American library books ยป Other ยป Half Life by Jillian Cantor (easy to read books for adults list txt) ๐Ÿ“•

Read book online ยซHalf Life by Jillian Cantor (easy to read books for adults list txt) ๐Ÿ“•ยป.   Author   -   Jillian Cantor



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England, traveling as Madame Sklodowska.

I read the latest journals in bed, and so much work is being done in radium without me. I feel jealous of all the work carrying on in my absence. I must get better, so I can contribute to it again. There is so much more to be done, and there is ongoing construction in Paris on a new, wonderful lab that will be mine if I can get well enough to work there.

And then I wonder if death, like anything else, is a choice, and if maybe I am not ready to choose it yet.

IN THE SUMMER OF 1914, I AM WELL ENOUGH FINALLY TO RETURN to Paris on a ticket in my own name. The press have, at long last, forgotten about me, and there is no fanfare, no one waiting for me at the station upon my return. All the papers are reporting about the recent assassination of the heir to the Austrian throne and speculation of a war. Who has time to worry about one woman scientist in Paris now?

It is a relief to walk through the streets of Paris, of my own volition, unwatched and unnoticed, and free of the pain and the press that have haunted me for so very long.

รˆve and Irรจne are already in Lโ€™Arcouรซst with the Perrins for the summerโ€”I will join them in a few weeks after I get my affairs back in order in Paris. My house is empty, dark, and dusty, quiet. When I step inside it again, I feel like a stranger in my own home.

Even the yellow flowers that are blooming in a pot out front are unfamiliar to me, planted here by someone else, in my absence.

Work on my new lab is almost completed: Institut du Radium. Now it stands, a large three-story brick building on rue Pierre Curieโ€”we could fit ten of our sheds where we first discovered radium inside. And it is only a few streets away. So close. So far.

I go there straightaway after dropping my things at home, and I stand out front, taking in its near completion, its three stories of grandeur and splendor. I am hit with a sudden sense of overwhelm.

Oh, Pierre. If you could see what they have built for us.

I am very much alive, and there is more work to be done here, so much more to be done.

A FEW DAYS AFTER MY RETURN TO PARIS, JEAN PERRIN writes me from Lโ€™Arcouรซst. รˆve has made new friends and loves to play all day, and Irรจne studies and continues to work on her maths. I have not seen the children in many months. But they are well and happy, and they want for nothing.

And I thought you should know, Jean writes at the very end of his letter, a postscript, Jeanne and Paul have reconciled now.

Reconciled?

Once that word might have hurt me, but I am surprised I do not feel anything when I read it. Everything I had with Paul is far away and feels unimportant after I have struggled so long to regain my health. I want Paul to be happy, and I do not believe he will ever be happy with Jeanne. But their marriage feels out of my reach. I no longer desire a life with him. I simply want a life of my own. I want to work and I want to learn and I want to run my new Institut and make more advancements in the field of radium.

Or perhaps I am just like Pavlovโ€™s dog. And now at the ripe age of forty-six, nearly forty-seven, finally, finally I am learning. Every man I have ever loved has brought me pain in the end. What is the point of loving another man, of longing again for that kind of relationship in my life?

I have a tenuous grasp on my health. I have my mind and my work.

Good for Paul and Jeanne, I write back to Jean Perrin. But it is no longer any of my concern. I have more important things to worry about.

I DO HAVE MORE IMPORTANT THINGS TO WORRY ABOUT. FOR one thing, I cannot make it to Lโ€™Arcouรซst the following week as Iโ€™ve planned, because France begins mobilizing troops, trains suddenly stop carrying civilians. A war really is building, and not just in Austria-Hungary, but in France, too. Within a week, all the men of age are conscripted, including my nephew, my former lab assistant, Maurice. Jacques writes from Montpellier with the news, and now it is my turn to reassure him.

Maurice is very smart, very quick on his feet, I write, he will be just fine. But my worry for him brings a new ache in my chest. Maurice is a scientist, not a soldier.

I walk to the post to mail my letter, and planes buzz overhead. Suddenly the ground shakes beneath my feet. There is a rumble, an explosion. I run into an alleyway, and when I peek out again, my ears are ringing, my hands shaking. In the distance, there is the rise of smoke plumes, the sounds of screams.

A German bomb has already fallen in Paris, on rue des Rรฉcollets, not even six kilometers away from my new lab.

A SINGLE GRAM OF RADIUM SITS INSIDE MY NEW LAB, DESIGNATED for research purposes. It is the only bit of radium in all of France, and irreplaceable, as we have neither the money nor the resources to obtain more.

After the first bomb, there are two more in quick succession. Irรจne writes me, begging me to find a way to Lโ€™Arcouรซst, as she is worried for my safety in Paris. But I write her that I am fine, and I feel this strange safety in the fact that I have already touched death these past years and come through it, made it to the other side. It is the radium I worry for now, I write Irรจne. Not myself.

Perhaps in another life, one where my gentle and persuasive Pierre were still alive, I would

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