The Last Days of Night(97)

Paul introduced Agnes to Westinghouse. Strange to think that the two most important people in his life had never met. Neither seemed to know what to say to the other. If only they knew how intricately their lives had been bound together.

Tesla surprised them all by taking Westinghouse’s hand. “Hello, Mr. George Westinghouse,” he said. “I thank you for your welcoming.”

Westinghouse smiled. “I am glad to see that you are well.”

“What is this?” said Tesla, gesturing to the edifice behind Westinghouse.

“Would you like to see?” replied Paul. The building at 33-35 South Fifth Avenue was a four-story stone behemoth, just below Washington Square Park. They could see the arch two blocks to the north. This was some of the most coveted real estate in the city.

Westinghouse removed a key from his coat pocket and unlocked the building’s heavy front door. He led the group up the winding copper staircase to the fourth floor, where he opened a steel door.

“Welcome to your new laboratory,” said Westinghouse as he ushered Tesla inside.

The laboratory was a wide-open space stretching two hundred feet in either direction. It took up the entire floor, and it was of brand-new construction. It smelled of fresh masonry. Metal cabinets lined the walls, holding what appeared to be all manner of electrical components. Spools of fresh wire—zinc, steel, silver—lay in untouched bundles. Masses of rubber had been piled in uncut sheets. One cabinet appeared to be full of glass plates. The one next to it was fully stocked with tubs of what Paul imagined was silver nitrate. The photographic tools had been stocked along with the electrical.

“This, Mr. Tesla, is the most finely appointed lab in the country,” proclaimed Westinghouse proudly. He handed the keys to Tesla, who regarded them as if they were something to be dissected.

“You are giving to me a laboratory?” asked Tesla, his face expressionless. “I do not understand.”

“We’re not giving you a thing,” replied Paul. “You paid for this yourself.”

Tesla looked up at him.

“When you disappeared,” Paul continued, “your attorney, Mr. Serrell, didn’t know what was to be done with the $2.50 per unit you continued to earn in royalties from our sales. I told him that the Westinghouse Electric Company was more than happy to keep writing checks, but we were not sure who would deposit them. To whom could we even make them out?”

“And it has amounted to quite a bit of money,” added Westinghouse.

“So we agreed, with your attorney, that your royalties should go into a trust until your return. If you reappeared, you could claim it all. And if you did not…” Paul trailed off. Left unsaid was that for over a year he had known that Tesla was very much alive.

Tesla appeared immune to any implication of unpleasantness.

Tesla began to stroll through the lab. He inspected the cabinets one by one, taking stock of their contents. He turned back to face Paul.

“I would have chosen copper, not your zinc,” he said. “But yes, this is well.”

“We assumed you’d want a laboratory as soon as you’d returned,” said Paul.

“I have done much work in Tennessee,” replied Tesla as he continued his survey. “I will continue it here.”

“We hope so,” said Westinghouse.

Tesla took two glass plates from a cabinet and laid them on a table. He looked up.

“Screws?” he asked.

Westinghouse pointed to a cabinet in the back.

They watched as Tesla went instantly to work. He found a screwdriver near the screws and a circular saw for recutting the glass plates. He began, without a moment of emotional reflection or even consideration for the other human beings around him, to build.

“Well,” said Agnes. “Looks as if he’s of a mind to get right down to it.”

“Do you think he likes it?” said Paul.

“I think for him any moment he is not creating is a moment spent thinking about things to create.”

Westinghouse stared silently at Tesla. They were both most at home in their laboratories, and yet they could not be more different in their attitudes. Tesla was happiest when he was working. Westinghouse was happiest when he’d finished. Edison would be happiest only when he’d won.

Paul was on the cusp of making sure that he would not.

“Mr. Tesla,” called out Paul over the clatter. “There’s another matter we’d like to discuss with you.”

Tesla obligingly set down his tools.

“I have so much to do,” he said. “What is it that would be helping?”

Agnes looked at Paul. He had kept her in the dark as to this final part of the plan. He hated doing so, but there was no alternative. She wasn’t going to like it.

“The Westinghouse Electric Company is a few days away from declaring bankruptcy,” said Paul plainly.

“I am apologetic to listen to that,” said Tesla, as if he was struggling to discern the proper response.

“But we are in the process of securing a licensing arrangement with Edison’s company. Which, if we are successful, will no longer have Edison at the helm.”

Tesla’s brow perked up. This alone among human affairs seemed to possess some interest for him.

“And yet if we go bankrupt,” continued Paul, “it will all be for nothing. And the cause of our bankruptcy, the reason that Mr. Westinghouse’s corporation stands on such unsound financial footing, is me.”