The Other Einstein(25)

   Sir Isaac Newton





Chapter 9


April 12, 1898

Zürich, Switzerland

Dusted with an early spring snow and topped with the icy spires of its clock towers, resembling the ivory marzipan peaks of the desserts I’d seen at the Conditorei Schober, Zürich welcomed me back. The girls and I quickly settled into our routines. Meals, whist, tea, music. But as the days marched toward the purpose of my return—matriculation back into the Polytechnic—I felt nothing but dread.

Mr. Einstein’s failure to respond to my letter had initially filled me with relief; it gave me license to reignite my Polytechnic studies without fear of his romantic interest. As our reunion drew nearer, however, the reality of his silence struck me. I would be sitting beside Mr. Einstein in classrooms for the next two and a half years, the duration of our program. But what would I face from him? Disdain because of my rejection? Rumor-mongering among our classmates over our sole kiss? Would our previous friendship be my undoing? My reputation as a serious student was everything. Women scientists didn’t get second chances.

As the days mounted, so did the apprehension that my return to Zürich was anything but wise.

On the first day of term, I delayed entering the classroom until the last possible second. When I heard the scrape of chairs pulling under desks, I knew I could wait no longer. Finally pushing open the door, I saw that my same seat was empty. The other chairs and desks were occupied by the familiar five students who had filled Section Six my first year; no other student had been added during the winter term that I’d missed, and no one else had dropped out. Had my seat been waiting for me all this time? It looked as forlorn as I felt. As I limped over to it, careful to fix my gaze on the desk and nothing else, I felt Mr. Einstein’s dark brown eyes on me.

After I took my seat, I kept my eyes solely on Professor Weber. Initially, he played at my invisibility, and then suddenly, he said, “I see that Miss Mari? has decided to rejoin us from the hinterlands of Heidelberg. While she undoubtedly witnessed some intriguing experiments during her sabbatical, I wonder if she can keep pace with the critical concepts that you all have been mastering in the first term of this year, the year of my cornerstone physics class, the foundation of your physics degrees.” He then launched into his lecture.

My cheeks hot with shame at Weber’s troubling comments, I scribbled down notes as quickly as he could speak. Weber’s message was plain. My term in Heidelberg was ill-perceived, by Weber and God knows who else, and Weber would not be lenient with me. I reminded myself that I was making the right choice to return to Section Six, to reclaim my path to a physics professorship in spite of Mr. Einstein. I could not let Weber or anyone else at the Polytechnic see me as soft. I had worked hard—harder than any of my classmates, and certainly harder than Mr. Einstein—to reach this point, to examine the questions that philosophers have asked since time immemorial, the questions that the great scientific minds of our day were poised to answer: the nature of reality, space, time, and its contents. I wanted to scrutinize Newton’s principles—the laws of action and reaction, force and acceleration and gravitation—and study them in light of the latest investigations into atoms and mechanics to see if any single theory existed that could explain the seemingly endless variety of natural phenomena and chaos. I hungered to examine the newer ideas about heat, thermodynamics, gases, and electricity, as well as their mathematical underpinnings; numbers were the architecture of an enormous physical system integral to everything. This was God’s secret language, I was certain. This was my religion, I was on a crusade, and crusaders couldn’t afford frailty. Feeling Mr. Einstein’s eyes on me, I reminded myself that crusaders couldn’t afford romance either.

“Gentlemen, that will suffice for today. Tonight, I want you to revisit Helmholtz. I will weave his theories into those we explored today.” Weber pronounced this with an acid glare as he exited the classroom, robes trailing. Other than his obvious disgust with me, who knew what else we had done to warrant his wrath? There were a myriad of ways that we, once again, proved ourselves unworthy of him, he who had studied under the great physics masters Gustav Kirchhoff and Hermann von Helmholtz.

Chatter only started once Weber’s departure was certain. Messrs. Ehrat and Kollros offered me a pleasant welcome back, and Mr. Grossman bowed toward me. I returned their kind words and gestures with a quick curtsy, but then I sensed Mr. Einstein’s approach. I scrambled to pack my bag and wrap my coat around me. I couldn’t bear to have this awkward moment in front of my classmates. My reputation and my tenuous relationship with them wouldn’t survive it.

Clomp, drag. The sound of my uneven footfalls echoed throughout the otherwise empty corridor outside Weber’s classroom. I thought I’d escaped, but then I heard the race of footsteps behind me. I knew it was him.

“I see you are angry with me,” he said.

I didn’t answer. I didn’t even stop walking. My emotions were fluctuating so wildly, I was afraid to speak.

“Your anger is understandable. I never wrote you back. That failure is rude and inexcusable,” he offered.

I slowed my pace but still didn’t respond.

“I’m not certain what else to do but to apologize and ask for your forgiveness.” He paused.

I stopped and considered my response. He didn’t seem angry at my rejection. Was I angry at him? Was he really offering a simple apology and requesting nothing more? Seeing him again, I felt myself slipping into old feelings of tenderness, warmth, even surrender. Was a simple apology—and nothing more—what I wanted? I wasn’t sure, but I could not go back; I had sacrificed an entire term to secure an independent path and had made promises to Papa. I must pretend what I did not feel.