Yannick Grannec - The Goddess of Small Victories

“I’m still asking myself.”

“A logical proof would not relieve you of your doubt.”

“I’d be curious to read it all the same.”

“That is one of the reasons I am unwilling to reveal the papers. Kurt Gödel’s work should not become an object of curiosity. He was one himself all his life.”

“The last thing I want to do is to show disrespect to his memory. The document could be of great interest to many people. It’s one link in a long chain of works by philosophers trying to prove the existence of God. Leibniz, for instance, whom your husband admired greatly.”

Adele grabbed the Bible from her nightstand. Smiling, she ran her hand over its worn cover. Anna remembered the statue of the Madonna at the back of the garden in Linden Lane. She didn’t doubt the older woman’s faith for a second.

“I met so many of the most intelligent men of the century. Some of them never touched the ground with their feet. Science provides no answer to the question of faith. Those who approach closest to the great mysteries are modest toward the idea of God. In his last years, Einstein was a believer, and he did not need a logical alibi to draw comfort from his faith.”

“As far as you’re concerned, your husband’s proof was a bit of semantic fancy footwork.”

“It derives from the play of logic and faith.”

“You claimed to be incapable of understanding his work.”

“Kurt was afraid that his essay would become a pseudorelic. I am respecting his wishes.”

“He didn’t destroy it, but did he ask that it remain secret?”

“He wasn’t in fit condition to make that decision.”

“You give yourself the right to decide in his place? I’m surprised at you.”

“Who else would do it better? I shared his life.”

“Be truthful. Does the proof go against your own convictions?”

Adele abruptly put the Bible back on her nightstand.

“You must be God to talk about God’s nature.”

“Then what use is that Bible?”

“I give it an airing on Sundays.”

“Have you taken exception to knowledge or to God?”

“It doesn’t matter. It all comes down to one and the same Essence.”

“I’d like to see a proof of it.”

“Stick to your edelweiss. Leave these questions to those who are dying.”

“You’re also trying to get out of it with some fancy footwork.”

Adele sketched out a waltz with her hands in front of the young woman’s exasperated face.

“What is the point of having lived if you don’t learn to dance? Now let’s get back to talking about clothes!”

A gust of wet wind shook the blinds. Anna got up to close the window. The day was going to be rainy, and her migraine was returning. She would put off her good resolutions about exercise until the spring.

“Do you have any aspirin, Adele?”

“You are in a hospital, my little duckling. Doubts and medications, neither one is in short supply.”

First make the strudel, then sit down and think.

— Austrian proverb

How I loved that house! Linden Lane is where I was finally able to set down my luggage. The victory cost me a hard struggle, as Kurt didn’t want to hear anything about it. Nothing was to disturb his peace of mind. This time, it was my battle.

I’d ventured down Linden Lane by chance on the way home from a routine walk. The name intrigued me. I discovered a For Sale sign in front of a small, white, modern house that seemed almost austere in comparison to Princeton’s pretty neo-Victorian homes. It was modest but charming, with a dark roof and ironwork columns. I examined the garden before leaving, my mind full of thoughts.

The next day, my steps led me back irrepressibly to 129 Linden Lane. It was my house.

I telephoned the broker: $12,500 not counting transfer costs, well beyond our budget. I dragged Kurt there for a visit and, when the seller finally left us alone, painted a lively picture of all its advantages: the house had a new air-conditioning system, numerous windows, a garden where he could rest his nerves, and a separate room that he could make into an office. In addition, the neighborhood was very quiet and, being somewhat higher than the rest of Princeton, would be cooler in the summer. Kurt considered it in silence on the way home. He said, “The living room is very big, you could give a party for fifty people there.”

Cautious, I let the dough rest. When I saw that there was no movement, and being afraid the property would slip through our fingers, I decided to harass Kurt in any way I could. Disturbing him at work was my only means of forcing him to react. His friend Oskar was pushing from the other side. In his snobby opinion, the house was too expensive, too far from the Institute, and located in a lackluster neighborhood. Oskar always reacted suspiciously to my ideas. I telephoned Kitty Oppenheimer on the sly: a more bourgeois level of comfort would be beneficial to the fragile genius. She mentioned this to her husband, the director. The IAS would stand as co-guarantor to the mortgage. Caught in a crossfire, Kurt opted for domestic peace. He gave in, anxious about our assuming such a large loan. What didn’t make him anxious? I had the good fortune to be fighting at home, and I won.

Did I keep him from working, as Morgenstern had said? Of course! Kurt naturally wrote all about it to his mother, who probably coughed up her strudel over it. That house represented my salary as a nurse, which was twenty years past due.

I wiped my hands and took off my apron before going to the door.

“ Willkommen auf Schloss Gödel! ”

Standing there was my friend Lili Kahler-Loewy with a bottle of champagne in either hand. Next to her was Albert, juggling an enormous package.

“My dear Adele, here is my modest contribution to this memorable day. You are finally going to stop changing addresses.”

“We spent at least an hour at the antique dealer’s. The salesman couldn’t get over having Albert as his client.”

“Where is Gödel?”

“He’s coming, Herr Einstein. He’s working.”

“How is he? We haven’t seen much of each other recently. I’ve been traveling constantly.”

My husband stepped into view behind me, as though fresh from the mold. He was wrapped in his impeccable double-breasted suit, his tie knotted to the millimeter.

“I am in excellent shape. We are finding 1949 to be a good year for us. See how lovely my wife looks!”

“Do you mean this dress? It’s just an old thing. We need to tighten our belts more than ever now.”

It was a small domestic lie, one of many. I had bought this white dress with blue patterns for myself to celebrate my victory. For being forty-nine in 1949, I surely deserved a dress at $4.99! Knowing that his cautious nature would disapprove, I said nothing to Kurt, though he would have appreciated the numerical symbolism. Anyway, he couldn’t have told a new outfit from an old rag.

I invited our friends to make themselves at home before opening Albert’s package. Inside was a magnificent Chinese vase.

“From now on, Adele, you can devote your time to interior decoration, the favorite sport of ladies of leisure.”

Albert followed Kurt into the garden, leaving Lili and me to our talk between women. I was a little disappointed not to be doing the honors of showing Albert our new home. But I took my friend by the arm and led her on a guided tour before our other guests arrived — the Morgensterns and the Oppenheimers. Kurt hadn’t wanted more people than that.

“I was forgetting! Erich sends his regrets. His mother is feeling unwell and he wanted to stay with her today.”