“Of course I forgive you for not writing me back.” I sounded flat and formal. Come on, I told myself. Be the old teasing Mitza with him. You want the relationship to return to normal, don’t you? Act as if it already had. With a taunting voice, I said, “After all, you’ve forgiven me for leaving, haven’t you?”
His face broke open in a wide grin, his eyes crinkling at the corners. “I’m so relieved, Miss Marić. You departed so quickly, and I was afraid—” He stopped himself. I knew he was about to refer to our kiss. Thinking better of it, he said, “I’m sure you won’t regret your decision to return, even if we don’t have such esteemed professors on our faculty as you did at Heidelberg. No Lenards here.”
He asked if he could escort me to the library, and I agreed. As we walked across the plaza, he regaled me with stories of heated debates at the Café Metropole, hikes he had tackled in the mountain ranges outside Zürich, and sails he and his friends had launched on Lake Zürich. The stories were so smooth and rehearsed, they seemed crafted just for retelling to me.
“You must sail with me and Mr. Besso when the weather breaks. Perhaps your lady friends from the Engelbrecht Pension might like to join? They are an adventurous group,” he said as we entered the library.
“You’ve painted such a dangerous picture, I’m not at all certain that we’d be safe,” I jested.
A librarian passed by and glared at us, and two students looked annoyed at our loud chatter, so we quickly quieted and settled into adjoining carrels. Reaching into his messy bag, he pulled out a stack of notebooks. Typically, he only carried one notebook to class. He must have planned on delivering this pile to me today.
Handing them to me, he whispered, “Everything you need to catch up on your studies can be found in these notebooks. They contain notes from Hurwitz’s lectures on differential equations and calculus. I think I captured Herzog’s talks about the strength of materials. I tried to get every scrap of Weber’s lectures on the qualities of heat. Oh, and I didn’t forget Fiedler’s lectures on projective geometry and number theory.”
I felt sick as I flipped through the notebooks. I had tried to keep up while in Heidelberg, but had I really missed this much? How could I possibly catch up? Not only had I missed half of Weber’s linchpin physics class, but I’d missed these other foundational classes. I needed to become proficient in this material before I could begin to comprehend my current and future courses. For the first time, I understood how stupid I’d been to go to Heidelberg. How, in trying to be strong and not let a man swerve me from my path, I’d actually let a man dictate my course.
I gave Mr. Einstein a wan smile, but my distress must have been evident. He stopped rattling off the theories I’d need to learn and the calculations I’d need to master and studied my expression, glimpsing outside himself for a rare moment. He placed his hand on my upper arm in a cautious gesture of reassurance. “Miss Marić, you will be fine. I will help you.”
Taking a deep breath, I said, “Thank you, Mr. Einstein. You’ve been extremely generous and kind in assembling these notebooks for me. Especially given the way I left and our—”
He gently shook his head. With a solemn tone I’d never heard from him before, he said, “We need not speak of it. You know how I feel, and you have made your position clear. I will happily abide by your wishes to secure your ongoing friendship. I would not jeopardize that for anything.”
“Thank you,” I whispered, more ambivalent than ever.
His hand moved up and down my arm in a gentle caress. “Please know that I will be waiting. Should you ever change your mind.”
As I tried to process his words, he dropped his hand, and his mischievous smile returned. “Now, let’s get back to work, you little escapee.”
Chapter 10
June 8, 1898
Zürich, Switzerland
“How can he ignore the latest theorists? It is unconscionable for a man of science,” Mr. Einstein exclaimed to me and Messrs. Grossman, Ehrat, and Kollros over coffee at the Café Metropole. As I listened to him, I thought how, in many ways, my days were passing precisely as they had before I left for Heidelberg. Or better. Just as Mr. Einstein had promised.
I glanced around the table at my Section Six classmates as Mr. Einstein continued his rant. We’d formed the habit of going to our favorite coffeehouse every Friday after last class, and my classmates had revealed themselves to be far more approachable and welcoming than I assumed. And more human as well. I learned that Mr. Ehrat was a worrier who kept his place at university only through sheer hard work. Mr. Kollros, who hailed from a French village, was cut from much the same cloth as Mr. Ehrat, only with a strong French accent. Only Mr. Grossman, from an old, aristocratic Swiss family, was naturally gifted, especially in the area of mathematics.
In between sips of coffee or drags on their pipes and cigars, everyone expressed their frustration with Professor Weber’s stubborn adherence to only classical physicists’ theories and refusal to pursue the latest ideas. Mr. Einstein’s face alone displayed actual anger. Once Mr. Einstein had become certain that Weber wasn’t going to cover any more recent material beyond theories created by his beloved teacher Helmholtz, including contemporary topics like statistical mechanics or electromagnetic waves, he had grown furious.
As Mr. Einstein postulated on Weber’s failings, I glanced at the clock. We had to leave that minute or risk missing our concert date with the girls, and I would not break my commitments to them, as Mr. Einstein well knew. I shot Mr. Einstein a look and then directed his attention to the time. He sprang up.
The puddles splashed as we attempted to hurry down the streets. Light rainfall, jostling umbrellas, and laughter slowed our journey to the pension. Still, we managed to arrive only two minutes late, but when we glanced around the parlor, breathing hard from our exertions, it was empty.
“Helene? Milana? Where are you?” I called out. Were they in their rooms awaiting us? I couldn’t believe that our slight delay would have caused them to stomp off. “Ružica?”
“What is all this noise about, Miss Marić?” Mrs. Engelbrecht asked, emerging from the kitchen with a crisp green-and-white tea towel in her hands. She loathed an excess of boisterousness at the pension.
I curtsied, and Mr. Einstein bowed. “I’m sorry, Mrs. Engelbrecht. I was just looking for Misses Kaufler, Dražić, and Bota. We had an appointment to play some music, and Mr. Einstein was going to join us. Are they in their rooms?”
She sniffed, a signal of her disapproval. “No, Miss Marić. Misses Dražić and Bota stepped out for a brief walk, and Miss Kaufler is in the back parlor with”—another sniff—“a caller.”
A caller? I almost laughed at the ridiculousness of Mrs. Engelbrecht’s choice of words. Maybe Helene had a male visitor, perhaps a classmate or a male relative, but she certainly didn’t have a caller. That was part of our pact.
I heard a rustle of noise from the gaming room, and Helene called out, “Is that you, Mitza?”
“It’s me,” I answered as quietly as possible under Mrs. Engelbrecht’s warning glare.
Helene stepped out into the entryway, a wide grin on her face. “I’m so glad you’re back. There’s someone I want you to meet.”
As she pulled me toward the gaming room, she noticed Mr. Einstein behind me and paused. “Ah, Mr. Einstein, you are here as well.”
“I believe my violin was needed for the Beethoven?” he offered.
“Oh the concerto!” She clapped her hand to her mouth. “I had completely forgotten. My apologies to you both. I’ll have to apologize to Milana and Ružica as well. Are they with you?”
“They went out for a walk,” I said.
“Oh no. At this hour? They must be furious with me.”
“Please don’t worry, Helene. I’ve missed our musical gatherings many times. And I’ve been forgiven,” I said, reminding her of her own mercy. To lessen her worry, I changed the su
bject. “You mentioned that you had someone to introduce to us?”
“Ah, yes.” The smile returned. Maybe it was one of her cousins, of whom she often spoke so fondly.
Pulling me into the gaming room, Helene gestured to a dark-haired gentlemen overwhelming one of the spindly chairs that encircled the gaming table with his girth. The portly man rose to greet us.
He bowed to Mr. Einstein, who had followed me into the room, and then to me and said in heavily accented German, “Milivoje Savić, pleased to meet you.”
After Mr. Einstein and I introduced ourselves, Helene chimed in, her voice a melody of delight. “Mr. Savić and I were just talking about you, Mitza. I told him that my closest friend was from Serbia.”
I softened at being called Helene’s closest friend, but her compliment did nothing to lessen my concern about Mr. Savić. Who was he, and why was Helene fussing over him? I had never heard a word about him before, and she didn’t describe him as a relative or classmate. Was he truly a caller, as Mrs. Engelbrecht said? From the way Helene was acting, giggling like a schoolgirl and bustling around him, I could almost believe it.
“Mr. Savić is a chemical engineer, here in Zürich on behalf of a textile factory in Užice to observe practices at other factories. He is Serbian too,” she said, as if his background and connection to Serbia explained everything.
I didn’t know what to say. I was confounded by this gentleman and the reaction he elicited from my stalwart Helene. Even Mr. Einstein was uncharacteristically quiet as he absorbed the situation.
In the silence, Helene fumbled to fill the void. “I-I thought you two might have a lot in common, Mitza.”
I found my tongue and gave him the customary Serbian welcome. “Dobrodošao. It’s nice to meet a fellow Serbian here in Zürich, Mr. Savić.”
“Hvala.”
Helene and Mr. Savić turned back toward each other and referenced a previous, unfinished conversation. I waited to be included, but my presence seemed unnecessary, even unwanted.
“We will take our leave,” I said to interrupt their quiet chatter. “Mr. Einstein and I have some studying to attend to.”
Helene glanced at us as if she just remembered that we were still there. “Yes, your work! Miss Marić is here in Zürich studying physics, Mr. Savić. As is Mr. Einstein.”
Mr. Savić raised a curious eyebrow. “Physics? That’s most impressive, Miss Marić.”
My antipathy toward him was allayed a bit by his response; most men recoiled at the thought of a woman physicist. I wanted Mr. Savić to know that Helene was equally formidable.
“Not as impressive as Miss Kaufler’s knowledge of history, Mr. Savić, I assure you.”
Mr. Savić looked into Helene’s eyes. “I’m hoping to learn precisely how extensive Miss Kaufler’s knowledge of history is.”
Helene beamed at Mr. Savić, and in the quiet that filled the room to bursting, Mr. Einstein and I took our leave. As we stepped into the entryway, he whispered to me, “That Savić fellow has a thick Serbian accent. I could barely understand his German. Yours is so flawless. I always meant to ask how you manage it.”
“Papa insisted that we speak German at home. It’s the Austro-Hungarian Empire’s language of success, after all. We only spoke Serbian to Mama and the servants,” I whispered back, but my voice was flat. What had I just witnessed?
Just as Mr. Einstein and I crossed the threshold of the parlor, Helene reappeared and grabbed my arm. I gestured for Mr. Einstein to enter the parlor without me.
“I wanted to make sure you weren’t angry with me.” Her eyes were pleading.
“For forgetting about our little recital? That’s silly. I told you already, I’m not mad at all.”
She exhaled. “Good. I couldn’t stand it if you were annoyed with me.” I sensed she was worried about far more than the recital.
“Shouldn’t you return to—” Did I dare say “your caller”? I wanted to know exactly who this man was, but my boldness dissolved when I saw the concerned look in her eyes. “Mr. Savić?”
“Mr. Savić?” Wonder shone in her eyes. “I guess I should return, shouldn’t I?”
“How did you become acquainted with him?”
“Mr. Savić stopped by the pension yesterday. You see, his family is closely acquainted with my aunt, and she suggested that he pay a call. Our conversation was so easy and full of commonalities, well, when he asked if he could visit again today, I agreed.” A smile never left her lips.
“You didn’t mention him yesterday.”
“I suppose I didn’t know until today that he was worth mentioning.” She paused, and the smile slipped away. She realized what she had unwittingly admitted.
“Is he a caller, Helene?” I needed to know. What would happen to our pact if she were to fall in love with Mr. Savić?
“I don’t know, Mitza. I-I don’t want to break our pact, but—” She stammered and then stopped.
“But what?”
“Will you allow me the latitude to find out what Mr. Savić means to me?” Her tone and her eyes were imploring.
My stomach lurched. I’d been hoping for a scoffing laugh. It seemed that I could only hope her time with Mr. Savić was fleeting. Or that he would leave town soon.
I wanted to scream no. I wanted to shake her and remind her of our shared vision of a full professional life without the need for a husband. But what could I say other than yes? “Of course, Helene.”
“Thank you for understanding. I guess I should return.”
Helene’s skirts trailed behind her as she reentered the gaming room. I watched until the last scallop of her hem disappeared, as if we’d just said farewell. Because, in a way, we had.
I walked back into the parlor. The room appeared exactly the same as always. There were the rose damask chairs my father and I sat upon when we first arrived at the pension; there was the piano where Milana worked so diligently on her melodies; there were the embroidered armchairs where Helene and I always sat, our instruments in hand. I could almost hear the sweet strains of Mozart, Bach, Beethoven, and Vivaldi wafting in the air. Yet, on some level, the parlor was altogether changed, as if an enormous eraser had wiped clean the cherished memories and the plans this room contained.
The future had been cracked wide open.
Chapter 11
December 8, 1899
Zürich, Switzerland
Mr. Einstein ran his bow across the violin strings. The movement was slow, almost languorous, but the music was big and filled the room. Closing my eyes, I could very nearly envision rich, imperceptible waves reverberating the sound around the parlor, almost like the invisible X-rays recently discovered. And I could also imagine the notes washing over me like a caress.
My cheeks flushed red. Was it the music I imagined caressing me or Mr. Einstein’s hands?
Turning away from Mr. Einstein and his violin, I settled more comfortably onto the piano bench and faced the keys. Even though I could no longer see him cradle his violin, his music moved me. Not because his playing was virtuosic but because it overflowed with emotion.
I shook my head to clear it. My cue to begin playing would happen in a few bars, and I didn’t want to miss it because I was daydreaming about Mr. Einstein. For months, indeed for over a year, I had spent too many minutes of every day fighting against such impulses to surrender over a few lines of luxurious music.
Suppressed over the past year, my feelings for Mr. Einstein hadn’t disappeared. If anything, they had grown. Sometimes, I wondered whether maintaining my friendship with Mr. Einstein was folly, whether it ignited emotions I should be dampening. But I had chosen my physics path, and he sat firmly upon it, I reminded myself for the hundredth time that day alone. I couldn’t very well ignore him; after all, he was my lab partner.
My fingers hovered over the piano keys, ready for my moment, when shrill voices echoed thro
ughout the house. The noise startled us both, and Mr. Einstein stopped playing.
“You silly. That’s my umbrella!” a female voice shrieked playfully.
“Truly? It looks exactly like my own!” another answered back.
The voices belonged to Ružica and Milana.
I stood up from the piano. The girls had finally arrived, forty minutes past the time we usually played music before dinner. More and more frequently, Ružica and Milana claimed they couldn’t make these previously sacrosanct appointments. Their excuses ranged from study sessions at school to late afternoon lectures to simply forgetting, but a clear pattern had emerged. If Helene couldn’t make the musical gathering, a more frequent occurrence these days as her relationship with Mr. Savić deepened, or if Mr. Einstein was in attendance, then Ružica and Milana were unavailable.
Smoothing my skirt and taking a calming breath—I didn’t want to push the girls further away with my disappointment—I poked my head out of the parlor. “Hello, girls! Mr. Einstein and I were just beginning to play and hoping that you’d arrive soon. Care to play?”
Milana shot Ružica an inscrutable look. What did she mean by it? Once, I’d been able to read those glances as easily as I could read Papa’s, but now they were as incomprehensible to me as hieroglyphics. Had Helene been the glue holding our formerly merry band together? If so, bit by bit, the adhesive joining Ružica, Milana, and me together was dissolving, leaving us as distant friends and dining companions. Even when I sat across from them at meals, I missed them.
Milana spoke for both of them. “That is such a kind offer, Mileva, but Ružica and I were just lamenting the amount of work we have. I think we’ll retire to our rooms before the dinner bell rings.”
“Yes, Mileva. Not all of us can function on as little sleep as you,” Ružica said with a kindly wink. I was notorious for studying all night with my window open to keep me awake. Of the two, Ružica had remained the friendlier.
Giving me the politest of smiles, the sort normally reserved for maidenly aunts, not bosom friends, they trudged up the stairs to their rooms. I returned to the parlor, hurt and angry. Mr. Einstein and I had returned to the pension from our weekly Café Metropole coffee with our classmates instead of taking a stroll with them explicitly to meet the girls. And this was the treatment I received? What had I done to bear the brunt of such rejection, however kindly delivered?
The Other Einstein Page 9