The Day Without Yesterday

by Stuart Clark

  ‘How did that feel? You’d been away for months. Not knowing if you’d succeeded or not.’

  Eddington looked sheepish. ‘One night I slipped the final plate from its casing and just looked at it, tried to will the answer out of it. Came to my senses when I thought what would happen if I dropped it or damaged it. So, I packed it away and was patient. When I got back, I set about the measuring and the analysis, and announced the results at the Royal Society. They made me stand in front of a portrait of Newton as I gave the verdict.’

  Lemaître got that joke immediately. ‘Better to have him behind you, than look him in the eye and tell the world that he’d been superseded.’

  Eddington’s face softened, the first time Lemaître had seen it close to mirth. ‘Quite.’

  ‘Did it bother you that the Americans had claimed to see no deflection?’

  ‘No,’ Eddington said sharply. ‘Curtis didn’t discount the obviously erroneous plates. He just averaged all the results together. That’s a poor way of reducing uncertainty. If I’d done that with all of our plates from Principe, and from Brazil, where we’d sent a second expedition, I’d have got the same: nothing. But I made sure I understood what was happening on every single plate. If I couldn’t correct for the errors, I discarded the data. You don’t think that wrong of me, do you?’ For a moment, Eddington looked genuinely concerned.

  ‘Not at all, I’ve read the paper. I agree with what you did, though I marvel at your patience.’

  ‘What else can you do when you feel something is so right?’

  ‘But what made you believe so wholeheartedly that relativity is right?’

  ‘Because I believe that truth is beautiful. Relativity is beautiful –

  the mathematics, I mean.’

  Lemaître pursed his lips for a moment. ‘I’m not sure I fully agree with that. I can’t help thinking that Newton’s gravitation was more elegant: just a single equation, totally symmetrical.’

  ‘But the concept of relativity,’ urged Eddington.

  ‘Oh, I agree there. I no longer think of the universe as an empty void dotted with isolated stars and planets. Now I see a continuous landscape of valleys and contours, in which the celestial objects nestle like villages.’

  ‘A bit fancy for me, but nevertheless I’m intrigued that the whole universe can be captured in a single line of mathematics. But who do we believe is closer to the truth: Einstein or de Sitter? A universe with a mysterious anti-gravity energy in it, or a universe that doesn’t seem to want to hold matter?’

  ‘There is a way of reconciling the two,’ said Lemaître, suddenly emboldened.

  Eddington narrowed his eyes. ‘How?’

  ‘What if one could expand and become the other?’

  Einstein’s equation for the universe was the equivalent of a ball, whereas de Sitter’s was a flat sheet. Lemaître had been musing one evening about how the two could be linked. He had thought about unwrapping Einstein’s globe, but could find no mathematics to make that work. Then he remembered that he lived on a globe that appeared flat: planet Earth. The ground seemed flat because the curvature of the Earth was so vast. So what if Einstein’s model expanded into de Sitter’s?

  ‘Expand, you say? Well, there is something that I find peculiar about de Sitter’s solution.’ Eddington was animated now. ‘The equation makes it look static, but if you introduce even a particle of matter, there’s a strange effect. It shoots off away from you; any light it emitted would be stretched, turned from blue to red.’

  ‘Is de Sitter’s effect real?’

  Eddington shrugged. ‘Who knows? He postulates an empty universe and we clearly live in a full one.’

  ‘But if this de Sitter effect is real, it means that Einstein’s model could expand into de Sitter’s, spreading out all the matter until the density dropped to essentially zero.’

  ‘But the universe is eternal. It’s always been there, and always will be there. Why would it change?’

  ‘I don’t have all the answers, but, mathematically, I think it’s possible.’

  Eddington lifted an exquisite china cup and took a sip of tea.

  ‘You know, I can’t decide whether you’re a madman or a bloody genius, but I do know that you can’t entertain a mathematical theory without observational evidence. Telescopes are seeing further than we ever imagined. Of course, what holds the astronomers back is that some of them don’t understand how to use the equipment properly.’

  ‘You refer to Curtis and the eclipse.’

  Eddington gave him a sly grin. ‘Too many think that just by looking through the eyepiece they’ll see the answer written in the sky. They don’t understand the work it takes to transform observations into useable data. But there are others who do know what they are doing: astronomers who are destined to be remembered forever, and if you’re going to propose anything with relativity, you need their observations.’

  Excitement pulsed in Lemaître’s veins. ‘Who are they? I’ve still got money in my travel grant for when I’m finished here. How can I meet them?’

  Eddington grinned his lopsided grin. Lemaître had stopped seeing it as a smirk. ‘How are your sea legs, old boy?’

  21

  New York City

  1921

  Einstein’s stomach bubbled, and not from the movement of the ship. He had grown accustomed to that within a few days of leaving port in Holland. No, it was the anticipation of what awaited him that made him queasy today. He eased a hand across his waistcoat, hoping the warmth of his palm would settle his insides without giving away his discomfort.

  Elsa had already spent the morning in a fearful fuss, choosing and changing his necktie and collar numerous times, repeatedly checking he had put on socks. Now she was excitedly peering through the porthole, smiling from ear to ear at her first sight of the Statue of Liberty.

  ‘Don’t you want to see, Albertle?’

  ‘I will see New York soon enough,’ he said, more peevishly than he had intended.

  Initially, the isolation of the voyage had relaxed him. Elsa had been housed in her own suite, just across the corridor, which had allowed him to work whenever he wanted. It had been a pleasant way to pass a dozen days, and he had grown increasingly pleased that his ridiculous request to travel steerage had been ignored. At the time it had seemed right to downplay his journey, especially with Haber’s objections ringing in his ears. He might not agree with the assimilationists, but he did not want to damage them.

  With the ship now edging towards the American dockside, doubts filled his mind about the wisdom of the expedition.

  Chaim Weizmann knocked and entered without waiting to be admitted. If Einstein had been able to summon the courage, he would have asked to be alone, but the set of Weizmann’s jaw told him it was inadvisable.

  The leader of the Zionist movement had something of Charles II about him. His long chin was hidden behind a goatee beard, and a moustache overshadowed the flat line of his mouth. All that was needed to complete the picture was a luxurious periwig to hide the bald pate and the handle-like ears that jutted from his head.

  ‘I’ve organised with the captain that we can use his cabin for the press conference.’

  Einstein looked up sharply. ‘Press conference?’

  ‘Of course. There’s a score of reporters waiting on the dock. You’re going to be in every newspaper tomorrow.’

  Einstein fought nausea. ‘You know I didn’t want any fuss.’

  ‘And you know we need publicity for the cause.’

  ‘I thought a few dinners, functions, lectures at the universities …’ He raked a hand through his hair.

  ‘Albertle, leave your hair alone,’ hissed Elsa.

  He perched on the edge of a chair, hands in his lap, trying to untangle his mind. The winged collar felt like a neck brace. ‘I can’t speak English well enough.’

  ‘You’ll have an interpreter. Just remember to emphasise the need for a Jewish university,’ said Weizmann. ‘No one’s going to argue wi
th that.’

  ‘I can’t believe I agreed to this. I feel like a prize ox.’

  ‘You’re just nervous.’ Elsa reached over to flap at his restless hands. ‘Stop picking. There’ll be photographers. We don’t want pictures of you with ragged nails.’

  ‘Quite right.’ Weizmann headed for the door. ‘I’ll come and get you when it’s time.’

  Weizmann was a scientist, a chemist by training. On the voyage over he had taken an interest in relativity. At first Einstein had assumed it was genuine curiosity, but towards the journey’s end he had perceived it as politeness. Weizmann had begun coaching Einstein on what to say about the university.

  The physicist suddenly felt too old for all this. Since the incident with Ilse, he had noticed more signs of ageing in the mirror. His face had become dough-like, not that he had ever enjoyed a strong jawline, and his complexion had lost its vigour. His moustache was still dark but his temples were greying. Worse than his physical appearance, however, was the fatigue. He just didn’t seem to have enough energy any more.

  He turned to his wife; she had made herself up that morning to look glamorous, as if they were going out to dinner. ‘I’m not sure I can do this.’

  She touched his cheek softly. ‘Of course you can. This is the spotlight you deserve.’

  He thought for a moment. ‘Perhaps you’d better comb my hair.’

  The captain’s cabin was adorned with antique compasses and barometers that Einstein inspected in an effort to distract himself. There was a small inlaid writing table in one corner, and Einstein moved to sit behind it so that there was a barrier between him and the press.

  ‘Stand in front of it,’ said Elsa, ‘and lean back. It’ll make you look relaxed.’

  He dragged himself to his feet and positioned himself in front of the desk. He had just finished rearranging himself when Weizmann arrived with the reporters. Trilby-hatted, notebooks and pencils in hand, they crowded into the tiny cabin, trapping Einstein. He swallowed down panic.

  The press were all smiles and toothy grins but, far from putting Einstein at ease, they unnerved him. They were all strangers, yet they were behaving as if they were his lifelong friends. The din of their questions, in a foreign language he could barely understand, was cacophonous.

  ‘Gentlemen, gentlemen, gentlemen!’ said Weizmann, calming the pack.

  Einstein’s heart thumped. He had no idea what Weizmann was saying, so he took his cue to begin speaking when everybody else stopped.

  ‘Despite my most emphatic internationalist beliefs,’ he began haltingly, ‘I feel an obligation to stand up for my persecuted and morally oppressed tribal companions. The prospect for establishing a Jewish university fills me with particular joy, having seen countless instances of prejudice. People write to me daily of these injustices against themselves, or their sons or husbands. It has to stop. That is why I am here, to secure the support, both material and moral, of American Jewry for the Hebrew University of Jerusalem.’

  Weizmann nodded his approval and opened the meeting for questions.

  ‘Please, can you give a one-line description of your theory of relativity?’ asked an eager-faced reporter through the translator.

  In spite of himself, Einstein chuck led. ‘One line! I’ve been struggling to fit it into an entire book and he wants a single line.’

  The reporters smiled, then hushed, clearly thinking it was a joke that would then be followed by the answer.

  Einstein felt naked under their gaze. He crossed his legs. ‘Very well,’ he said, thinking furiously. ‘It is a theory explaining the nature of space and time, and it leads to a theory of gravitation. Will that do?’

  The next question was directed at Weizmann, who spoke back almost immediately and almost brought the room to its knees with laughter. Einstein looked helplessly at the translator.

  ‘He was asked whether he understood relativity. He said that you explained it to him every day of the voyage, and that now he is thoroughly convinced that you understand it.’

  Einstein laughed. The next few questions passed without incident, and gradually he relaxed. At least the staccato fashion in which the interview was conducted through the translator gave him time to think.

  One question made him look hard at the reporter: ‘What do you make of those who attack your theory, especially those in Germany?’

  ‘No one of true knowledge opposes my theory. Those who oppose the theory are animated by political motivations.’

  The reporters asked for clarification: ‘What political motivations?’ Einstein considered ducking the question but then reconsidered. What was wrong with the truth? He spoke clearly and directly. ‘Their attitude is largely the product of anti-Semitism.’ The reporters scribbled furiously.

  Weizmann stepped forward, talking English again and apparently drawing the meeting to a close. The reporters looked rather disappointed.

  ‘I hope I have passed my examination,’ Einstein said to the translator, who relayed the message.

  The reporters laughed once more and Einstein’s cheeks lifted into a broad grin. As the chorus continued he found himself wondering if it was really that funny. Nevertheless, he played along until his cheeks ached.

  As the last of the reporters were filing out, one paused. He scratched his temple with the base of his pencil and turned back. He said in halting German, ‘Mrs Einstein, do you understand relativity?’

  Everyone fell silent.

  Weizmann looked anxious but Einstein calmed him with a glance, then swivelled to Elsa to await her answer. There was the hint of a smile on her face. ‘Oh no,’ she said with an easy manner.

  ‘Although he has explained it to me many times, it is not necessary to my happiness.’

  A flicker of disappointment crossed the reporter’s face. Robbed of his headline, he tipped his hat and left without further comment.

  Einstein thought he would burst with pride. Elsa looked at him excitedly and he winked back.

  *

  Spring had yet to arrive in New York, so Einstein slung on his favourite overcoat. The ill-fitting grey garment felt homely. He picked up his pipe and his violin case. ‘I’m not trusting this to the deckhands,’ he said, to stifle any possible objection from Elsa.

  She was wearing a fur-trimmed coat of excellent cut, tailored to make the most of her matronly figure. She looked almost stately. Einstein was amused by the idea. He sucked on his pipe, wishing that there were some tobacco in it.

  Weizmann was waiting on deck. ‘That all went well. Everyone was very pleased with you.’

  ‘Much to my surprise, I think I enjoyed it.’ Einstein turned to the railings and had to grab his pipe from his mouth, opened in astonishment, before it could crash to the deck. The dockside was a sea of waving handkerchiefs. There were people everywhere, and not just on the flat of the jetty. Men were wrapped around the metal skeletons of the cargo cranes, waving and grinning like monkeys up trees. Car horns honked in answer to the ship’s mighty steam whistle.

  ‘My goodness, the Americans certainly know how to welcome a ship.’

  ‘You think this is how they behave for every ship?’ Weizmann shook his head. ‘This isn’t for the ship. This is all for you.’

  ‘I wish I’d made you wear a better coat,’ muttered Elsa.

  She leaned forward over the rail. Einstein followed her gaze. There were people everywhere – more than Einstein had ever seen gathered in a single place before.

  ‘I can’t believe it.’

  ‘You’re a genius,’ said Weizmann, with a look of satisfaction.

  ‘They might not understand what you’ve done, but they believe that you have done it. And how many times in your life will you get to see a true genius? America likes nothing more than success. Birthright counts for little here.’

  ‘Truly?’ The thought was arresting.

  Weizmann nodded emphatically. ‘Success is all they care about. When they see it, they celebrate it. You’re a celebrity.’

  Einstein pic
ked out individual faces, amazed at the gawping, the smiles, the jubilation and the astonishment he discerned.

  There was a troupe of cheerleaders high-kicking their way through a routine, chanting, ‘Einstein, Einstein, Einstein.’

  It was then that he realised that something was missing. It took a moment for him to identify it. When he did, the realisation was almost shocking. His stomach was quiet; the leaden weight he had been carrying around inside for so long had evaporated. A wave of emotion swept over him.

  Beside him, Elsa was beaming at the throng. Years had fallen away from her, too.

  Einstein raised a hand to the air and waved at the crowd. The responding cheer was deafening.

  PART III

  Curvature

  22

  Harvard, Cambridge, Massachusetts

  Lemaître’s first sight of Harlow Shapley was the worn leather soles of his shoes. The director of Harvard College Observatory was face down and immobile on a grassy ridge some way away from a collection of domed buildings.

  Lemaître broke into a trot. ‘Professor Shapley! Are you all right?’ A stubby finger shot into the air and an intense southern drawl said, ‘Don’t say a word, whoever you are. Come down here. Not a word.’ He pointed to the ground next to him and Lemaître lowered himself, stifling a sneeze as the smell of grass assaulted his nose.

  Shapley was holding a pocket watch and peering over the ridge at a column of ants marching to and from an upended tree stump. There was a pair of marks, about eighteen inches apart, scratched in the dirt, and a thermometer set in a clamp beside the tiny creatures. He followed the movement of the insects, checked the watch and scribbled down a figure in a dog-eared notebook. ‘I knew it. I goddamn knew it!’