The Other Einstein(36)

“The German schools are rife with anti-Semitism. That may well be another factor.” He offered another explanation, one he’d only hinted at before. He liked to think of himself as nonreligious, regardless of his heritage, even though he knew others didn’t share this notion.

I nodded, for again, this was accurate. Anti-Semitism was rampant throughout Germanic educational institutions. Still, it didn’t explain his string of Italian rejections, but I wouldn’t dare point out this inconsistency.

The usual amused crinkle disappeared from around his eyes. An uncomfortable silence settled on the table. Uncomfortable for me at least. I never knew what to do when Albert’s mood grew this black.

I glanced around the room, trying to distract myself with its extravagant decor, its curlicued chairs and marble-topped tables. The hour was odd, somewhere in between lunch and dinner, and the café was largely empty. The white-coated waiters stood in an orderly but relaxed line against the back wall, looking relieved that the café wasn’t bustling.

“Maybe if I was free to go where I like,” Albert muttered, almost to himself. Almost.

I stared back at him, stunned. Too stunned to speak, in fact. Was he talking about me? Was he actually suggesting that I’d put some geographical limitation on his search that gave rise to his rejections? Or that I’d made some other sort of demand that was compromising him? How dare he? I had offered him unbridled support and the freedom to seek a job wherever he liked; I told him I would follow. I had even turned down an unsolicited job offer from a former instructor to teach at a high school in Zagreb, because Albert didn’t want to live in eastern Europe. He deemed it too far away from the heart of scientific developments. I agreed because I knew he found the notion of following me for a job humiliating, especially when he couldn’t find one himself. And throughout it all, I’d suffered the brunt of his frustration in silence.

I’d never yelled at Albert before, and now, when the words finally came, they emerged as a whisper. Not as the roar I felt inside. “I have never stood in the way of your career—”

“Albert? Miss Mari??” A voice interrupted me. I turned away from an astonished Albert to see Mr. Grossman. Because he’d been the very first of our class to secure a job as a teaching assistant, he was possibly the last person Albert wanted to see. “I say, what are you two doing here? This is far from your usual stomping grounds at the Café Metropole.”

Albert wasn’t one for displaying his weaknesses to anyone but me, so he assumed a pleasing expression, stood up, and grasped Mr. Grossman’s hand as if there was no one else in the world that he’d rather see. “Good to see you, Marcel. Miss Mari? and I happened here after a stroll, but what brings you to this unlikely spot?”

Mr. Grossman smiled but said nothing about finding us here, alone, so far from the school grounds; I suspected that he’d long known about our relationship. He then explained that he had a bit of free time before a social call in the neighborhood and stopped in for an ale. We invited him to join us. Inevitably, as social convention required, the talk turned to his new role as the teaching assistant to Polytechnic professor Wilhelm Fiedler, a geometer. Even though Albert’s inquiries seemed enthusiastic, I could see how forced they were and the toll they took upon him.

The conversation slackened, and out of politeness, Mr. Grossman asked, “Miss Mari?, I know that you decided to sit for the exams next July and are undoubtedly busy studying, but what of you, Albert?”

“My dissertation, of course,” Albert said hastily.

“Of course,” Mr. Grossman answered just as hastily, sensing Albert’s discomfort with the question. Something made him risk the topic again. Perhaps he knew of Albert’s situation and how desperate it had become. “I only ask because my father just mentioned to me that his friend Friedrich Haller, who’s the director of the Swiss Patent Office in Bern, might be looking for an examiner.”

“Hmm,” Albert said, feigning calm. Even disinterest.

“I don’t know whether you’ve secured a permanent position yet—”

Albert interjected, “I have several posts for which I’m still being considered.”

I wanted to scream at Albert. What was he doing, not leaping at this chance? He couldn’t afford to play games. My future was at stake too. Damn his pride.

“I assumed as much,” Mr. Grossman said, then gingerly continued, “The patent office job isn’t a position in which you’d use theoretical physics, of course, but you would certainly have cause to utilize physics in a very practical way as you considered the inventions that sought patents. It would be an unconventional—even unorthodox—use of your degree.”

With a single word—unorthodox—Mr. Grossman had offered Albert a way to preserve his honor. Brightening, Albert said, “You’re right, Marcel. The position would certainly be unconventional. But then, I’ve sought out unconventionality. Perhaps it’s just the thing.”

“Wonderful,” Mr. Grossman said. “It would be a great relief to my father’s friend Mr. Haller to have a solid choice. I’m not certain exactly when this examiner position will become available, but I’m sure my father—whom you’ve met—would be willing to recommend you for the position.”

Albert caught my eye and smiled. And in that moment of fresh hope and possibility, I forgave him.