The Other Einstein(21)

The chug of the train slowed a bit, and the two men leaped on board. A moment later, the compartment door burst open. There was Mr. Einstein, beaming. “I made it!” Bowing at us, he gestured behind him. “Ladies, may I introduce my friend, Michele Besso, whom Miss Mari? and Miss Dra?i? already know from Café Metropole. He is an engineer and graduate of the Polytechnic.”

I nodded in acknowledgment; I had shared many conversations with Mr. Besso about Ernst Mach, a physicist he admired. At Café Metropole, I enjoyed talking with the soft-spoken Mr. Besso, but I wondered how the girls would perceive him. Certainly Ru?ica had not engaged much with him that first afternoon at the café.

“Welcome, gentlemen,” I said.

Without waiting for my leave, and without offering an excuse for having brought an extra guest, Mr. Einstein plopped down on the bench next to me. His leg brushed up against the folds of my skirt, and I realized that we had never sat side by side before. Wooden student chairs, spindly iron café seats, and the Engelbrechts’ ornate parlor chairs had been our perches. It felt too close, especially when I’d just decided the trip was better without him.

Mr. Besso was more circumspect. “May I?” he asked Ru?ica before sitting down.

As our unexpected guest exchanged pleasantries with Ru?ica, Milana, and Helene, I turned to Mr. Einstein. His face was very near mine, so close I could smell coffee and chocolate and tobacco on his breath.

“You made quite an entrance,” I said with a half laugh as I slid the tiniest bit away from him.

“A day so fine deserves a grand gesture,” he pronounced, sweeping his hand to the vivid blue skies visible from the window.

“Ah, so that was the reason for the sprint through the station and the calls to the stationmaster?” I asked with a sly grin. I guessed at the reason for his lateness—he had overslept, as the gentlemen often teased him about at Café Metropole—and it had nothing to do with the day’s grandness. It wasn’t exactly a ladylike comment, but then, I didn’t want him to think of me as simply a lady. I wanted him to think of me as a scholar and an equal, and the comment was the sort one of his café friends might make.

He laughed and then lowered his voice to a whisper, “How I love to see that smile.”

With a show of politeness, Mr. Besso interrupted us with a question, and soon, we were all discussing our excursion. Neither Mr. Einstein nor Mr. Besso had ever ventured into the Sihlwald before, and each of us ladies had a favorite aspect to share. In this companionable fashion, the ride passed quickly.

The first hours of the hike passed similarly, the thick canopy of the forest keeping us delightfully cool as we climbed. Enormous deciduous trees (of which only Helene knew the proper name) towered over us, and vast fallen trunks sometimes blocked our passage. Verdant foliage and mountain flowers abounded, and from their exclamations over the zealous forest growth, Mr. Einstein and Mr. Besso were suitably impressed with the sights. The girls were pleased by their reaction and grew even more animated in pointing out the silvery beech trees and the occasional purple bloom of alpine rock jasmine. We wanted everyone to love the Sihlwald as much as we did.

I kept pace with the girls as well as with Mr. Einstein and Mr. Besso as we trudged up ever-steeper hills. No one paid my limp any heed, and I didn’t need to either. The epithets of my younger days in Serbia felt like an ancient bad dream, one that the bright Sihlwald light washed away.

It seemed we all felt freer. I heard Ru?ica tell Mr. Besso one of her silly jokes, the sort she usually reserved for our games of whist and that made us groan and then begrudgingly giggle. Helene actually laughed at one of Mr. Einstein’s quips. And when Milana pestered me for one of my imitations of Mrs. Engelbrecht, I complied. By the time we reached the Albishorn, we were all in good humor.

But then the majesty of the view took hold. The vaulting peaks of surrounding mountains capped by clouds and azure skies competed with the wide, navy swath of the lake and river. We were small against the vastness of nature. Even Mr. Einstein, ever garrulous, grew quiet.

Breaking the silence, Mr. Besso pulled a bottle of wine from his pack. “By way of thanks for your hospitality today, ladies.”

Mr. Einstein good-naturedly chuffed him on the shoulder. “Good show, Michele.”

We sat down to enjoy Mr. Besso’s generosity. One after the other, we took swigs from the bottle; glasses had been impossible to bring in his pack, he explained with an apology. No one minded.

“I hate to say it, but if we’re going to make the last train back to Zürich, we should head back now,” Helene said.

“It’s hard to leave, isn’t it?” Milana asked, linking her arm with Helene’s. I understood that she was speaking about much more than the Albishorn. This moment in time, shimmering and blissful, was hard to relinquish. Would another so perfect come again?

As I began to rise with the rest of the group, I felt a hand on my arm. Looking over, I saw it was Mr. Einstein. “Please stay a minute,” he whispered.

I paused. What exactly did Mr. Einstein want? He certainly wouldn’t seek out a quiet moment to discuss our physics exam. Deep within, in the secrecy of my thoughts, I sensed that—with all his hints and banter and encouragement—he had been building to this moment, but I still couldn’t believe that he harbored romantic thoughts about me. I knew I should decline, insist that we follow the group. Hadn’t I been steeling myself against this precise event? But I had to know what he was going to say.