by Stuart Clark
‘But you need someone to take care of you.’ A hint of pleading had crept into her voice.
He almost said I have someone to take care of me in order to terminate the conversation. Though he remained silent, his face must have given him away.
Mileva nodded, her suspicions confirmed. ‘Give my regards to your cousin,’ she said frostily.
‘You mean Elsa?’ He forced innocence into his voice.
‘Who else?’ she spat. ‘You’ll be round there before the train’s even reached the suburbs. She’s the real reason you want me gone.’
Einstein’s eyes darted around. Hans Albert was staring at him with bleak attention. Eduard was lost in four-year-old thoughts, pawing idly at his mother’s skirt.
‘Goodbye, Mileva,’ he said formally. ‘Don’t miss your train.’
The image of Mileva climbing on to the train filled his mind, her stiff posture and defiant shoulders as she ushered his sons aboard. Some paralysis had forced him to watch, to wait for the final venomous look she had launched at him just before the guard shut the carriage door.
He had thanked Haber for escorting her and then trudged from the station, clawing off his tie. His feet had begun to carry him towards Elsa’s, but his wife’s final accusation rang in his ears and he refused to give in to the knowledge that she had been right.
He had bought a coffee and sat on a wire-framed chair in a small café. Everywhere around him there was animated talk of war, the joy of conquest and the anticipation of destiny about to be fulfilled. He had lasted less than five minutes in there; eventually banging down the cup and slapping a few coins onto the table.
With nothing better to do, he had returned to his apartment, and as soon as the door shut behind him, he wept uncontrollably.
Now, as the sun began its slow dive towards the horizon, he began to perceive the stillness of which his home was capable. There was just the occasional muffled sound from the family in the apartment below, the whiff of onions or some other cooking. He felt strangely calm, drained.
There would be no interruptions now. Nor ever again.
His apprehension came from a new sensation growing inside him. It took him a puzzled moment to recognise it, but there could be no mistake. It was optimism: barefaced, naked optimism. Warm and comforting, it wrapped its arms around him. As it did so, mathematical symbols began to unfurl in his brain and Einstein reached for his pen and notepad.
It was days before Einstein emerged for anything more than a snatched meal or a trip to the post office. His first thought had been to visit Elsa, who was waiting for him across the city, puzzled by his absence. They had exchanged letters but he couldn’t see her yet, not until the exorcism was complete and he had rid himself of the last vestige of Mileva.
Clara knows how I feel … His wife’s parting words lingered in his thoughts like a thief in the shadows as he forced himself into a stiff suit and collar. He cursed every button but was determined to show that he was not helpless without a wife. He thought about visiting his mother but decided he could not face her gloating. She had been against Mileva from the start.
With a final tug of his waistcoat, he set off for the one place he knew he would feel at home.
The honey-coloured stonework of the university was a welcome sight. He slipped across the courtyard, watched only by the statues on the roof of the great portico, and scanned the drifting groups of students with suspicion. Which of these young men, now so earnestly carrying their books, had been in the rally the other day?
The long and noisy corridors were dappled by patchworks of sunlight from the windows. When he turned the final corner he saw Haber loitering, hands thrust into his pockets, trying to look nonchalant, thick lips pursed in thought.
‘Fritz?’
Haber gave a sheepish smile and nodded towards the window at the end of the corridor. ‘I saw you coming.’
‘Are you well?’
‘I am.’
‘And Clara?’
‘Also well.’
Einstein turned the key in the lock and showed him in. The office was a bit dusty but otherwise tidy, unlike his study at home. There were a few official university documents on the desk here that Einstein had yet to get round to completing. No matter.
Haber leaned against an empty bookcase as if he owned the place. ‘Did Mileva arrive safely?’
Einstein set the chair’s wheels squeaking as he sat down. He nodded; her letter had arrived yesterday.
‘Good,’ said Haber. ‘Perhaps some time apart will …’
‘Are you and Clara all right?’ Einstein asked the question sharply.
It took Haber a moment before he smiled. ‘Yes, perfectly.’
‘Mileva wanted to be a physicist.’
‘She told us that, while she was staying.’
‘She failed her exams when she was pregnant with …’ Einstein ran a hand through his tousled hair. This was not a direction he wanted to take. ‘Clara doesn’t regret trading her profession for marriage, does she?’
Haber looked thoughtful. ‘I think she sometimes feels a little frustrated. She was a good chemist before we married. Why do you ask?’
‘It’s just …’ Einstein shook his head, ‘Nothing. Forgive me. I’m rambling. Few things on my mind, that’s all.’
Haber drew near and placed a hand briefly on Einstein’s shoulder. ‘Of course. Are you working?’
‘Indeed, a little slowly but making progress.’
‘You still think you can fix the mathematics?’
Einstein turned to face him. ‘I’ll have the final formulation soon, and within the month Erwin will have the observations.’
‘So you got the money together for the expedition?’
Einstein nodded. ‘Erwin’s in the Crimea now, should have reached the site a few days ago. He’s probably all set up and ready, just waiting for the eclipse.’
Haber looked alarmed. ‘The Crimea? Then he’s in danger.’
‘Why? The war – if it comes – will be to the west.’
Haber snorted. ‘Where have you been? The newspapers are full of it. The Russians are mobilising. All that’s needed now is a formal declaration of war.’
‘That’s impossible. Germany cannot fight a war on two fronts. They’ll have to see sense and negotiate.’
‘There can be no negotiating with the enemy.’ Haber’s pale eyes had turned to steel. He laughed, a little embarrassed. ‘Cheer up. It’s probably no loss. Erwin’s a bit hasty from what I hear, prone to errors.’
‘He’s the only one who’s shown any real support for my extension of relativity,’ said Einstein indignantly.
‘Oh, don’t be so dramatic,’ Haber purred, all calm restored.
‘We all support you.’
‘Yes, but he believes me.’
2
Feodosiya, Russian Empire
Despite the acceleration of his heartbeat and the sudden shortness of his breath, Erwin Freundlich was finding it easier than he would have imagined to stare down the barrel of a loaded rifle. It was aimed at the patch of skin between his eyes. At the other end of the barrel he met the dark eyes of his captor across the gunsight. Freundlich found himself thinking they were too feminine for a man, even one as young as this soldier.
‘You are German, yes?’ asked the smug-looking, grey-haired commanding officer at the young soldier’s side. Squeezed into a uniform that once must have fitted, the officer exuded the air of a pampered child.
The astronomer glanced at his two travelling companions, similarly held at gunpoint, and nodded his head.
‘Name?’ The commander’s accent was thick.
‘Erwin Freundlich.’ A spot of rain from the thickening clouds landed on his left cheek and rolled into his thick moustache. It felt like a spider crawling across his skin.
The commander stepped closer, and the astronomer saw clean over the navy-blue peaked hat with its gold piping. He could see the waters of the Black Sea beyond and hear the sound of the waves, softened to
a soothing murmur by their distance. It mixed with the rustle of the breeze around the camp and the pumping of blood in his ears.
‘You’re all under arrest,’ said the commander, chin lifted, eyes gleaming.
‘Why? I have the correct permits. Everything has been …’ He made to indicate the battery of cameras strapped to the sturdy wooden framework, pointing up at the sky, but stopped when the barrel of the gun jerked.
‘No sudden movements, if you please,’ warned the commander. ‘Our countries are enemies now. Your government has declared war.’
Freundlich’s mouth went dry.
The commander could barely keep the smile from his face as he finished his little speech. ‘And that makes you our prisoners.’
They were forced to abandon the camp, leaving the cameras uncovered and the tarpaulins flapping, and marched to the police station at gunpoint, hands on their heads. Freundlich could feel the sweat running down his sides and the occasional raindrop along his jawline.
The townsfolk stared at them mostly with bemusement or confusion on their faces, but a few glared with hostility. Just the day before, the Germans had been moving around with anonymity; Zurhellen had lavished praise upon the local pastries while brushing the crumbs from his goatee, and Mechau had been watching the fishermen land their catches.
The police station itself was a damp stone affair just one road back from the harbour front. The three men were stripped of their papers and possessions – watches, pens, glasses – and taken deeper into the station.
‘At least we’re in the same cell,’ said Mechau, laughing nervously as the door was shut solidly behind them and the key was turned.
Zurhellen stood glowering at the solid wooden barrier, fists flexing. ‘How dare they? We’re German citizens!’
‘That’s precisely why they’ve done it, Walther,’ said Freundlich. The comment drew a sharp glare. ‘We can’t just sit here and do nothing.’
‘There’s nothing else we can do.’
Freundlich studied the cell. There was a set of bunk beds lining both walls, a high window faced the door and there was a bucket in the corner. Clearly the room was not designed for lengthy habitation. Judging by the smell, it was probably where they locked up the drunks overnight.
‘What are they going to do to us?’ Mechau was sweating profusely, his hands shaking visibly.
The sight unnerved Freundlich. If the lad panicked, it would only make things worse. ‘Nothing, nothing at all. They’ll keep us here until they’ve verified that we’re no threat, and then they’ll release us and we’ll go back to our work. We’ll take the readings and travel straight home.’
Zurhellen sneered. ‘We’re at war! You can forget astronomy now.’
Mechau looked from man to man, lips quivering.
‘Walther, please. I’m in charge of this expedition,’ said Freundlich.
Zurhellen’s eyes narrowed. He was the eldest here by a clear five years. Freundlich held his gaze, then turned to Mechau.
‘We’ll be released soon, don’t you worry.’
Mechau let out the breath he had been holding. So did Zurhellen, but in an angry rush.
The commander looked over his spectacles at Freundlich. ‘And you expect me to believe you? Light bending round the sun?’
Freundlich spread his hands in supplication, talking quickly.
‘Have you never played in the rivers? Tried to catch fish with your bare hands? When you thrust your hands into the water, the fish is not where your eyes have told you it is. Or a stick! A stick never looks straight when you place it in a glass of water. It seems to bend below the waterline because of refraction. Things aren’t where we think they are. Gravity does the same. The sun will make the stars look as though they’re in different places when it passes in front of them.’
‘Those are some powerful-looking cameras you’ve got there.’
‘They come from the searches for Vulcan.’
‘Vulcan?’ The commander cast his eyes around the grubby office. A uniformed policeman looked on from the corner. Two armed soldiers were stationed outside the door.
‘Yes, the planet Mercury is off-course,’ Freundlich gabbled, ‘I mean it’s not following Newton’s law of gravity. Astronomers thought it was being pulled by the gravity of an undiscovered planet, Vulcan – but no one can find it …’ He tailed off.
The commander lit a cigarette with slow deliberation. ‘Planets, you say. One minute it’s gravity, the next it’s planets pulling each other about. Sounds to me like you need to get your story straight. You know what I think?’ said the commander, not waiting for an answer. ‘I think those cameras look powerful enough to take detailed photographs of the port.’
‘We’re not spies.’ Freundlich wiped his brow. His anxiety must be making it look like he had something to hide. The realisation made him sweat even more. ‘We’re here to take pictures of the stars around the eclipsed sun and measure their positions. It’s a crucial experiment. You must let us continue.’
If the commander’s fat cheeks had risen any higher from his grin, he wouldn’t have been able to see over them.
‘We’re going to miss it,’ said Freundlich, standing on the frame of a lower bunk to look through the window bars.
‘There’ll be other chances,’ said Mechau.
‘When? It’ll be years,’ snapped Freundlich, immediately apologising when he saw the technician flinch.
‘Beggar your theories.’ Zurhellen spoke from the opposite corner of the cell, where he was squatting against the wall. ‘We’re at war. We should be out there now. Fighting for the Fatherland. Fighting these pigs!’ He raised his voice for the last sentence.
Freundlich stepped from the bed. ‘It’s not our war. It’s the Kaiser’s. You’ll only make things worse if you keep taunting them.’
‘Speak for yourself,’ Zurhellen sneered. ‘How could someone like you understand, anyway?’
‘Someone like me?’
‘Well, you’re not fully German, are you?’
‘My grandmother was Jewish, if that’s what you mean.’
‘And your wife.’
‘She’s as German as you are.’
Zurhellen stood and took a step towards Freundlich. ‘Not with those eyes and that hair.’
‘She can be German and Jewish.’
The two men faced each other. Zurhellen’s nostrils flared. Then, with a grim laugh, he turned and headed back towards his corner of the cell.
Freundlich turned too and smiled weakly at Mechau, who was watching with terrified eyes.
When the eclipse came, the darkness was complete. Freundlich peered out of the cell window and his mind filled with the work they should have been pursuing: loading the glass plates into the cameras, taking the exposures one by one, capturing the fleeting appearances of the stars in the brief minutes of the artificial night.
Einstein thought that strong gravitational fields were slightly different from Newton’s predictions. He hadn’t completed the maths yet, but it could explain the motion of Mercury and produce the light-bending effect, too. Freundlich’s photographs were to have captured any deflection, allowing the theoretician to finish his work.
The astronomer felt a sharp sense of loss. He drew back from the glass and let his forehead rest against the cold windowsill.
They would not have seen anything anyway. It was pouring down out there.
Freundlich was frogmarched to the interrogation room a few days later. They had been given little but bread and water since their capture, and the sense of light-headedness from the hunger was beginning to feel normal. The fat commander was waiting for him, wreathed in the blue haze of cigarette smoke. ‘You’re to be moved to a camp in Odessa. It’ll take a day or so to make the final arrangements.’
‘You’re not going to repatriate us?’
The commander spoke as if addressing a child. ‘You’re prisoners of war.’
‘What about the cameras and the equipment? We must be allowed to take them with
us. They’re on loan.’
The commander blew out a long plume of cigarette smoke and laughed. ‘Those cameras now belong to the Russian government. Oh, cheer up. You’ll like it in Odessa, we’ve got plenty of other Germans there already. You’ll feel at home.’
Freundlich’s insides tightened. ‘I’ll go and tell the others.’
‘Not so fast. It’s just you and the young lad going to Odessa. We’ve been listening to your big-mouthed friend. He’s going somewhere else. We’ve got a special camp for people like him.’
3
Berlin
Einstein checked his appearance in the entrance hall’s mirror, took a deep breath and stepped into the lift. He wondered whether Elsa would hear the whir and clank of the machinery and be waiting with the door open. She would be smiling, he thought; it always drew attention to her eyes, which were by far her best feature.
When he arrived on the landing to see her door firmly closed, he lost some of the momentum that had carried him there that morning. He rolled his shoulders to loosen them, fiddled with the flowers he was carrying, and knocked with his free hand.
Elsa Löwenthal’s plump face transformed into an uncertain smile when she saw him. She touched one side of her hair, lifting the curls into place. ‘At last,’ she whispered before recovering her voice. The intonation of her Swabian accent imprinted its own stamp on his name. ‘Come in, Albertle.’
‘I’ve written,’ he said, offering the flowers.
‘From all that way across town, I know. I’ve written back, or haven’t you noticed? Of course you have, but letters are not the same as being together, are they? Oh, aren’t these flowers beautiful? Now go through and I’ll put these in water.’
Einstein hesitated as she closed the door behind him. He should tell her now, get it over with, but the familiar smell of beeswax ambushed his determination.
‘Well, go through,’ she said, shooing him along. ‘You know we don’t stand on ceremony here.’
She disappeared past a sliding door into the kitchen and began to rattle around in the cupboards.
He placed his hat on the coatstand and went into the livingroom. The windows were open, allowing the summer heat to escape and the sounds of the city to filter in. Even so, it was too warm. He stopped himself from clawing at his shirt collar and distracted himself by comparing the state of Elsa’s apartment with what he was used to. There were no half-read magazines or dirty crockery cluttering up the place. On the sideboard was a single, silver-framed photograph of her late husband. It was a bluff really, she had divorced him four years before his death, but it was more convenient to pass herself off as a widow than a divorcée.