Doctor Harvey frowned and snorted. "Get out," he said. "You are a bastard."
Now, Bruce sits at the Seattle station most of the time, and he recreates that scene in his mind. Since then, Dr. Harvey has never spoken to him again. That was eight months ago.
To Bruce, Dr. Harvey is like a father-even more important than his father. Bruce can talk to Dr. Harvey about great ideas, and his real father is only interested in talking about the weather, sports, and what he happened to capture or kill on his last fishing or hunting trip.
For every success in the young Bruce Deman’s life, Dr. Harvey was there, cheering for him, guiding him, challenging him, and cultivating all aspects of Bruce’s complex intellectual life that his parents could not understand.
When Bruce's parents died in a car accident when he was twelve years old, it was Dr. Harvey who held him while he was crying and told him that he didn't need to be a real man, he could cry as much as he wanted. It was Dr. Harvey, who took care of his parents' small possessions, packed Bruce's personal belongings, and carefully boxed his parents' memories so that Bruce could own them when he grew up. It was Dr. Harvey who invited Bruce Deman, who had lost his parents, to the house and treated him as his own son.
Bruce still remembers the nights that Dr. Harvey spent in front of the fireplace. They were talking about theoretical physics, advanced mathematics, and the marshmallow-like possibilities of delicious time travel in Dr. Harvey's study. These are the best memories of Bruce's childhood. warmth. Safety.
Mrs. Harvey would put hot chocolate on a tray for them, and when Dr. Harvey and Dr. Bruce got excited about something she didn't want to know, she would giggle.
Both Dr. Harvey and his wife have no children of their own. It took Bruce six years to get an undergraduate degree and complete medical school. All three of them are in the university where Dr. Harvey teaches.
When Bruce moved out to continue his research in neuroscience at the age of eighteen, Mrs. Harvey cried and hugged him. He is her son, and no one can tell her what is different. Indeed, she did not give birth to him, but he is her son after all.
In the past few weeks, Bruce called several times to apologize to Dr. Harvey and let him know that he is grateful for what he has done for him. He owed Dr. Harvey too much.
Dr. Harvey didn't answer a call. not even one.
Bruce even wrote a letter. no respond.
This kind of crack feels permanent, and Bruce feels terrible. He is a bastard. He admitted. A fool who wants an apology and atonement, but still a fool.
There was a car accident on the highway. Traffic jam. Bruce arrived at the laboratory later than he planned.
When he walked into his small office, Carl was waiting for him. Pace back and forth. Destroyed myself.
"We need to talk," Carl said. His face was distorted with guilt. Bruce knew what would happen next.
"It's not easy to say," Karl said. "Fini gave me a position. This is a surprising proposal. This work will be fascinating and important. I can run my own laboratory."
Bruce sat in the chair very calmly.
"Will you accept it?" Bruce asked.
Carl hesitated.
"For many years, we have worked on this project together. You and me, Carl. The money will come. Don't worry."
"It's not a question of money," Carl said.
"what is that?"
"The project they want me to participate in is great. It is pioneering. Authoritative.
"Our work is amazing, pioneering and prestigious," Bruce said.
Carl opened his mouth, closed it, and opened it again.
"You look like a fish, Carl. Say it. I won't let you go. You have to speak in front of me."
Carl stood straighter and turned to face Bruce, looking into his eyes.
"I want to take it away," he said.
Bruce snorted. "You are going to give up our job. Just like that."
"This is not my job," Carl said. "This is your job."
"No, Carl, you were wrong. It was ours. Do you know how many projects I rejected? How many job opportunities are available in the management laboratory? All important jobs. The kind of laboratory where money is poured into like water. You know How many?"
"No," Carl said.
"A lot. I rejected every one of them, and now you jump at every opportunity, chasing the first pair of long legs and big tits."
"This is not the first time," Carl's feelings were hurt.
"I believe in our work. I believe in everything we do. This is what will change the world."
"I think that's it," Carl said. "I don't believe it anymore."
"Get out," Bruce said. "Everything is left. Your laptop and your notes are the property of the laboratory. I will not let you spoil my research. Take your body and clothes and leave immediately. You just have to take a piece of paper, I will sue you."
"I would never do that," Carl said.
"Very good. If you do this, I will ruin you."
"It doesn't have to be this way," Carl said. "I thought we were friends."
"Imagine my disappointment. I think so too." Bruce said.
"Okay," Carl said. He turned out the pockets of his khaki pants. They are empty.
"Seeing nothing," he said.
Carl put the pen in his shirt pocket on Bruce's desk.
"This is the property of the laboratory," Carl said.
Carl turned around, his empty pockets still hanging from his pants, and left without saying a word.
A few minutes passed, and Bruce sat at the desk, leaning back on the chair, eyes closed and clenching his hands.
"Damn it!" he growled, stood up, and kicked the chair against the wall. He picked up the pen that Carl had placed on the table carefully, threw it as far as possible, threw it out of the office door, and walked through the laboratory. He grabbed his jacket and rushed out of the office and into the laboratory. His laboratory. It is no longer our laboratory.
"I'm sorry," a woman said. She is standing at the main entrance of the laboratory. She is petite and beautiful, with fair and shiny skin, her hair curled in curls, and her black hair is shiny.
Bruce turned to her, his body and face stiff, full of anger, "Don't solicit guests. This is the office."
"I'm not here to sell you anything," she said, as all salesmen said.
Last year, the only people who came to the laboratory were volunteers, Carl or Bruce, or lawyers. 100% of the lawyers said exactly the same thing-I didn’t want to sell you anything, and usually went on to say that I just want people to know the ABC. Products can be made XYZ, don't you want to hear more information about products that can be made XYZ
Bruce was never interested in hearing more about XYZ. will never.
He doesn't need XYZ. He needs a better building, a building with a main entrance and a security guard, a locked or keyed entrance, whatever, so that the person selling XX products can be blocked from the door.
This saleswoman is very beautiful. Very. They always send beautiful people, don't they? Bruce disagrees.
"I'm here for a business opportunity, I think you might be interested."
"This is not the time," Bruce said.
"When is a good time?" she asked.
"Never," Bruce said.
"Can I at least keep a business card?" she asked. She moved her feet back and forth, obviously uncomfortable. She had to forget how angry she was not seeing Bruce, she didn't know it. She held up a business card.
"Please do it yourself," Bruce said. "I will read it carefully like you read my no-claim sign."
She hesitated. Instead of passing through the room and handing the business card to Bruce, she put her business card on the small table at the door, next to today's letter and a brown paper package left by a deliveryman.
"I was ordered to tell you that this is the opportunity you have been waiting for," she said.
"I believe so. Aren't they all like this?" Bruce said.
She nodded and smiled, pretending that his comments were sincere.
After the salesperson left, Bruce walked for a long time in the empty laboratory, like a lion on display in a zoo. He was very angry. This was an anger he had never had in his life. He would never get the time and strength he invested in Karl. Their common vision? died. Who does Carl think he is? More importantly, without Bruce Deman's shoulders, who did Carl think he would be
He gave up doing anything that day. He locked the door of the laboratory and left a sign on the door to inform the volunteers that the meeting was cancelled. He rested in the afternoon, which was the first afternoon in two years. He walked into the noon sun. It is not particularly warm here, but bright and cheerful.
After driving for a while, Bruce decided to surprise Sara and take her out for lunch. He must be in a hurry, but he should be able to get to Dr. Chen's office around one in the afternoon, which is usually when Sarah has lunch. Bruce knew this because Sarah would text him every day: I love you, baby. She usually describes in detail what she ate for lunch.
Bruce is not the kind of person who cares about what other people eat for lunch. Not only does he not care, but he gets angry when he thinks that someone might think he cares.
He seldom eats lunch himself. He usually runs or exercises in the gym on the corner of the street. He prefers to drink protein on the way back to the laboratory. Food is fuel. That's it.
However, when he was with Sarah, he found that he cared about her very much. He was expecting her to describe in detail the healthy food she decided to eat that day, whether it was lentils, sweet corn and green beans, or hummus, carrots, and celery. Or cranberry rolls-no matter what it is, no matter what it is, he cares. With Sarah, he never cared. Every day, he looks forward to the text at lunch time. (To be continued) (End of this chapter)