The Other Einstein(48)

“Are you sure she should push? What about the blood?” Mama implored.

“There is only one way through this, Mrs. Mari?. Whatever the outcome.” She placed her hands on my thighs. “Come now, Miss Mari?, push.”

Tunneling through the pain into a still place deep within myself, I took a breath and bore down. And then, suddenly, the pain and pressure stopped.

I did not hear the cry of a baby as I expected. I heard the sound of water dripping. More like pouring, actually. What water would be pouring in here? There was no well, no sink. Was there a leak from the storm? Looking down toward my feet, I saw the midwife holding a bowl, not a baby. Even in my pain-induced delirium, I could hear it fill with blood. My blood, not water, was the source of the sound.

What’s wrong? I wanted to ask. Where is my baby? I longed to cry out. But I couldn’t make the words form in my mouth. I clutched at the air, and then I went black.

I didn’t remember when I first saw her beautiful face. My eyes may have fluttered open for a few seconds before I fell back into the void of blankness. It may have been hours after the birth or days; I lost so many days and hours in the weeks after she was born. I held her for a few minutes here and there, I thought. I even suckled her for a bit, I hazily remember, as I half listened to Papa read aloud a letter he’d written to Albert about the baby. But I vividly recalled the moment when she opened her bright-blue eyes and looked at me. Even though I knew it was impossible, that newborn babies are incapable of such a thing, I swore she smiled at me.

I had a daughter. Just like I secretly wanted. A little Lieserl.

Izgoobio sam sye. I was lost to her.





Chapter 21


June 4, 1902

Ka?, Serbia

Lieserl grinned up at me from her crib. I adored the way her toothless smile emphasized the pillowy softness of her cheeks. Stroking her impossibly silky skin, I thought how deserving she was of every and any sacrifice I could make for her. Physics was nothing compared to Lieserl. God’s secrets were revealed in her face.

Her cornflower-blue eyes stayed open instead of fluttering shut for her nap as I’d hoped, and I almost reached into the carved oak crib for her, the same one Mama had used for me as an infant. Lieserl had fallen asleep in my arms in the rocker, and I had tried to place her as gently as possible onto her blanket-strewn bed. But the moment her sweet, blond head touched the heather-gray blanket I’d knitted for her, she woke up with that smile on her rosebud-shaped lips.

I heard Mama’s footsteps thud down the hallway to Lieserl’s bedroom, then the noise stopped. I didn’t need to look at the doorway to know that Mama was leaning against the frame, watching us with a smile on her lips. Mama adored Lieserl nearly as much as I did, illegitimate or not.

“A letter has arrived for you, Mitza,” Mama said. From her tone, I knew it must be from Albert.

“Will you stay with Lieserl until she falls asleep, Mama?” I asked, taking the letter from her hand.

“Of course, Mitza,” Mama said with a squeeze on my arm.

Instead of heading downstairs to the comfortable front parlor with its open windows and early summer breeze, I walked upstairs to the Spire bell tower. I wanted solitude when I read the letter. There, in what had once been my childhood refuge, a time that seemed long ago, I slit the envelope open with a pair of sharp scissors.

Before I read Albert’s words, I closed my eyes and whispered a small prayer to the Virgin Mary. Mama’s habits had become contagious, and I needed help, especially since the religiosity I used to find in my work was outside my grasp these days. I wanted so desperately for Albert to come visit our baby girl; I’d begged him to come, and he’d continually demurred. He explained that he had to stay in Bern to await final governmental approval for the patent position and couldn’t afford to do anything that might besmirch his reputation. While I understood that the Swiss were notoriously respectable and that Albert needed to be cautious, I couldn’t see how a trip to Ka? could possibly jeopardize the position. No one in Bern needed to know whom he was visiting.

I lowered my eyes to his familiar scrawl. He started the letter with his usual loving nicknames and musings on the baby, what she looked like, who she resembled, and of what she was capable at this stage. I looked up and smiled, thinking of Albert trying to envision Lieserl.

He then asked, “Couldn’t you have a photograph made of her?” A photograph was an excellent idea. Ka? didn’t have a proper photographer, but I could take Lieserl to Beo?in, a larger town nearby, for a formal portrait. Surely, if Albert saw his beautiful daughter, all curls and smiles and cherubic folds, he couldn’t resist coming to see her in person.

I returned to the letter.

Dollie, I cannot come to Ka? right now. Not because I don’t want to meet our Lieserl but for a very good reason. One I hope you will see. The job as patent clerk in Bern has come through as Grossman promised, and I am to start in mere days. So travel is out of the question at the moment. But we have been apart for far too long. I beg you to come to Switzerland, but maybe not to Bern, where tongues may wag, perhaps to Zürich so we can visit each other more easily. And come alone. Come without the little one. At least for the next several months until we can arrange our marriage in Bern. I know this may sound strange, so let me explain. You know how notoriously prim the Swiss are. Well, on my application papers for the patent clerk position, a mere six months ago, I listed myself as not married. If I arrived in Bern with a wife and baby in tow, they would know immediately the baby was illegitimate, a fact that would undoubtedly jeopardize my new position. You do understand this, don’t you? Perhaps we will find some other way to have Lieserl with us at a future date. Maybe your knowledgeable papa can find a way…