In the Matter of Nikola Tesla

by Anthony Flacco

  The intruder remained silent and still, waiting for the outcry that had to come. Instead, Nikola moved over to the bed, sat on the edge of the mattress and removed his shoes and socks. When he spoke at last, his voice was quiet. His tone was calm. He did not bother to look at the government man. “So. Are you here for yourself or are you here for someone else?”

  “…I’m not supposed to say.”

  “You just did.” Still not bothering to look over at the man, Nikola busied himself in removing his tie and loosening his shirt.

  The man gave a dry little laugh. Nothing in his training prepared him for this sort of reaction. He decided to keep quiet and wait for Nikola to speak again.

  “I hope you did not damage the lock in opening my safe.”

  “Uh, no. It’s still good.”

  “Imagine my relief. Well, it was clearly wrong of me to think of myself as your employer. Have you stolen anything?”

  “I’m not here to steal anything, just— just to look.”

  “Ah. To look.” Nikola lay down on the bed with his shirt and trousers still on and pulled the bedspread over himself. “If you have done enough looking, do be kind enough to leave now. I need to sleep.” He fluffed the pillow a couple of times, then rested his head on it and closed his eyes.

  The government man shook his head in disbelief. Of all the odd behavior he had witnessed from this Tesla fellow since going undercover in his laboratory, this apparent lack of concern was the strangest yet. He shook his head once again and started for the exit. When he reached the door, the inventor made one last remark, this time without bothering to open his eyes.

  “Please tell whoever sent you that the only papers here are patent drawings for devices that are already a matter of public record. Everything else stays in my head until it’s time to construct a working model.” With that, he turned onto his opposite side and faced the wall.

  A tiny smile of disbelief crossed the man’s face, but without attempting any further comment he opened the door and stepped out of the room. Before he could close the door behind himself he heard the inventor quietly add, “Please be so kind as to have any of your belongings out of my laboratory before I return.”

  The man dropped his head with a small sigh and closed the hotel room door, which automatically clicked into the locked position behind him.

  Chapter Thirty-Six

  Seven Years Later

  New York City

  They were able to keep a modest lab open at 165 North Broadway for the next seven years, even as the Wardenclyffe tower stood unfinished, primarily because of George Scherff’s relentless scrounging on Nikola’s behalf. Nikola’s life continued on a level of success that most inventors would have envied; he developed a turbine engine so tiny and efficient that it was dubbed “A Powerhouse In Hat” and perfected refinements in the control systems for his existing turbines, generators, and transformers.

  The alternating current technology he sold to George Westinghouse spread through the country and around the world—all without payment to him. Westinghouse remained enthusiastic in his public support for the fruits of Nikola Tesla’s mind, but even after reviving his personal fortune, he never attempted to restore any portion of the many millions of dollars in royalties that Nikola forgave him.

  For any other inventor, Nikola’s continued work would have signified a triumph over adversity. For him, it was nothing more than small change. He still enjoyed a certain amount of fame, although with every passing year his name was recognized by fewer members of the public. Lately it was known more exclusively by those rare tradesmen and scientists capable of grasping the importance of his work.

  His steadfast refusal to make public comments against Westinghouse or any of his former supporters meant that the public remained unaware of his borderline poverty while he recycled every cent he earned into laboratory expenses. When visitors to his lab noted the humble surroundings that he and his tiny crew worked in, rumors flew that he was stashing his loot and saving up for some momentous new creation—perhaps for the good of humanity, perhaps some darker purpose.

  And all the while, those rare newspaper and magazine interviews that he granted were filled with descriptions of futuristic inventions few people could imagine and accept.

  A persistent rumor remained on the street: the old genius was secretly building giant secret weapons. He had threatened to sell them to another government if the United States refused to pay for them.

  No basis for the rumors was ever discovered. It was never determined where the rumors originated or who kept them afloat.

  In reaction, Nikola grew more isolated than ever, sending his impeccably dressed automaton out to high society functions whenever he was granted the chance to speak. An opportunity to raise funds could never be ignored. But up there in the tiny rocking chair behind the picture window eyes, the bitterness of Karina’s desertion secretly festered. It was necessary to block all thoughts of her if he hoped to get anything done.

  He continued to greet the uncounted women who fawned upon him and the men who attempted to cultivate his friendship with universally polite rejection. Attempts to distract him from his work were as useless as worldly temptations proffered to a devout monk.

  Author Mark Twain was a rare exception. During the last years of Samuel Clemens’ life, he and Nikola cultivated a friendship that included late night philosophical discussions and private laboratory demonstrations of whatever new device Nikola was working on at the time. Clemens was especially fond of Nikola’s healing apparatus, which bathed Clemens in a magnetic field so powerful that it warmed him inside and produced feelings of euphoria that only peaked when the vibrations went on long enough to produce galloping diarrhea. Clemens even forgave Nikola this indignity. For his part, Nikola never got over his sense of appreciation for the approval and interest of a man whose writings taught Nikola so much about his adopted country. Clemens repeatedly assured him that if not for his own constant financial difficulties, he would have been delighted to finance the World Power System himself.

  Chapter Thirty-Seven

  1912

  New York City

  The year 1912 found Nikola’s tuxedoed automaton sitting at a table of dignitaries during a formal dinner at the French Embassy in Manhattan. Even though he was elegantly attired, his lined face now told the story of years of effort and frustration.

  He did not recognize most of the luminaries seated around him, but the chair at his right was occupied by a smiling Samuel Clemens. The fact that the great author had died two years earlier did nothing to deter Nikola’s experience of the man he admired beyond any other.

  Because Nikola sat quietly throughout most of the evening, the rare comments that he made to Clemens were overlooked by the other guests, usually with no more than a roll of the eyes or a poorly smothered grin. Meanwhile he was experiencing the things around them all as a drone in the background. It was not until the talk at his table turned to the upcoming Nobel Prize award that the conversation grew lively; the Nobel Committee had just announced that the prize was going to be awarded to both Thomas Edison and Nikola Tesla for that year.

  One dignified older man whose name Nikola did not catch leaned across the table and looked at him with astonishment. “And sir, you will actually refuse the Nobel Prize?” The man rapped his knuckles sharply down on the tabletop. “No one does such a thing, sir. No one!”

  Nikola came back to awareness and smiled. “It would seem that I do. Not because of what Edison and his peers kept from me for so many years, but because of what their sabotages have kept from humanity itself. I will not endorse undeserved adulation.”

  “You say that your adversaries are keeping some important something-or-other from humanity?”

  “That is a fact. And needless suffering continues all over the country and around the world because of it.”

  No one offered any further argument, but the other guests regarded him with doubting eyes. People who w
ould have gladly stabbed one another’s backs with daggers of gossip just a moment earlier now experienced group closeness in their unity of attitude toward him.

  The next morning, Thomas Edison paced the floor of his Menlo Park offices in a raging fury, holding a copy of the day’s New York Times. Yes-Man #1, Hawkins or Harper, stood by with a telegram in his hand and waited for the right moment to reveal its contents because the Boss had not stopped fuming for the better portion of an hour.

  “This article can’t be right! This absolutely cannot be true! Cannot! Be! True! What are they trying to make us believe, that Tesla and I are selected to share the Nobel Prize—the Nobel Prize, mind you—and the damned fool refuses to accept?”

  “Um, yes sir, but, well—”

  “Speak up!”

  “Yes sir!” he shouted. “However I’m afraid that’s not all. Besides the newspaper, we just received this.”

  Edison was still powered by raging momentum. “When I was a boy they told me I was too stupid to have a future! But I came this far on a grade school education! Damn it all, that Nobel is mine!”

  “Yes sir, no doubt about it. Except that… well…”

  “Speak up, damn it!”

  “Sir! This wire just came.” He held up the telegram.

  “What? Hawkins, right? Hand me that, Mr. Hawkins.”

  Yes-Man #1 handed over the telegram with a shaking hand. Edison scanned it, eyes widening, then gasped. “God Almighty! The Nobel Committee has retracted the entire award because of the madman’s refusal! They’re giving it to some Englishman named Henry Bragg, and his son!”

  “Excellent choice,” Hawkins muttered, knowing that Edison would not hear him. The Boss stepped to a window and gazed into the distant night sky. He focused on the indifferent stars and whispered to Hawkins as if Hawkins cared, “Whatever goes on in that lunatic’s mind?”

  * * *

  Late autumn found Nikola and George Scherff slowly walking a Central Park pathway at sunset. Nikola scattered bird seed from a paper bag to the massive flock of pigeons that surrounded and followed them. Among the countless gray pigeons was a single snow-white dove. Nikola found her to be so beautiful that he made sure to toss extra seed her way. She responded to the special treatment by fluttering up and lighting on his shoulder. This delighted him so much that he placed a little pile of seed there for her.

  “I checked both afternoon papers,” George ventured. “They are confirming the initial reports that out of the few survivors of S.S. Titanic, John Astor was not among them.”

  Nikola stopped in his tracks and seemed to grope for words. “And we think we have troubles. That was a man who deserved to live if anyone does. Family man, philanthropist…” He sighed. “The fellow was truly attempting to do right by the world.”

  George gave him a look of admiration. “He was not the only one, Mr. Tesla.”

  Nikola smiled ruefully. “No, but perhaps the only one left who believed in my work enough to help us with financing.”

  George spoke with a frustrated sigh. “I still don’t understand what is the matter with the investment community. They treat us like lepers, despite the fact that in the twelve years since Colorado, your lab—even as small as it is—obtained dozens of new patents!”

  “Gadgets,” Nikola replied with a dismissive wave. He turned to George. “But your loyalty has been extraordinary. I am certain you will receive other offers of work. At higher wages, no doubt.”

  George duplicated Nikola’s dismissive wave. “I don’t want to work with others. I want to work with the Wizard.” He smiled at Nikola’s puzzled expression. “I know that some call Edison that, but I know who the real Wizard is!”

  Nikola fondly placed his hand on Scherff’s shoulder and smiled at him. “I hope you will always consider me a friend, George. The simple truth is that you will do better elsewhere.”

  “Surely your remarks last night were only born out of frustration! Eventually we will find some way to retire the lab’s debts. But Mr. Tesla, if you close down the lab, if you stop working—”

  “Stop working?” Nikola interrupted. “Oh no. Not stop working, oh no. I will maintain a small lab for awhile yet. But without building any models. I won’t even file patent drawings. You see? That is my only hope of protecting any new science from wealthy thieves. At least until everything is ready.”

  He stopped and spoke with a stronger note of hope than George had heard from him in many months. “Perhaps we can get together once a week or so and work on general matters. We may yet live to see free power go out to all the world.”

  George was suddenly too choked up to talk. All he could do was embrace Nikola, who gently patted his shoulder in return. The two men walked on. For a long time neither one spoke.

  Chapter Thirty-Eight

  Winter, 1915

  The Bowery, New York

  By the winter of 1915, Nikola’s outstanding bill at the hotel Waldorf Astoria peaked at nineteen thousand dollars. To settle the score, he had no choice but to deed the Wardenclyffe property to the owners of the hotel. They knocked down the incomplete tower in hopes of making the land easier to sell. Even though Nikola had settled his bill, the hotel refused to extend him anymore credit. He had to leave the suite of rooms he had occupied during all of the years since returning from Colorado.

  He resorted to a single room in a seedy hotel on the Lower East Side. There were few belongings for him to move. He carried them over on a dead gray day that gripped the neighborhood in a dingy blanket of snow and dirty ice.

  Looking up and down the street, he saw nothing but the last stop for staggering winos, raving outcasts, and one nearly forgotten man whose inventions were, at that moment, powering a large portion of the hard world.

  Early on his first evening in the new location, he sat in the tiny room surrounded by his unpacked bags and the room’s few sparse furnishings. Despite the cold, he had the window wide open and was dressed in nothing more than a worn robe. His concentration was occupied by the process of sketching birds in flight on a large tablet.

  There was a knock at the door, but before he could respond, a heavily worn hotel maid with deep lines carved into her face entered carrying a small paper bag. He glanced up at her and smiled, then returned to his sketch. She set the bag down on his chair.

  “All right, Mr. Tesla, here is the bird seed you wanted.” Then she added, crafty as hell, “I’m afraid there’s no change…”

  “Fine, that’s fine. But please just set it over by the window.”

  “Well all right. But if you’re going to stay up here without coming out, maybe you should let me go get some food for you. You should feed yourself before you feed wild birds.” She started to close the window.

  “No, no. Leave it open, please.”

  “What, you want to freeze?”

  He looked up from his sketch and smiled. “What is life without risk?”

  The maid regarded him with exasperation, whether at his refusal to protect against the cold or his refusal to allow her to cheat him out of some more pocket change. She sighed and left the room.

  He put his sketch aside, stepped over to the window and sprinkled some seed on the sill, then sat back down and picked up the tablet again. Within moments he was so engrossed in the drawing that he didn’t look up again until the rustling of a bird’s wings caught his attention. His eyes widened when he saw that a white dove had flown in and landed on the sill.

  “Ha! A customer! And not an ordinary pigeon, but a beautiful white dove…”

  He squinted at the bird for a few seconds, then took a deep breath of surprise and stepped closer to it. After another moment, a delighted smile spread across his face. “Why, I do believe it is the same one! From the park! Now this is a noteworthy event! Welcome, my little friend, I am delighted to have you as a guest.”

  The dove seemed to ignore his presence altogether in favor of pecking away at the seeds. Amused, Nikola decided to address the do
ve as any other visitor. He turned the sketch pad to reveal another page filled with tiny handwriting.

  “I am so honored by your appearance here, that I shall read you something of my latest writing, taken from a speech of mine. The money from this magazine article will keep us in bird seed for many weeks! Ha!” He began to read aloud.

  “The problem of increasing human energy can also be addressed by increasing humanity’s food supply.”

  He paused and added, “You see, little bird, if only I could discover the right frequencies, my multi-phase oscillating coils could be placed next to all farm fields. They break up air molecules, release pure nitrogen. And the crops! The crops love nitrogen the same way you love that seed! Oh yes! And so the crops are vastly increased without anyone doing anymore work!”

  At that moment, the amusement fell from his face. He stared at the bird, then moved closer to it, staring harder…

  “What?” he breathed. “What did you say?”

  The dove tilted its head toward him until Nikola saw a blinding flash of light explode from its eyes. The light engulfed him. He cried out in wonder. After one brief moment, the light faded back down, but now the dove was gone, and a golden fountain of energy appeared in the middle of the room, spewing silver showers into the air. All around the energy shower, translucent plants appeared. They seemed to be growing furiously right before his eyes, winding their way up into the air.

  Nikola gasped in shock and in recognition. “Those are the frequencies to split the nitrogen from the air? Yes? They must be!” A moment later Nikola’s knees grew so weak that he fell to the floor.

  Karina stood in front of him, as real and as lovely as if they had never been apart. “You!” he whispered. “Why have you come in such a form?”

  She smiled and spoke in the faintest whisper. “Your anger kept me from reaching you.”