Yannick Grannec - The Goddess of Small Victories

I poured myself another little glass of vodka in memory of my wild Hungarian pals from the Nachtfalter. The pipe’s aromatic fog made me nostalgic. I lit a cigarette right under my husband’s disapproving gaze. I had recently started smoking again to cope with the long, lonely days. When he came home, Kurt would complain of the smoke, even if I had spent all day airing the apartment. He’d always hated the way my clothes reeked after a shift at the nightclub.

“It would be surprising if von Neumann didn’t win a Nobel or two with all the work he has done!”

“If doing physics were a question of proving theorems, von Neumann would be a great physicist.”

“Don’t be jealous, Pauli. Your turn will come!”

“It’s easy enough to dismiss plaudits when you’re covered in glory.”

“I had to wait a long time. 16It was the big joke every year! Who could they give the Nobel Prize to so that they wouldn’t have to give it to me? One of the judges was blatantly anti-Semitic.”

“Your popularity is worth ten Nobel Prizes, Professor Einstein.”

“The one benefit is that it provides you with an audience. I can at least try to get across a few ideas.”

I swept the crumbs from the table; the conversation was flagging. I was annoyed at Kurt for not making a better show.

“Why haven’t you received the Nobel Prize, Kurt? I’d like to have a beautiful house like von Neumann. He claims that you’re the greatest logician since Aristotle!”

“There is no Nobel Prize for mathematics. Nobel’s wife had an affair with a mathematician.”

“A myth! The truth is that the Nobel Prize is awarded for the work that gives the most benefit to mankind.”

“And mathematics offers none, Herr Einstein?”

“I’m still trying to figure that out, Adele. But there are other prizes.”

“Gödel is too old for the Fields Medal.”

“I don’t chase after prizes.”

“You should! With the pitiful salary you make at the IAS, we live like paupers! All your intelligence, and it doesn’t even get us a little comfort!”

Kurt looked daggers at me. His colleagues hooted with laughter.

“What good is your powerful logic, Kurt Gödel, if your little woman is unsatisfied?”

Pauli scribbled a short equation in his notebook and waved it in front of Kurt tauntingly.

“Why not apply yourself to this good old conjecture? The University of Göttingen is offering one hundred thousand marks to anyone who can prove it before the end of the millennium.”

“Fermat? You’re nuts, Pauli. I’m not a trained monkey. Before even starting I would have to spend three years in intensive preparation. I don’t have time to waste on a project that would probably end in failure.” 17

Herr Einstein grabbed the notebook and showed me the conundrum that was so lucrative. I was disappointed. It consisted of only three variables.

“You’re no gambler. You see, dear Adele, Fermat was a French mathematician who liked to play jokes. He jotted down this diabolical conjecture in the margins of a book, saying there was not enough space to write out the proof. 18The implication was that he had found one but wasn’t giving it. For three centuries our great mathematical minds have been tearing their hair out over it! No one has come close to a solution. But then, your husband has never tried his hand at the problem. You would be famous, Gödel! The continuum hypothesis won’t bring you wealth and glory. You should join the times. Think advertising! Leave infinity to its lonely fate.”

Pauli smiled, glad not to be the focus of the older man’s irony.

“My wife has no business meddling in these matters.”

I couldn’t resist putting his feet to the flames.

“Why don’t you try? Are you afraid of failing?”

“ Ach! Mrs. Gödel is telling us something about incompleteness!”

“It has nothing to do with incompleteness! I’m not afraid of engaging the outer boundaries of mathematics. I simply know the limits of my own intelligence. You don’t understand the first thing about it, Adele.”

“I am all for harmony in the home! I was teasing you, Gödel. The one absolute in a world like ours is humor.”

“As you already know, Professor, my husband lacks a sense of humor.”

Kurt, choked with anger, rose to his feet and stalked out of the room without a word. There was a long pause. Einstein, a little disconcerted, tried to lighten the mood.

“Pauli, did you hear the news? Bamberger just died. Flexner’s term in office is about to end, so things are going to change!”

“The Institute has become a preserve for military interests. The next director will no doubt be a loyal servant of the state.”

“I’ll support Oppenheimer’s candidacy. Robert is a man who is open to the humanities.”

“And to leftist ideas?”

“Don’t be so partisan, Pauli! I’m thinking that the IAS should open its doors to new fields of research.”

“Do you think the next administration will reconsider my husband’s position? He is still an ordinary member. His status is so precarious.”

“Dear woman, as long as Siegel is on the council, his situation won’t improve.”

“Are they worried about his mental health? Kurt is harmless, you know that perfectly well.”

“How is he at the moment?”

“Always complaining. He says he has an ulcer, but he refuses to see a doctor.”

He patted me on the hand.

“Extreme sharpness, clarity, and certainty require an enormous sacrifice … the loss of one’s ability to see the whole. It can’t be easy on a day-to-day basis, but you are in the overall picture, believe me!”

I checked to see that my husband wasn’t listening in the hallway. If I were to say even what was common knowledge, he would take it as a personal betrayal. I trusted Herr Einstein. He didn’t judge my Kurt.

“He is starting to see things again. He thinks he is being followed.”

“Maybe he is. I am under constant surveillance. My private mail is censored.”

“It isn’t a question of that. He sees shapes. Ghosts.”

“The atmosphere in Princeton is a little oppressive right now. The war is drawing to a close, you’ll soon be getting good news from your families, and the world will give Kurt Gödel his due. Things will work out.”

“I’m not so trustful. We’ve been through this before. But in America I don’t have any family or friends to support me.”

“He has many friends, don’t think he doesn’t. Morgenstern looks after him as though he were a brother. Your husband is the kind of man you don’t run into often. I’ll do everything I can to advance your material situation. Keep your spirits up! I’m so sorry that I brought strain to your dinner. Wolfgang has known me a long time, he knows that my intentions are good.”

“The professor has only the best inattentions.”

Kurt came back into the room. I beamed a big, reassuring smile at him.

“Why don’t we all go for a drink somewhere?”

The two men rose as one in rejection. Kurt slipped away without further ado, leaving me to say goodbye to our guests. They showered me with thanks before disappearing arm in arm, momentarily reconciled by their common digestion. I reopened the windows to rid the apartment of smoke and the smell of grease, cleared the table, and emptied the ashtray. I squashed the bread-dough figurine with the flat of my palm. Many friends . Oskar Morgenstern was too polite to show his contempt for me. Our marriage was a complete conundrum as far as he was concerned. These fine gentlemen were willing enough to eat my cooking but not to hear my worries. My husband might have many friends, but what of me? I snuffed out the candles without wetting my fingers; I liked the pinprick of pain.