The Goddess of Small Victories (31 page)

The men were gone a long time. I creased and uncreased the paper between my hands. I was afraid that, on the grounds of logical exactitude, Kurt would overstep the boundaries. The other applicants were conversing around me in languages not totally unfamiliar: a little Italian, some Polish, a brand of Spanish. I smiled at the pending citizens of my new country. What had they fled? What had they left behind to find themselves, gussied up, in this drafty hallway?

The door finally opened. Three men in high spirits emerged, the last of them clearly relieved. Herr Einstein grabbed my elbow before I could ask about their hilarity.

“Quickly, let us quit this temple of the law for one of gastronomy! By gosh, I am hungry!”

As we waited for the elevator, a man came up and asked for his autograph. It was unusual to go anywhere with Albert and not be interrupted in this way. He submitted with good grace to the request, at the same time letting the stranger know that he had other things to do.

“It must be terrible to be hounded like that by so many people.”

“It is a last vestige of cannibalism, dear Oskar. In the old days, people wanted your blood, now it’s your ink. Let’s go, before someone asks me for my shirt!”

In the privacy of the elevator, I rearranged Einstein’s hair with my gloved hand.

“I’ve always wanted to do that.”

“Adele Gödel, I could have you arrested for indecent behavior.”

“It would be my first infraction as a citizen, Professor!”

On the drive home, the atmosphere was more relaxed. Even Kurt was smiling.

“What exactly happened in that office?”

“Just as we expected, your husband lost no time in putting his foot in his mouth.”

The judge had started by asking Kurt where he was from. Thinking it might be a trap, Kurt had said “Austria” with a rising is-that-right? inflection. The judge had then questioned him about Austria’s form of government. Kurt explained what he believed to be true, namely, that our republic had morphed into a dictatorship because of a deficient constitution. Forman had breezily replied, “That’s terrible, but it could never happen in this country.” My naïve spouse had contradicted him without an ounce of malice: “Oh yes, it could! And I’ll prove it!” His love of proofs was boundless. To be fair, the judge had inadvertently asked him the most dangerous question he could possibly have picked. Kurt could imagine no way to answer it without being entirely truthful. Einstein and Morgenstern were horrified, but Forman had the intelligence not to enter into debate. Kurt’s two colleagues swore on their honor that Mr. Gödel was a man of great value to the nation and a good citizen with a profound respect for the laws. And so we spent the rest of the trip laughing, looking for something that Kurt might transgress at least once in his life other than mathematical assumptions.

When we arrived at the corner of Mercer Street, Morgenstern asked Einstein whether he should drop him off at home or at the Institute. Albert mumbled that he didn’t care. Unused to seeing him morose, I grew worried. His face was tightly drawn, and he had hardly teased Kurt at all during the trip.

“Do you feel all right, Professor?”

“A little too much politics, perhaps?”

“That must be it, dear Oskar. And not enough physics. Being a pacifist is an uphill battle. And a battle you take no part in. The bitter lessons of the past constantly need to be relearned.”

“I prefer to look to the future.”

“I have lived through two major wars. I am worn out with the prospect of another one. I don’t know what the third world war will resemble, but I am certain that there will not be many people around to see the fourth.”

He got out of the car and knocked on the rear window.

“Hearty congratulations on your next-to-last exam.”

“Is there another one?”

“The last one is when you jump into the grave, Gödel.”

He disappeared into the little white house without pausing to say goodbye.

“What did he mean by that?”

“It was just a joke, Kurt!”

“I have never seen him so depressed.”

“He squanders much too much time on that committee.
²⁵
I respect his pacifism, but the Pandora’s box has been opened once and for all. The Russians won’t be bound by scruples. It’s in America’s interest to have a bigger nuclear deterrent.”

“Oskar! The war is over. Let’s not go back to living in terror.”

“We must find the
balance
of terror.”

“You’re too pessimistic.”

“I’m a realist, my friend. You should analyze the changes in the structure of history. The balance of powers has shifted.”

“I consider the current escalation in our arming against Russia and our political aggression toward it to be a terrible idea.”

“It’s the Soviet Union, Gödel! The Soviets! Make the best of your quiet circumstances and get back to work. None of this will concern you, or hardly at all.”

“
Mein Gott!
Where did you get that dishrag?” Anna turned in place to show herself off. The night before, back from her little outing to the movies with Adele, she had collapsed on her bed fully dressed. She had woken up to find her muscles sore, but she was glad to reconnect with the feeling of physical fatigue. She had even decided to go on a tentative jog that afternoon. After a scalding shower, a cup of strong coffee, and two Alka-Seltzers, she had slipped on an old Princeton sweat suit whose tiger logo was starting to fade. She couldn’t remember which casual fiancé had left it in her closet. Certainly not William: after Anna left, he had inventoried her belongings meticulously and deposited three suitcases at her father’s house.

“It almost makes me miss your usual getup. There is a distinction between understatement and scruffiness. Your mother, for all her serious-mindedness, must at least have taught you that.”

The young woman fingered the sleeve of her shapeless outer garment. She hadn’t been entirely honest with Adele.

“My mother is always impeccably turned out. I didn’t inherit her elegance. She has often reproached me for it.”

Mrs. Gödel didn’t comment on the conflicting information. Maybe after their little escapade she was ready to forgive Anna for her earlier mistruths.

“I know that kind of woman. They don’t allow themselves to improvise.”

Rachel hadn’t left much room for tender feelings either. Adele was sharp enough to understand the fact without Anna having to reopen all the old files. She was starting to appreciate the older woman’s sober empathy.

“I was never very elegant either. I lacked the veneer of the middle class. That conversance with table settings, chitchat, all of that …”

“But you look so pulled together in the photographs.”

“It’s the aura of the past that has fooled you, sweetheart. We never had much money. I would make do with fabric remnants. I salvaged buttons. A pretty hat would make the whole thing work. I find it such a shame that women don’t wear hats anymore.”

“Elegance isn’t a question of money.”

“No, of self-assurance. And education gives you that. Mine wasn’t good enough for the Princeton tea parties.”

“In scientific circles, it isn’t a priority.”

“True enough, that hamper full of dirty laundry! Albert always looked as though he’d slept in his clothes. Not my Kurt. I put in a few hours, I can tell you, ironing his shirts. Even at his worst moments, he was immaculately dressed. I saw to it. The word ‘elegant’ was very important to him, in many areas.”

“I attended a conference on ‘mathematical elegance.’ ”

“You don’t take your eye off the ball, do you?”

Adele scratched the back of her head. For a moment Anna thought she was just going to announce her lack of interest in the subject, but the elderly woman surprised her.

“Mathematical elegance. An idea impenetrable to the majority of us mortals.”

“I thought I glimpsed some relation to clarity. Like Occam’s razor, the idea that the simplest explanation is always the best.”

“It goes beyond simplicity. Otherwise the idea would fail in humility toward the complexity of the world. My husband perceived and looked for a kind of beauty that I couldn’t see. He expended considerable energy constructing proofs where everything had to be shown beyond what was reasonable. His friends laughed over it sometimes, his colleagues lectured him on it. He was always late with his publications. He would write annotations to his annotations. He was afraid of being poorly understood, or thought mad. Which, in the end, is what happened!”

“Why not give his documents to me, in that case? We’ll pay homage to his work. You trust me now. You know that I’m not trying to manipulate you.”

“I’ll think about it.”

Anna smiled at her. Now she had the user’s manual.

“Show a little elegance, Adele!”

“I have a different idea of moral elegance.”

“Taking our cue from Occam, you no longer have the papers because you destroyed them.”

“
Falsch!
I just don’t want to give them to you.”

The old woman stretched and made her knuckles crack. The sound irritated Anna, but she wouldn’t be distracted. The occasion might not present itself again.

“Wouldn’t you like to leave some personal memories with the public?”

Mrs. Gödel looked at her unblinkingly. Nothing obliged her to confess. Adele would not leave behind the bile of her in-laws for posterity to feed on. She had earned the right to be resentful.

“My husband’s failings are public knowledge. I’m not afraid of any posthumous humiliation. Now stop nagging me!”

“And what about the famous ontological proof? My research tells me that it circulated around Princeton but was never published. What is the truth of that?”

“
Ach!
So now it comes. Did Kurt Gödel prove the existence of God? I wondered how many days it would take you to get there. My approaching death has titillated you under the wimple, Fräulein Maria.”

“Do you believe in God, Adele?”

“I believe in the holy. And you?”

The young woman saw Leonard Cohen’s words flash past the edges of her mind: “Your faith was strong but you needed proof.” She had no real answer. Her parents had gone in for a fashionable atheism, supported by the triumphant materialism of their childhoods. Her grandmother, though never particularly observant, had felt a respect for religion. Anna liked those grave and joyous moments, especially Sukkoth, the Feast of Tabernacles. Josepha would make a colorful sukkah by hanging scarves and sheets right in the middle of the living room. The little girl was allowed to decorate as she wanted, picking through the well-stocked trunks in the attic. What connection all this had to God troubled her very little. Rachel would wrap up her metaphysics for small minds with the banal pronouncement: “After death, one’s atoms are returned to the great cycle.” Anna had then asked why she had to be reborn as a tree or a lamppost. Why shouldn’t she come back as herself, while she was at it? Rachel had immediately reported this adorably naïve remark to her husband, who simply deflected the question: “I don’t know, Anna. What do you think?” She didn’t think anything. From her little vantage point, the world seemed incomprehensible enough without her
parents adding another layer of uncertainty. She had grown up avoiding the question; adulthood would corral her toward conviction. Since not all questions have an answer.

“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?”