Gases -- A Short Story

Prelude

1911

He stretched his limbs out languidly. The slight twang of his femur popping against his hip gave way to a pleasant glow. He had not had the chance to properly relax for several days. It was nice to be home and to sit in his favorite, if worn, chair. The fire crackled and warmed him gently though it was a fire autumn night.

His wife came into the living room carrying a silver tea tray. He watched her, his eyes half-closed with pleasure. Her pretty, slim form seemed to flutter as the flames leapt and danced in the grate at his side. As she deposited the tray on the low table before him, the man cleared his throat.  Her head snapped up, worry clouding her brown eyes.

"What is it?"

Still silent, the man waved his hand, gesturing for her to sit. Her eyes did not stray from his stern face as she sat, anxious, on the chair across from him. The man slowly stood and gazed down upon her. Her neck was at an uncomfortable angle, yet she did not look away. As if satisfied,  the man let a slight smirk slide across his features.

"Clara, I have received a letter."

She stared at him with bated breath, hoping for good news. The man's stern features suddenly cracked and a young boy's smile lit up his face.

"Oh, my dear!"

Clara launched her slim figure at her husband, delirious with joy. She just avoided overturning the tea in her excitement. Their laughter filled the small apartment as all of the worries they had repressed melted away.

A happy silence descended upon the grinning pair.

"Everything is going to be better now."

She nestled her head against the hollow of his shoulder, burning her smile into his suit's lapel. The man stroked Clara's dark, silky hair with trembling hands.

A sudden footfall drew the couple's attention to the doorway. Framed in the doorway was a boy with dark hair and bright eyes. He looked from one of the entwined adults to the other.

"Mama? Papa? Is something the matter?" His head tilted to one side.

Clara disengaged herself from the caresses of her husband and approached the young boy. She knelt so that their eyes met.

"Your papa has done a wonderful thing, Hermann." She reached out and stroked the boy's sleepy face. Clara smiled at her child.

"Your papa is going to save many lives. You see," She took Hermann's hand and stood, walking over to where her husband was watching. "he has created a way so that no boy or girl will ever be hungry again." Clara gazed at the man with adoring eyes.

The child looked at his father, eyes full of wonder. "Papa, is Mama telling the truth?"

The man chuckled, "She should know -- your Mama is the only reason the world will know about our discovery." He wrapped his arm tenderly around his wife. "How she managed to write that paper I'll never know; the data was a real mess, but she managed to process it."

She laughed and settled herself against her man, forgetting the presence of her child for just one moment. Shaking herself off, Clara suddenly crouched.

"You sneaky boy Hermann -- it is very late."

The boy shuffled his feet, "I know... I just wanted to see Papa before I went to sleep."

The man suddenly bent double, his face now centimeters from his son's. "Have you taken a good look?"

The little boy nodded, stifling a smile.

"Good. Now, off to bed." The man shooed Hermann back towards the door. "You have school tomorrow."

The boy walked back to the door. Just before crossing the threshold, he turned back. Seeing both of his parents' smiling faces, Hermann grinned back, and disappeared back into his room.

For a moment, the man and woman remained immobile, contemplating their child. Clara turned her head. Her face split into an impish grin when her husband's eyes met hers.

They took a few steps and sank into chairs, smiling at one another over the long-forgotten tea.

"So," Clara prompted, waiting expectantly for more details from her stoic husband.

"The Institute offered me the position of director as Engler is retiring from the position. It's going to publish the paper in the next edition of the chemical journal."

"That's fantastic!" Clara glowed. A sudden cloud of doubt seemed to pass over and she looked to her husband with anxious eyes.

Her husband caught the uncertain look in her eye.

"Clara," He reached across the low table and grasped her hand, "What are you worried about, my dear?"

"Well, I was wondering if it may be possible -- you are going to be the Director anyway -- for me to perhaps do some work in the laboratory?" She continued doggedly though she could feel her husband grow stiff. She risked looking at his immobile face, pleading. "It's maddening to stay here. I just wait on you and Hermann. Please dear. I cannot stay sane with my mind so idle."

"We have already spoken about this, Clara." Her husband removed his hands from her grasping ones. He stood to leave.

"You told your own son just now that my help was key in the publication of the paper. I helped you -- and always will. Please..."

"Absolutely not." The man raised his voice slightly. "Clara, you are my wife. I love you and I appreciate your mental gifts. However, a mother's role is in the home."

As he left the room, he sneered, "Besides, I didn't think that chromatography would peak your interest."

"But..."

"Understand this, Clara!" The man spun on his heel and roared at his wife. She was sitting completely immobile as if she was terrified that a single movement would further kindle his rage. "This paper is the result of my own work -- you are nothing more than an editor. The process is  my inception, not yours."

The man's rage ebbed away and his demeanour became cold. "You are my wife. And you will do well to remember that."

His receding footsteps echoed in the silent room where Clara still sat frozen, the cold tea at her elbow still waiting to be served.