The Other Einstein(60)

I could barely restrain myself from ripping open the packaging immediately. The very second Hans Albert and I entered the apartment and I settled him with his wooden stacking blocks, I tore into the package. The cover of the Annalen der Physik peeked out, and I pulled it from the tangle of twine. Flipping through the table of contents, I saw the listing for “On the Electrodynamics of Moving Bodies,” with the author Albert Einstein listed next to it. The omission of my name left me unfazed; there was probably only enough room for one author in the table of contents, and Albert’s name was listed first in the manuscript. As the only one of us with a formal degree, it was necessary.

Thumbing through the volume, I finally reached page 891. There was the title I’d labored over so diligently—“On the Electrodynamics of Moving Bodies.” It looked marvelous in print, even better than I’d hoped. My eyes scanned the rest of the page. Where was my name? I carefully processed each word of the article, but my name was nowhere to be seen. Mileva Mari? Einstein didn’t even appear in a footnote. Underneath the title was one author only: Albert Einstein.

How had this happened? Why would the editor have removed my name without consulting us? Was it because I was a woman? This went against every ethical code of scientific publication.

I sank to my knees. What had happened to my tribute to Lieserl? The article had been my way of making sense of her poor, short life and the many months I’d left her behind. I sobbed at the thought of my lost memorial to my secret daughter.

Hans Albert toddled over to me from his block stacking. Laying his warm, chubby body over me, he patted me softly on the back. “Mama,” he said sadly, making me cry all the harder.

Hours later, Hans Albert sat up in the porcelain tub, merrily splashing water all over the kitchen. I rubbed the soapy washcloth over the soft folds of his arms and the chunky rolls of his legs. Delighted with his bath, he kicked his legs harder, spreading water all over the towels I’d set aside for him. For the first time in my life, I did not relish the gentle washing of my young son, usually one of my favorite activities of the day.

I couldn’t get the betrayal by the editors of Annalen der Physik out of my mind.

Laying Hans Albert down to sleep, I finished preparing dinner and began waiting for Albert. Seven o’clock passed, then eight. Where was he? The Olympia Academy could be arriving any minute. Albert could be forgetful and easily distracted, but I’d never known him to arrive so late without giving me advance notice. Had something happened to him?

I paced the entryway of our little apartment. When I finally heard his key in the lock and I knew Albert was fine, I grabbed the copy of Annalen der Physik and met him at the threshold. I didn’t bother with my usual polite greetings, or the normal pleasantries, or even questions about his tardiness. I spit out the words that had been building inside me all day.

“Albert, the article on relativity was published today, but you’ll never believe what happened. It lists only you as the author. Can you believe that the editors would do that? We must write them and demand a correction.”

Putting his fingers to his lips, Albert said, “Be quiet, Mileva. You’ll wake Hans Albert.”

His admonition shocked me. Albert never worried about Hans Albert’s sleep. Only one explanation was possible.

“You knew,” I whispered, backing away from him.

He walked toward me. “Listen, Dollie. It’s not what you think. It’s not as it seems.”

“Is that why you were so late tonight? You were reluctant to come home. You knew that I’d be upset with what the journal has done.”

He didn’t answer, but the expression on his face told me I was correct.

I withdrew from him and backed away until I hit a wall in the living room. If I could have wormed my way into the plaster, I would have. Anything to get away from him. “How could you have let this happen? And not tell me? You know where that idea came from. You know how important it was to me to memorialize Lieserl by publicly authoring that article.”

Flinching at the mention of Lieserl, he grabbed me by the forearms. “Listen, Dollie. Please. One of the editors of Annalen der Physik wrote me, asking questions about you and your credentials. I explained that you were my wife and fully trained as a physicist, even though you didn’t have your degree. In his reply, I sensed hesitation.”

“Did he ask you to remove my name?”

“No,” he said slowly.

“You asked him to remove my name?” I was incredulous. But only in part. I suddenly remembered another time he’d removed my name from an article we’d coauthored. The one on capillaries, for the other Professor Weber.

Never loosing his grip of my arms, he nodded.

“How could you do that, Albert? For the other articles, I wouldn’t have been happy, but I would have understood. But not for the relativity article. That was for Lieserl. You should have insisted.”

“What does it matter, Dollie? Aren’t we Ein Stein? One stone?”

In the past, Albert had often used this clever play on his last name to describe our “oneness.” In my innocence, I’d allowed this fanciful image to color my decisions. How could I let this plea—that we are as one, that what benefits one benefits the other—sway me in the matter of Lieserl? Hadn’t I already sacrificed enough for the “oneness” of our relationship? Didn’t I deserve this one lasting tribute to my dead daughter?