The Other Einstein(14)

“Sir, sir,” I called out over my shoulder, but he didn’t stop pushing me down the ever-darkening corridor. There was no one around to hear my pleas. What was going on?

I struggled to turn around but couldn’t. The man was over a foot taller than me. He shoved me against the wall—my face smashed against it and away from his, so I could not identify him later—and held me down tightly. My arms burned.

“You think you’re so smart. Showing off with that answer.” He seethed, spit from his angry words spraying my one exposed cheek. “You should not even be allowed in our class. There’s a law against it.” He gave me a final shove into the wall and then ran off.

I stayed frozen, still facing the wall, until I heard his last footstep. Only then did I turn around, shaking uncontrollably. I had not expected an eager welcome from my fellow students, but I had not expected this either. Leaning against the wall, I began to cry, something I had promised myself I would never do at school. Wiping away my tears and the attacker’s spittle from my cheeks, I realized that I was going to have to tamp down my intelligence and keep my smarts quiet too. Or risk everything.

? ? ?

Weber interrupted my unpleasant memory with chiding. “Tsk, tsk. I am very disappointed that not one of you has your hand raised. We have been leading up to this question for the entire class. Doesn’t anyone know the answer?”

Remembering my conversation with Helene from a month ago, I decided to stop my past from paralyzing me. I took a deep breath and raised my hand. Weber stepped down from the podium and walked toward my seat. What sort of ignominy would he make me suffer if I was wrong? What would my classmates do if I was correct?

“Ah, it’s you, Miss Mari?,” he said as if surprised. As if he didn’t know whose desk he was walking toward. As if I hadn’t already demonstrated my intellect to him. This feigned astonishment was just another way he humiliated me. And tested me.

“The answer to your question is one percent,” I said. I felt more heat rise in my cheeks and wished I hadn’t opened my mouth.

“I’m sorry, can you repeat that a little louder, so we can all share in your wisdom?” Wisdom. It sounded as if Weber was mocking me. Had I gotten the answer wrong? Was he reveling in my failure?

I cleared my throat and said, in the strongest voice I could muster, “Given the context of your question, the closest we can come to stating the time necessary to cool the earth is by one percent.”

“Correct,” Weber admitted with not a small amount of surprise and disappointment. “For those of you who could not hear it, Miss Mari? has arrived at the correct answer. By one percent. Please mark it down.”

Murmurs built around me. At first, I could not hear any of the comments clearly, but then I teased a few pointed remarks out of the chatter. I heard “she got it” and “nice work” among the phrases. These compliments were a first; I had answered a couple of Weber’s questions correctly before without a single reaction. Most likely, today, my classmates were merely delighted that someone got the better of Weber.

As class came to an end, I stood and began to pack my satchel. Mr. Einstein walked the few steps over toward my desk. “Most impressive, Miss Mari?.”

“Thank you, Mr. Einstein.” I answered quietly with a nod. “But I’m certain any one of our classmates could have done just as well.” I resumed my packing, wondering why I felt the need to diminish my accomplishments.

“You do yourself a disservice, Miss Mari?. I can assure you that none of us other fellows knew the answer.” His voice dropped to a whisper. “Or else we wouldn’t have allowed Weber to badger us for so insufferably long.”

An irrepressible smile crept upon my face at Mr. Einstein’s audacity in criticizing Weber while he was standing right there at the podium.

“There it is, Miss Mari?. That elusive smile. I believe I’ve only seen it twice before.”

“Is that so?” I glanced up at him. I didn’t want to encourage his silly banter—especially in the presence of my classmates and Weber, who I wanted to think of me seriously—but I did not want to be rude.

He met my gaze. “Oh yes, I’ve been keeping careful—and quite scientific—notes about your smiles. A few evenings ago, when you were kind enough to allow me to play music with you and your friends, I spied one. But that wasn’t the first. No, the first smile took place on the steps of your pension. That day I walked you home in the rain.”

I didn’t know how to respond. He seemed serious, not at all his usual bemused self. And that very fact made me apprehensive. Was it possible that he was making some sort of overture toward me? I had no experience with such things, and other than Helene’s occasional warnings, I had no way to assess his comments.

Out of nerves or discomfort, I started walking toward the classroom door. The rustle of papers behind me and the fast clip of shoes told me that Mr. Einstein was racing to follow me. “Will you ladies be playing this evening?” he asked once he reached my side.

Ah, perhaps he simply sought musical companionship. Maybe his statements had not been flirtatious at all. A strange mix of disappointment and relief washed over me. This startled me. Was there some part of me that sought his attentions?

“It is our custom to play before dinner,” I answered.

“Do you have a piece selected?”