The Einstein Papers Read Free Page A

with a paper sack, its top folded over and fastened with a wooden clothespin. “My wife made you lunch, in case you get hungry.”
    Einstein, always somewhat embarrassed by the attention he generated, thanked the man humbly. “You’re too good to me, Ernie,” he said slowly. “Please be sure to thank Katherine for me.”
    “What time should we expect you back?” Hartley asked as he handed the sack to Einstein.
    “Time is but a concept, my good friend,” Einstein said. “But since you asked, the latest should be an hour or two before sundown.”
    With a motion from Hartley, Scaramelli cast off the last of the lines holding the sloop in place. The boat was now free of the dock and Hartley carefully shoved the bow from the dock with his foot. The wind began to carry the vessel to sea. With a slight wave of his hand, Einstein steered toward the open water, a single sail raised to the wind.
    Hartley reached in his pocket and removed a pack of Lucky Strikes. He lit one and puffed. Then he and Scaramelli stood watching from the dock until the small boat was safely past the breakwaters and in open water. When only a small white speck of sail remained silhouetted against the horizon the two men walked back inside.
     
    Three-fourths of a mile east and three miles south of Hartley’s Marina the dark green water of the Atlantic Ocean relentlessly surged toward land. On the tops of the waves a thin curl of white broke into foam as the seawater slid from its peak and rushed toward land. The troughs between the waves were wide and even spaced. The smell of salt and seaweed hung thickly in the air, as if the winds were being misted by a natural perfume. The sun this morning was bright yellow and radiating heat. It hung above the horizon at one-third of its daily arc. Thin clouds overhead moved on the breeze, racing seaward away from land.
    Einstein reveled in a silence broken only by the noise of the wind whipping against the fabric of the sails. The salt spray blown back from the bow as it dipped into the troughs between the waves quickly buffeted his flowing hair until it was a tangled white mess. Breathing deeply of the salty air, Einstein allowed himself a small chuckle of delight. He hooked a rope to the wheel, then tied it to a cleat on the gunwale to make a crude autopilot so that he could go forward to raise another sail. Back at the helm, he unhooked the rope, then steered farther south along the coast of New Jersey, keeping the sailboat just in sight of land.
    It wasn’t that Einstein was afraid of the deeper water, he wasn’t. It was just that the seabirds stayed closer to shore. He loved to watch the birds as they swooped and dived at the sea, in a spontaneous ballet of water and air. He stared off the port bow as a hawk dived to the water, retreating with a small fish in its beak.
    Standing at the wheel, he waved his hand at the bird as if to signal hello.
    Throughout his life, Einstein had always been a deeply religious man. In a magazine interview, he was quoted as saying that he believed all his best ideas came from God. His religious side also made him cherish the natural world surrounding him. Perhaps more than others he understood the complicated powers at work on the planet. Certainly he appreciated them more than most.
    He was a simple man bound to complex thoughts.
    Continuing along the coastline, he daydreamed back to a time several years ago. On a day of sailing much like this, a huge blue whale had breached off his sailboat’s starboard bow. Running forward to drop the sails, he had waited patiently until the whale breached again, directly alongside his vessel. To this day he could still recall the intense feelings that had washed over him as he gazed into the huge whale’s eyes. Einstein clearly remembered that he had seen in the eyes of the whale a great intelligence, wisdom, and knowledge. The experience had filled him with deep emotion.
    Warmed by the sun and tickled by a pleasant breeze, the