The Metropolitan Opera HD Live (2006–…): Season 3, Episode 3 - Doctor Atomic - full transcript
We believed that matter can be
neither created nor destroyed...
but only altered in form.
We believed that energy can be
neither created nor destroyed...
but only altered in form.
But now we know that energy
may become matter...
and now we know that matter
may become energy...
and thus be altered in form.
The end of June 1945...
finds us expecting from day to day
to hear of the explosion...
of the first atomic bomb
devised by man.
All the problems are believed
to have been solved...
at least well enough to
make a bomb practicable.
A sustained neutron chain reaction...
resulting from nuclear fission...
has been demonstrated.
Production plants of several
different types are in operation...
building a stockpile
of the explosive material.
We do not know when the
first explosion will occur...
nor how effective it will be.
The devastation from a single bomb...
is expected to be comparable to that...
of a major air raid by usual methods.
A weapon has been developed
that is potentially destructive...
beyond the wildest nightmares
of the imagination.
A weapon so ideally suited...
to sudden unannounced attack...
that a country's major cities
might be destroyed overnight...
by an ostensibly friendly power.
This weapon has been created...
not by the devilish inspiration
of some warped genius.
But by the arduous labor
of thousands of normal men and women...
working for the safety of their country.
First of all, let me say...
that I have no hope
of clearing my conscience.
The things we are working on
are so terrible...
that no amount of protesting
or fiddling with politics...
will save our souls.
The soul is a thing so impalpable,
so often useless...
and sometimes so embarrassing...
that at its loss I felt
only a little more emotion...
than if, during a walk,
I had lost my visiting card.
I've found a new difficulty
with the latest design of the 'super.'
But since I haven't
thought it through yet...
I would rather talk about it later.
Talk about it now.
No.
Home stretch measures, Edward.
Ruthless, brutal people
must band together...
to force the 'fat man' components...
to dovetail in time and space.
The cowpuncher committee
has a mandate...
to ride herd on the implosion program.
We surround the plutonium core...
from 32 points...
spaced equally around its surface.
The 32 points are the centers...
of the 20 triangular faces...
of an icosahedron...
interwoven with
the 12 pentagonal faces...
of a dodecahedron.
We squeeze the sphere...
bring the atoms closer.
Till the subcritical mass...
goes supercritical.
We disturb the stable nucleus.
We are bedeviled by faulty detonators.
One detonator fizzles...
or goes off
a millionth of a second...
too early or too late.
It ruins the symmetry
of the gadget's nuclear guts...
No more quibbling
over the plutonium core...
And we've got a misfire.
It will be a solid ball.
We have you to thank for that, Edward.
We'll kick-start the reaction
with a modulated initiator.
Let me apologize for my rudeness.
I dislike group meetings.
Okay. You don't want
to return to the meetings?
You don't have to.
I'll talk with you...
about your group's work by yourself.
I received this letter
from my friend Leo Szilard.
Szilard's a bright fellow.
Kind of a busy-body but very bright.
Many of us are inclined to say...
that individual
Germans share the guilt...
for acts which Germany
committed during this war...
because they did not
raise their voices...
in protest against those acts.
Their defense that their protest
would have been to no avail...
hardly seems acceptable...
even though these Germans...
could not have protested...
without running risks
to life and liberty.
We scientists,
working on 'atomic power'...
are in a position...
to raise our voices
without such risks...
even though we might incur
the displeasure...
of those who are at present in charge.
The people of the United States...
are unaware of the choice we face.
And this only increases
our responsibility in this matter.
We alone who have worked
on 'atomic power'...
we alone are in a position
to declare our stand.
I think it improper for a scientist
to use his prestige...
as a platform for
political pronouncements.
The nation's fate
should be left in the hands...
of the best men in Washington.
They have the information
which we do not possess.
Men like Marshall, a man
of great humanity and intellect...
It is for them to decide, not us.
Actually, I'm organizing
a small meeting in our building.
The title is
"The Impact of the Gadget on Civilization."
I saw the announcement.
I'd like to persuade you not to have it.
I feel that such a discussion
in the lab, in the technical area...
is quite inconsistent
with what we talk about there.
These questions are not
technical questions...
but political and social questions...
and the answers given to them
may affect all mankind...
for generations.
In thinking about them, the men
on the project have been thinking...
as citizens of the United States,
vitally interested...
in the welfare of the human race.
I might warn you...
You could get in trouble
if you hold such a meeting.
From radical to establishment figure...
in two easy stages!
Isn't it better that I have
a voice within the government?
This is a petition.
To the President of the United States:
We, the undersigned scientists,
have been working in the field...
of atomic power.
Until recently we have had to fear
that in this war...
the United States might be attacked...
by atomic bombs,
and that her only defense...
might lie in a counterattack...
by the same means.
Today, with the defeat of Germany,
this danger is averted...
and we feel impelled
to say what follows...
The machinery has caught us in its trap...
And we can't stop now.
You want to know if it works.
Atomic bombs may
well be effective warfare.
But attacks on Japan...
cannot be justified, until we make
clear the terms of peace.
And give them a
chance to surrender.
What do we know
about Japanese psychology?
How can we scientists
judge the way to end the war?
We must first devise a demonstration...
where there won't be any people.
Not on a city.
Or a demonstration...
right here in the desert.
Let them send observers
see for themselves.
What if it's a dud?
Every time we test it...
something goes wrong.
Some component is failing.
The gadget division...
it's been thrown into turmoil.
Yesterday we had blisters...
blisters on the sphere's surface.
Infinitesimal.
But large enough to cause a fatal misfit...
between the hemispheres.
Everybody is rushing around.
They don't appear to be ready.
But there's momentum.
Everybody's working day and night.
Nobody has a spare moment...
and we work like dogs.
It's hard to stop
and think as one ought to.
Well, how do you feel?
Well, pretty excited.
Like going out to save civilization.
The test must go on as scheduled.
Groves has talked with Conant
and the "upper crust" in Washington.
Dr. Stearns described the work
they've already done...
on target selection.
It was agreed that
psychological factors...
in selecting the targets...
are of great importance.
Kyoto...
double-A target.
An intellectual center.
Nagasaki...
a secondary target.
Yokohama.
Nagoya.
Fukuoka.
Hiroshima.
You used your scientific stature
to give political advice...
in favor of immediate bombing?
I explained that the visual effect of
an atomic bombing would be tremendous.
A brilliant luminescence rising to
a height of up to 20,000 feet.
The neutron effect of the explosion
would be dangerous to life...
for a radius of at least
two-thirds of a mile.
A brilliant luminescence.
Our only hope is to convince everybody...
that the next war will be fatal.
For this purpose, actual combat use...
might be the best thing.
No. Before the bomb is used...
Japan must have some warning.
A couple of days in advance.
It's our position as a
great humanitarian nation.
It's the fair play of our people.
The secretary of war concludes...
that we cannot give
the Japanese any warning....
That we should seek to make
a profound psychological impression...
on as many inhabitants as possible.
Dr. Conant suggests a vital war plant
as the most desirable target...
employing a large number of workers...
and closely surrounded
by workers' houses.
Truman will never see that petition.
Security officials...
will deem it...
a superfluous document...
in light of the decisions
being made at highest levels.
I've already told them in Washington...
that several strikes would be feasible.
The more decisive a weapon is...
the more surely it will be used...
and no agreements will help.
Could we have started...
the atomic age...
with clean hands?
Am I in your light?
No, go on reading....
The hackneyed light of
evening quarrelling with the bulbs...
the book's bent rectangle...
solid on your knees...
only my fingers in your hair...
only, my eyes splitting the skull...
to tickle your brain with love...
in a slow caress...
blurring the mind...
kissing your mouth awake...
opening the body's mouth...
stopping the words.
This light is thick with birds...
and evening warns us
beautifully of death.
Slowly I bend over you...
slowly your breath
runs rhythms through my blood...
as if I said I love you...
and you should raise your head.
Listening...
speaking into the covert night.
Did someone say something?
Love, am I in your light?
See how love alters the living face...
go spin the immortal coin
through time...
watch the thing flip through space.
Long let me inhale...
deeply, the odor of your hair.
Into it plunge the whole of my face...
like a thirsty man...
into the water of a spring...
and wave it in my fingers
like a scented handkerchief...
to shake memories into the air.
If you could know all that I see!
All that I feel!
All that I hear in your hair!
My soul floats upon perfumes...
as the souls of other
men float upon music.
Your hair contains an entire dream...
full of sails and masts.
It contains vast seas
whose soft monsoons...
bear me to delightful climates...
where space is deeper and bluer.
Where the atmosphere
is perfumed with fruit...
with foliage and with human skin.
In the ocean of your hair
I see brief visions...
of a port resounding...
with melancholy songs...
of vigorous men of all nations...
and ships of all shapes...
outlining their fine
and complicated architectures...
against an immense sky...
where eternal heat...
languidly quivers.
In the glowing fire-grate of your hair...
I inhale the odors of tobacco...
mingled with opium and sugar.
In the night of your hair...
I see the infinity...
of tropical azure resplendent.
On the downed banks of your hair...
I inebriate myself...
with the mingled odors of tar...
of musk...
and coconut oil.
Long let me bite your heavy, black tresses.
It seems to me that I am eating memories.
The motive of it all...
was loneliness...
all the panic encounters and despair...
were bred in fear...
of the lost night...
apart...
outlined by pain.
Apart.
Alone.
Promiscuous as mercy.
Fear-led and led again to fear...
toward the cave where part fire...
and part pity...
lived in that voluptuousness...
to end one...
and begin another loneliness.
This is the most intolerable motive:
This must be given back to life again...
Made superhuman....
Made human...
out of pain turned to the personal...
the pure release, the personal...
the rings of Plato...
and Homer's golden chain...
Or Lenin with his cry of dare we win.
Those who most long for peace...
now pour their lives on war.
Our conflicts carry
creation and its guilt...
these years' great arms
are full of death and flowers.
A world is to be fought for...
sung, and built:
Love must imagine the world....
What the hell is wrong with the weather?
The weather is whimsical.
Thunderheads began moving into the area...
at 0400 hours.
Lightning!
What if it hits the tower
and detonates the bomb?
Rain is probably ruining
the electrical connections.
General, weather forecasters...
have opposed this test for months...
It was set within a window
of unfavorable conditions.
Thunderstorms, rain...
high winds, inversion layers.
You overrode us, Sir.
Is this insubordination?
Now we are onsite, and conditions
are exactly the worst possible...
with an electrical storm
threatening not just the test...
but the lives
of those setting it up.
Five hundred U.S. superfortresses
are raining incendiary bombs...
on four Japanese cities.
Our B-29's are destroying
half of every Jap city they hit.
The President of the United States...
is talking to Joe Stalin
in the morning in Potsdam.
This test will proceed as scheduled...
with full weather compliance...
or you will spend the rest of your
life behind bars, Mr. Meteorologist.
We are seeing storm clouds coming in...
over the Chupadera Mesa
and the Oscuras.
I am asking for a firm prediction
as to when the storm will pass.
I am the heat of the sun...
and the heat of the fire am I also:
Life eternal and death.
I let loose the rain, or withhold it.
Arjuna, I am the cosmos revealed...
and its germ that lies hidden.
Sir, the volatility of the season
makes such a prediction impossible.
So, you are refusing to forecast
good weather for the test?
I recommend we postpone the decision...
until our next
weather conference at 2:00 a.m.
Hubbard, I want a specific time.
At that time, I will recommend
postponing the test until 5:30 a.m....
when the thunderstorms
would be dissipated...
by the first rays of the sun.
I demand a signed weather forecast.
I warn you, if you are wrong,
I will hang you.
I'll sign the report, Sir.
If we postpone, I'll never get
my people up to pitch again.
I hear Fermi just rushed into the
mess hall, pleading for postponement.
A sudden shift of wind
could deluge the camp...
with radioactive rain after the shot.
The evacuation routes are inadequate.
It could be a catastrophe.
If I have to compromise security
by sending an evacuation force...
into nearby towns...
our cover's blown.
The secret of the test
will end up headlined...
in tomorrow's newspapers.
So far the press is exercising
voluntary censorship.
With respect, Sir...
anyone with two good eyes
could have found Los Alamos...
just by following the trail
of beer cans from Santa Fe.
And ever since the first grams
of plutonium arrived at Los Alamos...
the medical division has been
studying the toxic properties...
of the deadly metal.
Its metabolism is similar to radium...
enough of it in the human body...
eats through vital tissues...
disintegrates human kidneys...
and causes fatal bone cancer.
No cure has yet been found...
for the agonies that result...
from overexposure to fallout...
and radiation.
Feelings of heat and cold...
pleasure and pain...
are caused by the contact
of the senses with their objects.
They come and they go,
never lasting long.
You must accept them.
You what?
I said...
watch out for the rattlesnakes.
I've been preoccupied
with many matters...
but the prospect of fallout
has not been high on my priority list.
Now you're telling me that we should
be ready to evacuate Trinity?
Bring in troops and trucks to get
out everyone at a moment's notice....
If something goes wrong?
That could be the case, Sir.
What are you, a Hearst propagandist?
A serene spirit accepts pleasure
and pain with an even mind...
and is unmoved by either.
He alone is worthy of immortality.
I'm having to double
as camp psychologist.
I keep in constant touch with
a team of psychiatrists at Oak Ridge.
Several of the younger scientists
are talking wildly of failure...
and possible disaster.
Their fears are threatening
to infect the rest of the camp.
Two hours ago, one young scientist
became hysterical...
and had to be removed under sedation.
There is an air of excitement
at the camp that I do not like.
This is a time when
calm deliberation is most essential.
Oppenheimer is getting advice...
from all sides...
on what he should and should not do.
The best I can do is introduce as much
of an atmosphere of calm as possible...
into this very tense situation.
The main problem is the weather.
We have the best weathermen
the armed forces can give us.
Their predictions have
always been on the money.
The only time they've been wrong
is right now... on the day it counts.
Get them out of here.
From now on...
I'm making my own weather predictions.
General, you are bearing up
with remarkable fortitude.
Only your waistline is suffering.
I've been urged to action.
As child I often ate
great quantities of food.
Sweets and chocolate, and so forth.
This was a subject of concern
to my mother...
and to my stepmother.
I have here detailed diets...
that were, at least in theory...
intended to be followed.
I did stick to one
last August and September.
You can see my daily menus...
and my weight.
Here, see...
on August 7th...
I weighed 227 pounds.
By September 24th I am down to 212.
All the menus are
meticulously drawn up...
down to the last calorie.
In this particular diet
the average number of calories per day...
is only 1,020.
It would hardly keep a bird alive.
But then there's the two brownies...
200 calories.
And on September 15...
Three pieces of chocolate cake-
300 calories.
You don't look so good.
Get some sleep.
I'll turn in myself.
I want Kistiakosky, Bainbridge and
Officer Bush up on that bomb tower...
to prevent potential sabotage....
Batter my heart, three person'd God...
for, you as yet but knock, breathe...
knock, breathe, shine,
and seek to mend....
Batter my heart, three person'd God...
that I may rise, and stand...
o'erthrow me, and bend your force...
to break, blow...
break, blow, burn and make me new.
Batter my heart, three person'd God...
for, you as yet but knock, breathe...
knock, breathe, shine,
and seek to mend....
Batter my heart, three person'd God...
that I may rise, and stand...
o'erthrow me, and bend your force...
to break, blow...
break, blow, burn and make me new.
I, like an usurpt town...
to another due...
labor to admit you...
but oh...
to no end...
reason your viceroy in me...
me should defend...
but is captiv'd...
or proves weak or untrue.
Yet dearly I love you...
and would be lov'd fain...
but am betroth'd unto your enemy...
divorce me...
untie...
or break that knot again.
Take me to you, imprison me...
for I, except you enthrall me...
never shall be free...
nor ever chaste...
except you ravish me.
Wary of time...
O it seizes the soul tonight...
I wait for the
great morning of the west...
confessing with
every breath mortality.
Moon of this wild sky
struggles to stay whole...
and on the water...
silvers the ships of war.
I go alone in the black-yellow light...
all night waiting for day...
while everywhere
the sure death of light...
the leaf's sure return to the root...
is repeated in million...
death of all man...
to share.
Whatever world I know
shines ritual death...
wide under this moon
they stand gathering fire...
fighting with flame
stand fighting in their graves.
All shining with life
as the leaf shines...
As it shines, shining.
Shining, shining...
all things shine...
The stone deep in the mountain...
the drop it shines in the green wave.
Lit by their energies, all things shine.
All things secretly....
Nothing can black that glow of life.
Although each part go crumbling down...
itself shall rise up whole.
Now I say there are new meanings...
now I name death our black honor...
and feast of possibility...
to celebrate casting of life on life.
This earth-long day
between blood and resurrection...
where we wait remembering...
sun, seed... fire...
remembering that fierce
Judaean innocent...
who risked every
immortal meaning on one life.
Given to our year
as sun and spirit are...
as seed we are blessed...
only in needing freedom.
Now I say...
that the peace the spirit needs...
is peace, not lack of war...
but fierce continual flame.
For all men...
effort is freedom...
effort is peace...
it fights.
And along these truths
the soul goes home...
flies in its blazing...
to a place more safe
and round than Paradise.
Night of the soul...
our dreams in the arms of dreams...
dissolving into eyes that look upon us.
Dreams, the sources of action...
the meeting and the end...
a resting-place
among the flight of things.
In the north
the cloud-flower blossoms...
and now the lightning flashes...
and now the thunder clashes...
and now the rain comes down!
Ah, my little one....
It's midnight, Jack.
There's quite a fierce storm
going on up here.
I have a certain amount of respect
for that atomic bomb...
being right next to it.
Sparks seem to be flying.
Lightning is striking all around.
We've got to consider
the minimum specifications...
under which this operation
can be conducted.
If you ask me...
testing this thing tonight
is a blunder of the first magnitude.
I have to attach this canister
to the top of the tower.
Tubes to measure the speed
of the bomb's chain reaction.
Rossi and I have been
rechecking it all night.
I have to have it all turned on
and test it before....
You know, I'm really scared
about this object here in the tower.
A short while ago a model of the
X unit fired spontaneously in a storm.
This weather is really something
you don't like to be around...
with a bomb nearby.
I'm leaving for my station
at north-10,000.
The men in charge
of monitoring expected fallout...
are prepared for two alternatives...
A "north blow" or a "south blow."
If the winds hold
in their current position...
the shelter at north-10,000
will be inundated...
with radioactive debris.
I've dreamed the same dream
several nights running.
I'm almost at the top of the tower...
and then I misstep...
and I'm falling...
a long, slow fall...
and each time,
before I strike the ground...
I wake up sweating.
In the west
the cloud-flower blossoms...
and now the lightning flashes...
and now the thunder clashes...
and now the rain comes down!
Ah, my little one.
To the farthest west...
the sea and the striped country...
and deep in the camps
among the wounded cities...
half-world over...
the waking dreams of night...
outrange the horrors.
Past fierce and tossing skies...
the rare desires
shine in constellation.
I hear your cries...
you little voices of children...
swaying wild...
night-lost, in black fields calling.
I hear you...
As the seething dreams
arrive over the sea...
and past the flaming mountains.
In the south
the cloud-flower blossoms...
and now the lightning flashes...
and now the thunder clashes...
and now the rain comes down!
A delay in the Potsdam ultimatum...
could result in a delay
in the Japanese reaction...
with a further delay
to the atomic attack on Japan.
Obviously, a reasonable time
has to be allowed...
for the Japanese
to consider the ultimatum.
Fermi is taking wagers
as to whether the bomb...
will ignite the atmosphere.
And if so, whether it will destroy
just New Mexico...
or the entire world.
I fail to appreciate
your black humor, Dr. Teller.
This is exactly the kind of loose talk...
that might paralyze
the enlisted men with fright.
Edward's a great one
for oddball problems, General.
I asked for and I obtained...
a most important assignment...
one that many consider superfluous.
There had been some suggestions...
that we might have miscalculated...
that the explosion could be
much larger than we had anticipated.
Might we not be setting off
a huge chain reaction...
that will encircle
the globe in a sea of fire?
It's my job
to make a last check and review.
I've spent a great deal of time...
indulging in controlled fantasies.
Trying to dream up...
new, undiscovered laws of nature...
laws that a sudden release of
atomic energy might bring into play.
There was a possibility...
that the test blast might touch off...
a natural phenomenon...
that is not contrary to our knowledge...
but perhaps beyond our experience.
In July, three years ago,
I made some of the initial calculations...
and my figures indicated
that the bomb would, indeed...
create enough heat...
to ignite the earth's atmosphere.
You'll remember that I immediately
called a halt to those meetings.
We asked Bethe about your numbers.
His calculations showed...
that even the extreme pressures
and temperatures...
reached in the interior
of our explosion...
will not be high enough...
to fuse the hydrogen...
with either nitrogen or helium.
The gadget won't set fire
to the atmosphere.
My revised figures agree with Bethe's.
I can find no reason
to believe the test shot...
will touch off
the destruction of the world...
no reason to think
that our advance calculations...
are not entirely correct.
Edward, the test will be delayed
an hour or more.
The climax of our
two-billion dollar experiment....
Will we have a "dud,"
a "fizzle" at Trinity?
This drizzle is bone-chilling.
Here, I've brought
a bottle of suntan lotion.
Pass it around.
The winds have actually shifted
a full 360 degrees...
in the last twelve hours.
Thundershowers and 30 mph winds
are raking the test site.
In the east
the cloud-flower blossoms....
You are eight minutes late.
General, a night rain in a tropical
air mass behaves differently...
from a standard
southwestern afternoon storm.
This is no normal storm, Sir.
Neither Bainbridge nor I
have slept in over two days.
There is still hope for a shot.
Maybe some time
between dawn at five a.m....
and sunrise at six.
Prepare to fire at five-thirty.
This program has been plagued
from the start...
by the presence
of certain scientists...
of doubtful discretion...
and uncertain loyalty.
It was agreed in Washington
that nothing can be done...
about dismissing those men until
after the bomb has actually been used.
Or, at best...
until after the test has been made.
After some publicity
concerning the weapon is out...
steps should be taken...
to sever these scientists
from the program...
and to proceed with a
general weeding out of personnel...
no longer needed.
To keep the weakness secret...
to deny it...
and break through.
In the dream of chieftains...
the corn...
distinct again
in gold-white tuft-feathers.
The roads all paved,
stony, savage...
the knocking in the chest resumed.
Your father....
Your father has
a passion for freedom...
rang and rang
in the small boy's head.
Then word came
from a runner, a stranger...
they are dancing
to bring the dead back...
in the mountains.
We danced at an autumn fire...
we danced the old hate and change...
the coming again of our leaders.
But they did not come.
I just finished reading
The Magic Mountain by Thomas Mann.
And of course to go to this
mysterious mountain...
on top of which...
there would be a secret laboratory...
which we would go into...
the doors would slam shut...
and a few years later...
we would come out
bearing an atomic bomb.
I assure you that now the seconds...
are strongly
and solemnly accentuated.
And each one,
spouting out of the clock...
says: I am life...
insupportable, implacable life!
The winter dawned,
but the dead did not come back.
News came on the frost....
The dead...
the dead are on the march!
We danced in prison
to a winter music...
many we loved
began to dream of the dead.
They made no promises,
we never dreamed a threat.
And the dreams spread.
And love...
which contains all human spirit...
all with the eyes and hands...
sex, mouth, hair...
the whole woman...
Fierce peace...
I say at last...
and the sense of the world.
There is only one second
in the life of men...
whose mission it is
to announce good news...
the good news...
which fills every man
with an inexplicable fear.
Fierce peace I say at last...
and the sense of the world.
The only saviors are the ham sandwiches
and hot coffee.
We have an informal betting pool going.
Everybody puts in a dollar...
Whoever guesses the explosive yield
is a rich man.
I guess 300 tons of TNT.
A very low estimate, not much more
than 30 ten-ton blockbuster bombs.
In other words... what you're predicting is
we'll get nothing more than a fizzle.
I confess my utter amazement...
that these scientists
are glooming over their coffee cups...
about their uncertainties
of the coming test.
The bomb has a blackboard potential
of nearly 20,000 tons.
That's 20 kilotons of TNT.
No one thinks for a minute...
we'll achieve a yield like that.
Bethe and Ulam guess small:
5 to 7 kilotons.
The scientists refuse to believe
what their own calculations tell them.
I confess that I am not optimistic...
maybe a forty-sixty
chance of success.
I alone scoff
at my colleagues' pessimism.
I pick 45 kilotons.
At the sight of this,
your shape stupendous...
full of mouths and eyes,
terrible with fangs.
At the sight of this...
your shape stupendous...
full of mouths and eyes,
feet, thighs and bellies.
All the worlds are fear-struck,
even just as I am.
When I see you...
Vishnu.
When I see you omnipresent...
shouldering the sky,
in hues of rainbow....
At the sight of this,
your shape stupendous...
with your mouths agape
and flame-eyes staring...
All my peace is gone.
O my heart is troubled.
When I see you,
Vishnu, omnipresent...
flame-eyes staring...
All my peace is gone, is troubled.
Lieutenant Bush,
keep a weather eye on Oppenheimer.
There is concern our
high-strung director...
might have a breakdown
at the last minute.
The radio connection with
the control tower is out of order...
no one really knows...
when the bomb will go off...
or where to look for it.
The scientists are standing around
in the dark and munching candy bars...
as we wait for some divine revelation...
to tell us when the shot will go.
To what benevolent demon...
do I owe the joy
of being thus surrounded...
with mystery...
with silence...
with peace...
and with perfumes?
O beatitude!
That which we generally call life...
even when it's fullest
and happiest...
has nothing in common...
with that supreme life...
which I now know...
and which I am tasting...
minute by minute...
second by second!
No!
There are no more minutes.
No more seconds!
Time has disappeared...
it is eternity that reigns now!
That's the signal.
The shot will go in five minutes.
Everyone should take his place
in the trenches.
The sky is clear to the east...
and over Ground Zero
and south-10,000.
But overcast to the west.
We have visibility
greater than 60 miles.
The surface wind
from the east southeast...
is 3 to 6 miles per hour...
below 500 feet.
The rain has stopped.
In the summer...
dreaming was common to all of us...
the drumbeat hope...
the bursting heart of wish....
Music to bind us
as the visions streamed...
and midnight brightened...
brightened to belief.
In the midnight,
in the flame-brilliant midnight...
dreamers wake...
dreamers wake in the night
and sing their songs.
In the flame-brilliant midnight...
promises arrive,
singing to each of us...
with tongues of flame:
We are hopes...
you should have hoped us.
We are dreams,
you should have dreamed us.
Ah, calling our name.
Zero minus two minutes.
The two-minute warning rocket...
has sputtered out prematurely.
That was an ominous sign.
Lord, these affairs
are hard on the heart.
neither created nor destroyed...
but only altered in form.
We believed that energy can be
neither created nor destroyed...
but only altered in form.
But now we know that energy
may become matter...
and now we know that matter
may become energy...
and thus be altered in form.
The end of June 1945...
finds us expecting from day to day
to hear of the explosion...
of the first atomic bomb
devised by man.
All the problems are believed
to have been solved...
at least well enough to
make a bomb practicable.
A sustained neutron chain reaction...
resulting from nuclear fission...
has been demonstrated.
Production plants of several
different types are in operation...
building a stockpile
of the explosive material.
We do not know when the
first explosion will occur...
nor how effective it will be.
The devastation from a single bomb...
is expected to be comparable to that...
of a major air raid by usual methods.
A weapon has been developed
that is potentially destructive...
beyond the wildest nightmares
of the imagination.
A weapon so ideally suited...
to sudden unannounced attack...
that a country's major cities
might be destroyed overnight...
by an ostensibly friendly power.
This weapon has been created...
not by the devilish inspiration
of some warped genius.
But by the arduous labor
of thousands of normal men and women...
working for the safety of their country.
First of all, let me say...
that I have no hope
of clearing my conscience.
The things we are working on
are so terrible...
that no amount of protesting
or fiddling with politics...
will save our souls.
The soul is a thing so impalpable,
so often useless...
and sometimes so embarrassing...
that at its loss I felt
only a little more emotion...
than if, during a walk,
I had lost my visiting card.
I've found a new difficulty
with the latest design of the 'super.'
But since I haven't
thought it through yet...
I would rather talk about it later.
Talk about it now.
No.
Home stretch measures, Edward.
Ruthless, brutal people
must band together...
to force the 'fat man' components...
to dovetail in time and space.
The cowpuncher committee
has a mandate...
to ride herd on the implosion program.
We surround the plutonium core...
from 32 points...
spaced equally around its surface.
The 32 points are the centers...
of the 20 triangular faces...
of an icosahedron...
interwoven with
the 12 pentagonal faces...
of a dodecahedron.
We squeeze the sphere...
bring the atoms closer.
Till the subcritical mass...
goes supercritical.
We disturb the stable nucleus.
We are bedeviled by faulty detonators.
One detonator fizzles...
or goes off
a millionth of a second...
too early or too late.
It ruins the symmetry
of the gadget's nuclear guts...
No more quibbling
over the plutonium core...
And we've got a misfire.
It will be a solid ball.
We have you to thank for that, Edward.
We'll kick-start the reaction
with a modulated initiator.
Let me apologize for my rudeness.
I dislike group meetings.
Okay. You don't want
to return to the meetings?
You don't have to.
I'll talk with you...
about your group's work by yourself.
I received this letter
from my friend Leo Szilard.
Szilard's a bright fellow.
Kind of a busy-body but very bright.
Many of us are inclined to say...
that individual
Germans share the guilt...
for acts which Germany
committed during this war...
because they did not
raise their voices...
in protest against those acts.
Their defense that their protest
would have been to no avail...
hardly seems acceptable...
even though these Germans...
could not have protested...
without running risks
to life and liberty.
We scientists,
working on 'atomic power'...
are in a position...
to raise our voices
without such risks...
even though we might incur
the displeasure...
of those who are at present in charge.
The people of the United States...
are unaware of the choice we face.
And this only increases
our responsibility in this matter.
We alone who have worked
on 'atomic power'...
we alone are in a position
to declare our stand.
I think it improper for a scientist
to use his prestige...
as a platform for
political pronouncements.
The nation's fate
should be left in the hands...
of the best men in Washington.
They have the information
which we do not possess.
Men like Marshall, a man
of great humanity and intellect...
It is for them to decide, not us.
Actually, I'm organizing
a small meeting in our building.
The title is
"The Impact of the Gadget on Civilization."
I saw the announcement.
I'd like to persuade you not to have it.
I feel that such a discussion
in the lab, in the technical area...
is quite inconsistent
with what we talk about there.
These questions are not
technical questions...
but political and social questions...
and the answers given to them
may affect all mankind...
for generations.
In thinking about them, the men
on the project have been thinking...
as citizens of the United States,
vitally interested...
in the welfare of the human race.
I might warn you...
You could get in trouble
if you hold such a meeting.
From radical to establishment figure...
in two easy stages!
Isn't it better that I have
a voice within the government?
This is a petition.
To the President of the United States:
We, the undersigned scientists,
have been working in the field...
of atomic power.
Until recently we have had to fear
that in this war...
the United States might be attacked...
by atomic bombs,
and that her only defense...
might lie in a counterattack...
by the same means.
Today, with the defeat of Germany,
this danger is averted...
and we feel impelled
to say what follows...
The machinery has caught us in its trap...
And we can't stop now.
You want to know if it works.
Atomic bombs may
well be effective warfare.
But attacks on Japan...
cannot be justified, until we make
clear the terms of peace.
And give them a
chance to surrender.
What do we know
about Japanese psychology?
How can we scientists
judge the way to end the war?
We must first devise a demonstration...
where there won't be any people.
Not on a city.
Or a demonstration...
right here in the desert.
Let them send observers
see for themselves.
What if it's a dud?
Every time we test it...
something goes wrong.
Some component is failing.
The gadget division...
it's been thrown into turmoil.
Yesterday we had blisters...
blisters on the sphere's surface.
Infinitesimal.
But large enough to cause a fatal misfit...
between the hemispheres.
Everybody is rushing around.
They don't appear to be ready.
But there's momentum.
Everybody's working day and night.
Nobody has a spare moment...
and we work like dogs.
It's hard to stop
and think as one ought to.
Well, how do you feel?
Well, pretty excited.
Like going out to save civilization.
The test must go on as scheduled.
Groves has talked with Conant
and the "upper crust" in Washington.
Dr. Stearns described the work
they've already done...
on target selection.
It was agreed that
psychological factors...
in selecting the targets...
are of great importance.
Kyoto...
double-A target.
An intellectual center.
Nagasaki...
a secondary target.
Yokohama.
Nagoya.
Fukuoka.
Hiroshima.
You used your scientific stature
to give political advice...
in favor of immediate bombing?
I explained that the visual effect of
an atomic bombing would be tremendous.
A brilliant luminescence rising to
a height of up to 20,000 feet.
The neutron effect of the explosion
would be dangerous to life...
for a radius of at least
two-thirds of a mile.
A brilliant luminescence.
Our only hope is to convince everybody...
that the next war will be fatal.
For this purpose, actual combat use...
might be the best thing.
No. Before the bomb is used...
Japan must have some warning.
A couple of days in advance.
It's our position as a
great humanitarian nation.
It's the fair play of our people.
The secretary of war concludes...
that we cannot give
the Japanese any warning....
That we should seek to make
a profound psychological impression...
on as many inhabitants as possible.
Dr. Conant suggests a vital war plant
as the most desirable target...
employing a large number of workers...
and closely surrounded
by workers' houses.
Truman will never see that petition.
Security officials...
will deem it...
a superfluous document...
in light of the decisions
being made at highest levels.
I've already told them in Washington...
that several strikes would be feasible.
The more decisive a weapon is...
the more surely it will be used...
and no agreements will help.
Could we have started...
the atomic age...
with clean hands?
Am I in your light?
No, go on reading....
The hackneyed light of
evening quarrelling with the bulbs...
the book's bent rectangle...
solid on your knees...
only my fingers in your hair...
only, my eyes splitting the skull...
to tickle your brain with love...
in a slow caress...
blurring the mind...
kissing your mouth awake...
opening the body's mouth...
stopping the words.
This light is thick with birds...
and evening warns us
beautifully of death.
Slowly I bend over you...
slowly your breath
runs rhythms through my blood...
as if I said I love you...
and you should raise your head.
Listening...
speaking into the covert night.
Did someone say something?
Love, am I in your light?
See how love alters the living face...
go spin the immortal coin
through time...
watch the thing flip through space.
Long let me inhale...
deeply, the odor of your hair.
Into it plunge the whole of my face...
like a thirsty man...
into the water of a spring...
and wave it in my fingers
like a scented handkerchief...
to shake memories into the air.
If you could know all that I see!
All that I feel!
All that I hear in your hair!
My soul floats upon perfumes...
as the souls of other
men float upon music.
Your hair contains an entire dream...
full of sails and masts.
It contains vast seas
whose soft monsoons...
bear me to delightful climates...
where space is deeper and bluer.
Where the atmosphere
is perfumed with fruit...
with foliage and with human skin.
In the ocean of your hair
I see brief visions...
of a port resounding...
with melancholy songs...
of vigorous men of all nations...
and ships of all shapes...
outlining their fine
and complicated architectures...
against an immense sky...
where eternal heat...
languidly quivers.
In the glowing fire-grate of your hair...
I inhale the odors of tobacco...
mingled with opium and sugar.
In the night of your hair...
I see the infinity...
of tropical azure resplendent.
On the downed banks of your hair...
I inebriate myself...
with the mingled odors of tar...
of musk...
and coconut oil.
Long let me bite your heavy, black tresses.
It seems to me that I am eating memories.
The motive of it all...
was loneliness...
all the panic encounters and despair...
were bred in fear...
of the lost night...
apart...
outlined by pain.
Apart.
Alone.
Promiscuous as mercy.
Fear-led and led again to fear...
toward the cave where part fire...
and part pity...
lived in that voluptuousness...
to end one...
and begin another loneliness.
This is the most intolerable motive:
This must be given back to life again...
Made superhuman....
Made human...
out of pain turned to the personal...
the pure release, the personal...
the rings of Plato...
and Homer's golden chain...
Or Lenin with his cry of dare we win.
Those who most long for peace...
now pour their lives on war.
Our conflicts carry
creation and its guilt...
these years' great arms
are full of death and flowers.
A world is to be fought for...
sung, and built:
Love must imagine the world....
What the hell is wrong with the weather?
The weather is whimsical.
Thunderheads began moving into the area...
at 0400 hours.
Lightning!
What if it hits the tower
and detonates the bomb?
Rain is probably ruining
the electrical connections.
General, weather forecasters...
have opposed this test for months...
It was set within a window
of unfavorable conditions.
Thunderstorms, rain...
high winds, inversion layers.
You overrode us, Sir.
Is this insubordination?
Now we are onsite, and conditions
are exactly the worst possible...
with an electrical storm
threatening not just the test...
but the lives
of those setting it up.
Five hundred U.S. superfortresses
are raining incendiary bombs...
on four Japanese cities.
Our B-29's are destroying
half of every Jap city they hit.
The President of the United States...
is talking to Joe Stalin
in the morning in Potsdam.
This test will proceed as scheduled...
with full weather compliance...
or you will spend the rest of your
life behind bars, Mr. Meteorologist.
We are seeing storm clouds coming in...
over the Chupadera Mesa
and the Oscuras.
I am asking for a firm prediction
as to when the storm will pass.
I am the heat of the sun...
and the heat of the fire am I also:
Life eternal and death.
I let loose the rain, or withhold it.
Arjuna, I am the cosmos revealed...
and its germ that lies hidden.
Sir, the volatility of the season
makes such a prediction impossible.
So, you are refusing to forecast
good weather for the test?
I recommend we postpone the decision...
until our next
weather conference at 2:00 a.m.
Hubbard, I want a specific time.
At that time, I will recommend
postponing the test until 5:30 a.m....
when the thunderstorms
would be dissipated...
by the first rays of the sun.
I demand a signed weather forecast.
I warn you, if you are wrong,
I will hang you.
I'll sign the report, Sir.
If we postpone, I'll never get
my people up to pitch again.
I hear Fermi just rushed into the
mess hall, pleading for postponement.
A sudden shift of wind
could deluge the camp...
with radioactive rain after the shot.
The evacuation routes are inadequate.
It could be a catastrophe.
If I have to compromise security
by sending an evacuation force...
into nearby towns...
our cover's blown.
The secret of the test
will end up headlined...
in tomorrow's newspapers.
So far the press is exercising
voluntary censorship.
With respect, Sir...
anyone with two good eyes
could have found Los Alamos...
just by following the trail
of beer cans from Santa Fe.
And ever since the first grams
of plutonium arrived at Los Alamos...
the medical division has been
studying the toxic properties...
of the deadly metal.
Its metabolism is similar to radium...
enough of it in the human body...
eats through vital tissues...
disintegrates human kidneys...
and causes fatal bone cancer.
No cure has yet been found...
for the agonies that result...
from overexposure to fallout...
and radiation.
Feelings of heat and cold...
pleasure and pain...
are caused by the contact
of the senses with their objects.
They come and they go,
never lasting long.
You must accept them.
You what?
I said...
watch out for the rattlesnakes.
I've been preoccupied
with many matters...
but the prospect of fallout
has not been high on my priority list.
Now you're telling me that we should
be ready to evacuate Trinity?
Bring in troops and trucks to get
out everyone at a moment's notice....
If something goes wrong?
That could be the case, Sir.
What are you, a Hearst propagandist?
A serene spirit accepts pleasure
and pain with an even mind...
and is unmoved by either.
He alone is worthy of immortality.
I'm having to double
as camp psychologist.
I keep in constant touch with
a team of psychiatrists at Oak Ridge.
Several of the younger scientists
are talking wildly of failure...
and possible disaster.
Their fears are threatening
to infect the rest of the camp.
Two hours ago, one young scientist
became hysterical...
and had to be removed under sedation.
There is an air of excitement
at the camp that I do not like.
This is a time when
calm deliberation is most essential.
Oppenheimer is getting advice...
from all sides...
on what he should and should not do.
The best I can do is introduce as much
of an atmosphere of calm as possible...
into this very tense situation.
The main problem is the weather.
We have the best weathermen
the armed forces can give us.
Their predictions have
always been on the money.
The only time they've been wrong
is right now... on the day it counts.
Get them out of here.
From now on...
I'm making my own weather predictions.
General, you are bearing up
with remarkable fortitude.
Only your waistline is suffering.
I've been urged to action.
As child I often ate
great quantities of food.
Sweets and chocolate, and so forth.
This was a subject of concern
to my mother...
and to my stepmother.
I have here detailed diets...
that were, at least in theory...
intended to be followed.
I did stick to one
last August and September.
You can see my daily menus...
and my weight.
Here, see...
on August 7th...
I weighed 227 pounds.
By September 24th I am down to 212.
All the menus are
meticulously drawn up...
down to the last calorie.
In this particular diet
the average number of calories per day...
is only 1,020.
It would hardly keep a bird alive.
But then there's the two brownies...
200 calories.
And on September 15...
Three pieces of chocolate cake-
300 calories.
You don't look so good.
Get some sleep.
I'll turn in myself.
I want Kistiakosky, Bainbridge and
Officer Bush up on that bomb tower...
to prevent potential sabotage....
Batter my heart, three person'd God...
for, you as yet but knock, breathe...
knock, breathe, shine,
and seek to mend....
Batter my heart, three person'd God...
that I may rise, and stand...
o'erthrow me, and bend your force...
to break, blow...
break, blow, burn and make me new.
Batter my heart, three person'd God...
for, you as yet but knock, breathe...
knock, breathe, shine,
and seek to mend....
Batter my heart, three person'd God...
that I may rise, and stand...
o'erthrow me, and bend your force...
to break, blow...
break, blow, burn and make me new.
I, like an usurpt town...
to another due...
labor to admit you...
but oh...
to no end...
reason your viceroy in me...
me should defend...
but is captiv'd...
or proves weak or untrue.
Yet dearly I love you...
and would be lov'd fain...
but am betroth'd unto your enemy...
divorce me...
untie...
or break that knot again.
Take me to you, imprison me...
for I, except you enthrall me...
never shall be free...
nor ever chaste...
except you ravish me.
Wary of time...
O it seizes the soul tonight...
I wait for the
great morning of the west...
confessing with
every breath mortality.
Moon of this wild sky
struggles to stay whole...
and on the water...
silvers the ships of war.
I go alone in the black-yellow light...
all night waiting for day...
while everywhere
the sure death of light...
the leaf's sure return to the root...
is repeated in million...
death of all man...
to share.
Whatever world I know
shines ritual death...
wide under this moon
they stand gathering fire...
fighting with flame
stand fighting in their graves.
All shining with life
as the leaf shines...
As it shines, shining.
Shining, shining...
all things shine...
The stone deep in the mountain...
the drop it shines in the green wave.
Lit by their energies, all things shine.
All things secretly....
Nothing can black that glow of life.
Although each part go crumbling down...
itself shall rise up whole.
Now I say there are new meanings...
now I name death our black honor...
and feast of possibility...
to celebrate casting of life on life.
This earth-long day
between blood and resurrection...
where we wait remembering...
sun, seed... fire...
remembering that fierce
Judaean innocent...
who risked every
immortal meaning on one life.
Given to our year
as sun and spirit are...
as seed we are blessed...
only in needing freedom.
Now I say...
that the peace the spirit needs...
is peace, not lack of war...
but fierce continual flame.
For all men...
effort is freedom...
effort is peace...
it fights.
And along these truths
the soul goes home...
flies in its blazing...
to a place more safe
and round than Paradise.
Night of the soul...
our dreams in the arms of dreams...
dissolving into eyes that look upon us.
Dreams, the sources of action...
the meeting and the end...
a resting-place
among the flight of things.
In the north
the cloud-flower blossoms...
and now the lightning flashes...
and now the thunder clashes...
and now the rain comes down!
Ah, my little one....
It's midnight, Jack.
There's quite a fierce storm
going on up here.
I have a certain amount of respect
for that atomic bomb...
being right next to it.
Sparks seem to be flying.
Lightning is striking all around.
We've got to consider
the minimum specifications...
under which this operation
can be conducted.
If you ask me...
testing this thing tonight
is a blunder of the first magnitude.
I have to attach this canister
to the top of the tower.
Tubes to measure the speed
of the bomb's chain reaction.
Rossi and I have been
rechecking it all night.
I have to have it all turned on
and test it before....
You know, I'm really scared
about this object here in the tower.
A short while ago a model of the
X unit fired spontaneously in a storm.
This weather is really something
you don't like to be around...
with a bomb nearby.
I'm leaving for my station
at north-10,000.
The men in charge
of monitoring expected fallout...
are prepared for two alternatives...
A "north blow" or a "south blow."
If the winds hold
in their current position...
the shelter at north-10,000
will be inundated...
with radioactive debris.
I've dreamed the same dream
several nights running.
I'm almost at the top of the tower...
and then I misstep...
and I'm falling...
a long, slow fall...
and each time,
before I strike the ground...
I wake up sweating.
In the west
the cloud-flower blossoms...
and now the lightning flashes...
and now the thunder clashes...
and now the rain comes down!
Ah, my little one.
To the farthest west...
the sea and the striped country...
and deep in the camps
among the wounded cities...
half-world over...
the waking dreams of night...
outrange the horrors.
Past fierce and tossing skies...
the rare desires
shine in constellation.
I hear your cries...
you little voices of children...
swaying wild...
night-lost, in black fields calling.
I hear you...
As the seething dreams
arrive over the sea...
and past the flaming mountains.
In the south
the cloud-flower blossoms...
and now the lightning flashes...
and now the thunder clashes...
and now the rain comes down!
A delay in the Potsdam ultimatum...
could result in a delay
in the Japanese reaction...
with a further delay
to the atomic attack on Japan.
Obviously, a reasonable time
has to be allowed...
for the Japanese
to consider the ultimatum.
Fermi is taking wagers
as to whether the bomb...
will ignite the atmosphere.
And if so, whether it will destroy
just New Mexico...
or the entire world.
I fail to appreciate
your black humor, Dr. Teller.
This is exactly the kind of loose talk...
that might paralyze
the enlisted men with fright.
Edward's a great one
for oddball problems, General.
I asked for and I obtained...
a most important assignment...
one that many consider superfluous.
There had been some suggestions...
that we might have miscalculated...
that the explosion could be
much larger than we had anticipated.
Might we not be setting off
a huge chain reaction...
that will encircle
the globe in a sea of fire?
It's my job
to make a last check and review.
I've spent a great deal of time...
indulging in controlled fantasies.
Trying to dream up...
new, undiscovered laws of nature...
laws that a sudden release of
atomic energy might bring into play.
There was a possibility...
that the test blast might touch off...
a natural phenomenon...
that is not contrary to our knowledge...
but perhaps beyond our experience.
In July, three years ago,
I made some of the initial calculations...
and my figures indicated
that the bomb would, indeed...
create enough heat...
to ignite the earth's atmosphere.
You'll remember that I immediately
called a halt to those meetings.
We asked Bethe about your numbers.
His calculations showed...
that even the extreme pressures
and temperatures...
reached in the interior
of our explosion...
will not be high enough...
to fuse the hydrogen...
with either nitrogen or helium.
The gadget won't set fire
to the atmosphere.
My revised figures agree with Bethe's.
I can find no reason
to believe the test shot...
will touch off
the destruction of the world...
no reason to think
that our advance calculations...
are not entirely correct.
Edward, the test will be delayed
an hour or more.
The climax of our
two-billion dollar experiment....
Will we have a "dud,"
a "fizzle" at Trinity?
This drizzle is bone-chilling.
Here, I've brought
a bottle of suntan lotion.
Pass it around.
The winds have actually shifted
a full 360 degrees...
in the last twelve hours.
Thundershowers and 30 mph winds
are raking the test site.
In the east
the cloud-flower blossoms....
You are eight minutes late.
General, a night rain in a tropical
air mass behaves differently...
from a standard
southwestern afternoon storm.
This is no normal storm, Sir.
Neither Bainbridge nor I
have slept in over two days.
There is still hope for a shot.
Maybe some time
between dawn at five a.m....
and sunrise at six.
Prepare to fire at five-thirty.
This program has been plagued
from the start...
by the presence
of certain scientists...
of doubtful discretion...
and uncertain loyalty.
It was agreed in Washington
that nothing can be done...
about dismissing those men until
after the bomb has actually been used.
Or, at best...
until after the test has been made.
After some publicity
concerning the weapon is out...
steps should be taken...
to sever these scientists
from the program...
and to proceed with a
general weeding out of personnel...
no longer needed.
To keep the weakness secret...
to deny it...
and break through.
In the dream of chieftains...
the corn...
distinct again
in gold-white tuft-feathers.
The roads all paved,
stony, savage...
the knocking in the chest resumed.
Your father....
Your father has
a passion for freedom...
rang and rang
in the small boy's head.
Then word came
from a runner, a stranger...
they are dancing
to bring the dead back...
in the mountains.
We danced at an autumn fire...
we danced the old hate and change...
the coming again of our leaders.
But they did not come.
I just finished reading
The Magic Mountain by Thomas Mann.
And of course to go to this
mysterious mountain...
on top of which...
there would be a secret laboratory...
which we would go into...
the doors would slam shut...
and a few years later...
we would come out
bearing an atomic bomb.
I assure you that now the seconds...
are strongly
and solemnly accentuated.
And each one,
spouting out of the clock...
says: I am life...
insupportable, implacable life!
The winter dawned,
but the dead did not come back.
News came on the frost....
The dead...
the dead are on the march!
We danced in prison
to a winter music...
many we loved
began to dream of the dead.
They made no promises,
we never dreamed a threat.
And the dreams spread.
And love...
which contains all human spirit...
all with the eyes and hands...
sex, mouth, hair...
the whole woman...
Fierce peace...
I say at last...
and the sense of the world.
There is only one second
in the life of men...
whose mission it is
to announce good news...
the good news...
which fills every man
with an inexplicable fear.
Fierce peace I say at last...
and the sense of the world.
The only saviors are the ham sandwiches
and hot coffee.
We have an informal betting pool going.
Everybody puts in a dollar...
Whoever guesses the explosive yield
is a rich man.
I guess 300 tons of TNT.
A very low estimate, not much more
than 30 ten-ton blockbuster bombs.
In other words... what you're predicting is
we'll get nothing more than a fizzle.
I confess my utter amazement...
that these scientists
are glooming over their coffee cups...
about their uncertainties
of the coming test.
The bomb has a blackboard potential
of nearly 20,000 tons.
That's 20 kilotons of TNT.
No one thinks for a minute...
we'll achieve a yield like that.
Bethe and Ulam guess small:
5 to 7 kilotons.
The scientists refuse to believe
what their own calculations tell them.
I confess that I am not optimistic...
maybe a forty-sixty
chance of success.
I alone scoff
at my colleagues' pessimism.
I pick 45 kilotons.
At the sight of this,
your shape stupendous...
full of mouths and eyes,
terrible with fangs.
At the sight of this...
your shape stupendous...
full of mouths and eyes,
feet, thighs and bellies.
All the worlds are fear-struck,
even just as I am.
When I see you...
Vishnu.
When I see you omnipresent...
shouldering the sky,
in hues of rainbow....
At the sight of this,
your shape stupendous...
with your mouths agape
and flame-eyes staring...
All my peace is gone.
O my heart is troubled.
When I see you,
Vishnu, omnipresent...
flame-eyes staring...
All my peace is gone, is troubled.
Lieutenant Bush,
keep a weather eye on Oppenheimer.
There is concern our
high-strung director...
might have a breakdown
at the last minute.
The radio connection with
the control tower is out of order...
no one really knows...
when the bomb will go off...
or where to look for it.
The scientists are standing around
in the dark and munching candy bars...
as we wait for some divine revelation...
to tell us when the shot will go.
To what benevolent demon...
do I owe the joy
of being thus surrounded...
with mystery...
with silence...
with peace...
and with perfumes?
O beatitude!
That which we generally call life...
even when it's fullest
and happiest...
has nothing in common...
with that supreme life...
which I now know...
and which I am tasting...
minute by minute...
second by second!
No!
There are no more minutes.
No more seconds!
Time has disappeared...
it is eternity that reigns now!
That's the signal.
The shot will go in five minutes.
Everyone should take his place
in the trenches.
The sky is clear to the east...
and over Ground Zero
and south-10,000.
But overcast to the west.
We have visibility
greater than 60 miles.
The surface wind
from the east southeast...
is 3 to 6 miles per hour...
below 500 feet.
The rain has stopped.
In the summer...
dreaming was common to all of us...
the drumbeat hope...
the bursting heart of wish....
Music to bind us
as the visions streamed...
and midnight brightened...
brightened to belief.
In the midnight,
in the flame-brilliant midnight...
dreamers wake...
dreamers wake in the night
and sing their songs.
In the flame-brilliant midnight...
promises arrive,
singing to each of us...
with tongues of flame:
We are hopes...
you should have hoped us.
We are dreams,
you should have dreamed us.
Ah, calling our name.
Zero minus two minutes.
The two-minute warning rocket...
has sputtered out prematurely.
That was an ominous sign.
Lord, these affairs
are hard on the heart.