The Other Einstein(63)

But no true invitation came in the months after we completed our work on the Maschinchen. Albert was no longer available for collaboration, no matter how well I freed his time to focus. Occasionally, as he responded to letters from physicists on the four Annalen der Physik articles or drafted reviews of others’ articles for scientific journals, he requested emergency consultation in the nuances of the relativism theory or mathematical calculations. I kept myself ready for his invitation by reading the latest journals and studying the textbooks Albert left at home, but we slowly lost the language of science that we once spoke to one another. Childish chatter to Hans Albert and worried mutterings over our finances took the place of those sacred conversations.

The trusting part of me that had hardened during the Maschinchen patent omission solidified further, and the spark of hope that Albert and I might rekindle our scientific projects transformed into a flame of anger instead. Only to Helene could I confess my feelings, that fame had left Albert with little interest in his wife, that I worried his desire for notoriety would overtake any humanity remaining within him.

I had become the philistine hausfrau I never wanted to be. The sort Albert had always mocked. This wasn’t the bohemian life I wanted, but what choice had he left me?

Hope for our relationship—marital and scientific—came in the form of a job offer. On the heels of his growing acclaim in the physics world, Albert received the professorial position he’d sought since our school days. He was asked to be a junior physics professor at the University of Zürich after a protracted debate among the professors over his Jewish heritage and a rocky conclusion that he didn’t exhibit the more “troubling” Jewish traits. We planned to settle there some months before the winter term began in October. I began praying again to the Virgin Mary, this time for a fresh start in the city of our school days. The city of a very different Mileva.

The packing for Zürich was left to me, of course, while Albert finished up his days at the patent office. One day, after I busied the studious five-year-old Hans Albert with the piano, I turned to the heaping mass of papers Albert had strewn about the dining room table, kitchen counters, and bedroom floor, including piles of documents he had begun to bring home from his patent job. It was like a trail from “Hansel and Gretel.” I began to organize the articles, notes, and other assorted papers into categorical piles.

It was then that I saw it. A postcard stuck out from between two pages of an article Albert had been sent for review.

Dear Professor Einstein,

I hope you will indulge a congratulatory note from an old girlfriend that you may well have forgotten in the ensuing years. If you will recall, I am the sister-in-law of the owner of the Hotel Paradise in Mettmenstetten, and we spent several weeks in each other’s company one summer ten years ago. I noticed an article in our local Basel newspaper about your appointment as extraordinary professor of theoretical physics at the University of Zürich, and I wanted to wish you well in your new role. I often think of you, and I treasure the weeks we spent together in our youth at the Paradise hotel.

Best wishes with all my heart,

Anna Meyer-Schmid

I almost laughed at the cloying, sentimental note. I’d grown accustomed to Albert receiving adulatory notes from scientists and lay people alike; I was always cleaning them up around the apartment. A note from an old girlfriend was a first, but perhaps I’d raise it as a little joke over dinner.

I continued with the sorting when I came across another postcard in the same handwriting.

Dear Professor Einstein:

How wonderful to receive such a rapid reply! I never expected that a man of your reputation and busy schedule would have the time to respond so quickly to a simple Basel housewife. I am surprised and delighted that you recall fondly the weeks in Paradise. What a wonderful invitation you’ve extended to meet you at your offices in Zürich once you are settled. I would be very honored to see the professor in his new offices. I will send dates for our rendezvous.

With all my heart,

Anna Meyer-Schmid

My heart began racing. Albert had written back to this woman. In his reply, he must have invited her to visit him in Zürich. This was no joke I’d be raising over dinner. This was the beginning of an affair.

Outrage simmered within me. I had suppressed my own ambitions, even sacrificed some of the little time I had with my daughter, for Albert. To tend to his wishes and desires. He had become my life, my pathway to love and work, even if he was blocking that route at the moment. The blood of bandits, as Papa would say, began to boil within me. If Albert thought that I would hand him over to some Basel hausfrau without a battle, he was wrong.

I picked up a pen and a sheet of paper. Addressing a letter to Mr. Georg Meyer, the woman’s husband, at the address she helpfully provided, I described to him what his wife had begun: “Your wife has written a suggestive letter to my husband—”

The door slammed. I hadn’t expected Albert back so early. I started to hide the postcards and letter I was drafting, then thought the better of it. Why should I hide? I wasn’t the one who’d done something wrong.

When Albert called for me, I responded, “I’m in the bedroom,” and continued writing my letter.

I heard the clop of his footsteps, and then his voice. “What are you doing, Dollie?”

I answered without looking at him. “Writing a letter to Anna Meyer-Schmid’s husband about the exchange between you two.”