The Mammoth Book of Alternate Histories (69 page)

* * * *

Time flew faster than we cared for. Franz-Ferdinand rushed into force the Laws of July, and Albert left for Paris. He was heeding President Pergaud’s call (only the French could elect a writer to be their Head of State) and was appointed to the chair of the recently deceased Madame Curie. I had no chance to see him again before his departure.

As for me, I tried my best to hold on despite the July Laws. Since I was Jewish, I must yield my chair of modern history to a Hungarian. From now on, only non-Jewish Austrians, Magyars and Czechs had the right to teach at the university. Nevertheless I tried to get as much joy as I could from my new job as history teacher in high school.

After the Laws of July, came the decrees of May 1936. While the socialist revolution triumphed in France, with the French granting equality to the inhabitants of their far-flung colonies, and making Dakar the second capital of their nation, the Austro-Hungarian Empire was making its subjects increasingly unequal. Like many others, I had to bow to a total ban on Jews teaching anywhere, and be satisfied with a post as a clerk in the city archives. Many of my old colleagues preferred exile, but I was too fond of Emma and her parents to go to such an extreme. In 1939, we even lost the right to be public officials and I needed to live from hand to mouth while putting up with harassment from groups of self-styled “Young Aryans”.

It was at this point that the Network contacted me.

I’d been aware of the existence of a mutual aid association for the victims of persecution, but I’d preferred to keep my distance. For one thing, such an association might be used as an excuse to validate some of the accusations that the powers-that-be made against us. Nevertheless, I agreed to join, if only in the hope that they might be able to help me leave the country if things turned really nasty.

About then, I received a letter from Albert, asking me to join him in Paris. The departure of many professors for the new universities set up in Africa or Indochina had resulted in vacancies, which meant interesting teaching opportunities for me in France. Albert also asked me to fetch him some papers he’d left at the university, which would be languishing in a cupboard.

This brought home to me how much things had changed for us Jewish people. I’d never really thought of myself as Jewish until I lost my right to teach. What’s more, I was encumbered with an internal passport bearing a huge, reddish stamp which I had to show at almost every street corner; not to mention being obliged to wear a yellow star since 1938. In fact I couldn’t even enter certain premises, as I found when I went to the university for Albert’s papers. I think it was only that day when I became fully conscious, after a long time in the doldrums, of the extent of my humiliation and decided that I
had
to do something to stop this government from destroying us all. How well I recall the gate I’d gone through so many times in the past, and the policeman, belonging to the Party, disdainfully handing my passport back, barring my way, and advising me to make myself scarce before a gang of Young Aryans spotted me. It was true enough that former Jewish professors and civil servants were often beaten up or jeered at in the streets before the indifferent gaze of passers-by. And of course when the imperial police turned up, they merely dispersed the aggressors but never arrested any of them.

That very evening I decided to visit Rolf and Gertrud Oppenheim. They’d been good colleagues, almost friends, though I hadn’t seen them since my expulsion. They admired Albert and certainly wouldn’t refuse to help him.

They were still at the same place, a smart apartment in Franz-Josef Strasse. Outside their door my worn-out clothes, so often mended, and my old shoes made me ashamed. Of a sudden I imagined myself to be giving off the same tramp-like odour of misery and filth as had disgusted me in the past.

I rang the bell. A servant girl whom I didn’t know opened the door. From within came the chatter of voices and then familiar music: one of those wonderful Schubert lieder. Evidently they were holding a reception, so I’d arrived at a bad moment. The servant girl took my card disgustedly, wrinkling her nose. “I’d be surprised if my master ...”

But her master did come. Rolf had changed. He seemed older and fatter than since I quit the university. I too had altered for sure in the twenty years since that wonderful 1916 when both of us had journeyed across half of Europe from one railway to another!

Rolf seemed distinctly unthrilled to see me. He forced a meagre smile and darted an anxious glance along the hallway before letting me in. He didn’t take me to the music room but to a closet where he would deal with tradesmen. Briefly I explained the help I needed; his features creased even as I spoke. Peals of laughter resounded; I thought I heard Gertrud’s voice.

Rolf sighed. “No, Otto, I can’t. Truly I can’t.” Just at that moment I noticed his Party badge, half-hidden by the handkerchief in his breast pocket.

“I understand,” I said disappointedly. “How’s Gertrud?”

“She’s fine, thanks, and very busy with our guests.”

Without asking after my own family or offering any other courtesy, he gripped me by the elbow and steered me to the door, which he shut smartly behind me.

I felt like vomiting.

* * * *

I could have given up and told Albert that his papers had gone missing; but, I’m not sure why, it seemed vital to persevere. I tried to get help from two other colleagues, one of whom refused, wringing his hands and looking scared sick, while the other threw me out on the street before I even got a chance to explain the aim of my visit.

So I turned to the Network - whose first reaction was lukewarm. Albert’s reputation was wobbly, and as for me, I’d only just joined them. They did appreciate that Albert hadn’t lent support to the new regime, and wouldn’t have dreamed of doing so, but at the same time they were scathing about him being so bound up in his research rather than taking an active stand against the political developments which the Emperor was condoning.

I first mentioned the matter of Albert’s papers at a meeting following Hitler’s speech in Salzburg, where he made his intentions crystal clear: to rid the Austro-Hungarian Empire of all resident Jews and restrict the Slavs to menial occupations. “It goes without saying,” he’d thundered, “that Aryans aren’t savages,” and he’d specified that he personally would oversee the emigration of the Jews with full respect for rights and justice and especially “with no violence”. As if exile from one’s homeland wasn’t the worst sort of violence.

Isaac Levinsky, the co-ordinator for our sector, adopted a defensive stance and my request was rejected. But as I was heading away from the meeting, I heard the quick patter of footsteps behind me. A young woman, whom I’d noticed earlier, though barely so, was trying to catch up. I stopped to wait for her.

“What are those papers you want to recover for Mr Einstein? You seem to think they’re very important for our cause.” She was short of breath and hadn’t even bothered to introduce herself. Once I pointed this out, she said, “Pardon me. I’m Countess Ester Egerhazy.”

“Are you Jewish?”

“Does one have to be Jewish to fight injustice?”

I couldn’t help but smile at this reply, which seemed a bit theatrical. She smiled too. What a superb woman this Ester was: in her thirties, with skin like milk, big almond eyes underlined with a touch of make-up, hair black as jet tied back in a bun on the nape of her neck, revealing single-pearl earrings dimpling her lobes.

“I can help you.”

“I beg your pardon?” For a moment I’d forgotten all about my quest, but her offer yanked me back firmly to reality. What a sad contrast between this elegant, perfumed young aristocrat and the filthy vagabond I’d become.

“I can help you,” she said again. “I attended your final course.”

“At high school, you mean?”

“No, at the university. I’m older than I look. I can always get into places. If you’ll tell me exactly what you’re looking for, I can get it and give it to you.”

I felt hesitant. The imperial secret police were well known for their efficiency. There was a high chance that Ester was one of their agents, now on a mission to gull me into revealing what sort of papers Albert was so keen to get back. What the hell. I’d have given anything for the chance of another tête-à-tête with Ester. So I described precisely what the papers were and where they ought to be.

A week went by. Anxiety and impatience gnawed at me. Emma willingly believed this was only due to the mission with which Albert had entrusted me.

On the appointed day, Ester was there. Discreetly she slipped me a package neatly wrapped in brown paper, and we strolled along together.

“Are you going to meet Mr Einstein?” she asked innocently, and I failed to answer yes because I remembered of a sudden that my trip ought to be kept secret.

“No, no,” I mumbled, “I’ll just have this sent to him.”

“Maybe I might dare suggest. . . ?”

“Suggest what?”

“No, never mind. I was merely thinking that my husband has just been appointed Second Secretary at the Imperial Embassy in Paris. I could take charge of... “

“Thanks so much, but that’s too much trouble to go to.”

I’d hated her mentioning her husband. But equally, it came to me that I’d have a chance to see her again in France. I’d heard that President Pergaud loved to hold big receptions with a mixed guest list of intellectuals, diplomats, artists and politicians ... I took Ester’s hand and was about to kiss her fingers, but she stopped me and instead she hugged me and kissed me swiftly on both cheeks.

She blushed in embarrassment. “I really loved your style of teaching...”

Then she turned on her heel and vanished away into the night.

* * * *

Two months later, I reached Paris at last, for mine had been a tough journey. If I’d left Austria officially, no one would have hindered me; I’d even have been given an emigration allowance so long as I gave up forever the right to return. I wasn’t prepared to do so.

Some nights, while I was shivering in the mountains, I imagined high in the sky the huge airships which could make the journey in a couple of days, airships such as Ester and her husband must have taken. Sometimes I heard trains rumbling through the night.

That was just a nasty memory by now. I was safe, enjoying the comfort of the sofa in the lounge of the posh apartment on the Avenue du Maine where Albert lived with his family. While the maid served me a glass of port, Albert hastened to check the contents of the package which I’d had with me all that while.

“What’s in there has something to do with the clock experiment, right? One of the clocks sent into the future ...”

“Ah, you haven’t forgotten... So many things have happened in the meantime ...”

Of course I knew what was in those papers. I wasn’t so daft as to transport that package halfway across Europe without the least idea what this was all about. I must admit that, apart from some pages referring to the experiment carried out on 6 February 1934, I couldn’t understand much - except that this surely wasn’t a hoax, and that Albert was one of the most brilliant minds in human history, so therefore there was a chance that travel through time was possible. I waited until the maid had left the room before asking what I was dying to know:

“Albert? Time travel? Do you believe it can happen?”

“Of course, since I sent this clock into the future, even if like everyone else that day you thought I was
cinglé.”

Albert had said the word for crazy in French. He seemed to have mastered the language marvelously. Now that he’d obtained French citizenship and been admitted to the Academy of Sciences, I wondered if one day he’d be a member of the Légion d’honneur. But that wasn’t my main concern.

“And the
past
, Albert, do you think it’s possible to travel back into the past too . . . and return?”

“In theory, that’s no great problem. But in practical terms...”

My heart skipped a beat.