by Stuart Clark
‘When is the next eclipse?’
‘The third of February, 1916.’
Einstein grimaced. ‘Too early. This hateful war will never be over by then. It’ll soon be Christmas as it is. When’s the next one?’ Freundlich recited them from memory: the eighth of June, 1918, and the twenty-ninth of May, 1919.
‘Not until 1918?’ Einstein’s thoughts were turning like cogs.
‘But we must at least start getting the equipment back, all the cameras.’
‘I’ll try, but don’t get your hopes up.’ Einstein muttered. Freundlich leaned across his meal. ‘I thought you needed the eclipse data to finish the theory?’
‘Not really. I can use the Mercury measurements to fashion the theory, from which I can then predict the deflection of the starlight. Imagine if I could predict the deflection. No one would be able to refute my ideas then.’
Freundlich’s face lit up. ‘It would be a perfect Newtonian experiment – a crucial experiment. As important as when Halley used Newton’s theory of gravity to predict the return of his comet.’
‘Exactly!’
‘You make the prediction, and I’ll take the measurements.’ Einstein wanted to laugh. ‘It’s a deal.’
*
The strained atmosphere between Haber and his wife had not eased by the time Einstein and Elsa arrived at the house the following week for the rescheduled dinner party. Haber and Clara sat at opposite ends of a polished redwood table, doing their best to engage their guests in conversation, and Einstein found himself wondering why they had gone ahead at all.
Nernst was there with his wife, Emma. Each was as plump as each other and apple-faced. They insisted on sitting next to one another and spent the evening sharing asides and the occasional playful touch. The only other guest was a friend of Haber’s. Walther Rathenau sat between Einstein and Elsa, opposite the Nernsts. He was so squarely in the middle of the gathering, it would have been easy to mistake him for the host.
He swaggered even when he was seated. It was in the way he reached for the salt or lifted his crystal goblet to taste the wine. His eyes took in everything, unblinking, set below heavy brows and his close-cropped salt-and-pepper hair.
Although Einstein did not know him, he recognised his name from the papers. He was an industrialist who had been appointed to the War Department.
‘I’m to keep Germany in this war for as long as it takes,’ Rathenau explained.
Haber lifted his glass. ‘To victory!’
The others, excluding Einstein, followed suit. ‘Victory!’
Elsa looked mildly embarrassed that she had joined the toast. She fiddled with her napkin before turning to Clara for distraction. ‘Last week’s accident must have been awful for you. Did you know the young student well? Have you had the funeral yet?’
Einstein could not believe his ears. On the walk over he had expressly told her not to raise this subject.
‘Hardly at all,’ admitted Clara, but that did not stop her throwing a filthy look across the silver tureens at her husband.
‘And he was buried yesterday.’
Elsa was just opening her mouth to ask another question when Clara asked Einstein: ‘Have you heard from your wife lately?’
Elsa winced.
‘I have heard from Mileva, yes.’ Einstein placed a heavy emphasis on the name, hoping to ward off further uses of the word ‘wife’. ‘It worries me that she has not yet secured a fixed address. She left Berlin four months ago now.’
‘She still believes that you’ll come to your senses and reunite.’
‘Then she is labouring under a delusion. I am content with my own company.’
Immediately the room’s attention shifted towards Elsa. She had a hand to her face, not knowing what to do. Einstein’s cheeks burned and Clara skewered him with a look. ‘Will you be seeing your children over Christmas, Albert?’
He bristled. ‘I will be spending Christmas alone.’
His statement brought a look of naked incomprehension to his cousin’s face. He gabbled on, trying to talk his way out of the situation. ‘Elsa has a full house, what with her two daughters and her parents visiting. It would not be fair to impose myself.’
‘You can’t spend Christmas alone,’ said Nernst.
Einstein forced himself to laugh. ‘Listen to us, all of us Jewish and discussing how to celebrate the birth of Christ.’
Nernst and his wife conferred for a moment. ‘It is decided. Albert, you are coming to us.’
Utterly trapped, Einstein quietly accepted. Out of the corner of his eye, he could see that Elsa was close to tears.
‘Albert, that was a good presentation you gave to the Academy the other week,’ said Haber hastily, attempting to force a more casual conversation.
‘Did you think so? I can’t shake the feeling that I’m nothing but an irrelevance at the Academy these days.’
‘Perhaps it would help the Academy if you explained your original paper on relative motion more fully,’ said Nernst, ‘instead of just blundering on with these new ideas about gravity.’
‘Blundering on? You weren’t even at the meeting.’
‘You have to admit relativity is very difficult to understand.’ Nernst had a smarmy grin on his face.
‘There’s nothing difficult about relativity,’ said Einstein impatiently. ‘That first paper was all about how we view events relative to one another. Common sense tells us that we should all see the same event at the same time, but that’s not strictly true.’
‘We are simple chemists, be gentle with us,’ pleaded Nernst, raising a giggle from his wife.
Einstein pretended not to have heard. ‘Imagine a moving train with two lights, one on the front and the other on the back, synchronised to flash at the same time. Now, imagine two people watching those lights: one standing inside the carriage, halfway along, and the other standing on the embankment. The question is: do they both see the lights flashing simultaneously?’
His answer was the scrape of cutlery against plates. He was about to continue when Rathenau lifted napkin to mouth and dabbed. ‘I’ll answer if no one else is bold enough. Yes, they both see the lights flashing in time. How can they not if the event is simultaneous?’
Einstein nodded vigorously. ‘Exactly what Isaac Newton would have said.’ He stopped his nodding. ‘And completely wrong.’
Rathenau laid down the napkin.
‘The person on the embankment does indeed see the flashes simultaneously, because the two paths taken by the light beams from the forward and rear lights are essentially the same distance,’ explained Einstein. ‘But the person in the carriage sees the lights flashing out of synch because, in the time it takes the beams of light to reach him, the train has moved. It’s carried him forward a little, meaning that the light from the front of the carriage has less distance to travel to reach him. The opposite is true for the rear light, which now has a little extra distance to travel. So, the forward light reaches the observer on the train a little earlier than the rearward light. Hence, the two observers cannot agree on the timing of the light pulses unless …’
‘That’s madness,’ said Rathenau.
‘No,’ said Einstein with a broad grin, ‘that’s physics.’
The industrialist pulled his goatee beard into a point. ‘So, if the Czar of Russia were on a train and an assassin throws two sticks of dynamite, one to the front and the other to the rear, you’re saying that what is but a single moment of danger for the assassin ends up startling the Czar twice.’
Einstein was taken aback by the darkness of the example but nodded. ‘They will never be able to agree on what they see unless they take their difference of motion into account. The man on the embankment is stationary; the man on the train is moving. My first paper shows how to do this.’
‘And I gather from tonight’s conversation that you’re trying to extend this?’
‘Yes. My first paper dealt with stationary observers and those who are moving with a constant speed, but it d
oesn’t work for observers who are changing speed. Now I want to find the general theory, the one that works for accelerating and decelerating motion as well, and when I have discovered that, it will open a whole new way of thinking about gravity.’
‘Gravity?’ There were the beginnings of a pained expression on Rathenau’s face. ‘As in Isaac Newton?’
‘To Newton gravity was a force created between all objects with mass that pulled them together or spun them into orbits, but he didn’t know what gravity was. In fact, at one point in his life he suggested that it might even be the will of God.’
Rathenau snorted.
‘I’m working to explain gravity not as a mystical force conjured through space, but as a property of space itself; as a curvature – or a contour, a warping, a valley pressed into the fabric of the universe. Each celestial object makes its own impression on space, and then smaller celestial objects move according to these contours. My general theory will be able to give the shape of these contours depending upon the size and mass of the objects.’
‘Can we see the curvature?’
‘No, but we feel its effects all the time through the acceleration of objects pulled by gravity. By understanding accelerated motion, I can understand gravity in a way that Newton couldn’t. I can explain things that Newton’s theory can’t, such as the orbit of Mercury.’
‘You’re planning to dethrone Isaac Newton.’ The flat tone of Rathenau’s voice made it hard to decide whether the statement was intended as admiration or derision.
Einstein raised his chin. ‘I thought challenging British authority was what this new age was all about.’
The table fell silent. Rathenau’s eyes bored into him. ‘I like you, and your ambition, Herr Einstein. There’s just one thing I don’t understand …’
‘Only one?’ joked Nernst, looking up from his empty plate. ‘You should be careful. If you let him, soon he’ll be telling you about how an object travelling at close to the speed of light will appear shorter to an outside observer.’ He rolled his eyes to the ceiling.
‘So, you have been listening,’ began Einstein.
‘Oh but Walther, it’s easy,’ cut in Haber. ‘He’s saying that if you run fast enough, you’ll appear thinner. Surely that’s a good thing for you.’
Nernst clapped his hands to his belly. ‘If I could run fast enough, I wouldn’t have this in the first place.’
Einstein slightly raised his voice. ‘That’s not the only consequence of such rapid motion, and the general theory takes things further. It predicts that the gravity of the sun will deflect passing beams of light …’
‘Albert, please! You’re not in the Academy now.’ Haber framed the remark as a joke, but his tone contained an undercurrent.
‘Think about the ladies you’re boring.’
Clara made a scornful sound. ‘We’re not bored listening to new science. How could you think that?’
‘Well, I am,’ said Emma. ‘It’s over my head.’
‘There. Thank you,’ said Haber.
‘Why not tell everyone about your work, husband?’ Clara said. Haber glowered at her. ‘I’m sure we all want to hear your plans for shortening the war.’
Einstein pictured Haber and his canisters in the lab.
‘Someone has to bring this stalemate to an end,’ their host growled.
‘With poisonous gas?’ Clara’s voice was glacial.
There was an awful silence. Every eye was on Haber.
‘It’s quick, it’s humane, and it will save lives in the long run by shortening the war. Even Albert here has done war work. Oh, don’t look at me like that. I know about that compass design you patented and sold to the shipbuilders in Kiel.’
Einstein glared. ‘That was nothing like what you’re doing.’
‘It’ll be effective in tracking down enemy ships.’ Haber looked to the other side of the table. ‘And you, Walther, you’ve worked on gas weapons.’
Nernst squared himself indignantly. ‘Non-lethal gas weapons, designed only to disorientate the enemy.’
‘And then what? Our boys pick them off one by one, or blow their arms and legs off with grenades to let them spend their final moments writhing in agony. Don’t tell me that’s better than what I’m doing. Chlorine gas is quick and almost painless.’
‘Chlorine …’ breathed Nernst.
‘Listen to him, Fritz. Walther’s not the only other chemist around this table,’ Clara exploded. ‘Before you destroyed my career and made a housewife of me, I was every bit as qualified as you. Chlorine burns the flesh.’
‘Not in the correct concentration. It’s quick. I’ve seen it work in the lab.’
‘So that’s how your suit trousers get covered in cat hair,’ said Clara.
Nernst pulled a horrified face. ‘No, no, no. The wind will dilute it. You can’t keep it concentrated for long enough.’
Einstein could contain himself no longer. ‘And illegal. Strictly against international law.’
‘International law only applies if the status quo holds, and that is expressly what we are working towards changing,’ crooned Haber, as calmly as if he were discussing stationery orders for the department. ‘There will be a new world order.’
Nernst’s brow was deeply furrowed. ‘I cannot support you in the gas attacks.’
‘I don’t need your support.’
The older man looked momentarily stung but spoke indignantly. ‘Victory will be ours by spring. There will be no need for chlorine gas. Remember, I’ve been to the front line, I’ve seen what it’s like. Our lads are in the best of spirits and they’re fighting hard.’ Rathenau drew attention to himself by elaborately lighting a cigarette. It smouldered between his fingers, a prop for him to wave around for emphasis as he addressed the room.
‘A swift victory is, of course, what we all hope for,’ he said deliberately, ‘And none of us would doubt the courage of our soldiers, but we can speak plainly here, gentlemen. We are all friends. We all have German interests at heart.’ Einstein said nothing. ‘The British Navy has blockaded the Channel. That rules out Germany buying in supplies from America. We can get limited materials and food from Italy, but the fact remains – and make no mistake, it is a hard fact – that Germany grows only two-thirds of the food it consumes.’ He swept his eyes across the leftovers, tureens halffull even though everyone had eaten heartily. ‘We will starve if this war continues for years. The same is true for raw materials. Every rifle, every field gun, every helmet; all of them must be made from German metal and made on time. My job is to keep us in this fight as long as possible.’ He flicked the grey column from the end of his cigarette into a crystal ashtray in one practised movement. The aroma of the tobacco teased Einstein’s nostrils and made him wish he had remembered to bring along his pipe. He could do with a smoke.
Haber brought his fist down, setting the cutlery ringing. His eyes burned in the subdued lighting of the room. ‘There! See! Thank you, Walther. You keep Germany in the fight and I will give us the means to end this war swiftly and easily. Revolutions are seldom bloodless. Our courage to do what needs doing must not fail us.’
Clara carefully stood at the other end of the table and began collecting the plates. She turned for the kitchen. Then she froze, lifted the crockery to eye level and dashed it all to the floor.
9
Ypres, Belgium
There were dead horses outside the cathedral. Their broad backs shone in the sunlight, giving a false impression of their being at rest, but it was the smattering of bomb debris and the splashes of dried blood on the flagstones that told the real story.
Lemaître bowed his head near one and prayed. Not for the horses but for … What was he praying for? The riders, now long buried? Or for himself ?
He had stopped consciously wishing for the war to end sometime around Christmas. The conflict was a habit now, like humming the same tune over and over, or biting your nails. He looked down at his own ruined fingertips.
He never used to chew his n
ails. Now he did it without thinking, the same way he dropped to the ground at the sound of a rocket fizzing through the air. He’d learned to block out the sound of the big guns. There was nothing you could do against those. You were either underneath a falling shell or not, but the rockets and the rifles and the machine guns: those were personal. Someone had aimed the weapon at you.
Although it was spring, nothing much had changed. The German advance had stalled with the flooding of the polders, and both sides had dug in. The front line now stretched almost eight hundred kilometres from Nieuwpoort to Pfetterhouse on France’s border with Switzerland, and most of it was made up of trenches, barbed wire, mud and corpses.
The draw of the cathedral was as powerful to him as a magnet to iron filings. Lemaître wanted to feel the caress of the light through the stained glass and listen to the cool quiet beneath the lofty rafters. Perhaps when they were dismissed he could steal back, light a candle and hope to smell the incense.
The light was fading fast. The men were heading for a rest, having spent the day marching up and down the line to the east of the town, moving from one skirmish to another looking for a place to be useful. As they marched through the town, curtains would twitch and townsfolk would sometimes watch. Mostly they were ignored, as if by turning a blind eye the remaining population could avoid the hostilities.
Lemaître pitied such naivety. A few days ago, out in the surrounding farmlands, there had been a woman hanging washing just a dozen yards from where Lemaître and the others had been pinned down by a barrage. As they cringed in the ditch the peasant simply adjusted her shawl and hung out her sheets.
Today, Lemaître had marched past the cottage. The washing was still on the line, scorched and ragged now. The dwelling was nothing but a smouldering shell and there was no sign of the woman. Lemaître willed himself to believe that she had been in the washhouse or somewhere else at the time of the destruction.
When he arrived at the wooden barracks built by the sappers, the cooks were filling the air with the aroma of supper. He closed his eyes and took a lingering sniff. The next thing he saw was the breathless commander jogging into the encampment.