“She got him to take a bottle,” she explained.
“That’s good.” Adella went back to her book.
Mary looked at me. “Well…?”
“Well, what? Oh, right. Nice butt.”
“Idiot. You said I didn’t know babies.”
“I didn’t know you were going to flirt with him.”
“I wasn’t flirting with him.”
“Well, whatever. Baby boy stops crying because a pretty girl gives him some attention. Hold the presses. And the fact that he was a boy was fifty-fifty, so that doesn’t prove anything either.”
“You’re as stubborn as a mule.” Mary folded her arms across her chest.
“Yup.”
When our ginger ales and peanuts arrived, Mary got out her tarot cards. She studied each card before drawing the next. When she had six cards on the tray table, she dug a star chart out of her daypack—twelve zodiac signs in a circle, like a clock with crisscrossing lines through its center. At the bottom were handwritten notes.
“You’ve got quite a production going there,” I said. “What are you doing?”
“It’s a star chart—yours—based on your birth.”
“You’re not putting a curse on me, are you?”
“Ha. If only.”
“When did you have time to make a chart?”
“While you and Adella were working on the cipher. I did one for each of us.”
“Why?”
“Because with these and my cards, I can tell things about our future.”
“And how’s our future looking?”
“That’s not so simple. You have to interpret everything as a whole. As in: I see a lot of tumult coming your way, but of course, Adella and I are traveling with you, so your future affects us, just as ours affects you.”
She pointed at the cards. “Here. You see this? The Tower card and the Death card indicate transformation. Both are very powerful transition cards. And given the position of Mars and Mercury on your chart—and the fact that you’re a fire sign and very masculine—well, I have to conclude that things might get violent. Though,” she pointed at the Moon card, “I think your struggles aren’t clear.”
“What does that mean?”
“It means you may have to react instinctually. Which, of course, just adds to the likelihood of violence.”
“And that one?” I raised an eyebrow as I pointed to one of the cards she hadn’t referred to: The Lovers.
“It probably just means more conflict.”
“Well, this has been a load of fun,” I said. “Are you sure these cards are calibrated for this altitude?”
Adella leaned in over Mary’s tray table. “Did you know that astrology only became a part of Western culture after Alexander the Great’s conquests in Asia? And the zodiac dates back to the Babylonians, nearly a thousand years BC—practically the Bronze Age.”
“I didn’t know that,” I said.
“Me neither,” Mary said.
“A lot of what we consider Western culture was actually born in the East.” Adella sat back and opened another book.
Mary and I looked at each other. I furrowed my brow. She furrowed her brow. I squinted, and she squinted. I blinked and she blinked. I then opened my eyes wide, mouth agape—and she burst into laughter.
“You two are such children.” Adella flipped a page.
Now we were both laughing.
Chapter 5
We landed in Hamburg, Germany at 8:05 A.M., and after eating breakfast and showering at the Ambassador Hotel, we drove our rental twenty-three kilometers south to the Herman Schmaltz museum—the Herman Schmaltz Haus in Wilhelmsburg.
Parking on a side street, we followed the slate walkway up to what had been the famous scientist’s house, a small brick structure with white shutters. A plaque before the entrance read: “The 1912 – 1943 home of Herman Schmaltz, pioneer of quantum physics.”
“According to this,” Adella said, reading from a pamphlet she had picked up at the hotel, “Schmaltz had two older brothers who both died on die Ostfront—the Eastern Front. His wife and two sons move to Switzerland during the war, and he, of course, was in Berlin. And when, at the end of the war, no one returned to claim the house, local officials turned it into a museum.”
We entered the Herman Schmaltz Haus and walked into the living room. An older couple was busily reading the captions below the pictures on the walls. Mary gave the room a quick walkthrough and left for another part of the house, while Adella and I stayed to examine the display cases. The first one we looked at contained a mix of scientific papers, awards, and photographs. In a number of the photos, I recognized Albert Einstein and Max Planck.
“Check this out,” I said to Adella, pointing to a picture of a group of men in overcoats. “These guys were members of the ‘Uranverein’—the Uranium Club.”
A card below the photo read:
Established April, 1939, the Uranverein, a group of forty to fifty scientists including Dr. Herman Schmaltz, began working toward the development of nuclear fission (the splitting of atoms) for peaceful purposes.
However, in September of 1939, with the invasion of Poland, a new, secret Uranverein was established under the German Army Ordnance Office, to be led by Werner Karl Heisenberg, Director of the Kaiser Wilhelm Institute for Physics in Berlin…
“Apparently,” Adella said, “secretive groups were ubiquitous back then.”
In the next display case were several grainy black and white images of Herman Schmaltz with Niels Bohr and Werner Heisenberg. The card under the photos read:
In 1941, Niels Bohr and Werner Heisenberg met secretly in Copenhagen at a German-sponsored conference. The subject of their meeting has never been made clear, but some speculate that it was an attempt on Heisenberg’s part to gain information on the Allied progress toward an atomic bomb. Others believe that, due to the influence of Herman Schmaltz on Werner Heisenberg, it was an attempt to bring about an agreement among scientists (on both sides) not to pursue the development of the bomb “with any sense of urgency.”
“Interesting,” Adella said, “but not what we’re looking for.”
As we made our way around the room, I suggested we find someone who could help.
“Raven Entelechy has ears all over the place,” Adella said. “I’d prefer not to set off any alarms.”
“We could keep our questions vague,” I offered.
But Adella shook her head, and we kept looking.
“I found something,” Mary said excitedly, rushing into the room. “Come on, you have to see this.”
We followed her into the Schmaltzes’ dining room. The ceiling in here was much higher than in the living room, and the walls were covered in paintings with ornate frames. Six more works were on easels.
Mary directed us to the large painting over the fireplace. Adella and I stared at it.
“Holy moly,” Adella muttered.
“How’s that for a clue?” Mary said.
The painting was strange, to say the least. It showed the top of a door, and above the door was a shelf with a bust of a woman’s head. Perched on top of the bust were two ravens: one white, one black. Just like the Raven Entelechy logo.
I read the plaque underneath:
Herman Schmaltz considered Above My Chamber Door his masterpiece. It depicts a scene from “The Raven” by Edgar Allen Poe. The bust above the door is of Pallas Athena of Greek mythology, as referenced in this verse from “The Raven”:
And the Raven, never flitting, still is sitting, still is sitting
On the pallid bust of Pallas just above my chamber door;
And his eyes have all the seeming of a demon’s that is dreaming,
And the lamp-light o’er him streaming throws his shadow on the floor;
And my soul from out that shadow that lies floating on the floor
Shall be lifted—nevermore!
“But why two ravens?” I asked, staring at the menacing birds.
“Ah, I see we have so
me art lovers here,” said a gravelly, German-accented voice behind us. “Oh—sorry to startle you. My name is Franz Huberman. I’m the director of the Herman Schmaltz Haus.”
The tall white-haired man with wire-frame glasses shook Adella’s hand. Then he paused, looking from Mary to me and back again.
“Sorry,” he said, pulling himself together and shaking our hands. “I have these… lapses. A bit of bad wiring, I suppose.”
“I think we all have a little bit of that,” Mary said.
Franz smiled appreciatively. “But I do love seeing these works through the eyes of our guests.” He turned to the white and gold-framed Above My Chamber Door. “This work is based on a lithograph by Édouard Manet. But what I’m sure you’re wondering about is why there are two ravens.”
“Yes,” Adella said. “The poem only mentions one.”
“Indeed. But that’s where Dr. Schmaltz makes his contribution.” Franz pointed at the picture. “That’s the goddess Athena whose head those ravens are sitting upon. Poe refers to her as Pallas Athena, which is the name she took from a childhood friend she accidentally killed. Anyway”—he cleared his throat—” the real connection lies with Athena’s brother, Apollo.
“Apollo was the favorite son of Zeus and one of the twelve gods of Olympus. But as a god in those tumultuous times, he tended to have anger issues. You see, Apollo, who was in love with Coronis, who was pregnant with his child, began to suspect that Coronis was being unfaithful to him. So Apollo sent a raven to spy on her. When the raven returned and reported that Coronis had taken Prince Ischys as her lover, Apollo became so enraged that the raven hadn’t immediately pecked out the prince’s eyes, he scorched its white feathers black. Unfortunately, being so angry, and so powerful, he ended up scorching all ravens’ feathers black.
“Apollo then kills Coronis and saves their baby—but that’s another story.” Franz stared at the painting. He seemed lost in thought. “No… this is all about the ravens. Apollo and the ravens.”
Adella, Mary, and I looked at each other.
“Okay,” Mary finally said, “but that still doesn’t explain why there are two ravens.”
“Oh, right, right. In the poem ‘The Raven,’ Poe struggles with the idea of life and death. And so, in Above My Chamber Door, what Dr. Schmaltz has done is to illustrate that death is an illusion—that the white and the black ravens both exist, just at different points in time.”
“Though they’re the same raven,” Adella said.
“Yes. Dr. Schmaltz believed that everything is part of a single continuum, and that life and death exist at once. He believed Poe suffered because he couldn’t see that. He could only see the black raven.”
“But that’s all any of us can see,” Adella said.
“Any of us except for the gods.” Franz smiled grimly. “The gods can see the entire picture.”
“Do you ever wonder what they’re waiting for?” Mary asked. “Never flitting, still is sitting, still is sitting,” Mary recited. “I think they’re bored and they’re waiting for something to happen.”
“How wonderfully perceptive,” Franz said. “Indeed, they are waiting. According to Dr. Schmaltz, they’re waiting for the descendants of Apollo to set them free. I’m not entirely sure what that means, but that’s what he wrote on the back of the painting: ‘The ravens stand watch over the chamber door until the descendants of Apollo relieve them of their burden.’”
“That’s all it says?” I asked.
“That’s it.”
“Athena, she’s the goddess of wisdom, right?” Adella asked.
“As well as courage, inspiration, justice, and mathematics,” Franz said.
“What about Dr. Schmaltz’s other passions?” Adella asked. “Was painting his only extracurricular activity?”
“Well, he loved his books. His library’s upstairs.”
“May we see it?”
“You may indeed.” He led us out of the room and up the stairs.
“We’re particularly interested in any clubs or associations he might have been involved with,” Adella said as we walked.
“Dr. Schmaltz had many affiliations. I’ll print out a list along with some general biographical information.”
“Are there other museums you think we should visit while in Hamburg?” Mary asked.
Franz paused on the fifth step; his age was making this a slow climb. “There are many museums and historical sites you should see while in Hamburg. But if you’re looking for personal information regarding Dr. Schmaltz, there’s no better place than where you’re standing right now.”
“What about his family?” Adella asked. “I understand there’s a grandson who lives in Switzerland.”
“Yes, Friedrich—Dr. Friedrich Schmaltz. He’s professor emeritus at the Physik-Institut in Zurich. He’s a good man—although, he is getting on in years. Not that I’m not.”
“Do you think he’d be willing to talk with us?” Mary asked.
“Friedrich’s a bit of a recluse. But, perhaps. He’s always finding new items for us—letters, pictures, that sort of thing. Only he won’t travel—hates to travel—and it’s doubtful he’ll talk to you over the phone. I suppose you could say he’s paranoid.”
“Do you think you could call him?” Mary asked. “See if he’d be willing to talk with us, or to meet?”
“I’d be happy to,” Franz said. “It’s wonderful to meet people so interested in Dr. Schmaltz’s work.”
There was a phone in the library, so Franz made the call immediately. While he was dialing, Mary poked me in the arm.
“How about that painting?” she whispered. “Pretty awesome clue, huh?”
“Yeah, but where’s it getting us?”
“A white and a black raven in Dr. Schmaltz’s masterpiece? You can’t say we’re not on the right track.”
As Franz predicted, Professor Schmaltz refused to talk to us over the phone. Through Franz, however, he was happy to arrange to meet with us the following afternoon at his house in Brienz, Switzerland. Franz, clearly delighted by our interest, was extremely helpful: he not only suggested we take the train to Zurich and drive into the Alps to Dr. Schmaltz’s house, he even helped us obtain Eurail passes and arrange for a car rental.
We spent the next several hours poring over every book in the library while Franz entertained us with tales about Herman Schmaltz’s life—and a few anecdotes about his own. He kept us nourished with coffee, tea, and sourdough bread. Unfortunately, although all of it was interesting, none of the information we gathered provided any more clues.
“They never found him you know—Herman Schmaltz,” Franz said, walking us to the door. “He was presumed killed during an Allied bombing raid, but his remains were never recovered. Of course, not finding a body under those circumstances isn’t exactly unheard of, but several weeks later, there were three sightings of him in Rome. If you happen to solve that particular riddle, please let me know, would you?” He handed each of us his business card.
We said our goodbyes and shook his hand.
“Safe journeys,” Franz said as we started down the walkway. “And beware the ravens.”
We turned and looked at him.
He smiled. “I’ve always been an Apollonian at heart.”
Chapter 6
I stowed my backpack in my sleeper and met Adella and Mary in the dining car. As we sped along through town and country, it occurred to me how much nicer this twelve-hour train ride would have been without a chaperone. Not that I didn’t like Adella, but she sure was cramping my style.
“So,” I said to Adella, setting down my fork, “what can you tell us about the Eureka Group’s Theory of Everything?”
“Well, their theory revolves around two fundamental principles.” She poured more hot water into her tea. “The first is that energy, in all its various forms, is really just a geometrical map of time. If you could hold the four-dimensional universe in the palm of your hand and measure the contours of 3D objects along their fourth
dimension, that is energy. In other words, energy is an emergent quality of the spatial dimension of time.
“The second principle, which is derived from the first, might be a little harder to grasp.” She sipped her tea. “I’ll just state it and then try to explain it. The second principle is that mathematics and physics—all sciences really—ultimately cannot explain reality. Given that we’re creatures who ‘see’ motion and energy and impermanent 3D objects, where in actuality there’s a single all-encompassing continuum, our sciences, by definition, are asymptotically bounded.”
“Why?” I asked.
“Because science must explain the world in terms of what we perceive. Even our highest mathematics has evolved from what we’ve observed—the behavior and logic of our environment. Simply put, we can’t explain something we can’t perceive. What we perceive is all that is known.”
“We can conceive of things though, right?” I said. “Like the concept of infinity.”
“Yes—but has science explained infinity? Like all concepts, infinity is a pattern—a pattern taught to us through instantiated examples, and which, after some time, we learn to recognize. Unfortunately, what we recognize—what we ‘see’ in our heads—is something more or less like numbers disappearing down a long railroad track. Not actually infinity.
“We can’t hold infinity in our hands. We can’t see it. And even our instantiated examples of it are really only shadows of what infinity must actually be.”
Mary and I thought about this for a long moment.
“So science isn’t the ultimate answer?” Mary asked.
“No, but don’t take that the wrong way,” Adella said. “Science is all we have. It’s the only train leaving the station, so to speak. It’s just that it’s a train that’ll never reach its destination. Science is the guide that we use to navigate the shadows of the underpinning world. But because of that, it’ll always be providing us with newer and cleverer paradigms. There’ll never be that mathematical solution to all possible questions. And, really, who would want it any other way?”
“What if…” Mary thought a moment. “What if we could evolve into higher-dimensional beings and hold the universe, like you said, in the palm of our hands? Couldn’t that then allow science to reach its destination?”
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