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Einstein, Murderer
by Dr. Lawrence Nannery
2016-03-18 09:24:16
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Einstein, Murderer


A time of unlimited possibilities,
A time when being young was natural, like the Spring.
Albert and Mileva had fallen in together, naturally,
Siding and sticking together like feathers on the wing of a bird.

There there was good humor, and optimism, and Albert’s coming greatness.
He was indeed a gay fox, unconventional,
And Mileva his bemused companion, shocked by her good fortune.
They were planning to get married, as soon as their careers got underway.

And now came the thunderbolt of life.
Mileva knew she had to tell him, there was no correct timing.
Albert was, of course, thunderstruck.
This could not happen, he said, not now.
Not now before he had made his name!
Not now when he was on the threshold of great fame
And acclaim as the greatest man in the world.
Not now before he could support a family.
Not now!


albert01_400_02Intense conversations through the dark silence of the nights.
In Albert’s opinion they should arrange a miscarriage.
There were people who knew about such things,
Things like drinking certain chemicals,
But the whole thing would pass in a matter of days,
And then they could rest easy.
Do this child business another time.

But Mileva was skeptical: it was easy to talk about such things
But she was unconvinced – after all it was a child alive in her body.
Albert searched in his mind.
Mileva could have an accident, she could fall down a flight of stairs.
She could go to a certain little village in the mountains, where
Rich women go for such things, there
Are certain doctors there who do an operation,
But it would coast money, and he daren’t let anyone,
Especially his papa and mama, know about this.
Where could they get the money?

Long, long talks in the deep of the night.
Mileva soon realized that Albert was hot for this child’s death.
Of course, he always seemed to know his own mind.
If she were going to live with this man, she wound have to take orders.
She thought: they had been planning to get married anyway,
Why not just do it and save the child?
But she was, as usual, unsure to herself.

Meanwhile, Albert was thinking.
He had unlimited confidence in his own intelligence.
Did they know anyone they could rely on?
What about friends, women friends?
Women know all about these things.
But there were no such women friends. Mileva was a loner.
She had no family, maybe an old aunt or two.
And his family – it was impossible!

They were in a grip of a great social danger.
The desideratum: a dead child;
The method of delivery: as yet unknown.


Mileva sank into a depression while Albert scoured
The countryside in search of solutions.
One night he reached out and simply punched her in the stomach.
Hard. Just like that.
Maybe that would start something, he explained.
Now she was frightened of him. Who knew what this guy might do?
The child was growing within and she was growing in love with it.

Every day now Albert was in the library, looking things up.
If he was the genius he was always saying he was
Then he should be able to figure something out.
Mama and papa would never accept her.
She wasn’t even a German, she wasn’t even a Jew!
If only there were doctors in his family!

Religious institutions, isn’t it!
What else are they good for?
They could arrange for an adoption, couldn’t they?
Maybe he would go see one or two of those hospitals, and ask around in a general way,
As though he were asking not for himself but for a friend.

Here’s another idea:
If they could somehow get the money
They could go together to a foreign place,
Say Venice, or some island in the Adriatic,
And there she could deliver, and he would come back without her,
And she could come later, after disposing if the child,
And all would be well.


She turned out to be a weak reed, wavering to every side, back and forth.
There had been the ordeal of endless talk, and still
He still had to prove his strength, the move through it all, and triumph over all.
He got the money. They went to Serbia, her native land.
She delivered in a strange hospital under a false name.
For a week they were a real family, to appearances,
And then he returned home, and send her best wishes every day.
Only when they had careers could their real life as a family begin.
She understood that.

Arrangements were made. The child was left behind with peasants.
Mileva was depressed all the time, her thoughts far off, with her child.
Now, she started talking to herself long into the night.
Perhaps the child could be smuggled in, and a fake adoption arranged.
And other things like that, but Albert would not hear of it.
His mind was fixed: one had to be hard.


Well, she had to resume her life with him, and she thought of nothing but their marriage.
But she made trips back to her native country to see her baby girl,
And this gave her delight, but on trip revealed that the child had died.
The ignorant peasants didn’t know why, beyond that it was God’s will,
But she felt they must have neglected her.

And so died the ambiguity of their lives.
Albert relieved, but denied it; she was wounded.

Albert now set down to business, to become what he had to become.
To transform the whole world one must be strange to it.
One had to be ruthless if one was to open a new path.
The death of a child – one’s heart goes out –
Who cares about the opinion of the world anyway?
One has to keep one’s sights on the target.
And, besides, there would be other children.


Some things are better forgotten.
Some things are better covered over.
People do not want to understand, filled as they are with envy and small-mindedness.
Mileva, in deep sorrow, knew this and assented.
Or thought she assented.
Albert had been right.
He was always right.
That’s what it’s like being married to a genius.
But, over the years she began to feel him a murderer.
Over time she turned his two sons against him.

Albert never looked back, never pined, hardly voiced a tear.
He had willed all this, willed this wound.
Selfishly he had willed all this, surging as he thought heroically,
Beyond the accidental, into mortal fame, the most famous man in the world.

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Emanuel Paparella2016-03-18 10:15:23
Ah! Geniuses are demigods and are allowed to to what is forbidden to ordinary mortals. They have superior goals and ends which we do not understand or fathom and therefore they justify the means they employ to get to those goals. They are supermen beyond conventional ethics and we need ordinary mortals have to be tolerant of their enormities. Did Einstein think of himself thus, at least consciously? One wonders.

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