The Last Days of Night(17)
“Nikola Tesla is a genius,” continued Martin. “And like many geniuses, he is a deeply private man. However, he has allowed himself to be convinced that on this one night, he should share his particular genius with us. Discoveries such as his, I am sure you will shortly realize, were never meant to remain in the dark.” Paul could read the satisfaction in Martin’s slight smile. Ownership, that’s what Martin was imparting upon the crowd. Tesla was his discovery. By extension, whatever it was that Tesla would bring into the world, Martin was laying a claim to as well.
“Gentlemen,” continued Martin, “if you’ll permit me one last unorthodoxy, I will not bore you with further introduction of your guest of honor. He has requested that the details of his life before this moment go unmentioned, as they have little bearing on tonight’s proceedings. So I will honor his wish, and without further ado, I present to you my friend and colleague Nikola Tesla. He has something he would not like to show you.”
It took a moment for the applause to catch up with the speech. Martin had already bounded away from the podium. Tesla ascended toward the great chalkboard at the front of the room, then turned to face the crowd. He kept his hands in his pockets as he stared off into the distance. The applause died down, but Tesla seemed not to notice. He placed no notes before him on the lectern. He did not reach for the chalk, or do anything else that might convey to an observer that he was in fact about to deliver a lecture.
Tesla continued staring into a vague and uncertain distance. Whatever world this man occupied, he was its only inhabitant. He seemed completely unaware of the existence of the hundreds assembled before him, prepared to hang on his every word if only he’d be so kind as to utter a few.
“Please pardon my face,” came Tesla’s high-pitched and thickly accented voice. “My pallor is white as pale. My health is in a condition dishabille.”
Between the muddle of his Serbian accent and the bizarre nature of his syntax, it took Paul a few moments to determine that Tesla was in fact speaking in English. It was soon clear that his command of the raw materials of the language—words, short phrases—was deep, and yet his use of its intricacies—grammar, sentence construction—was haphazard. It was as if Tesla tossed up into the air all the words he knew on a given subject, and then walked away before he could see where they landed.
“Laboratories are better-fit places for machines than personages,” continued Tesla. “But I am digressed. The notice I received for tonight’s lecture was rather small, and I have not been able to treat the subject so extensively as desired. My health, I have said. I ask your kind indulgence, and my gratification shall be in your minor approvals.”
And with that, Nikola Tesla marched out of the room.
Always remember that it is impossible to speak in such a way that you cannot be misunderstood: There will always be some who misunderstand you.
—KARL POPPER
THOMAS MARTIN DID his best to calm the crowd. From the aggrieved look on Martin’s face, it seemed to Paul that this stunt was but the latest in a long line of Tesla’s rebellions.
If Martin’s intent had been to claim Tesla as his own, this disaster in progress served to convey precisely the opposite impression. Tesla belonged to no one.
And then, quite suddenly, Tesla burst back through the wide double doors. He entered as quickly as he’d departed. But this time he pulled behind him a four-wheeled cart, atop which hung a long black cloth. From the uneven protrusions along the surface of the cloth, it was clear that something strange lay underneath. Something that Tesla intended to display at the right moment. Paul couldn’t help but be reminded of a magician setting up a trick.
“The subject on which I have the pleasure of carrying to your notices is a novel system of electrical distribution and power transmission.” Tesla’s words were delivered at a volume more suited to luncheon with an old friend than to a lecture hall of hundreds. The audience members hushed one another as they struggled to make out what he was saying. Paul looked to Westinghouse. Could the old man even hear a word?
“Alternating currents are the basis of my system’s use, as they afford advantages particular over the direct currents common to the terrain in this age and day. I am confident that I will at once establish the superior adaptability of these currents to both the transmission of power and to the ways of motors.”
The recently won quiet of the audience broke instantly. Shouts of disbelief came from all corners of the lecture hall. “Alternating current?” came the first cry of many. Whatever Tesla was saying seemed deeply controversial.
Tesla yanked away the black cloth, revealing three metal devices underneath. To Paul’s eye, these devices, each about twice the size of a typewriter, looked to be collections of wire coils, hollow tubes, and strange wheels.
“Forgiveness for me,” said Tesla. As he’d failed to raise his voice, his gentle insistence was lost on most of the audience. “It would seem that explanations are ordered.”
Tesla finally went to the chalkboard and began scribbling equations. It looked to Paul like chicken scratch, but whatever he was writing had a hypnotic effect on the engineers. When Tesla would reach the end of one line and had to pause as he slid the ten feet leftward to begin writing a new one, there were audible gasps. Paul quickly turned his attention from Tesla to the faces of the crowd. He saw their wrinkling brows as they struggled to piece together what Tesla was showing them. More than a few took out pencil and pad. The product of their own scribblings seemed only to confuse them further. They would look back up at the board and squint their eyes, as if to make sure they weren’t hallucinating.