The Last Question

The silence in the room had a shape, which was unusual. It was the particular, hollow silence of a lecture hall after the last chair has been pushed in, the projector is off, and the only sound is the building settling. Rosalind was standing at the front of the room, straightening the notes on the podium that did not need straightening, which gave her hands something to do.

He was standing by the door. He had not moved. He had one hand in the pocket of a jacket that cost less than her coat and the other hanging at his side, and he was watching her with the kind of attention people usually reserve for their children or their lovers, both of which he had, apparently, just been discussing with her in the same sentence.

'I'm sorry about my son,' Bram said, and went on, because he was not finished. 'I know you were prepared. I know you know what you're doing. He just asked a lot of questions.'