The Day Without Yesterday

by Stuart Clark

  ‘I can imagine.’ Lemaître’s mind spun with possibilities. ‘It came as a letter, you say?’

  ‘Yes.’

  He had to see it; his whole life seemed to depend on it. He looked at Miss Payne’s pale eyes. ‘Wish me luck.’

  Shapley was sitting with his back to the door. His feet were up on the windowsill. ‘What is it, Georges? I’m rather busy.’

  ‘I understand you’ve had a letter, some important results.’

  ‘News travels fast. I’m considering how to respond.’

  Lemaître stepped closer; he could see the letter unfolded, lying on the blotter. ‘May I read it?’

  Shapley waved his stubby fingers over his shoulder. ‘Go ahead.’

  He read with a growing breathlessness. ‘This changes everything.’

  The great Andromeda Nebula was so far away that it was far beyond the boundary of the Milky Way, the boundary that had been measured by Shapley himself.

  The observatory’s director dropped his feet to the floor with a bang and spun the chair round. ‘Don’t get too excited. It’s the most entertaining piece of fiction I’ve read in a long time.’ His expression was stormy.

  ‘Even if you make small corrections it won’t change the outcome,’ said Lemaître. ‘The distances are so huge. Andromeda is a system of stars in its own right, a whole different … galaxy. Another Milky Way.’

  ‘That’s what others are saying. Not me.’

  ‘But the evidence …’

  ‘The evidence is not conclusive. I’m telling you, Georges, don’t trust Hubble.’ With that, he swung the chair back and continued to brood. Clearly the conversation was over.

  That night, Lemaître left his small room and walked deep into the countryside. Leaving the trees and buildings behind, he shivered in the cold. He waited for the light to drop and his eyes to become accustomed to the dark. One by one, the stars brightened into view.

  He found the square of Pegasus and traced the stars round to follow the curve of Andromeda. Stopping at the third star, he moved his gaze upwards to the next of the guide stars. Now he needed to look just above and to the left. He peered at the sky until his eyes began to smart.

  And then he saw it. A tiny patch of light hovered on the limits of visibility: there one moment, gone the next, but unmistakeable nonetheless. It was the Andromeda galaxy, the ancient light of its billion stars arriving at Earth after a journey of almost a million years, according to Hubble’s calculation.

  Lemaître’s eyes tracked across the other stars in the night sky. All of them beacons in the Milky Way, our own galaxy. For millennia it had been thought to be the whole universe, now it was clear that it was just part of an archipelago. Andromeda, far beyond, was another island of stars, and there were yet others that the astronomers were finding spread across the night sky, stretching into the very depths of the night, thousands of other galaxies.

  He bathed in the starlight, marvelling at the silver landscape around him. In his rapture he forgot about the cold. Instead his whole body tingled with excitement, and in that instant he knew what he had to do.

  Next morning he noticed Shapley leaving the main entrance. The director was carrying his rolled-up notebook and thermometer, his short legs moving rapidly. Lemaître hurried after him as the director veered off across the grass. Unable to catch up, he called out, ‘I plan to go and see Hubble.’

  ‘Fine.’ Shapley did not break his stride.

  ‘You don’t mind?’

  ‘How you waste your travel fund is not my concern, Georges.’ Lemaître stopped following. He was about to turn away when Shapley halted. The little man came marching back to him.

  ‘From the moment he arrived at Mount Wilson, he wanted me out. Did everything he could to curry favour with the governors – criticised what I had achieved, bragged about fighting in the war, pretended to be British. He was born in Missouri – same as me – yet because I still have my accent, he treated me as an inferior. He’s a social climber. Thinks he can be a celebrity and will stop at nothing to become one. Don’t believe a thing he tells you about me. He’ll tell you I lost that discussion with Curtis, but I didn’t. Think about what you’re so ready to believe in, Georges. You want it to be true, so you believe. We both know you have a predisposition to belief.’

  ‘My faith doesn’t enter into this. I’ve learned to keep it entirely separate from my science.’

  ‘We’ll see. They’ll tell you I lost. But I was playing a cleverer game than they knew. I couldn’t stay in California with his constant agitation, so I applied for the directorship here. I knew I was too young, so I had to impress the governors some other way. The debate was the place to show I was a steady pair of hands, capable of shouldering responsibility and not being reckless. I wasn’t going to get involved in a debate where there was no clear answer. Debates do not decide science, observations do. So I presented the accepted observations and let Curtis shoot the breeze.’

  ‘But there are new observations now, and I need to go and see them for myself.’

  They locked eyes.

  ‘Think of history,’ said Shapley. ‘Astronomy has made major advances by removing us from the centre of the universe. Copernicus and Kepler proved the Earth is not the centre; I proved our solar system is not the centre of the galaxy. But with these spiral nebulae all blasting away from us …’ He shook his head. ‘If you insist that these things are all moving away from us, you inevitably put us back in the centre of the universe again. It’s a retrograde step. Don’t make the same mistake, Georges. If you do, your credibility will be ruined.’

  ‘What if I told you I had a way of avoiding that mistake, using relativity?’

  Shapley gawped at him. ‘You’re serious?’

  ‘Yes.’ He could not prove it yet, but he was seeing the beginning of it and knew that long calculations lay ahead.

  Shapley barked, ‘Fine. Go and see Hubble if you must, but remember one thing.’ A sly look crossed his round face. ‘I may be sceptical of theories, but he positively hates them – and theoreticians.’

  23

  Berlin

  Margot was folding bed-linen with her mother, a white sheet billowing between them like a sail. ‘It’s good to have you home, Mama.’

  ‘I’m impressed that you kept the place so spick and span – you’re going to make someone a nice little homemaker one day.’ Margot’s heart-shaped face coloured. She was in her twenties now, yet she did not seem to have changed much from the little girl who curled up on the settee with her books. She appeared to have little interest in men, but at least she had stopped hiding under the table if her exit was trapped when one of her step-father’s guests arrived.

  Einstein and Elsa had discussed Margot while in America. Elsa thought her in danger of spinsterhood. ‘What a waste of a life,’ she had said, ‘having no one to care for.’

  Ilse, on the other hand, was out with her latest beau, a literary editor and gentleman named Rudolph Kayser. The relationship with Nicolai had revealed itself to be a dalliance, much to Einstein’s relief, and he was much more comfortable about Rudolph. He was closer to Ilse’s age, for one thing. This time, when Elsa talked about wedding plans, he was prepared to listen.

  He was stretched out on the settee, watching Elsa and Margot dealing with the laundry. Elsa had moved on to regaling her daughter with tales of the American standard of living.

  ‘You know I detested the whole thing,’ he said. ‘I was nothing but a prize exhibit paraded from one arena to the next.’

  ‘Take no notice of him. He loved it.’ Elsa looked at her husband. ‘You were grinning well enough when they carried you on their shoulders.’

  That had happened at the formal welcome in New York, where ten thousand people had gathered outside City Hall to hear the speeches. Einstein had not addressed the crowd and could only just understand the prepared statements, yet the throng had given him an even more rapturous welcome than on the docks. As he left, they surged after him and he was hoisted on to hi
s colleagues’ shoulders to be poured into the back of an open automobile. Elsa had to fight her way through to stay with him. Then they set off for a lap of honour around the city.

  Unable to contain himself, he stood during the motorcade, as much of a spectator as all of those waving from the sidewalks. He watched them with naked astonishment and they watched him in much the same way. Their attention was unfathomable. They packed the Metropolitan Opera House from floor to rafters.

  ‘Most of them couldn’t speak German,’ explained Elsa with an incredulous laugh, ‘but they came anyway. There was no translator for the evening, and yet they still stood in the aisles to hear him speak. Then in Washington there was that reception at the National Academy of Sciences.’

  ‘What a waste of time that was,’ he cut in. ‘Taught me a whole new theory of eternity.’

  ‘You loved every minute of it.’ Her comment drew a girlish giggle from Margot.

  Einstein sank back into the cushions. He had made a tidy sum for himself with his lectures, but the truth was that the Zionists had fallen a long way short of their target. He had learned from Weizmann that they had hoped for four million, but had raised less than one. It was barely enough to start building.

  One night in a luxurious hotel suite, Weizmann had asked Einstein if he was really a Zionist.

  ‘I’ve never made any secret of the fact that I’m an internationalist,’ Einstein had replied.

  ‘Would you consider living in Jerusalem?’

  ‘No, I would not.’

  ‘Not even as chancellor of the university?’

  A tiny chord sounded inside Einstein, like a church bell in a distant village, but it was too far away to have any real significance. ‘Not even as chancellor,’ he said.

  Weizmann turned to face him. ‘Then let us pray that question never comes up.’

  ‘I can only speak as I feel,’ said Einstein.

  ‘What was that, Albertle?’

  He must have lost himself in the memory and spoken the words aloud. ‘Nothing,’ he mumbled to his wife.

  There was a businesslike rap on the front door. Elsa bustled off, muttering to herself, ‘How do they know so quickly when you’re back?’

  Einstein shrank into the cushions but strained to hear.

  ‘You again,’ said Elsa in surprise.

  Einstein rolled on to his stomach and peeped round the upholstery. Margot stifled a nervous giggle at his antics.

  The stranger raised his hat to Elsa. ‘It is, indeed, me again, Frau Einstein. Thank you for remembering me from before your trip.’

  ‘Do you have the money? Remember what I said – no money, no interview.’

  Einstein watched dumbfounded as the man reached into his inside pocket, pulled out a sealed envelope and handed it over. Elsa immediately popped the seal and inspected the contents. Her whole demeanour changed. ‘Herr Dimitri Marianoff,’ she said magnanimously, ‘allow me to introduce you to Professor Albert Einstein, father of the relativity theory.’

  The man stepped forward, an impish look on his young face. Einstein reluctantly stood up and stuck out his hand. It was shaken vigorously.

  Elsa informed them that she would return in an hour, by which time the interview must be concluded.

  The young man agreed. He noticed Margot, frozen and staring at him as if he were a burglar. Einstein was about to apologise, but Marianoff spoke first.

  ‘Good afternoon, Fräulein. What a pleasure to be in your company.’ He doffed his hat and bowed.

  To Einstein’s astonishment, Margot curtseyed. ‘The pleasure is all mine.’

  By the time Elsa came back, Einstein was pacing the hall as quietly as he could.

  ‘What have we here?’ she asked.

  Einstein held up a finger for her to be quiet. ‘They’ve been discussing Russian theatre. Now he’s analysing her handwriting.’ He beckoned Elsa to the doorway and they peeped round. Margot was spellbound, staring at their visitor as he talked.

  ‘I didn’t know what to do,’ said Einstein. ‘I felt in the way. Should we stop them?’

  Elsa gave him one of her don’t-be-ridiculous looks. ‘The first male stranger she hasn’t run away and hidden from?’ She pushed past him into the room.

  ‘Herr Marianoff, would you like to stay for dinner?’

  ‘Yes, please,’ said Margot on his behalf.

  Inside the lecture room, the Academy looked much the same as before. Nothing had really changed in the audience: there were the familiar grey men with paunches alongside the younger scientists trying to affect confidence. Yet Einstein felt like a child returning to his parents’ home and finding that the towering staircase now looked shrunken and all the cupboards were within easy reach. The familiarity of the setting emphasised to him how many months he had been away.

  He seemed to be having trouble catching people’s attention. Perhaps it was because the presentations were due to start, but no one seemed to be looking in his direction. If someone did make eye contact, it was brief and his smile was ignored. He chose a seat at the back of the hall, suddenly reluctant to force his way to the front.

  No one came to sit near him. He doggedly sat through the presentations, but did not really hear a word for the sound of blood pumping in his veins. When the meeting was called to a close, he stood up and left. No one bade him goodnight.

  He was still smarting from the slight the next day when he arrived at the university. He grumpily pushed papers round his desk, pausing only when Planck shuffled in, muttering, ‘I’m sorry, Albert.’

  ‘So you heard then?’

  ‘Scientifically, of course, it’s yours, but politically you’ve stirred up so much trouble.’

  ‘What’s mine?’

  ‘It’s just that you’ve made some bitter enemies.’

  ‘What are you talking about?’

  Planck stared at him. ‘The Nobel. Oh my goodness, you haven’t heard, have you?’

  Einstein dropped his pencil to the desk. ‘No, I haven’t, but let me guess – despite all the nominations, they’ve awarded it to somebody else.’

  Planck grimaced. ‘Worse, I’m afraid.’

  ‘Not one of the quantum boys, surely?’

  ‘You must get over your prejudice.’

  ‘Why? The theory’s wrong. It needs correcting.’

  ‘Let’s put that particular gripe of yours to the side for a moment.’

  ‘All right, but tell me who has won.’

  ‘No one.’

  ‘No one?’

  ‘The committee has declared there will be no 1921 prize for physics.’

  It took several moments for the full meaning of Planck’s words to sink in. ‘So they would rather award nothing than give it to relativity. The idiots.’

  Planck tried to strike a conciliatory note. ‘The public interest surrounding you is damaging your scientific credentials. Why not live a quieter life? I heard about what happened at the Academy last night.’

  ‘Is it because I’m Jewish or because I visited America?’

  ‘You went to Britain and France as well.’

  Einstein lifted his chin. ‘Yes, I did. Every German should visit France. They took me out and showed me the battlefields. They’re still bare after almost four years, nothing but sludge and dead grey trees. The graves stretch as far as the eye can see. Yes, every German should be made to see that. Do you know, in America they parade their Jewish war heroes? Can you imagine that happening here?’

  An urgent knocking on the office door saved Planck from having to reply. Glad of the interruption, he stepped aside as the visitor entered.

  ‘Albert, thank heavens you’re back. I came as soon as I heard.’ Kurt Blumenfeld was twitching with nervous energy.

  Einstein rose from his seat. ‘Whatever is the matter?’

  ‘It’s that idiot, Rathenau.’

  Rathenau waited until they were sitting at the extravagant diningtable before taking in both Einstein and Blumenfeld with a single steely look. ‘So, I take it you have com
e to congratulate me, gentlemen.’

  ‘Is it really wise to accept the post?’ asked Einstein, tucking a napkin into his open collar.

  ‘To be appointed Foreign Minister for my country is a great honour. I consider it a reward for the work I have done, overseeing the reconstruction so far. How could I refuse?’

  Blumenfeld said, ‘Because you will become a target for the far right. How can you not be? A Jew conducting Germany’s foreign policy? The idea is laughable.’

  ‘Only if you insist on drawing such an artificial distinction. I am German, descended from Jews. How many times must I repeat this? Working for the good of Germany is the most powerful thing I can do to undermine anti-Semitism.’

  ‘But your policy is not working. Even now the Nazis are recruiting, saying that Jews are parasites on the German economy.’

  Rathenau tutted. ‘Stop panicking. The National Socialist German Workers’ Party is a fringe organisation at best. They’re doomed to fade away as economic conditions recover.’

  ‘But more people are becoming sympathisers every day.’

  ‘And who can blame them?’ Rathenau said in conciliatory tones. ‘They are simple workers who are suffering under ridiculous levels of inflation, struggling to find jobs … I plan to negotiate a reduction in the reparations. Everyone – even the French – knows they are excessively punitive. Once the debt eases, the workers will find jobs again and the Nazi party will evaporate. Equilibrium will be restored and I, a German Jew, will have been at the centre of the solution.’

  ‘So, you do admit that your actions reflect on us all.’ Blumenfeld leaned back to allow a soup-plate to be placed in front of him.

  ‘In that sense, yes.’

  ‘Yet, in general, you refuse to be identified with the Jewish people.’

  ‘I have not made a secret of my faith. I still worship as a Jew, I still wear a kippah, but not in public. I consider one’s religion a private matter.’

  ‘You will never be taken as a German, even if your plans succeed. If your plans fail, then you will be vilified as a Jew – and all the rest of us will be made to share the consequences.’

  ‘Gentlemen, gentlemen, let us not argue. The soup will spoil.’ He picked up his spoon and began to eat. ‘Tell us, Albert, what are the American universities like? One hears so much of the place.’