Revolution - Jennifer Donnelly [65]
“An amazing story, Professor Lenôtre. But if we know all this, if we know the heart belonged to Louis-Charles, then why—Dr. Alpers—are you here? Why is the Royal Trust going through the trouble and expense of performing the DNA tests?” Jean-Paul asks.
“Because we don’t know it,” Dad says.
“But the history books—” Jean-Paul starts to say.
“History is fiction,” Dad interrupts.
“Ah! Here we go,” G says.
“Uh-oh. Tell me they’re not going to start arguing on TV,” I say to Lili.
Lili shrugs. “Why not? They argue everywhere else.”
“I beg your pardon, Professor Lenôtre?” Jean-Paul is saying now.
“I was wondering how long it would take him,” G says.
Jean-Paul, smiling uncertainly, turns to my father. “Dr. Alpers, you state the opinion of a man of science.”
“Not at all. The opinion I stated was first stated by Robespierre.”
Jean-Paul tries to say something, but G cuts him off. “Come on, Lewis, you don’t really believe that history is fiction.”
“Of course I do. History is an art, one that depends on interpretation and conjecture. Science relies solely upon facts,” Dad says.
“Facts, yes,” G says hotly. “Facts that tell us what we are—so many chains of chemicals. But do they tell us who we are?”
“If the chains of chemicals happen to include genetic material, then yes, they do,” Dad says.
“You are being purposely obtuse, Lewis. I can only think you are doing it for the cameras,” G says.
“Obtuse? Why? Because I don’t confuse hearsay with analysis?” Dad says, his voice rising. “Because I know the difference between stories and truth?”
“Because you refuse to recognize any truth other than that which comes out of a petri dish!”
“Oh, please!”
“Professor Lenôtre—” Jean-Paul says, but G cuts him off again.
“This heart we are all talking about,” he says, leaning so far forward in his chair it looks like he’s going to burst through the screen, “does it have meaning because it is made of this and that protein? No! It has meaning because of its context. It has meaning because of the so-called stories that surround it. It has meaning because we know—or soon will—that it came from the body of a defenseless child who was imprisoned by the revolutionaries, who was denied the very things they sought to obtain for all humanity—namely: liberty, equality, and fraternity—and whose immense, unspeakable suffering shames every politician, every strategist, every academic, think-tanker, and policy wonk—then and now—who claims that the Revolution’s idealistic ends justified its violent means.” G sits back in his chair, glaring, then suddenly leans forward again and says, “And all the fucking DNA in the world cannot express that as eloquently as I just did!”
I nearly choke on a mouthful of soup. I can’t believe G just dropped the F-bomb on national television.
Dad snorts. “Now who’s playing for the cameras?” he says.
He and G bicker some more. Jean-Paul taps his earpiece.
“How are they even friends?” I say to Lili, shaking my head. “All they do is argue.”
“It has always been their way. Ever since they were students,” Lili says.
“I guess opposites really do attract.”
“They are not opposites,” Lili says. “They’re exactly the same—driven and passionate. It’s why they are such close friends.” She smiles, then adds, “That and the fact that no one else can put up with them.”
The camera has moved back to Jean-Paul, who’s still tapping his earpiece and looking frantic. I feel sorry for him. I bet he had no idea what he was getting into. Dad and G finally take a breath, and Jean-Paul attempts, yet again, to speak.
“There are many … uh … stories,” he says, flinching at the word, “concerning this heart. One of them concerns a substitute child. At the time of Louis-Charles’ death, there were people who insisted that the little prince did not die in the Tower, as was stated by the authorities. They believed he was smuggled out of the prison and that a dead child was put in his place, autopsied, and buried. Professor Lenôtre, tell us more about this idea of