Yannick Grannec - The Goddess of Small Victories

“An editor, Paul Arthur Schilpp, has asked me to contribute to a book on Professor Einstein, a tribute to him on his seventieth birthday.”

“You’ll have something to keep you busy while I’m gone.”

Albert was still absorbed in the subject of his feet.

“I’d solved the problem by not wearing socks, but Maja worried that I would catch cold. I sweat so much that I could wring my socks out at night and fill whole flasks with the juice. ‘Genuine Genius Sweat.’ ”

“How is your sister?”

“Maja is still in bed. She hasn’t really recovered from her heart attack. Seeing her decline breaks my heart. And more egotistically, it confronts me with my own mortality. Why don’t you pay her a visit on the way home, Adele? She doesn’t get much company.”

He was forced to interrupt himself to greet the growing number of acquaintances we passed as we approached the university, which was celebrating its bicentennial. The usual quiet was disrupted by many festive events and crowds of visitors. By the autumn of 1946, we had been living in Princeton for more than five years, an eternity in that enclave outside of time. I had grown used to provincial life without actually loving it, although it seemed narrow in comparison with the turbulence of prewar Vienna. Princeton was a big, insular village centered around its university. Surrounded by forests and lakes, punctuated by impeccable lawns, it gave itself European airs with its neo-Gothic buildings. In this quaint cocoon, the Institute for Advanced Study had assembled an extraordinary group of geniuses in flight from the war. The exodus of high-profile Jews, Socialists, bohemians, and pacifists — sometimes all four were rolled into one — had brought the Institute a gold mine of new recruits. My husband was one of them, though he could claim none of those labels. He was just a scientist in an uncomfortable position. Others had risked their lives. The IAS, whose building was now outside the university, was a state within a state, a sort of scientific Mount Olympus, absent the gods. From the vantage point of the wives, Princeton was neither more nor less than a garrison town. They tacitly reproduced the hierarchy set by their husbands’ prestige: the von Neumanns and the Oppenheimers lived in imposing mansions. The demigod Einstein, true to his nonconformity, had chosen a modest house. Kurt was a case apart: a general with an enlisted man’s pay, since we made do with a miserable apartment. All these fine folk visited each other’s homes for dinners and musical evenings. The Mitteleuropa intelligentsia was trying to recreate its fertile cultural life far from war-ravaged Europe. I did not share the general nostalgia.

Professor Einstein managed at last to free himself from the group of gawkers.

“I can’t wait for the end of this celebration! There are too many people in Princeton. It’s impossible to go for a quiet walk. I am becoming a beauty queen. My dance card is full of medal ceremonies. Not to mention lecture invitations!”

“I never attend lectures. I have difficulty following them, even when I know the subject well.”

“Enjoy your freedom, Gödel! I can no longer hide in the back of the room near the radiators and take a nap. They all expect me to come up with something intelligent.”

“Did you fall asleep during mine?”

“Of course not, dear friend. Although it was somewhat … arid. I had to strain to keep up, believe me!”

“Kurt is by far the best!”

I said it automatically; I’d grasped no part of his speech. And I was not the only one.

“No one disputes it, dear lady.”

“You can’t fool me. My lecture was a failure.”

“You are castigating yourself over nothing, Gödel. The response was restrained, perhaps. Your ideas are not that accessible! Great minds have always met with fierce opposition from the mediocre.”

“The audience had been warned against me. The Secret Service has infiltrated the whole university. We are under the yoke of the military now.”

“Gödel, why would the military take an interest in your mathematical problems? Be reasonable! If you’d spent time in Los Alamos, I could understand your being worried.”

“You can’t imagine the extent of the surveillance around me. Strange things are happening. Roosevelt’s death is particularly suspicious.”

Albert picked up the pace. We turned into Maxwell Lane. Once past the trees, we saw the IAS building rise in the distance. The redbrick structure dominated an enormous lawn. I’d attended formal balls in the building but never been privy to its daily routine. All the wives knew where to find their scientist husbands when the Institute’s bell-tower clock struck four: they were drinking tea.

I left the two men at the foot of the stairs. Their offices were on the third floor.

“See you later! Work well!”

If his famous friend had not been present, I would have kissed my little schoolboy on the cheek and tapped him smartly on the bottom, just out of principle.

The radio alarm clock blared “Breakfast in America.” Anna had forgotten to silence the alarm. The one time that she’d managed to sleep! Perspiring, she rolled onto the dry half of the bedsheet to turn off the radio. The remnants of an unpleasant dream lurked just below the surface of her mind. She sat up on the edge of the bed. Her head exploded, the pain erasing the last wisps of her dream. The night before, she had again gone over the risks of an escapade with Adele. A bottle of white wine had also disappeared.

Even in childhood, Anna had had the ability to envisage all the ramifications of a situation, including the dead ends. It wasn’t the sign of a pessimistic outlook — bad options are a part of the whole — but her talent proved incompatible with the unconcern necessary for a lighthearted life. She hadn’t found herself a profession where she could capitalize on her analytical bent. Living among old papers at least freed her of the burden of labeling every possibility.

It had been thoughtless to propose the idea, but tomorrow — in defiance of the doctors’ orders — she would take the old lady to the movies. She had found a movie house in Doylestown near the retirement home. The County Theater was showing a matinee of The Sound of Music . The film lasted nearly three hours, the trip took ten minutes, call it twenty. Adele would be back at Pine Run in time for dinner.

The main difficulty would be getting out of the building without drawing attention. At nap time, Anna would take her confederate on a long walk through the garden. She would park the car around the back near the little ivy-covered gate. She had assigned Gladys to divert the staff’s attention, and the elderly Barbie had been thrilled to be included. Then there was the problem of getting Mrs. Gödel into the car and from there into a seat in the movie theater. Adele had solved the problem by showing Anna how spry she was, relatively speaking, on three legs — Gladys had appropriated a cane from her comatose neighbor for the occasion. Jack, the young pianist, had been drafted to help them transfer Adele to and from the car, both on the way out and on the way back. But how would Anna explain the caper to the police, the doctors, or even her boss if Mrs. Gödel croaked in her arms? Everyone would accuse her of having hastened her death.

Anna grabbed a book from her bedside table. The lines danced in front of her eyes. The charm of A Room with a View was not working for her this morning. Her unruly mind wandered to the Arno, to Florence, and especially to Gianni.

After her abrupt break with William, she had bummed around France, Germany, and Italy. She was surprised to discover how much she liked living as a tourist when no chaperone or return ticket was on the horizon. Her sole concession to the past was to write regularly to Ernestine, Leo’s old nanny, never failing to include her current address. But Leo had never written. In Florence she had bought herself a shockingly expensive old Baedeker, the same guidebook that E. M. Forster’s heroines carried with them everywhere. The worn red-and-gold cover, the yellowed pages, gave her the sense of traveling in time more than in space. For once, she felt that she was not doing what was expected of her.