The Other Einstein(40)

Albert gave me a quizzical glance; why was this woman so interested in our citizenship? This region was rife with tourists from all over Europe. “My apologies. You asked where we are from. We arrived from Switzerland. But I am originally from Berlin.” Albert didn’t offer his citizenship papers to her, because he was between countries. Despising the militaristic culture prevailing in his hometown of Berlin, Albert had renounced his citizenship and was awaiting Swiss papers in its place.

“You don’t look German either. You look Jewish.”

Albert’s eyes narrowed in an angry expression I’d seen only once before, in an argument with Professor Weber. “I am Jewish. Is that a problem?”

“Yes. We have no rooms here for Jews.”

Grabbing our bags and slamming the door behind us, we walked out. “Albert, I’m so sorry—” I tried to soften the blow as we walked toward another establishment.

“Why are you apologizing, my sweet Dollie? Anti-Semitism is an ugly part of my world. I’m just sorry that you had to experience it firsthand.”

“Johnnie, if it’s part of your world, then it’s part of mine. We will face it together.”

Smiling at me, he said, “How lucky I am in you.”

We arrived at another inn. White-washed with dark timber beams for support and ornamentation, it looked like a traditional inn for the region. Tentatively, Albert pulled open the front door. Warmth and a well-scrubbed reception prevailed on the inside. A few empty tables sat before a crackling fire, and before we could ask for assistance, a barmaid approached.

“Würden Sie ein Bier?” she asked.

An ale had never sounded more enticing. We accepted and settled into chairs. Without noticing, I downed several steins of ale before our dinner of Wurst und Sp?tzle arrived. We laughed over the day’s adventures, and somehow, I found Albert’s jokes funnier and his scientific musings more insightful than ever before. As he excused himself for a minute, I realized I was tipsy. And not at all nervous about what the night might hold. I took another swig of ale.

When he returned, he had an archaic-looking key in hand, and our bags were gone. “Are you finished, Dollie?” he asked and extended his hand.

Without a word, I placed my hand in his and stood up. Together, we walked up the creaky set of stairs to the guest rooms. When we reached a door inscribed with a number four, Albert inserted the key and jangled it in the lock. The door wouldn’t budge. Looking down, I saw that his hands were trembling.

“Here, Johnnie, let me try,” I said. Easily, I slid the key into the lock and opened the door to an immaculate bedroom, replete with a roaring fire, a small terrace, and a four-poster bed. A bed. All the ale had made me forget for a moment.

I froze. Sensing my nervousness, Albert turned me to face him. “We don’t have to do this, Dollie. I can get another room for you.”

In the pause, my father’s accusations passed through my mind along with those of Albert’s mother, and I almost asked for a separate room. Almost.

“No, Johnnie. I want to do this. We have waited too long.”

A carafe of crimson wine sparkled on the small table before the fire. Albert hastened over to it and poured us each a glass. Even Albert, who rarely drank alcohol, except tonight, it seemed, quickly downed a glass of the sweet wine. A second glass in hand, he lifted it to mine. “My dearest Dollie, this night is the first of our unions. Soon, we will celebrate our marriage with the rest of the world. But tonight is our private, bohemian ceremony. For us alone.”

I had made the right choice.

He kissed me. A full, deep kiss without worry of interruption. I relaxed into it, allowing it to envelop me. I felt his tongue on mine and his hand in my hair. He pulled the pin out of my chignon, and my heavy curls fell to my shoulders. Slowly, too slowly, he unbuttoned the tiny pearl buttons that ran the length of my navy dress. As it slipped to the floor, he gasped.

Standing in my undergarments, I felt horribly exposed. Was he recoiling at my uneven hips? My deformed body? “Am I so ugly?” I whispered as I rushed to cover my chest with my long, heavy hair.

“No! Dollie, you are beautiful.”

He ran his finger along the curves of my body, pushing aside my skein of hair and slowly unlacing my corset. I shivered at the deliciousness of his touch. “Your ivory shoulders, your tiny waist, your full bosom. I-I never expected—”

He wasn’t disappointed. He was in awe. I reached for him, kissing him hard on the mouth. I fumbled over the buttons on his shirt and pants; I wanted to feel his chest and body against mine. For a long moment, we melded our bodies to one another, just breathing. And then he led me to the bed.

? ? ?

On our final day, Albert arranged a surprise. Holding his hands over my eyes, he walked me through the streets of Chiavenna. I’d grown accustomed to the scents of our little haven—the bitter roasting coffee beans at our local café, the spicy incense wafting out of a church mass, the rich floral perfumes of the one luxury store in the tiny town—and I had a fair idea of our path. But soon, we walked into a space whose smell I didn’t recognize immediately. I sniffed again; it was the distinct aroma of horse.

Albert removed his hands from my eyes. We were in a barn. This was my surprise?

“We are off to the Splügen,” he announced.

I clasped his hand in excitement. We’d often discussed the mad journey over the mountain pass that spanned Italy and Switzerland. But funds had never been available for this splurge.