He set down the paper he had just finished reading and took a bemused sip of coffee. ‘You can’t write this. You most certainly cannot publish it.’ He looked at her more closely. ‘Not you. They would execute you in a heart beat.’
Masbeth turned to Heinrich. ‘I want to show him myself.’
He got up and opened the door to Adolf’s study. He sat perched in his chair, head hidden by the high tapestry. Red thread embroidered the heavy, silken cotton. It was a blend her Grandmother had discovered, among the hills in Scotland, growing by the heather and thistles. It was his favorite armchair, and she was one of his favorite persons, having watched her grow up in the shadow of men, and still managing to flourish, no matter how many times they kicked at her for her name.
‘Sir, I-’
He cut her off. ‘No ‘sirs,’ What is it, Masbeth?’
She walked through the office and up to him, handing him her papers. ‘I’ve deduced it, numerically. You need to have Heinz analyze the math, I’m not good enough to ascertain certainty.’
He perused the text as she spoke. ‘The math in their holy books - it isn’t about divison. It’s about addition. Adding the parts of humanity that were divided. Using language to bring them back. Condensing their genome.’
He looked up at her. ‘Are you sure?’
‘I need Heinz to be sure. Then I can continue testing my theories.’
Adolf nodded. ‘Proceed. I’ll keep this manuscript. I assume you-’
‘-have others, yes of course, sir.’ She smiled and walked back out the study.