The Day Without Yesterday

by Stuart Clark

  Blumenfeld stirred the milk into his coffee with a single confident stroke. He set the spoon down but made no move to lift the cup.

  ‘I represent the German Federation of Zionists.’ Einstein froze. ‘And why have you come to see me?’ Blumenfeld smiled. He took a leisurely sip of coffee. ‘I would have thought for a man like you, that would have been obvious.’ There was an aura of danger about him, and opportunity.

  ‘I know that the Federation wants a home state in Palestine,’ said Einstein, ‘but I’m opposed to all forms of nationalism. I see no fit between us.’

  ‘Herr Professor, your behaviour is more fitting to a politician than an academic. I believe that you are Jewish to your core. I think you are a Jew before you are a scientist, even before you are a man. I can see it runs deeply in you.’

  The perception so unnerved Einstein that he put down his cup.

  ‘I’m not indifferent to my fellow tribesmen. But I wonder why you choose to single us out in this way? Now?’

  ‘If once we scattered from Zion to stay safe, now we must return. Hatred is everywhere. If we’re to survive, we need a homeland, a fortress. Your position as an academic insulates you to some extent but not everyone is so lucky. Your fellow Jews are no longer being served in all the restaurants and cafés in Berlin. Employment for them is dwindling; they are the last to be recruited and the first to be laid off. A crisis is coming.’

  Einstein knew it was true. Ever since the Armistice, Berlin had been changing. Troops had returned home in what remained of their battalions, and had paraded victoriously through the streets to cheering crowds, while in the back-streets Jews had been spat on and called cowards. Beatings and robberies were increasing, and were largely being ignored by the non-Jewish community.

  Germany was convinced that it had been wronged, not just by the surrounding nations of Europe but from within – a creeping rot within. And the rot had a name: Jewry.

  ‘You know I’m right,’ said Blumenfeld. ‘We’re unique in the world. We’re a culture, and a religion. We can choose one without the other, or both, and still we remain Jews.’

  ‘But why shackle us with the running of a country when we can be free to develop wherever we may? Let us leave the hard graft of agriculture and diplomacy – and the pitfalls of nationalism – to others. I see no reason why a man cannot retain his culture but live in another place.’

  ‘Herr Professor, you can refuse this fight if you want, but that doesn’t mean the fight will refuse you. Anti-Semitism is not a rational thing.’

  ‘As much as I have sympathy for your ideas of kinship, I don’t feel I can share all of your goals. They remind me too much of jingoism.’

  ‘Jingoism?’ Blumenfeld looked temporarily hurt. ‘We’re not all of the same ideology. Within the movement there’s a variety of feelings and beliefs. Yet we all share a single goal: the creation of a homeland state. A place where we can be free. Maybe even a place where we can build a new university.’

  Einstein searched in vain for any flicker of hoax. ‘A new university?’

  ‘Why not? We will be free to live, to love, to learn. You can help us achieve that freedom, Herr Professor.’ The man’s face was a study in sincerity.

  ‘Call me Albert, please.’ It was a delaying tactic. Despite everything Einstein thought he believed, the man’s words were taking root inside him.

  ‘Albert … you feel it in you that the Jewish people are distinct and should have a place in the world, don’t you?’

  Einstein closed his eyes to shut out the intense brown ones looking at him. He then nodded deliberately. ‘Perhaps one can be an internationalist without being indifferent to members of one’s tribe.’

  ‘So you’ll join us?’

  Einstein opened his eyes to see Blumenfeld’s face taut with anticipation – the first indication of doubt he had seen there. He kept the man waiting a moment longer. ‘I’m no Zionist, but I will help you.’

  A week later, in an open-topped automobile, Einstein and Blumenfeld drew up to a set of tall metal gates. The handbrake rasped as Blumenfeld applied it and they waited for the liveried gatekeeper to unlock the entrance.

  ‘I’ve never much cared to drive,’ said Einstein, over the idling engine. ‘Strikes me that it requires thought that could be devoted to other things.’

  Blumenfeld rubbed his hand across the steering-wheel. ‘I borrowed it especially. I though Herr Rathenau of all people would appreciate it, rather than have us turn up on foot.’

  The gatekeeper pulled open the gate, Blumenfeld released the brake and the car jerked into motion.

  Walther Rathenau’s house was a mansion, hidden behind trees and high walls. A sweeping staircase led to a vast doorway where the man himself stood, face lifted to the evening sunlight. He seemed taller than Einstein remembered from the Habers’ dinner at the beginning of the war, but the swagger was the same. His shoulders were wide and his greying beard was trimmed into a sharp point.

  Doubt caressed Einstein’s spine.

  ‘Thank you for setting this up, Albert. Do you think we will persuade him?’ Blumenfeld whispered as the engine coughed to a stop.

  ‘No, but that doesn’t mean we shouldn’t try.’

  It was late. Einstein and Blumenfeld were clearly not going to be leaving until the early hours. Following dinner, they had adjourned with heavy stomachs to sit around the fireplace, its empty maw hidden behind a decorative brass guard.

  ‘Is anyone cold? Shall I have the fire lit?’ asked their host.

  Of all of them, only Rathenau could afford to burn wood in the summertime.

  The leather armchairs they were seated in were deep and comfortable, and Einstein could imagine the heightened aroma a fire would bring out. He thought of it blending with the tang of his pipe tobacco.

  Rathenau sat with ostentatious casualness, cradling a bulbous glass of brandy in one hand and flicking his cigarette ash with the other.

  Blumenfeld was in no such condition. The conversation had ranged widely but Rathenau had been stalling, and Blumenfeld was growing impatient. Einstein knew it was time to bring the matter to a head, otherwise they would still be there at dawn.

  ‘Walther, Kurt here does have serious business to put to you.’

  ‘I know, I know.’ Rathenau took a sip of his brandy. ‘But I’m not about to be recruited to the cause. I cannot exchange my instinctive national loyalty for a newly invented one.’

  Blumenfeld cocked his head. ‘With respect, Herr Rathenau, you’re a Jew. You cannot deny it. You’re a Jew and a capitalist.’

  ‘A capitalist. You make it sound like a term of abuse.’

  ‘Jew. Capitalist. It is to the German people.’

  ‘What makes you think you can speak for the German people, I wonder? I’m the one who kept this country in the war. Without my efforts, Germany would have been overwhelmed years earlier. Foreign soldiers would have overrun our lands. Only the longevity of the war spared us. Towards the end they were as sick of fighting as we were. It made the surrender easier by preventing them from ripping us to shreds. Allowed us to keep our pride. And now I’m to be the minister for reconstruction. I’m to be in the cabinet. We should be celebrating, don’t you think?’

  Einstein thought he must have misunderstood, but the alarm on Blumenfeld’s face confirmed that he had heard correctly.

  ‘A member of the government?’ asked Einstein.

  ‘Disaster,’ muttered Blumenfeld.

  ‘Disaster?’ Rathenau’s voiced raised a notch. ‘A German of Jewish descent will now rebuild this country and you call it a disaster. It’s a triumph. This is a new beginning.’

  Blumenfeld was shaking his head. ‘You will be accused. All Jews will suffer for this. They will twist it to make it look like a takeover, another betrayal. First Jews sabotage the war, and then they make a grab for power.’

  ‘What I do, I do for Germany. Everyone who knows me knows that.’

  ‘Most people don’t know you. They see your picture in the
paper and they see a Jew.’

  ‘I don’t deny my heritage, but love for my Fatherland supersedes the flesh and blood of ancestry. Germany is in my very spirit.’ He took a long pull on his cigarette.

  ‘You will put yourself in the firing line, Walther,’ said Einstein.

  ‘The anti-Semites will surely target you.’

  ‘Let them. My record with this country speaks for itself.’ Einstein made a dismissive sound. ‘They will not be open to reason.’

  ‘A Jewish state could put pressure on countries everywhere to stamp out anti-Semitism,’ cut in Blumenfeld. ‘We could be a force for good.’

  Rathenau pursed his lips as if considering the suggestion but ended up shaking his head. ‘I can offer you kinship, but I cannot join your cause.’ He took a deep swig of his brandy. ‘Nor, I’m afraid, can I wish you good luck.’

  Haber’s eyes, slightly bulging at the best of times, looked fit to burst from their sockets. ‘What are you doing, Albert?’

  Einstein slowly put away his pen. ‘I’m writing a letter, Fritz.’ His deliberate calm did not take the heat out of Haber’s assault.

  ‘Fraternising with those men. They’ll undo us all.’

  ‘Do you mean Kurt Blumenfeld?’

  ‘Rathenau is furious. How could you take that man to meet him? What were you thinking? The Zionists will set us back years – decades! – going around with their separatist notions.’

  ‘He didn’t appear furious the other night.’

  ‘Well, he was, believe me. Honestly, how could you even think to have asked him? He’s our figurehead for acceptance, living proof that we can all exist together as Germans, regardless of race.’

  Behind him, Ilse appeared at the study door and reached for the handle. As she did so, she flashed Einstein a sympathetic smile and closed the door.

  ‘Sit down, Fritz.’ Einstein gestured to a chair with a pile of papers on the seat.

  ‘I prefer to stand,’ said Haber flatly. Einstein stood up as well.

  ‘Albert, you have embarrassed me. I’d given your name to the German Citizens of Jewish Faith. They were planning to invite you to speak to them. I thought the least you could do was show your allegiance with your fellow Germans.’

  Einstein hooked his thumbs in his cardigan pockets. ‘I’m not a German.’

  ‘You were born in Ulm. You live in Berlin.’

  ‘My passport says Swiss.’

  ‘You can’t erase your nationality by changing your passport.’

  ‘And you can’t erase your Jewishness by going to church on Sunday.’

  Haber set his chin at the accusation but stayed silent.

  ‘Yes, I’ve heard you converted. How can you think that it will help in any way?’ Einstein’s temper grew with every passing word.

  ‘If anything, it makes you laughable to them. Everyone can see what you are; your features give it away. You’re nothing but a pussyfooter, neither one thing nor the other. How can any Aryan respect that? And how can any Jew respect you now?’

  Haber’s eyes were as cold as ice. ‘I may be many things, Albert, but I’m not a traitor to my country.’ With that, he turned and left.

  Einstein was still brooding when Ilse crept into the room. She silently slid a cup of tea along the leather of his desk. She was about to creep out again when Einstein spoke. ‘Ilse?’

  She looked round expectantly.

  ‘Thank you. You cheer me up.’

  She smiled and he envied Georg Nicolai. She must smile like that at him all the time.

  Einstein and Ilse strolled home as the afternoon gave way seamlessly to a summer’s evening, with no darkness and no drop in the temperature to herald the change. As they walked, their arms were almost touching.

  ‘How are things with Georg?’ he began tentatively.

  She seemed to frown. ‘Good, but he’s such a tease. Sometimes I’m not sure where I stand with him.’

  ‘How so?’

  ‘He torments me. Told me the other day that if you had any sense, you would marry me rather than Mama.’

  The breath caught in Einstein’s windpipe. ‘So, he has seen it too.’ Ilse’s frown deepened. ‘Albert?’

  Einstein stopped and faced her. ‘I’ve felt something for you for a while, beyond familial love, I mean. I’ve been trying to pretend it doesn’t exist, but if others can see it too then perhaps I must admit to it. You’re a beautiful young woman, so strong and …’

  ‘Albert, I am but a girl. Do not burden me with this.’ She stepped round him and hurried on.

  Upon arrival at the apartment block, Einstein would usually have retreated to his study for a final hour of work before supper, but tonight he hung around in Elsa’s living room, where Ilse had settled in the window seat with a book.

  Their conversation was unfinished and nagged at him.

  In the kitchen, Elsa was busying herself with the final supper, preparations and Margot was laying the table. He waited for her to finish and return to her mother.

  ‘I meant what I said, Ilse.’

  She looked up from her book.

  Einstein talked before his courage failed. ‘I’m not so old that I can’t remember what it is to be young. My body is forty but my spirit is strong.’ He moved to her and touched her soft cheeks with the dry skin of his fingers. ‘No man will ever love you as much as I do.’

  ‘But you’re to marry Mama.’

  ‘She will understand. She wants only the best for you and me. I think that I would like another child. Your mother cannot give me that.’

  She gasped and removed his hand from her cheek. ‘I think perhaps you’re right when you say no man will love me like you do … but I don’t want a child with you. I don’t feel like that towards you.’

  ‘Ilse, I love you.’

  The room changed, as if a chill breeze had passed through. Ilse’s eyes widened and she pulled her hand from his. Elsa was standing in the doorway, holding a steaming tureen with a tea towel.

  ‘Mama,’ said Ilse, pleadingly.

  ‘Dinner is ready.’

  It was a silent affair, save for the tense requests to pass the bowls around. Both girls retreated to their bedrooms as soon as possible, leaving Einstein back by the window and contemplating the checked pattern on his slippers. Elsa sat with her chin in her hand, eyes focused somewhere beyond the walls of the apartment.

  He said, ‘I suppose I’ve just had a lesson in relativity.’

  Elsa turned, bringing her eyes to a stony focus on him. ‘How so?’

  ‘I still see myself as a young man, Ilse sees me an old one, and to you I think I look like a stupid fool. Somewhere there will be a mathematical transformation that will allow all three points of view to be equated, and shown to be descriptions of the same thing.’

  Unexpectedly she stood up from her seat, perched on the arm of his chair and curled her arm around him. He instinctively leaned into her. She lowered her voice. ‘If you are a stupid fool, at least you’re going to be my stupid fool. And perhaps I can stop you being quite so stupid again.’

  He should have bristled at the suggestion of control, but instead he felt rather amused by it. ‘And how do you propose to do that?’

  She planted a kiss on the top of his head. ‘You worry about the universe, I’ll see to everything else. Now, let me go and talk to Ilse, then we’ll hear no more about it.’

  ‘I’ve got serious misgivings about these new quantum ideas …’ Einstein tapped a paper that was sitting on his desk and glanced at Planck.

  The elder physicist was sitting across from him, looking perplexed. ‘But you cemented our belief in the quantum.’

  ‘I just picked up your ideas and found they worked.’ Einstein ran a hand across his brow.

  Planck was referring to 1905, the year of Einstein’s breakthrough paper about special relativity. A second triumph had been Einstein’s explanation of why a sheet of metal would spit out electron particles when illuminated by certain colours of light. Only if the coloured rays were
made of packets of light energy, quanta, could the strange effect be understood mathematically. The work had captured his colleagues more than relativity, and continued to do so, much to Einstein’s dismay. ‘What I didn’t realise at the time was all the problems quantum theory would create.’

  ‘The atom needs explaining,’ Planck said patiently.

  ‘Indeed, but I don’t like the way chance seems to be involved.’

  ‘Is it really that hard to think that some physical processes are random?’

  ‘Yes,’ said Einstein indignantly. ‘A particle can’t think for itself, and the quantum laws can’t predict the direction in which light is emitted from atoms. The whole thing must be wrong.’

  Planck sighed heavily. Before the discussion could continue, the sound of quick footsteps in the corridor drew their attention.

  ‘Problem?’ asked Planck.

  Einstein peered through the open doorway to where Ilse was working in the ante-office. A sense of premonition gripped him. Only telegram boys moved that fast.

  His heart fell into step with the footfall as it grew in volume.

  A puffing lad appeared before Ilse. ‘Telegram for Herr Einstein.’ Ilse accepted the message and the lad shot off.

  Einstein was already on his feet when she brought it through. Planck rose too, guessing. ‘The eclipse?’

  Einstein’s hand trembled as he slipped the telegram from its envelope. He looked from Ilse’s wide eyes to Planck’s curious ones and back again, then read the typed message twice to be certain. A calm, almost fatalistic air encircled him.

  ‘Well?’ urged Planck.

  ‘It’s from Lorentz. He’s heard from the British.’ Einstein swallowed hard. ‘They see a deflection.’

  Ilse jumped with a squeal of delight.

  Planck shook his head in disbelief. ‘General relativity proven.’

  ‘Surprised, Max?’ teased Einstein.

  ‘Aren’t you? No, of course not. You’ve never had a moment’s doubt. Even so, you must admit that it’s good to have confirmation.’ The tension that had gripped Einstein when he first heard the telegram boy’s approach dissolved into warmth. It spread through his muscles, loosening them. His cheeks began to ache and he realised that he must be grinning like a loon.