The Other Einstein(9)

Night was falling over R?mistrasse, yet the street was bright with electric illumination. A fine mist began to form in the air, and I pulled up my hood to prevent the dampness from settling on my hair and clothes. The rain increased—unexpectedly, as the day had started bright and clear—and I found it harder to weave my way through the warren of R?mistrasse. I was by far the shortest person in the crowd. I was drenched, and the cobblestones were getting slippery. Dare I break my own rule and duck into one of the cafés until the weather broke?

Without warning, rain stopped pouring down on me. I glanced up, expecting to see a shaft of blue sky, but instead saw only black and rivers of water gushing down all around my sides.

Mr. Einstein was holding an umbrella over my head.

“You are dripping wet, Miss Mari?,” he said, his eyes full of their usual humor.

What was he doing here? He did not look ready to leave the library just moments ago. Was he following me?

“An unexpected deluge, Mr. Einstein. Many thanks for the umbrella, but I’m fine.” It was imperative that I insist on self-sufficiency; I didn’t want any of my classmates to see me as a helpless female, Mr. Einstein in particular. He wouldn’t want me as a lab partner if he perceived me as weak, would he?

“After you saved me from the certain wrath of Professor Weber with your correction of my calculations, the least I can do is to escort you home in this rain.” He smiled. “Since you seem to have forgotten your umbrella.”

I wanted to object, but in truth, I needed the assistance. Slick cobblestones were hazardous with my limp. Mr. Einstein placed his hand on my arm and held the umbrella high above my head. The gesture was perfectly gentlemanly if a bit bold. Feeling the pressure of his hand on my arm, I realized that, apart from Papa and a few of my uncles, I had never been so close to a grown man before. Even though multitudes of people packed the boulevard and we all wore burdensome layers of cloaks and scarves, I felt oddly exposed.

As we walked, Mr. Einstein launched into a spirited monologue about Maxwell’s electromagnetic wave theory of light, tossing out some rather unusual thoughts about the relationship of light and radiation to matter. I piped in with a few comments that Mr. Einstein responded to with encouragement but otherwise stayed quiet, listening to his irrepressible chatter and evaluating his intellect and spirit.

We reached the Engelbrecht Pension, and he delivered me directly up the stairs to the covered front door. Relief flooded through me.

“Again, my thanks, Mr. Einstein. Your courtesy was unnecessary but much appreciated.”

“My pleasure, Miss Mari?. I’ll see you in class tomorrow,” he said and turned to leave.

A disjointed Vivaldi piece floated out of the slightly open parlor window and onto the street. Mr. Einstein started back up the front steps and peered through the window where the girls had gathered for a casual concert.

“By God, that’s a lively group,” he exclaimed. “I wish I’d brought my violin. Vivaldi is always better with strings. Do you play, Miss Mari??”

Brought his violin? How presumptuous of him. These were my friends and my sanctuary, and I did not invite him to join us. “Yes, I play the tamburitza and piano, and I sing. But it’s no matter; the Engelbrechts are very strict about gentlemen callers.”

“I could come as a classmate and fellow musician, not as a caller,” he offered. “Would that appease them?”

I blushed. How stupid of me to imply he wanted to come as a caller. “Perhaps, Mr. Einstein. I would have to make inquiries.” I hoped he understood that my demur was a gentle rejection.

He shook his head in appreciation. “You have astonished me today, Miss Mari?. You are much more than just a brilliant mathematician and physicist. It seems you are a musician and bohemian too.”

His smile was infectious. I could not help but return it.

He stared in amazement. “I do believe that’s the first time I’ve seen you smile. It’s quite fetching. I’d like to steal more of those smiles from your serious little mouth.”

Flustered by his comment and uncertain how to reply, I turned and entered the pension.





Chapter 4


April 24, 1897

The Sihl Valley, Switzerland

For the first time since we disembarked the train from Zürich and set out on the path through the Sihl Valley, our group was quiet. A hush settled over us, almost like we had entered a cathedral. In a way, that was what these primeval woods, the Sihlwald, felt like.

Ancient, giant trees flanked us, and we stepped over the corpses of their fallen brethren. The carpet of moss muffled the sound of our footsteps, making the croak of the frogs, the knocking of woodpeckers, and the song of the birds seem louder. I felt as though I had stepped into the primordial wilderness from one of the fairy tales that I loved growing up, and from their silence, I sensed that Milana, Ru?ica, and Helene felt the same awe.

“Fagus sylvatica,” Helene whispered, interrupting my thoughts. I did not understand the meaning of her vaguely Latin-sounding phrase, strange since I spoke or read German, French, Serbian, and Latin, two languages more than Helene. I wondered if she was speaking to me or to herself.

“Pardon me?”

“Sorry, it’s the genus and species of this particular beech tree. My father and I used to go on long walks in the forest near our home in Vienna, and he had an affinity for the trees’ Latin names.” She twirled a fallen beech leaf between her fingers.