for a while, and then suddenly changed the subject. "Are you curious why I invited you? I insisted that you come because the ranch is important to me. The beautiful countryside, the prayers of the Indians, the organ that plays in the church, and the local beer in the tavern. These things comforted me during the most difficult period of my life, I think. I hoped you could be comforted by them too."
Lawrence's eyes were shadowed by the reflection of his lenses, making it difficult to see his expression clearly. Oppenheimer reminded him of the cat he had when he was a child. When it was first taken from its mother, the kitten was extremely ferocious and unfriendly. But after he nursed it with goat milk and fed it tuna, it became a stubborn tail that followed after him and tried to get close to him at every opportunity. That cat would clumsily hunt birds and snakes and offer them to Lawrence. "Oppie, the ranch in New Mexico must be beautiful, but it’s too far away from school. Whenever you need it, Frank and I will always be by your side too." Oppenheimer, who was so arrogant and cold to strangers, looked away with a bashful embarrassment. His bright, stormy blue eyes were shining in the firelight, like brilliant gems. "Thank you, Ernest, I really am grateful for you. More than you think." Lawrence glanced at him from the corner of his eyes, fixated at Oppie's long eyelashes. Bad kitty. Oppenheimer raised an eyebrow, "What?" Lawrence huffed with amusement, realizing he said that out loud. “Nothing.”
The trip to the ranch turned out to be a little more complicated than Lawrence expected. The original owners of the ranch, Mary and Peter, did work on it occasionally. Mary bumped Oppie's arm enthusiastically in greeting and winked at him. Oppenheimer smiled sensibly and cautiously in turn, and if Lawrence didn’t know him, he would have thought Oppenheimer was rather shy and withdrawn. But being close friends, he could tell they wanted to sleep together that night.
So he made up his mind to keep Oppenheimer from doing so. I’m keeping him from sleeping with a married woman, he rationalized to himself.
"Physics, physics, and more physics, my God, Ernest, this is not a study group in Berkeley! Can't we talk about something else?" Lawrence spread his hands in response, "It's so boring at night in the country, what would you rather talk about?" Oppenheimer was aware that his friend was not as knowledgeable in the humanities, so he usually didn't talk about Indian poetry, Arabic poets, or Plato with him. But he had been caught by Lawrence for five consecutive nights and trapped in long conversations about physics. As much as he enjoyed the subject, there was only so long you could go talking about the same thing before you grew bored. He was more eager to undress Mary, frankly. "I want to talk to you about the Bhagavad Gita, but you don't understand Sanskrit!" Lawrence actually laughed, "So what? Does Mary know Sanskrit? You were planning on meeting with her right?”
Oppenheimer felt complicated at that moment. He often blatantly did as he wished, regardless of what others might think, but most people turned a blind eye. Whether it was for his high position in academic circles or for his extraordinary talent, they tolerated his shameless behavior and looked away. Lawrence should be even more tolerant, because, because...he is a dear friend Oppenheimer felt personally close to. He could not admit out loud that he was afraid of losing Lawrence’s esteem.
Oppenheimer took a deep breath and waved his hands in a carefully dismissive gesture, "Does that make you angry?" Ernest Lawrence stared at him closely. What was he trying to say? What could he say in response?
He couldn’t say that he was jealous of any woman who had an affair with Oppenheimer, or that he wished he could sleep with him instead. But by announcing his disapproval, won't he just look like a stuck up Puritan getting into other people's business?
One wrong move and their friendship might be ruined.
Lawrence was quiet for a long time, and finally could only grasp Oppenheimer’s wrist and beg him, "Please, Oppie. Just say it's for me and don't go, okay?" Oppenheimer looked at him in surprise, "Of course I can stay for you, Ernest. She and I...only sleep together because it’s convenient. No matter how you slice it, it is not as important as friendship. Stop holding my hand, lie down, and we can interpret Sanskrit poems together." Lawrence tugged off his tie, took off his coat, and laid down in bed. The sound of Oppie reciting poetry slowly lulled him to sleep, with his last thought being, what should I do next time? I can’t possibly keep him from sleeping around. Oppie, why… can’t we understand each other?