Soon, at any moment now, she would be alone in this place with Mr. Nikola Tesla himself. And if the mysterious gentleman inventor was ready to burn the entire night away on whatever this fabulous thing was that they had been building for the last twelve hours, then so be it.
She blinked back the floating spots once again and stretched her neck from side to side to ease the cramping muscles, then set back to work at making another perfect turn with the thin copper wire. She concentrated on picturing the process in her mind’s eye, just the way he described it: painting with copper wires in slow layers, building up a near-solid specific mass of copper around the iron core. She had captured it in her imagination that very afternoon, just for a second or two, during those first moments when Mr. Tesla appeared at her workbench and asked her to take on this special task. He was bashful in requesting her help with a thing of such concentrated drudgery, but he also explained how important it was that the copper circuit be constructed as near to a “perfect wind” as humanly possible.
The strength of the forces which this copper mass would be able to withstand depended upon the copper’s overall conductivity. Nelle fell in love with the word the first time she heard him speak it: “conductivity.” It referred to the ability to transmit a carefully calculated level of power, below which it must not falter.
If the electrical current passing through the copper wiring encountered pockets of resistance in the form of tiny gaps in imperfect wiring, then each of those tiny gaps would act as a condenser of the energy. The current would then have to build up a bit in each location in order to gather enough power to spark itself across the gap and move on. Each release of the condensed energy disrupts flow and reduces power. The gaps in the winding that Mr. Tesla described to her would force the energy to constantly build up, then jump, build up, then jump—across gaps that would only exist if she had failed and left them there.
She had no intention of letting that happen. If she failed here in Mr. Tesla’s employ, where would she go next? Nelle felt keenly aware of herself as no more than a spinster with a good job, and even that much was a position she had only enjoyed perhaps “one finger less than a fistful of times,” as Nelle liked to imagine herself announcing to a packed church.
The stickler in the situation was that she had no idea what the range of Mr. Tesla’s great mental powers might be. He was well known to see things, detailed things, in plain midair. He admitted that. He was said to be able to see those things with such fine details that he built them without ever leaving his chair, built them entirely in his mind before he did a lick of work. She had even heard him explain as much to the rare visitors who asked the question; they seldom listened to the answer as carefully as she did.
Nelle figured the challenging world of invention would not be a bad way to spend her life, too, if she could just get a handle on how he did it. Not that she would ever admit to a soul that she would even consider attempting such an arrogant thing as setting herself next to a man with serious brains and a fancy education that he got over in Europe.
Still she dared to think about it anyway, just as she had dared to do so many other things. Nelle’s secret motto was “You never can tell ‘til you try,” a battle cry of optimism for the contemporary American unmarried woman. She owned a dozen embroidered pillows with that very line of wisdom painstakingly stitched across their faces, one by one, over her many years of free time. As far as application of that wisdom in life, she was frequently amazed at how often she was able to bluster her way into situations where she surely had no business—like this very job.
She only applied in one of her rare bursts of overconfidence, not realizing the job involved working in a place with just one other female worker and ten males, not counting the boss. Nelle did not believe that the rest of the men shared Mr. Tesla’s appreciation for a working woman’s value, and she frankly did not think that her female co-worker shared it either, as she hoped to one day point out to the pathetic creature in no vague terms.
Be that as it may, Nelle could not doubt that she never would have gotten the job at all except that Mr. Tesla insisted on doing all the hiring interviews himself. Even though two of the young male technicians laughed derisively at her before the interview, snickering in a vaguely sexual manner while she passed on her way to Mr. Tesla’s private office, Nelle found that the inventor himself invited her in, offered her a chair, closed the door to give them privacy and then began to quietly ask polite questions. He listened to her answers without interrupting her. Not one time. While he listened, he looked at her so hard that Nelle’s thighs felt warm and she was glad that he allowed her to sit down for the interview because the woozy feeling was starting already and it always made her knees weak. She tried to deepen her breathing and freshen up her inner air without being conspicuous about it.
Nelle already knew about Mr. Tesla’s big success over in Rahway, New Jersey; she had even seen it herself. Daylight outdoors—at night! She wondered what kind of man thinks up something like that? Could he read her mind? She felt sure that he must have some such ability that average fellows apparently lacked, something that allowed him to see whatever was about her, because he had not only hired her, but introduced her to everyone in the lab himself. He showed her such respect that it commanded the same from the other men.
In the coming days, Mr. Tesla trusted her with one vital task after another. Her diligence was such that she did not stop to eat unless Mr. Tesla also did, except that he seemed to go without eating for days at a time. She had to resort to keeping cookies and sandwiches in the pockets of her lab coat. At least she did not gain any weight and woke up every morning happy to go to work, even when she had only had a few hours to sleep. Such was her hunger for a chance to not merely be in his employ, but to make sacrifices for Mr. Tesla’s wonderful work and to keep right on sacrificing until he noticed her, really noticed her. She dared to hope, and even to secretly suspect inside of her heart of hearts, that life had only held her captive in her ridiculous prison of spinsterhood in order to save her for something better.
That life was beginning now. A life which truly mattered in some way, and a life with a man companion who also mattered in some fine way. And so Nelle found it to be so perfect that Mr. Tesla himself brought this most difficult task of precision winding to her above all the others. Why, with his mysterious mental gifts he obviously perceived that Nelle would do anything, anything at all for the chance to toil with him in this unreal place. She perfectly comprehended that this latest task of precision-winding was only “drudgery” if one looked no deeper than the face of it. She continued winding for five more complete turns, each perfect, until finally, finally, both of the bachelors called out to Mr. Tesla and pleaded the need for rest.
Mr. Tesla was drawing at his drafting table with such energy that he appeared surprised, once he looked up, to see that the two men were even there. He laughed sheepishly and assured them both that they could go, and that they should come in late the next morning, as well.
Nelle was resolved not to put up with any of that nonsense about going home. She remained bent over her winding task with such steely concentration that she offered Mr. Tesla no opportunity to catch her eye and dismiss her with some easy remark, perhaps to merely call across the lab, “Oh by the way, Miss Whitaker, I did not realize the hour was so late, and please you must go home and also come in late tomorrow.”
But not now, when things were finally getting good. Tonight was her first time to be alone and in private with Mr. Tesla himself. She marveled. Where else in the world could such a thing happen? What ruse could she employ in any other land that would present her with such an opportunity? It was quite extraordinary for any woman to spend time alone with such a man.
Best of all, because the occasion was not social, she did not have to carry any burden of “polite conversation,” since it was conversation, after all, where Nelle’s disasters always took place. Having to talk.
For all these reas
ons and in spite of her fatigue, Nelle’s contentment filled her.
Nikola finished the last in the series of cutaway battery drawings and was glad to be done with that uninteresting chore. He stood up and stretched his arms high over his head, pulling his lower back muscles as taut as he could. When he lowered his arms and glanced across the lab, his gaze took in laboratory assistant Nelle Whitaker. She appeared thoroughly engrossed in her winding. For a moment Nikola was distracted by the depth of her concentration, but eventually a sense of appropriate reaction came over him. He smiled and called out to her while he approached her workbench.
“Miss Whitaker, please forgive me. I am afraid I was quite unaware of, well, everything else. Certainly you appear to be doing a splendid job, first rate, but I made a terrible mistake if I gave you the impression that it had to be completed before you go home.” He paused for her response, but she seemed to not have anything to say. She merely flashed him a shy smile and nodded.
He stood looking at her, sure that she would want to say something, or at least acknowledge his remark and rise to go home. Instead she turned back to the wiring and began to carefully lay another turn.
Nikola watched in consternation. Surely he had made some communication gaffe but he could not guess what it might have been. Why was she still here? Everyone else was gone. He had assured her that it was all right to go home, but she politely ignored him and returned to her task.
“Miss Whitaker, I must compliment your tireless work ethic. You certainly stand out among all the other employees—”
She flicked her face toward him and flashed an expression of gratified delight so intense that he realized he had stumbled onto words she truly wanted to hear. But still she was not moving. Why was she not going home?
“Ah, at any rate, I would be a complete villain to allow you to work another minute more.”
Nelle Whitaker let out a tiny sigh which barely indicated her level of resignation before she began her familiar struggle to speak past her stutter, “Mister teh-teh-teh TES-la, I’m hap— hap— I’m glad to be— be— be—” she stopped, took a deep breath, and appeared to be regrouping for another try.
“Yes thank you very much. And you have certainly been giving a fine effort here, but please—I am ashamed to have allowed you to stay this long already. If I had not been so caught up— well.” He shrugged and gave her an amiable smile. “Please, you must not come in until after the lunch hour tomorrow.” He started to walk away, turned back, “Is it agreed then?” he asked in a mock-stern voice.
Nelle smiled, nodded her head and instead of speaking, just mouthed the words, yes thank you. He gave her a quick little bow, then returned to his drafting table and sat back down.
After Nikola dropped back into his former state of concentration, he lost all awareness of Nelle Whitaker while he began jotting down notes for his speech of May 16 before the American Institute of Electrical Engineers. It was to be his first scientific speech in America and his first ever before such a large congregation of the day’s leading scientific minds. He planned a physical demonstration of his complete alternating current power system. It seemed best to keep the text of the speech “short and sweet” as Americans liked to say. He could start with—
“Nikola!”
Karina’s voice whispered in his left ear. A hot blast of fear shot through him. He was careful not to move or react.
“Why do you shut me out?” she insisted.
For that first moment, he remained frozen.
“Without new bursts of inspiration,” she went on, “you will do nothing more than scavenge your own discoveries!”
Just when Nelle was nearly out the door, she caught sight of Mr. Tesla. It was at the instant his body snapped backward as if something startled him. The inventor stared wildly around the room until his gaze fixed on a point in empty space at just about eye level.
“No!” Mr. Tesla whisper/shouted and threw both hands over his ears. He turned his back on the empty space and kept his ears covered, holding his eyes tightly closed while he tensed his entire body.
Nelle’s heart jumped at the spectacle. At first she feared that somebody had sneaked in and surprised Mr. Tesla, frightened him, perhaps. But an intruder would not explain Mr. Tesla’s behavior in the next instant—he burst into a harsh, guttural whisper. As far as Nelle could tell, it was directed to nobody at all, since Nelle and Mr. Tesla were the only ones in the laboratory, and he was obviously not aware that she was still there.
For Nelle, the fascination of watching a genius talk to himself was not as strong as her sense of shame at intruding. A sinking sensation washed through her, equal parts nausea and embarrassment over blundering into someone’s intensely private situation. Some instinct told her to turn and run from the room, but more fundamental instincts—the parts going all the way back to humanity’s days in the trees—assured her that any quick motion would draw his eyes to her.
Nelle tried to move smoothly toward the door, hoping to melt from the room before anymore strangeness took place and before he could accidentally discover her. She had no idea where she would even begin any efforts to assuage him after such an intimate confrontation as that. She kept her movements as slow as syrup.
She had not taken another three steps before Nikola screamed out in anguish. He sank to his knees, still holding his hands over his ears.
“Because I don’t know what you are!”
Nelle froze and held her breath, but this time only for a moment. Instinct again controlled her and now feet and legs moved with smooth urgency, back-pedaling first toward the nearest wall and then around the perimeter toward the exit. She realized that if she made any sound at all Mr. Tesla was likely to open his eyes. So far he had continued to keep them tightly closed, and Nelle was especially glad for that once he began screaming.
“Because disaster follows you! Yes, it does! And then you desert me!”
Nelle stopped merely sneaking along the wall and now headed at a fast walk directly toward the exit.
“Nooo!” Mr. Tesla bellowed into the empty room, swinging at the air as if shooing away birds. His eyes were open now, but he was not seeing the same room Nelle was in. She ran the last few steps to the door, pulled it open, stepped outside and only turned to glance back in at the last instant to make sure Mr. Tesla was not following her.
She did not have to worry. Mr. Tesla was still on his knees in the middle of the laboratory floor. He had finally stopped trying to swat away the invisible birds or whatever they were and was now stretching his arms straight out like a child straining to reach for something wonderful. All sense of torment was gone from his face. His relaxed body swayed slightly while he stood on his knees and reached into the emptiness.
Nelle felt certain that what she saw on his face was the happily stunned expression of one from whom all fear and shame has been removed. She was more frightened of Mr. Tesla’s childlike delight over a roomful of nothing than of his emotional outburst.
She made it a point to step out through the door without closing it, just in case a sound should draw his attention to her and bring his madness down upon her. Perhaps he would ravage her in some way—-the madman/genius now struck Nelle Whitaker as being capable of anything one could imagine, perhaps also a great deal one could not.
She hurried out of the building, down the deserted sidewalk, and at last into the comfort of the moonless night. Her pace was quick along the darkened, quieted streets. She was cheered by the thought of sleeping late in the morning. Nelle had worked so much overtime in the past six months there was enough money to allow her to wait a week or two before going back out to look for a job—perhaps someplace in an entirely different part of town.
And this time, Nelle thought, she really must go for something with normal hours. A dependable job that would leave her enough spare time to try a modest social outing now and again, to develop respectable social contacts and perhaps make a few friends. To begin steering her life with
utmost determination in the opposite direction of such God-awful aloneness as she had just witnessed inside of that place, that frightening and disturbing place. That haunted laboratory.
Chapter Twenty-Four
May 16,1888
The American Institute of Electrical Engineers
New York
The American Institute of Electrical Engineers (A.I.E.E) ended their formal reception and dinner for Mr. Nikola Tesla so members and esteemed guests could retire to the main lecture hall for the evening’s main event. Everything else up to that moment was preamble. Gourmet dining and vintage wine were merely standard accoutrements; the gauntlet had been dropped before the evening’s guest of honor when the A.I.E.E. sent their courier to Tesla with the summons to come and address them about his work. Now the moment of truth approached. It remained for him to justify their purpose in the occasion. Within a crowd of such extraordinary illumination, careers were made or broken every time a voice was raised in public, lives were made or broken whenever one dared to formally announce a discovery, and history itself was written on those blue-moon occasions when one of their kind dared to step forward with an entirely new melding of science and technology. The evening was tight with anticipation because Mr. Nikola Tesla claimed to have done just that, with a wealth of discoveries capable of revolutionizing the field of engineering itself.
Nikola had accepted the evening’s honor knowing full well the potential repercussions to his scientific credibility could go on for the rest of his life. Nevertheless, while he waited just offstage for the crowd to finish taking their seats, he had the feeling that the formality of his new and impeccably tailored suit was perfect for the revolution he intended to launch. He did, after all, have more than mere personal conviction to sustain him; it had been five months since the U.S. Government certified his forty related patents on alternating current—and it was the U.S. Patent Office that insisted on officially proclaiming his work an entirely new branch of the field.
In the Matter of Nikola Tesla Page 19