The Innocent by Ian McEwan Read Free Book Online Page B

collapsing in one another’s arms. Beyond them was the packed dance floor. The woman sang “Night and Day,” “Anything Goes,” “Just One of Those Things,” and finally “Miss Otis Regrets.” Then everyone stood to cheer and stamp their feet and shout “Encore!”
    The band took a break, and Leonard bought another round of beers. Russell took a good look around and said he was toodrunk to pick up girls. They talked about Cole Porter and named their favorite songs. Russell said he knew someone whose father had been working at the hospital when they brought Porter in from his riding accident in ’37. For some reason the doctors and nurses had been asked not to talk to the press. This led to a conversation about secrecy. Russell said there was far too much of it in the world. He was laughing. He must have known something about Glass’s work.
    Glass was serious in a punchy way. His head lolled back and he sighted Russell along his beard. “You know what the best course I ever took at college was? Biology. We studied evolution. And I learned something important.” Now he included Leonard in his gaze. “It helped me choose my career. For thousands, no millions of years we had these huge brains, the neocortex, right? But we didn’t speak to each other, and we lived like fucking pigs. There was nothing. No language, no culture, nothing. And then, suddenly, wham! It was there. Suddenly it was something we had to have, and there was no turning back. So why did it suddenly happen?”
    Russell shrugged. “Hand of God?”
    “Hand of God my ass. I’ll tell you why. Back then we all used to hang out together all day long doing the same thing. We lived in packs. So there was no need for language. If there was a leopard coming, there was no point in saying, ‘Hey man, what’s coming down the track? A leopard!’ Everyone could see it, everyone was jumping up and down and screaming, trying to scare it off. But what happens when someone goes off on his own for a moment’s privacy? When he sees a leopard coming, he knows something the others don’t. And he knows they don’t know. He has something they don’t, he has a
secret
, and this is the beginning of his individuality, of his consciousness. If he wants to share his secret and run down the track to warn the other guys, then he’s going to need to invent language. From there grows the possibility of culture. Or he can hang back and hope the leopard will take out the leadership that’s been giving him a hard time. A secret plan, that means more individuation, more consciousness.”
    The band was starting to play a fast, loud number. Glass had to shout his conclusion, “Secrecy made us possible,” and Russell raised his beer to salute the theory.
    A waiter mistook the gesture and was at his elbow, so a fresh round was ordered, and as the mermaid shimmered to the front of the band and the cheers rang out there was a harsh rattling at their table as a canister shot down the tube and smacked against the brass fixture and lodged there. They stared at it, and no one moved.
    Then Glass picked it up and unscrewed the top. He took out a folded piece of paper and spread it out on the table. “My God,” he shouted. “Leonard, it’s for you.”
    For one confused moment he thought it might be from his mother. He was owed a letter from England. And it was late, he thought, he hadn’t said where he was going to be.
    The three of them were leaning over the note. Their heads were blocking out the light. Russell read it aloud.
“An den jungen Mann mit der Blume im Haar
. To the young man with the flower in his hair.
Mein Schöner
, I have been watching you from my table. I would like it if you came and asked me to dance. But if you can’t do this, I would be so happy if you would turn and smile in my direction. I am sorry to interfere. Yours, table number 89.”
    The Americans were on their feet casting around for the table, while Leonard remained seated with the paper in his