The Other Einstein(69)
“Albert and I have been known to collaborate on some papers from time to time,” I said.
“I knew it!” he said with a slap on his leg. “I reviewed some of his articles and knew Albert couldn’t manage all those mathematical calculations on his own. You were always better at math than him. Than most of us, actually.”
I blushed. “Coming from the head of the Polytechnic math department, that’s quite a compliment. And here I am, just a housewife.”
“The department chair could have been yours if this old man hadn’t stole you away from science,” Marcel said, nudging Albert.
I laughed. It had been so long since someone thought of me as anything but Albert’s wife. His shy and strange and gimpy wife, as I’d been declared by the gossips in every place we’d landed. Someone always let this appraisal of me slip in the guise of “helping” me reshape myself into a better semblance of a professor’s wife. They wanted me to be Albert’s match, outgoing and charismatic. This was the only Albert they knew, of course, the public Albert.
“Speaking of math, you are one of the main reasons I’ve come to Zürich.” Albert interrupted our banter with a furious glare at me.
What had I done wrong to warrant that look? Maybe he was angry simply because I was talking with Marcel. Lately, any sign of my youthful exuberance irritated him. He had no concrete reason for his temper; it wasn’t as if I’d identified which part of his articles I’d authored. I had only hinted at collaboration on the 1905 papers to Marcel, something that anyone who knew us from our student days would assume.
Was it so wrong that I wanted scientific work for myself? That work was the core of my being, the link to my long-neglected spirituality and intellect. Without it for so long, I felt hollow. Perhaps if I had work of my own, science could become less of a battlefield between Albert and me, a symbol of my sacrifice and neglect, and science could again return to its original sacred place in my world.
“Me?” Marcel asked now, clearly surprised. “What could I possibly offer that would lure you to Zürich? I assumed that taking over the physics chair of your alma mater was enticement enough.”
“I am searching for the connection between my theory of relativity and gravity—the impact they have on one another—to further the special relativity article that was nominated for the Nobel Prize in 1910 and again this past year as well. And your math genius will lead the way.”
Had I heard Albert correctly? Was he proposing that Marcel collaborate with him on the math for an expansion of my theory?
“Would I have to do any of the physics?”
“No. I will handle the physics, if you manage the math.”
Marcel looked at Albert skeptically for a moment, as if he was trying to reconcile the irresponsible college student he’d once known with the successful physicist in front of him.
“Please, I need you, Grossman,” Albert begged. Then, very pointedly, he stared at me. “Compared with this problem, the original theory of relativity is childish.”
When Marcel still didn’t answer, Albert asked, “Will you work with me?”
The successful physicist standing before him must have won out, because Marcel finally said, “Yes.”
So this was to be Albert’s new collaborator. He gave the work long earmarked for me away—to Marcel. I’d told myself that the hope of collaboration was long past, but to actually witness the passing of the baton was unbearable. How could Albert make me stand by and watch as he utterly robbed me of the bohemian partnership he’d promised? On the theory I created. He knew how much this must hurt me. Since an Easter trip to Berlin to see his extended family four months ago, he had become noticeably more callous. But I never thought he could be this cruel.
Chapter 35
March 14, 1913
Zürich, Switzerland
“Happy birthday, Papa!” Hans Albert and Tete yelled out as they marched into the living room. My little men carried a cake to Albert, who put his pipe on the stand to collect it from them. The boys and I had prepared a surprise birthday celebration for Albert before we headed out for our usual Sunday evening of music at the Hurwitzes.
“Mmm, boys, this looks delicious. Shall I eat it all myself? It’s my birthday after all,” Albert teased with a twinkle in his eye. In these brief moments of familial contentment, with a rare, lighthearted Albert, I remembered why I stayed. Despite the betrayal with Marcel. And so many other deceptions.
“No, Papa!” Hans Albert protested. “It’s for sharing.”
“Yes, Papa. For sharing,” Tete piped in, a high-pitched echo of his serious older brother.
After slicing the chocolate cake into generous pieces and passing them around for everyone to enjoy, I cleared the plates and headed to the kitchen. I could hear Albert toss Tete into the air and Tete’s squeals of delight. The exchange pleased me. Tete had been a delicate child until recently—he suffered from chronic headaches and ear infections—and Albert had avoided playing with him as a result. Albert’s relationship with the sturdier, serious Hans Albert had always been more solid. No matter my disappointment, even anger at Albert, I wanted the boys to have strong relationships with their father. Like I’d had with Papa.
“Careful,” Hans Albert cautioned his father on his tossing Tete about. Ever old beyond his years, he took seriously the paternal role that fell to him so often in Albert’s absence.