The Other Einstein(64)

After a long pause, in a quivering voice, he said, “What are you talking about?” As if he did not know.

“In my packing, I came across two postcards from Mrs. Meyer-Schmid in which it seems you two have arranged a rendezvous in Zürich. I thought Mr. Meyer had a right to know.”

“It’s not what it seems,” he stammered.

“I believe I’ve heard that excuse before.” I continued writing, my eyes locked on the page. I feared that if I saw his face, I would soften.

“Really, Dollie. Her note seemed innocent to me—the congratulations of an old friend—and I don’t know what led her to write another letter.”

“You didn’t invite her to visit you in Zürich in your reply?”

“Only in the most general way, as I would to any friend.”

“Good, I’m glad to hear that.” I did not believe him. I recognized the bluster in his voice too well for that. “Then you won’t mind if I explain that to Mr. Meyer.”

He launched into me. “How dare you make this so public, Mileva?”

“How dare I? How dare you arrange an assignation with an old girlfriend! And how dare you express frustration at me!”

He grew quiet. “It’s not what it seems.”

“You’ve already said that. So you should have no objection to me sending this letter.”

Silence filled the room as fully as a scream. I knew why Albert was desperate for me to not send the letter—because he was lying to me. I had to call his bluff and end this relationship before it began. This time, I looked directly at him and held his gaze. But I said nothing. I simply waited.

“Go ahead, Mileva, send the letter. You create problems at the most important times in my life. First, by having a baby when I was about to get the patent office job, and now, just as I’m finally about to start my university professorship. You only ever think of yourself.”





Chapter 32


August 14, 1909

Engadine Valley, Switzerland

“Let me take him from you, Dollie,” Albert said as he lifted the sleepy Hans Albert from my arms.

I almost said no, just like I’d almost said no to this entire trip. I’d resisted Albert’s thoughtful show of niceties—his manner of apology for Anna Meyer-Schmid—since we arrived in the Engadine Valley for our summer holiday. But my leg and hip ached with the grade of the climb and the weight of Hans Albert in my arms, so I relented.

The hill grew steeper as we neared the flat apex. The final crest was almost unbearably precipitous, and I nearly stopped. I pushed myself along on the waves of my ongoing anger over Anna Meyer-Schmid and Albert’s hateful words. No more weakness.

I could no longer accept Albert’s grand shows of affection—this holiday as compensation for his flirtations with Anna Meyer-Schmid, the Maschinchen project as atonement for his omission of my name on the 1905 paper on relativity—instead of what he knew I wanted in the way of amends. Work. I withdrew into the shell of my exterior, like the mollusk I’d once stopped myself from becoming. That hard, protective layer was necessary to survive the turbulent waters that were my relationship with Albert.

The beautiful Engadine Valley spread out before me, giving me momentary relief from my inner turmoil. The azure River En cut through the verdant valley, turning the high mountainous peaks into a dramatic snowcapped backdrop. Picturesque spire-laden towns dotted the valley, and trails cut through the hills like swooping paint strokes. I knew why Albert brought me here: to reawaken old memories and loving affection. Feelings that seemed like faraway memories. Feelings that would make me forget about his failings.

Albert laid the sleeping Hans Albert down on a soft, mossy patch of green, pulling off his jacket and tucking it around our son. Turning away before he caught me staring, I gazed back out at the vista. Albert walked over to my side and placed an arm around me. I stiffened at his touch.

“The headwaters of the Rhine River are over that ridge, Dollie.” Albert pointed into the distance.

I made no movement. Did he think he could sway me with a simple “Dollie”? I wasn’t the guileless girl I’d once been.

“The Maloja Pass is just there.” Albert pointed to a cleft in between two mountains. “It links Switzerland and Italy.”

I did not answer.

“It is only a few miles from the Splügen Pass. Do you remember our day there?” He wrapped his other arm around me and bored his eyes into mine. I met his gaze, but still I wouldn’t speak.

“Remember how we called it our bohemian honeymoon?” Albert said.

The reference to our “bohemian honeymoon” was a misfire. The mere mention of our time in Como conjured up images of Lieserl, the two-year wait until our actual wedding and honeymoon, and the destruction of my career. It hardly enticed.

“What is this quiet all about, Dollie?”

I heard the first pangs of frustration in his voice. How dare he be frustrated with me? I’d clung to silence, but how could I let such a stupid question go unanswered? “I think you know, Albert.”

“Listen, Dollie. I made a mistake. Mrs. Meyer-Schmid’s card stirred up old feelings from my youthful holidays in Mettmenstetten, and I overreacted in my response to her. I don’t know what more I can say but that I regret it.”

My anger stemmed from more than his attempted dalliance with Anna Meyer-Schmid, although that had inflicted a deep enough wound. “Do you regret your harsh words to me too?”