| Quote: | July 13, 1913. Zürich Hauptbahnhof (Zurich Main Rail Station), Switzerland.
There was a carefully placed rose in the Professor’s lapel that afternoon. It was there to serve as a prearranged signal to renowned physicist Max Planck and noted chemist Walther Nernst, both of whom had journeyed from Berlin to seek to persuade the rising star of physics to do the unthinkable: to return to his native Germany, the militaristic nation that the pacifist Jew had renounced and departed years earlier.
That morning, along with bidding his visitors to take a daytrip to the heights of Zurichberg or Uteliberg while he thought on the matter, the Professor had told them that he would meet them at the Hauptbahnhof upon their return. There, he would give them a whimsical, wordless signal of his intentions. A red rose would mean that he accepted their offer to return to Germany and become director of the Kaiser Wilhelm Institute for Physics; a white rose would mean that he had declined and would continue teaching at Zurich’s illustrious Eidgenössische Technische Hochschule.
The Professor was savvy enough to realize that he was not being recruited for his management abilities. For while he was recognized for his towering intellect, he was almost equally well-known—at least by his wife and close friends—for his terribly cluttered office, absent-mindedness, and unkempt person. In fact, it often seemed that he was disinterested and disorganized on all other fronts except physics. Ah, but there, in the invisible, theoretical world of particles and forces, his relentless, imaginative intelligence had no peer in its precision and prescience. And that was precisely what he was being recruited to do: to think. Along with the directorship, he would be immediately installed as a professor at the prestigious Friedrich Wilhelms Universität in Berlin, but would not be obligated to teach at all. Thus, he would finally be freed to ponder, peruse, and pursue the secrets of the universe at his leisure, all while his powerful academic gravity attracted other scientific luminaries to Berlin.
He had struggled mightily with the offer. In many ways, it seemed to be everything he wanted. Along with having virtually unlimited time to ruminate on the deep matters of the universe, he would have the fellowship and academic assistance of many of the most eminent scholars on the planet. Yet, in return, he would have to return to the domineering, aggressive Germany that he had once renounced—and had never once regretted renouncing. In fact, it was tacitly understood that, should he decide to accept the generous offer, he would be required to resume the German citizenship he had left behind (though he would be permitted to simultaneously retain his Swiss citizenship). This ran abrasive and coarse against the grain of his ego. Would he be returning in true triumph from his exile, a long-lost son now embraced by der Vaterland…or was he trading his ethical principles for the academic prestige, comforts, and opportunities of such an exalted position? Was it merely a public relations or diplomatic ploy on Germany’s part to recruit the finest minds in Europe? Or was it, flatteringly, an expression of new motives and direction for the country? Under the pressure of the matter, he simply could not be certain, could not make any logical headway of the situation.
As Planck and Nernst had whiled away the day enjoying the vistas of and from the mountains, the Professor was tortured, teetering on the razor’s edge of decision, his powerful brain making strong cases both for and against the offer that was before him. To return, heralded, to Berlin, the epicenter of scientific revolution, was the proverbial chance of a lifetime. To not go, however, was to get in an extremely well-placed blow against the nation that had so disillusioned him. Standing before the flower vendor’s cart in the Hauptbahnhof, pondering the matter, yet unable to obtain any satisfactory solution from his powerful intellect, it had finally come down to numbers. And roses.
He had counted 39 white roses; 34 red ones. Added together, that came to 73. A prime number. But that meant nothing. If he subtracted the smaller set of roses from the larger, it came to five—yet another prime number. Still nothing. He also multiplied and divided the numbers in different arrangements, attempting to divine some numerological clue, some sign, as to which way to go. He considered allowing each rose to cast its vote, which would mean that white would carry the day, and he would not return to Germany. All of mankind, even geniuses, in the absence of direction, will grasp at such things, searching for a sign.
The turmoil within him was growing unbearable, for it was now time for Planck and Nernst to return. They would be expecting his response. He could have consulted with his wife, but their relationship had not been sound for years. So now, having come up with the playful, creative, and somewhat condescending, rose-in-the-lapel signal, he was out of time. If he did not decide quickly, he would be embarrassed by his inability to complete the melodramatic charade he had created, having nothing to show the eminent scientists that would be awaiting his colorful decision. Could it all be so simple as letting each rose count as a vote?
It was a moment later when he realized that the answer had been before him the whole time. He was 34-years-old. There were 34 red roses. The way forward was now clear. The Professor would go to Berlin. Of course, he would never reveal to Planck and Nernst that his decision had hinged on such a seemingly trivial and coincidental point. In fact, the factors that guided his decision would soon be forgotten, crowded out by much more profound thoughts.
And so it was, eight years after accepting the offer to return to Germany, he was awarded the Nobel Prize for Physics. For all his brilliance, it never occurred to him that had he not counted those 34 roses and then made the providential connection to his age, he almost certainly would never have received the Nobel Prize.
Nor would there have eventually arisen any serious discussion of time travel.
It had all come down to 34 red roses.
Almost.
For there had actually been 37 red roses. Albert Einstein, ever precise in his calculations, had overlooked three of the roses on display. Somehow, he had not seen them at all. |
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Hon. Dr. in Acts-celeratology
Posts: 6042
12/23/15 1:21 pm
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Rough draft of a section from novel
