Chrissy Kolaya - Charmed Particles

Earlier that morning, as she dressed for the hearing, Abhijat had brought Sarala a letter. She sat down with it, on the edge of their bed, and he watched her as she read.

I think that I have been insensitive to your feelings , it began. She read on, Abhijat beside her on the bed, expectant, uncertain.

She looked for a moment at the letter in her hands when she finished. It was so like Abhijat — its language scientific, analytical. She remembered how appealing Abhijat’s logical, organized mind had felt to her when they’d first married — how reassuring. But now?

She took his hand in hers, finally. “It’s time for us to go,” she said.

Inside the lobby, the students of Nicolet Public High School, Lily and Meena among them, had gathered during the passing period to watch the protesters. Meena caught sight of her parents making their way through the crowd and joined them.

Lily watched the crowd for her mother, whom she found standing with a group of protestors, passing out campaign literature. They made eye contact for a brief moment before Lily looked away and made her way toward the auditorium, where she joined Meena, Abhijat, and Sarala, who sat next to Dr. Cardiff in a row of seats near the middle of the room.

The auditorium had neatly divided itself — supporters of the super collider on one side and protesters on the other, and, as though they were all guests at a wedding, each person who entered the auditorium looked up into the crowd on either side of the long entrance tunnel that split the seats into two sides and made a choice.

Up on the auditorium stage, which typically showcased awkward but earnest high school musicals, officials from the Department of Energy took their seats behind a long table looking out over the auditorium, their names on placards before them.

The organizers of the hearing had scheduled a three-hour period for public comment, but 1,500 people had shown up, nearly a hundred of whom had preregistered to comment, and the auditorium soon began to overflow, audience members sitting in the aisles and standing along the entrance tunnel, where they leaned against the gray concrete walls.

From his seat at the long table on stage, the moderator called the hearing to order, explaining the rules of conduct and pointing out the podium near the foot of the stage, from which each speaker would make his or her remarks.

Sarala noticed that its placement, whether by design or necessity, meant that the speakers would be looking up at the stage and at the officials behind their long table, like children looking up at an adult.

The moderator continued. “I have been retained by the Department of Energy for the purpose of facilitating today’s hearing. In this role, I am neither an advocate for nor against this proposed project.”

“Bullshit!” came a shout from the protestors’ side of the audience.

“Well, then,” the moderator continued. “I suppose now is as good a time as any to remind you that this hearing is being recorded. Your comments today will become part of the public record.”

As the hearing began, Sarala watched the parade of speakers as they made their way to the podium, one after another.

There were speakers who, remembering the Lab’s original means of acquiring its campus, now cautioned that this was nothing more than another land grab, another abuse of eminent domain. “You hear a lot of folks going on about what a good place the Lab is, all its important contributions,” one of them noted. “But what about those folks who lost their land? They’ll sing you a different tune. And now, thirty years later, here we are again. And what about in another twenty years? They might be coming for your house, for your land then.”

There were speakers who argued that they were sick and tired of being told why they should give up the houses they saved for and raised their families in just so “a bunch of scientists could have a fancy new toy to play with.”

“If they want this thing so badly,” one man said, “let them build it under their own houses.”

There were questions that revealed the depth of the fear many in the audience felt about the prospect of the collider: “Will the men in the area become sterile?” “In the event of a war, would this be the first place to be bombed?” one woman asked, and Sarala could sense Abhijat, beside her, beginning to stiffen in frustration.

Randolph had returned to the shelter to gather his things, but as he did so, he heard the villagers’ swift walking turn to running, and Randolph — whose years of exploration had taught him nothing if not to trust the locals — took what he had in his arms and began to run, too, his eyes scouring the terrain ahead, searching for higher ground.

As the morning progressed, officials and scientists from state agencies presented reports on floodplain mitigation, well impacts, potential increases in construction traffic, and the viability of deep tunneling through area geological formations. In an attempt to make sense of and bring order to what felt to her like an unfocused, meandering presentation of information and emotion, Lily had divided her yellow legal pad into separate sections and she took careful notes, placing them under the appropriate heading.

Under Local Real Estate Values she first noted the reports indicating that there was no evidence whatsoever that the collider would have any negative impact on local real estate values, but crossed it out a moment later when the next speaker’s reports claimed exactly the opposite. Her notes on Contamination of the Water Supply became equally muddled, each assurance, each report cancelled out by another. She crossed out what she had written and instead wrote “uncertain.” Under Environmental Concerns she’d listed the remarks of the director of the State Environmental Protection Agency, who noted that the Lab’s efforts to return the land to its original prairie had resulted in “significant improvements to the habitats of many native species of plants and animals.”

As the hands on her watch neared ten o’clock, the moderator leaned toward the microphone before him. “We will now take a short recess and will commence again in fifteen minutes.”

During the recess, the audience members relocated to the school’s cafeteria, where they sat at the long lunch tables drinking coffee, having again self-segregated into groups of supporters and opponents. The recess had coincided with the high school’s passing period, and students, the majority of whom had decided not to attend the hearings, moved around the edges of the cafeteria slowly, regarding the adults with curiosity.

After waiting out the long line for the women’s restroom, Rose approached the table where Lily sat with the Mitals and Dr. Cardiff. “Good morning, Dr. Mital, Mrs. Mital,” she said. She stood behind Lily and placed her hands lightly on her daughter’s shoulders. Lily looked down at the table and did not acknowledge her mother.

“Madame Alderperson.” Abhijat nodded stiffly.

Sarala smiled at Rose as warmly as she could, having noted the coolness in Abhijat’s voice and that Lily had yet to make eye contact with her mother. “Mrs. Winchester, allow me to introduce my husband’s colleague, Dr. Gerald Cardiff.”

“Very pleased to meet you,” Dr. Cardiff said, taking Rose’s hand in his. His smile, Sarala noted, was also warm, and she felt relieved on Rose’s behalf.