The Other Einstein(46)

As the weeks passed and Albert still did not journey to Ka?, pity set in. I overheard conversations between my parents about “poor Mitza” and clucks of sadness; I knew my parents had been bracing for this sort of rejection my whole life. Their pity wrapped around me like the tentacles of a giant squid until I could no longer breathe. I sometimes felt that I couldn’t bear a minute longer.

After three months of alternating disappointment, worry, and pity, I needed to get out of Ka?. In November, I manufactured a trip to Zürich, claiming that there was a chance I could salvage my dissertation with Weber. I doubted that Papa believed me—even tightly corseted, the bulge of my belly was hard to hide, and it was incredulous that I could get a doctorate having failed my undergraduate classwork—but he allowed me to go and even gave me money for the trip. I was, of course, headed to Albert. He was the solace I sought, the salve for my wounds.

? ? ?

The bold red sign announcing Schaffhausen flew past the train window so quickly, I nearly missed it. I craned my neck for a glimpse of the town’s eleventh-century fortress that Albert had described so prettily in his letters. I saw nothing of the town with its cobbled streets and its astronomical clock tower, only the thick forest that encircled it. I wondered if those were the woodsy outskirts of Schaffhausen where Albert lived and worked tutoring a young Englishman for the Matura exams. It was a temporary job, the only one he could secure after his temporary teaching position in Winterthur ended in August.

I couldn’t risk leaving the train to find out. Not in my condition. If anyone from his work saw us together, the mark on his reputation might affect his job. We couldn’t afford that.

No, I would stay on the train until the next stop. I had decided to lodge in Stein am Rhein, the closest town to Schaffhausen to the north. I planned to write Albert of my surprise visit from there. He hadn’t come to see me in Ka? and explain our situation to my parents as I’d requested—his pay was only one hundred and fifty francs per month, and he claimed he couldn’t go to his parents for the fare—so I traveled to him.

From my room in the Hotel Steinerhof in Stein am Rhein, I sent Albert some flowers and a note announcing my arrival. Then I settled into blissful quiet, my growing belly set free from the constraining corsets, and read without interruption or condemnation from my parents. And I waited.

For an entire day, Albert didn’t write back. I became frenzied. What could possibly delay his reply? Could he be away? Or ill? Perhaps the mail system was to blame? I ventured another letter.

This time, a response came swiftly. Without mention of my other letter, Albert expressed his surprise and delight but maintained that he couldn’t visit just yet. He proffered two excuses: one, that his cousin Robert Koch was visiting, and since Robert had lost his ticket home and was awaiting funds from his mother to purchase another, his departure date was unclear; and two, that Albert himself didn’t have any money left from his one hundred and fifty francs a month to pay for a ticket to Stein am Rhein.

The letter ended with numerous “beloveds” and “sweet sorceresses,” but no nicknames could appease me. Did he think I could be so cheaply bought? How dare he not come immediately? Had his mother finally gotten to him? I understood the issue of his cousin—I didn’t want either one of our families to know about my visit—but the money? His pregnant sweetheart had traveled nearly two full days to visit him, and he couldn’t muster thirty francs for a short train ride? One hundred and fifty francs a month wasn’t much, but carefully managed, he should have already amassed a small sum to set up house in Zürich. A train ticket should not be an issue.

With the upsetting note came some books from Albert’s collection, presumably to keep me well occupied until his visit. I tried to keep my focus on a psychology text from Auguste Forel, director of the famous Burgh?lzli Clinic in Zürich, but it was futile. Particularly when another letter arrived on the day designated for the visit, begging me to wait yet again. He blamed work, his cousin, his finances, everything but himself.

This time, I did not control my anger. If he could not even scrape together enough money and time to visit me one train stop away when I’d traversed countries to see him, what type of commitment could I really expect from him? I sent off another missive giving him three days to visit, the three days until my money ran out.

But Albert never came. I waited in vain until I could afford to stay at the Hotel Steinerhof no longer. Ten days after my arrival, I returned to Ka? alone.

The trip had not helped heal my wounds but inflamed them. It seemed I would be facing this pregnancy alone, just as my parents feared.





Chapter 20


January 27, 1902

Ka?, Serbia

I screamed. As Mama mopped my brow, I heard guttural groaning in the room. Was there a creature in the birthing room with us? Surely, it couldn’t be me making the noises. The screams yes, but not those desperate, animalistic sounds.

“What is that noise, Mama?” I asked, my voice hoarse from screaming.

Mama looked at me strangely. “Mitza, the only noise in here is coming from you.”

How could that be my voice? How could this be my body?

Another wave of pain hit me. I clutched Mama’s hand tightly as the midwife, Mrs. Kona?ek examined me again. I tried to breathe and calm myself as she had instructed, but my body convulsed as more stabbing sensations coursed through me. When would this end?