Vienna Secrets by Frank Tallis Read Free Book Online

the parallax.”
    My incomprehension must have been obvious, because she immediately invited me to participate in an instructive scientific exercise. “Hold your finger a few inches away from your nose. Then look at it first with the left eye, closing the right, and then the right eye, closing the left.” My finger appeared to jump to the left. “Now repeat the procedure, but this time hold your finger at arm’s length. Notice that there is still movement, but not so much. The smaller the parallax, the farther the object.
    Apparently, by using this simple principle as applied to the apparent movement of stars, Bessel was able to determine the distance from Earth of 61 Cygni, which proved to be much farther away than anyone had previously expected. “Sixty-four trillion miles,” said Miss Lydgate (she has a remarkable memory for numbers). In Miss Lydgate’s estimation, Bessel’s accomplishment ranked among the greatest in all of science.
    “Against the backdrop of the universe, our great globe is but an insignificant speck.” She looked at me with characteristic intensity. Her eyes captured and condensed the blue fire of the gas jets: whereas others might have been disturbed by the size of the universe, and conversely human insignificance, Miss Lydgate seemed—how should I put this?—quietly satisfied. The terrifying enormity of the universe was humbling, and therefore its contemplation was virtuous.
    But what am I to make of all this? I can no longer consider our frequent engagement in conversations of this kind entirely innocent. They have become a substitute for natural, physical intimacy. We talk—but dare not touch. Our erotic instincts have become frozen in an arctic waste of cerebration. Do I flatter myself? Does she really desire me, as I desire her? And why has this conversation about the great size of the universe stayed with me? We spoke of many things, but it is this conversation that I now recall most vividly. Was she trying to say something to me? Was there hidden meaning in all this discussion of meteorites and stars? Unconscious encouragement? “Given the vastness of the universe, must we be so respectful of social observances? Does any of it really matter?” Was it a disguised appeal? Or is this just wishful thinking on my part? Am I reading too much into what was nothing more than innocent erudition?
    I am reminded of young Oppenheim. We were discussing Freud’s dream book in Café Landtmann, and Oppenheim said that he thought it shouldn’t have been called “The Interpretation of Dreams,” but rather “The Over-Interpretation of Dreams.” Sacrilege, but he has a point, and I had to laugh. What am I to do? It is all so very complicated. Yet there is more to my inaction than a fear of embarrassment or rejection. She is sensitive and fragile. I know that—perhaps better than anybody. Human actions do not have cosmic repercussions. Our pathetic little dramas unfold—great rocks fly through the heavens, and planets wheel around the sun. All true. But disparities of scale—however large—do not justify recklessness. Besides, who is to say that the stately progress of stars is any more

7
    T HERE WAS A KNOCK on the door. Liebermann stopped writing, closed his journal, and placed it in his desk drawer.
    “Come in,” he called out.
    The door opened slowly, and a nurse stepped into his office. He had seen her before but they had never spoken. She seemed rather agitated.
    “Yes?” said Liebermann.
    “My name is Magdalena Heuber. I am a nurse on Professor Friedländer’s ward.” She gestured down the corridor. “Would you please come and examine one of our patients? He is very ill.”
    “Where is Professor Friedländer?” asked Liebermann.
    “He has gone home,” said Nurse Heuber.
    Liebermann glanced at the clock and saw that it was getting late. He had been so absorbed in his journal that he had lost track of time.
    “What about Professor Friedländer’s sekundararzt— Dr.