Yannick Grannec - The Goddess of Small Victories

“Who were the letters from?”

“From her in-laws. None of them liked her much. It was pretty obvious what kinds of things they were saying about her.”

“And what did she do with the letters?”

“She burned them! How else could she express her feelings?”

We live in a world where 99 percent of the beautiful things are destroyed in embryo … Certain forces are at work to recover the good.

— Kurt Gödel

It was raining over Vienna. I paced the university lobby taking care not to slip on the muddy marble. I’d been driven from the inner courtyard by the braying and heavy stomping of a few bored youths. Those colonnaded precincts had previously heard only mannerly whispering. Bygone masters, modeled in stone, looked down on the brownshirts, who were spoiling for a fight with anyone who had the gall to meet their gaze.

Kurt finally appeared at the top of the grand staircase. I gave him a small wave but he made no response. Tonight was going to be hard sledding. His face was drawn and a vertical line marked his forehead. I was still not used to it. He’d brought it back from America, where he’d grown embittered. Kurt, too, was getting older. He struggled reluctantly into his damp coat.

“It’s been confirmed. My license has been suspended. I can’t teach any more courses. I didn’t obtain permission for my last stint at Princeton. That’s why they summoned me back.”

“It’s a lie, they were properly notified.”

“We are now under Berlin’s control. The university is being reorganized. They are going to suppress the position of Privatdozent . I’ve been told to make a formal application to the Ministry of Education as a ‘lecturer of the new order.’ ”

“Fuck the new order, a total cock-up is what it is!”

“Don’t be vulgar, Adele. Please.”

“You know what this means, don’t you?”

Looking into space, he buttoned up his coat absently, mismatching the buttonholes. I took over the job from him while he stood there motionless.

“I have to find a solution, otherwise I won’t be able to return to Princeton.”

“The threat is a lot more serious than not being able to travel! You won’t be able to avoid the draft anymore.”

“You’re always imagining the worst. I’m still an eminent member of this university. I have certain rights, it’s just that …”

“You seemed so sure of yourself this morning.”

“My thesis adviser was Hahn. The new administration is getting rid of anyone suspected of having relations with Jews or liberals.”

“That’s outrageous! Especially as you’re completely apolitical.”

“If I join up with the university again under their conditions, they’ll have me on a leash. I would have to beg them for permission to travel. My work would be screened and subject to their approval. It’s out of the question.”

“And without their approval, you can’t leave. It’s a trap!”

“It’s just a show of power.”

My outbursts must have attracted attention because a group of brownshirts approached us.

“Let’s go, it’s dangerous here.”

“Don’t be ridiculous, Adele! I’m in my own university.”

We had barely reached the door when the first ruffian hailed us: “Hey, Jewboy! Taking blondie for a walk?”

Kurt squeezed my arm until it hurt. I’d never seen him confronted by direct aggression.

“Sir, you’re speaking out of turn.”

I rolled my eyes. What world did he live in? It was pointless, not to say stupid, to respond to this kind of provocation.

The first goon flicked my husband’s hat off with his fingers. He was all of twenty years old and had a baby’s skin that must still have been his mother’s joy.

“Show a little respect, hey?”

My stomach knotted. I felt the group around us grow tighter.

“Not such a big shot when we step away from the blackboard, are we?”

“I don’t remember seeing you at any of my courses.”

The boy turned to his companions, reprising a scene they had acted out dozens of times.

“This guy hasn’t caught on. He thinks I might actually sit there for a course in Jewish science.”

At this point, the men I had previously known would have waded in with their fists despite the imbalance in numbers, but Kurt had the wild, staring eyes of a person strangled for air.

“He’s not Jewish, leave him alone!”

“Cat got his tongue? As well as his dick?”

He pinched me at the waist.

“Like to try a real man for once? What say, cutie?”

I pushed him away and grabbed my husband’s lifeless hand.

“We’re leaving, Kurt. Right now!”

A brown hedge formed in front of us.

“Not so fast, doll face! Big boy’s staying with us. We want to explain a few things to him.”

I’d fended off nightclub drunks for years. I wasn’t going to let these hoodlums intimidate me, whatever the color of their shirts. Sometimes all you have to do is show your teeth to make the pup creep back into his kennel.

“Get out of the way! You don’t scare me! You aren’t even fit to shine his shoes!”

Kurt tried to deflect the slap aimed at me. His glasses fell off, and he dropped to all fours looking for them, while the brownshirts sniggered. I realized they were going to start pummeling him, and I saw red. Acting on reflex, I lashed out with my umbrella, giving a few startled heads a passing thump. In the next instant I lifted Kurt to his feet and recovered his glasses. With our attackers momentarily stunned, we galloped down the stairs, not looking back to see if they were following. The rain sheeted down on us as I led Kurt quickly to the Café Landtmann, where we finally rested, out of breath, choosing the table farthest from the windows.

My senses registered every detail of the scene with crystal clarity: the smells of dampness and roasting coffee, the sound of tableware clinking, the pattering of the rain, the laughter of the kitchen workers. Kurt, soaked clear through, seemed spent. He fingered the cracked lenses of his eyeglasses with a nervous gesture that boded poorly.

The battle wasn’t over for me. I’d extricated him from a brawl untouched, now I had to rub out the psychic damage. The episode couldn’t have failed to remind him of the assassination of his friend Moritz Schlick on those same stairs. I was much more frightened at the prospect of seeing him crack than at having to confront the Reich’s whole army with an umbrella.

I’d never counted on him to protect me. Making a show of his virility wasn’t among his concerns. He had never fought anything except the limits of his own thought. Until now he had even steered clear of any infighting over intellectual priority. The danger we’d just faced had brought home to him the full absurdity of the new order. He was unprepared to deal with outright stupidity. Nothing would come of subdued displays, it was time to bark like a dog. It wasn’t his moment. I needed to transform the incident into an anecdote where I came off as a doughty matron — anything but a heroine. We often spoke of the episode afterward. He would always praise my courage, knowing that he was also diminishing his own and casting himself forever in the role of castrated male. I couldn’t tell whether he was unfazed at looking like a weakling or preferred to hide his shame behind denial. For my part, I hadn’t been courageous, just acting on my survival instinct.

“They took me for a Jew. I don’t understand.”

“There’s nothing to understand. Those thugs were looking for a fight, they latched on to you the way they would have done to anyone else. You were in the wrong place at the wrong time.”

“The university is sending me a warning. They’re trying to frighten me.”