The Other Einstein(75)
Onward to his fame. And to Elsa, I didn’t doubt.
Still, I clung. Why, sometimes I didn’t know. Was it because I’d sacrificed so much for him that the idea of losing him felt like losing everything? Was I so fearful for the boys’ future with divorced parents? Had I started to believe the awful things Albert said to me? The more passive I acted about the move, the more hateful he became, as if he wanted a fight so he could internally justify abandonment. One night, in front of the boys, he yelled, “You suck the joy out of every occasion.” Another time, in front of the Hurwitzes, he called me “the darkest of sulkers.” But when I looked into my sweet boys’ doleful eyes, I wondered how they’d survive the nasty stain of divorce, and I stayed.
Surprisingly, Albert agreed to a summer reprieve in August before we began planning for the move in the fall. I never thought he’d agree to visit my parents in Ka? at the Spire—he’d resisted since Hans Albert was quite young, so my parents hadn’t seen the three-year-old Tete since he was a newborn—but he proved more than willing. Almost suspiciously so, to my mind. As soon as we arrived in Ka?, he began inciting arguments with me about Berlin, and the reason for his complaisance dawned on me. He had hoped to anger me enough that I’d insist on staying in Ka? with my parents. That way, he could abandon me with a clear conscience. After watching his mistreatment of me during our visit, Mama and Papa would have supported the boys and me in staying behind.
But nothing he could say or do would shake me. For after Ka?, on September 23, he had agreed that I could accompany him to a conference in Vienna. There, Helene awaited.
Helene and I clung to each other like life rafts in turbulent seas.
“Girls, girls, your reunion is beautiful, but we do have places to be,” Albert said with a puff of his pipe and a humorous tone. Astonishing how quickly he could revert to his charming public personality after just yelling at me to walk behind him, not at his side. He found me embarrassing these days.
But Helene and I didn’t listen. “I’ve missed you so much, Mitza,” she said.
“I’ve missed you too, Helene,” I said into her hair. Her once chestnut locks were shot through with streaks of gray, and the furrows between her brows had deepened even further. No wonder. Helene and her family had contended with the Balkan Wars for the past two years, a conflict that made obtaining even basic necessities hard and travel impossible.
How grateful I was that we were together. We would have three glorious days while Albert spoke, conducted meetings, and hobnobbed with his peers. Helene and I would be left to our own devices for most of the time, apart from Albert’s lectures, which Helene asked to attend out of politeness, I supposed. And we would be utterly alone since I’d left the boys in Ka? with my parents.
“We haven’t seen each other for years, but I talk with you daily. I’m always conversing with you in my mind.”
Helene giggled, making her sound like the schoolgirl she’d once been. “Me too, Mitza.”
Albert interrupted us again. “Ladies, we really must depart. The 85th Congress of Natural Sciences awaits, and my lecture begins in less than an hour.”
We left the train station where we’d met Helene and hopped into a hansom cab to the hall. Chatting about her girls and my boys, with Albert piping in constant comments about the boys’ intellectual promise and musical talents, the time passed in a blur. Before I realized it, we were ensconced in our seats, awaiting Albert’s lecture.
Helene glanced around the packed lecture hall, her eyes wide. She hadn’t experienced the breadth of Albert’s fame before; my letters had been her primary source about his growing popularity. I scanned the room for familiar faces, but none of the kind professors from Zürich, Prague, or Bern who I’d gotten to know over the years were visible. It was simply an anonymous bobbing sea of sober mustaches and beards. No other women.
“All this is for Albert?” Helene asked.
“Yes,” I answered with an attempt at a smile. “He has become quite a star.”
As soon as Albert walked up the steps to the stage, the hall thundered with the audience’s raucous applause. He beamed at the adulation, his eyes sparkling, a wide grin forming on his lips, the spotlight catching the gray streaks in his wild, dark hair. It was an impersonation of his somewhat impish, eccentric student self, a persona he’d begun to cultivate. Understanding the dichotomy of his transformation immediately, Helene squeezed my hand.
We didn’t need to speak to communicate. Even after all these years.
He cleared his throat and spoke loudly to his fans. “Greetings, esteemed colleagues. I appreciate your invitation to speak at this 85th Congress of Natural Sciences. As you have requested, my lecture today will focus on my new gravitation theory, as it expands on my special theory of relativity as set forth in 1905.”
“Isn’t that your paper?” Helene whispered.
I nodded.
She glanced over at me with a distressed expression. As the only person in the world besides Albert who knew the full extent of my authorship of the 1905 papers—including what it meant as a tribute to Lieserl—she understood how hard it was for me to have my name erased from the project. Tears welled up in my eyes at her sympathy; I was unused to compassion these days. I stared up at the ceiling, not wanting anyone in the crowd to see me cry.
Albert began explaining the work that he and Marcel completed to date. He wrote out their equations and compared the development of his gravitation theory with the history of electromagnetism. When he launched into the two relativity-based theories he was considering and then set forth his own theory, grumblings built in the crowd. When Albert opened up the floor for questions, countless hands rose like a wave, and Professor Gustav Mie from Greifswald stood up without waiting to be called upon. Visibly impatient, the professor contended that Albert’s theory didn’t meet the principle of equivalence, a serious criticism.