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Fiction

Frau Röntgen’s Hand

By Zsófia Bán
Translated from Hungarian by Jim Tucker
Hungarian writer Zsófia Bán rewrites the history of the X-ray in this short story that zeroes in on the domestic cost of Wilhelm Conrad Röntgen’s journey toward discovery.
Listen to Zsófia Bán read "Frau Röntgen's Hand" in the original Hungarian​
 
 
·

Anna Bertha!, cried Wilhelm.

Anna Bertha!

No answer.

Oh God. The woman has vaporized. So thought Wilhelm bitterly. She does not obey the laws of physics. And the laws of physics, c’est moi. Ich.

The laws of physics obey me.

(Sit!)

But Anna Bertha refuses to obey. When I look at her, her image slowly fades, then disappears. If I take hold of her, the flesh, the bone, all slip from my hands and evaporate. Whoosh. Anna Bertha—now you see her, now you don’t.

That would be my wife, my better half—fifty percent of me, in other words. I have no idea what fifty percent of me does for most of the day, or even where to find it. Is this not negligence? Am I not irresponsible? It eludes my attention like a slippery-scaled fish. Anna Bertha’s body is not slippery. Anna Bertha’s body is . . . well, let’s see. What, exactly? Anna Bertha’s body exists independently of me, lives its own life, observes, touches, holds, reads, eats, and licks the corner of its mouth, though the tongue darts out for a mere instant, like a lizard sucking in a bug, then vanishes back into that soft, moist, dark mouth that manages so to stick to a non-negligible area of my body (let’s say 98.9%) that it refutes all the laws of physics, and then my body knows no gravity, and in fact ceases to be altogether. Then I find myself floating in the universe without any boundaries at all, as if suspended in some thin liquid, all of me suddenly fluid, mingling without regard to contours or borders. Then this unified cosmic suspension suddenly yields to some primal seismic undulation, a slow, building, approaching swell, hurling down a vast mass whose substance, scope, and size I cannot fathom. Once its Herculean mass towers over me like a monstrous flood and shakes my every fiber, a big bang splitting me into my constituent elements and—still defying the laws of physics—I split apart and off into space, yet all the while, there is someone nearby, still in one piece, witness to it all. It is akin to experiencing my own death, a thing otherwise granted to no one, the sole experience that is ours alone, yet not part of our lives, ours though we cannot possess it, ours though always the property of someone else, the one who observes it, knows it, tells it, writes it down, who registers it, files it away.

And yet.

Despite the sense of annihilation that Anna Bertha imparts with her soft, slick mouth and sticky, burning fingers something that is mine, so deeply mine, indeed mine beyond all measure, I must be on guard lest she suck me in and digest me into nothingness, which would be the end of any thinking on my part—now my every sinew is focused on when this something will all happen again, and again, and again, until the end of time, because next to this all else is nothing but a cooled, petrified, sooty lava flow that kills and buries all living things—and that is the end of science, nay, the end of all worldly knowledge, and Wilhelm, I said one morning to myself, since after, oh, I don’t know, hours of contemplation, I managed to somehow gather up and reconstitute all of my parts, now scattered all over the room, Wilhelm, you can’t afford to do that because you have taken an oath to science that no oath to any woman can annul.

It was on that cool October morning that I decided—without retracting the oath I had made to my woman—to do everything in my power to keep that feeling at bay in the future, but at that same moment I also realized that this would mean keeping Anna Bertha away, that we would be living together, yes, yet still somehow apart, in separate worlds, and if this meant that I would never have an heir, then so be it, because if I allowed this overwhelming radiation emanating from her to sweep me off, then I would be the master neither of myself nor of my wife, and would be expelled by the scientific community, left to scratch at the gate then slammed shut with a thud, like some dog tossed out on the street, forever bearing the stigma of the disparaging gaze of Professor Zehnder and his posse, meaning I would have no way to support my family, my wife, and myself, and must die sick and alone, nameless, penniless, without ever discovering the secret of this mysterious emission that moves from one body to the next before any touch, the secret nature of this penetrating, permeating force, or gaze rather, before which I stand like one whose flesh has been flayed from his body, my skeleton laid bare, shifting from one leg to another in the chill. This is it, this not-knowing is what truly rends me asunder, humiliating and destroying me, because wherever this radiation shows its power there must be some physical explanation for it that I have, alas, been thus far unable to divine, though we have been married twenty-two years and I have kept my distance (in the hope of an uncluttered perspective) for at least fifteen of those, but all the same it saddens me to say that any explanation of this radiation, or of its nature, has remained an X to me, that is, an unknown.

Now I must speak to her at once, conjure her up, even from below ground if necessary because—and I say this with great hesitation—our shared project of separation may finally have borne fruit: I have lately become aware of something in the laboratory, a sort of fluorescent presence appearing at the emission of cathode rays, leaving its image on a piece of cardboard, and then once, when I tried to capture it with any number of materials, to cage the rays as it were—O here do not forsake me, sweet Lord!—I think I recognized my own glowing skeleton in the projected image, though for the time being I shall keep mum about it, since if it proves to be nothing but my imagination playing tricks on me, my scientific reputation will surely be destroyed, together with the general assumption that I am sound of mind. Given that the origin or nature of this ray, or radiation, is yet unknown to me, I have simply marked it in my notebook with an X. The instant I jotted down this X, my legs gave out under me, the blood drained from my head, and I daresay I lost consciousness for a few minutes. I had discovered something that I can never describe in any scientific journal, indeed never so much as put on paper or discuss, without losing whatever remaining professional status I yet enjoy, given that the source of this X, this unknown radiation, is likely Anna Bertha herself, who over the years and by dint of assiduous effort has worked her way through the walls of the countless rooms of which our residence, hardly to be considered modest, consists, from the bedroom to the bath, from there to the salon, the guest rooms, the library, the music room, the kitchen, the laundry, the servants’ quarters, and then to the pantry, finally penetrating the furthest corner of the building, where I had set up my home laboratory and where, when I first became aware of this unknown ray in the earliest days of November of this year 1895, I shut myself up for weeks, and where Anna Bertha, as expected, eventually found me.

She must have sniffed out my trail, if she had had any use for her nose, since it seems that she used this radiation (X), from which I had spent the earliest years of our marriage seeking refuge, and the thought of which gave me not a single day or night of peace, left with no choice but to wonder when it would happen again, when the event I simultaneously desired and feared because it was not of this world, or at least of the world marked out for me, where it makes my flesh decay and drop from my body leaving nothing but a clanking tumulus of bones, so it was this fatal radiation, beyond the merest doubt, that found me in the laboratory, which if I had wished to be faithful to reality I would have named the Anna Bertha Ray, but for this, anyone even tangentially part of the scientific community would have expected a great belly-laugh at me, and my name to be permanently expunged from the Great Ledger of Science. And so it continued to bear the name of X in my notebooks (since at least the capital letter would make it resemble a name), but I still knew that I must get to the bottom of this matter, at least for my own sake, and there was no other way to do this than to investigate the supposed source, and by this I mean Anna Bertha, and for this I really must be quick, as Christmas is here in two days, and I am not allowed to work over the holidays, so let us make haste, the holidays are upon us like a real, final death.

By now Wilhelm knew what he must do. He knew that if he were to irradiate some part of Anna Bertha’s body, getting a look into his wife, such crafty subterfuge might allow him to seize that unknown something that had held him captive for five years, incapacitating him from all work, the something that now, suddenly, seemed on the verge of crowning his scientific career, assuming he would ever dare to publish his findings. Anna Bertha!, cried Wilhelm.

Willi isn’t here. This was Anna Bertha’s thought upon waking on the unusually cold morning of December 22, 1895. This was not so much a thought as a feeling she got from the cool vapor leaving her skin, the barren patch of empty space at her side, and the stark bewilderment that had slipped through the sheets’ pores. It was this same feeling that had repeated itself practically every morning for the past fifteen years. And each morning, to somehow rouse her cool body to life, to gather, from somewhere, the strength to rise from her bed and begin another seemingly endless day among countless others like it, overfull with errands to be done in the real world, yet still ultimately empty beyond measure, and now, summoning all of her imaginative power to focus on the moment when Willi’s body last intertwined with hers, when they last awoke like a fresh-baked loaf of braided bread, like two snails stuck together or fatefully fused twins, when they had taken possession of each other’s body like one walking the grounds of his leafy woodland estate, where every last bud and blade comes to life under the other’s gaze, at the other’s touch the juices begin to flow, where the other’s breath conjures up oxygen and warmth, the steam of morning and the afternoon’s buzz, and where all this was once conjured up by the sheer force of her imagination, now her hand that had always worn—even at night—her engagement ring from Willi and her wedding ring, reached for her lap, and then, with a slow, circling motion on that spot, that world of the past that had perhaps never been, but which must have existed because otherwise she would have been long dead, as this contained the invisible seed of her reality, kept her alive, indeed you could say this was her life itself, and when the first waves of her solitary pleasure came as she recalled their shared delight, she cried out his name, first quietly, then ever louder, that he should return, for her life was nothing but a fluorescing presence that quickly flickered out, and then she felt a kind of force, magnetic you could say, radiating from within herself, which she was certain would sooner or later find its mark. And for precisely this reason, as well as to get herself out of bed, she repeated this every morning, and every morning absolutely nothing happened, and by the time Anna Bertha had made her way to the kitchen, the servants were scurrying about with eyes lowered, having heard Anna Bertha’s cries, and the only one not to hear them was Willi, for whom they were intended.

But then one day, as time passed, on the morning of December 22, 1895, two days before Christmas, as Anna Bertha’s final scream still resonated in the air, her attention was caught by a voice, first far off, then closer, louder, and once it was only a few rooms off, she seemed to recognize the voice as Willi’s, calling out Anna Bertha’s name, and then the very figure of Willi himself burst into the room and breathlessly requested Anna Bertha to dress and come with him to the laboratory, the place that had always been off limits to Anna Bertha, and then Anna Bertha realized that this radiation had indeed found its mark, had brought her what she wanted: drawn Willi to her, and now it was Willi who was about to lead her into a secret corner of his life never seen by her, and while Anna Bertha, her heart pounding, scurried into her clothes, she knew now that this Christmas would be very different from the others, and somehow even felt, though at a loss to explain it, this Christmas would be memorable, not just for her and Willi, but for the entire world, and so as they reached the laboratory, where Willi hurriedly directed her in and shut the door behind him, with a solemn expression, Anna Bertha was as animated as if Jesus himself were preparing to be reborn that Christmas, right there in their house in Würzburg, and certainly there was something of the incomparable sense of rebirth when Willy took Anna Bertha’s ringed hand saying, in a quavering voice, May I have your hand, which Anna Bertha took to mean in marriage and thus explained why he was squeezing it, adorned with the rings she had received from him, and then Willi placed her hand on some kind of plate, then messed about with his instruments, and then, pale as death itself, informed her that it was done. The picture was done.

What kind of picture, asked Anna Bertha, at which Willi showed Anna Bertha the first image created with X-Rays (actually Anna Bertha Rays), showing the skeletal outline of Anna Bertha’s hand, stripped of its flesh, but all the more highlighting the engagement and wedding rings that tied them, Willi and Anna Bertha, together.

An x-ray of a hand with a large bulge on the ring finger

Seeing the picture Anna Bertha cried out, I have seen my own death!, but even this did not concern her at the moment since Willy, his joy infinite, threw his arms about her, and his hot tobacco breath filled Anna Bertha with such happiness that she wouldn’t have minded if she had truly collapsed dead on the cold floor of the laboratory. Then Willi, sensing the familiar, suffocating effects of the Anna Bertha Ray, but before it had weakened him beyond all help, quickly grabbed a pen and in his flowing, spiral cursive, wrote across the top margin of the picture: Hand mit Ringen, 1895.

The rest is X.


“Frau Röntgen keze” © Zsófia Bán. By arrangement with the author. Translation © 2018 by Jim Tucker. All rights reserved.

English Hungarian (Original)

Anna Bertha!, cried Wilhelm.

Anna Bertha!

No answer.

Oh God. The woman has vaporized. So thought Wilhelm bitterly. She does not obey the laws of physics. And the laws of physics, c’est moi. Ich.

The laws of physics obey me.

(Sit!)

But Anna Bertha refuses to obey. When I look at her, her image slowly fades, then disappears. If I take hold of her, the flesh, the bone, all slip from my hands and evaporate. Whoosh. Anna Bertha—now you see her, now you don’t.

That would be my wife, my better half—fifty percent of me, in other words. I have no idea what fifty percent of me does for most of the day, or even where to find it. Is this not negligence? Am I not irresponsible? It eludes my attention like a slippery-scaled fish. Anna Bertha’s body is not slippery. Anna Bertha’s body is . . . well, let’s see. What, exactly? Anna Bertha’s body exists independently of me, lives its own life, observes, touches, holds, reads, eats, and licks the corner of its mouth, though the tongue darts out for a mere instant, like a lizard sucking in a bug, then vanishes back into that soft, moist, dark mouth that manages so to stick to a non-negligible area of my body (let’s say 98.9%) that it refutes all the laws of physics, and then my body knows no gravity, and in fact ceases to be altogether. Then I find myself floating in the universe without any boundaries at all, as if suspended in some thin liquid, all of me suddenly fluid, mingling without regard to contours or borders. Then this unified cosmic suspension suddenly yields to some primal seismic undulation, a slow, building, approaching swell, hurling down a vast mass whose substance, scope, and size I cannot fathom. Once its Herculean mass towers over me like a monstrous flood and shakes my every fiber, a big bang splitting me into my constituent elements and—still defying the laws of physics—I split apart and off into space, yet all the while, there is someone nearby, still in one piece, witness to it all. It is akin to experiencing my own death, a thing otherwise granted to no one, the sole experience that is ours alone, yet not part of our lives, ours though we cannot possess it, ours though always the property of someone else, the one who observes it, knows it, tells it, writes it down, who registers it, files it away.

And yet.

Despite the sense of annihilation that Anna Bertha imparts with her soft, slick mouth and sticky, burning fingers something that is mine, so deeply mine, indeed mine beyond all measure, I must be on guard lest she suck me in and digest me into nothingness, which would be the end of any thinking on my part—now my every sinew is focused on when this something will all happen again, and again, and again, until the end of time, because next to this all else is nothing but a cooled, petrified, sooty lava flow that kills and buries all living things—and that is the end of science, nay, the end of all worldly knowledge, and Wilhelm, I said one morning to myself, since after, oh, I don’t know, hours of contemplation, I managed to somehow gather up and reconstitute all of my parts, now scattered all over the room, Wilhelm, you can’t afford to do that because you have taken an oath to science that no oath to any woman can annul.

It was on that cool October morning that I decided—without retracting the oath I had made to my woman—to do everything in my power to keep that feeling at bay in the future, but at that same moment I also realized that this would mean keeping Anna Bertha away, that we would be living together, yes, yet still somehow apart, in separate worlds, and if this meant that I would never have an heir, then so be it, because if I allowed this overwhelming radiation emanating from her to sweep me off, then I would be the master neither of myself nor of my wife, and would be expelled by the scientific community, left to scratch at the gate then slammed shut with a thud, like some dog tossed out on the street, forever bearing the stigma of the disparaging gaze of Professor Zehnder and his posse, meaning I would have no way to support my family, my wife, and myself, and must die sick and alone, nameless, penniless, without ever discovering the secret of this mysterious emission that moves from one body to the next before any touch, the secret nature of this penetrating, permeating force, or gaze rather, before which I stand like one whose flesh has been flayed from his body, my skeleton laid bare, shifting from one leg to another in the chill. This is it, this not-knowing is what truly rends me asunder, humiliating and destroying me, because wherever this radiation shows its power there must be some physical explanation for it that I have, alas, been thus far unable to divine, though we have been married twenty-two years and I have kept my distance (in the hope of an uncluttered perspective) for at least fifteen of those, but all the same it saddens me to say that any explanation of this radiation, or of its nature, has remained an X to me, that is, an unknown.

Now I must speak to her at once, conjure her up, even from below ground if necessary because—and I say this with great hesitation—our shared project of separation may finally have borne fruit: I have lately become aware of something in the laboratory, a sort of fluorescent presence appearing at the emission of cathode rays, leaving its image on a piece of cardboard, and then once, when I tried to capture it with any number of materials, to cage the rays as it were—O here do not forsake me, sweet Lord!—I think I recognized my own glowing skeleton in the projected image, though for the time being I shall keep mum about it, since if it proves to be nothing but my imagination playing tricks on me, my scientific reputation will surely be destroyed, together with the general assumption that I am sound of mind. Given that the origin or nature of this ray, or radiation, is yet unknown to me, I have simply marked it in my notebook with an X. The instant I jotted down this X, my legs gave out under me, the blood drained from my head, and I daresay I lost consciousness for a few minutes. I had discovered something that I can never describe in any scientific journal, indeed never so much as put on paper or discuss, without losing whatever remaining professional status I yet enjoy, given that the source of this X, this unknown radiation, is likely Anna Bertha herself, who over the years and by dint of assiduous effort has worked her way through the walls of the countless rooms of which our residence, hardly to be considered modest, consists, from the bedroom to the bath, from there to the salon, the guest rooms, the library, the music room, the kitchen, the laundry, the servants’ quarters, and then to the pantry, finally penetrating the furthest corner of the building, where I had set up my home laboratory and where, when I first became aware of this unknown ray in the earliest days of November of this year 1895, I shut myself up for weeks, and where Anna Bertha, as expected, eventually found me.

She must have sniffed out my trail, if she had had any use for her nose, since it seems that she used this radiation (X), from which I had spent the earliest years of our marriage seeking refuge, and the thought of which gave me not a single day or night of peace, left with no choice but to wonder when it would happen again, when the event I simultaneously desired and feared because it was not of this world, or at least of the world marked out for me, where it makes my flesh decay and drop from my body leaving nothing but a clanking tumulus of bones, so it was this fatal radiation, beyond the merest doubt, that found me in the laboratory, which if I had wished to be faithful to reality I would have named the Anna Bertha Ray, but for this, anyone even tangentially part of the scientific community would have expected a great belly-laugh at me, and my name to be permanently expunged from the Great Ledger of Science. And so it continued to bear the name of X in my notebooks (since at least the capital letter would make it resemble a name), but I still knew that I must get to the bottom of this matter, at least for my own sake, and there was no other way to do this than to investigate the supposed source, and by this I mean Anna Bertha, and for this I really must be quick, as Christmas is here in two days, and I am not allowed to work over the holidays, so let us make haste, the holidays are upon us like a real, final death.

By now Wilhelm knew what he must do. He knew that if he were to irradiate some part of Anna Bertha’s body, getting a look into his wife, such crafty subterfuge might allow him to seize that unknown something that had held him captive for five years, incapacitating him from all work, the something that now, suddenly, seemed on the verge of crowning his scientific career, assuming he would ever dare to publish his findings. Anna Bertha!, cried Wilhelm.

Willi isn’t here. This was Anna Bertha’s thought upon waking on the unusually cold morning of December 22, 1895. This was not so much a thought as a feeling she got from the cool vapor leaving her skin, the barren patch of empty space at her side, and the stark bewilderment that had slipped through the sheets’ pores. It was this same feeling that had repeated itself practically every morning for the past fifteen years. And each morning, to somehow rouse her cool body to life, to gather, from somewhere, the strength to rise from her bed and begin another seemingly endless day among countless others like it, overfull with errands to be done in the real world, yet still ultimately empty beyond measure, and now, summoning all of her imaginative power to focus on the moment when Willi’s body last intertwined with hers, when they last awoke like a fresh-baked loaf of braided bread, like two snails stuck together or fatefully fused twins, when they had taken possession of each other’s body like one walking the grounds of his leafy woodland estate, where every last bud and blade comes to life under the other’s gaze, at the other’s touch the juices begin to flow, where the other’s breath conjures up oxygen and warmth, the steam of morning and the afternoon’s buzz, and where all this was once conjured up by the sheer force of her imagination, now her hand that had always worn—even at night—her engagement ring from Willi and her wedding ring, reached for her lap, and then, with a slow, circling motion on that spot, that world of the past that had perhaps never been, but which must have existed because otherwise she would have been long dead, as this contained the invisible seed of her reality, kept her alive, indeed you could say this was her life itself, and when the first waves of her solitary pleasure came as she recalled their shared delight, she cried out his name, first quietly, then ever louder, that he should return, for her life was nothing but a fluorescing presence that quickly flickered out, and then she felt a kind of force, magnetic you could say, radiating from within herself, which she was certain would sooner or later find its mark. And for precisely this reason, as well as to get herself out of bed, she repeated this every morning, and every morning absolutely nothing happened, and by the time Anna Bertha had made her way to the kitchen, the servants were scurrying about with eyes lowered, having heard Anna Bertha’s cries, and the only one not to hear them was Willi, for whom they were intended.

But then one day, as time passed, on the morning of December 22, 1895, two days before Christmas, as Anna Bertha’s final scream still resonated in the air, her attention was caught by a voice, first far off, then closer, louder, and once it was only a few rooms off, she seemed to recognize the voice as Willi’s, calling out Anna Bertha’s name, and then the very figure of Willi himself burst into the room and breathlessly requested Anna Bertha to dress and come with him to the laboratory, the place that had always been off limits to Anna Bertha, and then Anna Bertha realized that this radiation had indeed found its mark, had brought her what she wanted: drawn Willi to her, and now it was Willi who was about to lead her into a secret corner of his life never seen by her, and while Anna Bertha, her heart pounding, scurried into her clothes, she knew now that this Christmas would be very different from the others, and somehow even felt, though at a loss to explain it, this Christmas would be memorable, not just for her and Willi, but for the entire world, and so as they reached the laboratory, where Willi hurriedly directed her in and shut the door behind him, with a solemn expression, Anna Bertha was as animated as if Jesus himself were preparing to be reborn that Christmas, right there in their house in Würzburg, and certainly there was something of the incomparable sense of rebirth when Willy took Anna Bertha’s ringed hand saying, in a quavering voice, May I have your hand, which Anna Bertha took to mean in marriage and thus explained why he was squeezing it, adorned with the rings she had received from him, and then Willi placed her hand on some kind of plate, then messed about with his instruments, and then, pale as death itself, informed her that it was done. The picture was done.

What kind of picture, asked Anna Bertha, at which Willi showed Anna Bertha the first image created with X-Rays (actually Anna Bertha Rays), showing the skeletal outline of Anna Bertha’s hand, stripped of its flesh, but all the more highlighting the engagement and wedding rings that tied them, Willi and Anna Bertha, together.

An x-ray of a hand with a large bulge on the ring finger

Seeing the picture Anna Bertha cried out, I have seen my own death!, but even this did not concern her at the moment since Willy, his joy infinite, threw his arms about her, and his hot tobacco breath filled Anna Bertha with such happiness that she wouldn’t have minded if she had truly collapsed dead on the cold floor of the laboratory. Then Willi, sensing the familiar, suffocating effects of the Anna Bertha Ray, but before it had weakened him beyond all help, quickly grabbed a pen and in his flowing, spiral cursive, wrote across the top margin of the picture: Hand mit Ringen, 1895.

The rest is X.


“Frau Röntgen keze” © Zsófia Bán. By arrangement with the author. Translation © 2018 by Jim Tucker. All rights reserved.

Frau Röntgen keze

Anna Bertha!, kiabált Wilhelm.

Anna Bertha!

Nincs válasz.

Istenem. Ez a nő nincs sehol.

Ez a nő nincs.

Ezt gondolta keserűen Wilhelm. Nem engedelmes­kedik a fizika törvényeinek. A fizika törvényei pedig én vagyok. Ich.

A fizika törvényei nekem engedelmeskednek.

(„Ül!”)

Minden más, logika, rendszer, szabályok igen, csak Anna Bertha, ő nem engedelmeskedik nekem. Ha csak rápillantok az arcára, máris elhalványul, majd eltűnik. Ha megragadom, a hús, a csont kicsúszik a kezem kö­zül, a semmibe vész. Huss. Volt-nincs Anna Bertha. Ez volna az én feleségem.

A feleség valaminek a fele, vagyis az ötven százalé­ka. Az én feleségem az az én felem, az én ötven száza­lékom. A nap túlnyomó részében fogalmam sincs, hol van, mit csinál az én 50%-om. Nem könnyelműség ez? Nem felelőtlenség, hogy így elengedem?! Kicsúszik az ellenőrzésem alól, mint egy síkos testű hal. Csakhogy Anna Bertha teste nem síkos. Anna Bertha teste… nos, milyen is az ő teste? Anna Bertha teste, noha nem sí­kos, mégis rendre kicsúszik az ellenőrzésem alól. Ki­vonja magát, hogy így mondjam. Anna Bertha teste tő­lem függetlenül létezik. Tőlem függetlenül éli világát, tőlem függetlenül néz, tapint, fog, olvas, eszik, nyalja a szája szélét, ám a nyelve csak egy pillanatra csap ki, akár a gyíké amikor rovart szippant be, s aztán berántja ab­ba a puha, nedves, sötét szájába, ami úgy tud rátapad­ni a testem nem elhanyagolható, mondjuk 98,9%-ára, hogy az ellentmond a fizika összes törvényének. Ilyen­kor megszűnik a gravitáció, sőt megszűnik a testem is. Körfogat nélkül lebegek az univerzumban, mint vala­mi könnyű folyadékban. Minden cseppfolyóssá, egy­neművé válik, nincsenek kontúrok, határok, de egyszer csak ebből a kozmikus, egyenletes lebegésből elindul valamiféle szeizmikus ősmozgás, valami lassú hullám­zás, valami felgyűrődés, ami a távolból közeledni és nö­vekedni látszik, és amikor már olyan közel van, hogy óriás tömegével fölém magasodik, mint valami monst­ruózus árhullám, ősrobbanás ráz meg tetőtől talpig, én alkotóelemeimre bomlok és a fizika törvényeinek ellentmondva zúgok szerteszét, bele a világűrbe, mi­közben mindezt mégiscsak valaki, aki az én, érzékeli. Mintha saját halálomat élném meg. S mintha éppen ez volna benne a legnagyobb ajándék, hogy Anna Bertha létezése olyasmit ad, amit máskülönben nem kap­hat emberfia, egy olyan élményt, ami a miék, még­sem tartozik az életünkhöz, a miénk, de nem vagyunk képesek birtokolni, mert mindig a másé, éppenséggel azé, aki látja, azé, aki tudja, azé, aki elmondja, aki le­írja, aki adatolja és kartotékolja. És mégis. Amit An­na Bertha ad, a teljes megsemmisülés érzésének ellent­mondva, a síkos, puha szájával, a forrón tapadó ujjaival, olyasmi, ami az enyém, ami csak az enyém és olyan­nyira az enyém, olyan mértékig, hogy minden idegszá­lammal, csak arra tudok gondolni, hogy mikor fog új­ra megismétlődni. Újra és újra az idők végezetéig. Mert minden más ehhez képest csak kihűlt és megkövese­dett lávafolyam, ami minden élő organizmust megfojt és maga alát temet, megszűnik a tudomány, megszűnik minden világi tudás, és Wilhelm, mondtam egy reggel magamnak, miután órákig tartó révület után sikerült a szobában szanaszéjjel heverő darabjaimat valamikép­pen újra összerakosgatni, te ezt nem engedheted meg magadnak. Te a tudományra esküdtél, és egy nőnek tett eskü ezt az esküdet nem teheti semmissé.

Azon a hűvös októberi reggelen tehát megfogadtam, hogy anélkül, hogy nőmnek tett eskümet felmonda­nám, mindent el fogok követni, hogy ezt az érzést távol tartsam magamtól. Ám azt is megértettem, hogy ehhez magát Anna Berthát is távol kell tartanom. Együtt fo­gunk élni, de mégis külön világokban. S ha ennek az az ára, hogy soha nem születik utódom, akkor ezt az árat meg fogom fizetni. Mert ha hagyom, hogy megbénítson ez a lényéből áradó ellenállhatatlan sugárzás, akkor elveszett ember vagyok. Akkor sem magamnak, sem asszonyomnak nem vagyok ura, akkor kizár a tudomá­nyos közösség, s kaparászhatok Professzor Zehnder és sleppje megvető pillantásától sújtva, minek következ­tében családomat, asszonyomat és magamat eltartani nem leszek képes és nincstelenül, névtelenül és betegen kell majd meghalnom, anélkül, hogy legalább azt a tit­kot felfejthettem volna, mi is ez a titokzatos sugárzás, ami egyik testtől a másikig hatol, még mielőtt egyálta­lán egymást érintenék, hogy mi az az átható erő, illetve pillantás, amitől úgy állok előtte, mint akinek a testé­ről lefejtették a húst, és csak a pőre csontvázamra vet­kőzve állok egyik lábamról fázósan a másikra, legin­kább ez, ez a tudatlanság az, ami kikészít, ami megaláz és romba dönt, hiszen ahol ilyen erős sugárzás van, ott valamilyen fizikai magyarázatnak lennie kell. Huszon­három éve vagyunk házasok. A távolság tartását a tisz­tánlátás reményében legalább tizenöt éve gyakorlom. Mégis, szomorúan jegyzem meg, e sugárzás magyará­zata, illetve természete számomra x, azaz ismeretlen.

Most azonban azonnal beszélnem kell vele, Anna Berthát elő kell kerítenem, akár a föld alól is, mert kö­zös fáradozásunknak, azaz távolságtartásunknak, fél­ve mondom ki, mintha végre megszületett volna az eredménye. A napokban olyasmit észleltem a labora­tóriumban, amit eddig még soha, valami fluoreszkáló jelenséget, ami a katódsugarak kibocsátásakor keletke­zik, s ami egy darab kartonra vetült ki, majd egyszer, amikor megpróbáltam különféle anyagokkal felfogni, mintegy kelepcébe ejteni a sugarat, édes Istenem, ne hagyj el, a saját villódzó csontvázamat véltem felismer­ni a kivetített képen. De erről egyelőre mélyen hallga­tok. Ha kiderülne, hogy csak a képzeletem játszott ve­lem, az porig rombolná tudományos hírnevemet és az ép elmémre vonatkozó általános hitet. S mivel a sugár vagy sugárzás eredetét, illetve természetét nem isme­rem, a jegyzetfüzetemben x betűvel jelöltem. S abban a pillanatban, amikor ezt az x-et lejegyeztem, hirtelen kifutott a lábamból az erő, fejemből a vér, és úgy hi­szem, néhány percre el is veszíthettem az eszméletemet. Valami olyasmire jöttem rá, amit soha, semmilyen tu­dományos közleményben nem fejthetek ki, nem írha­tok le vagy elő nem adhatok anélkül, hogy a tekinté­lyemet el ne veszíteném, nevezetesen azt, hogy ez az x, vagyis az ismeretlen sugárzás alighanem magából An­na Bertha lényéből ered, aki az évek során szívós mun­kával rendre átküzdötte magát nem éppen kisméretű házunk számtalan helyiségén, a hálószobából a fürdő­szobába, onnan a szalonba, majd a vendégszobákba, a könyvtárba, a zeneszobába, a konyhába, a mosókony­hába, de még a cselédszobákon át a szörnyű kamrába is, bejárta a házunk összes zugát, hogy végül eljusson az épület legtávolabbi pontjáig, ahol a laboratóriumo­mat rendeztem be, és ahol idén, 1895 novemberének első napjaiban, először észleltem eme ismeretlen ­sugarat, és hetekre bezárkóztam. Ám Anna Berthának mégis sikerült rám találnia.

De még nem léphetett be hozzám, jóllehet semmi másra nem tudtam gondolni, csak arra, hogy mikor ke­rülhetek ismét a közelébe, hogy mikor ismétlődik meg az, amit egyszerre vágytam és féltem, mert nem erre a világra, de legalábbis nem a nekem kijelölt világra való, amitől felbomlik, lefoszlik rólam a húsom és nem ma­rad belőlem más, csak egy zörgő csonthalmaz. A sugár­zásnak tehát az Anna Bertha-sugár nevet kellett vol­na adnom, de ki ne tudná, aki csak egy kicsit is járatos a tudományos világban, hogy ha így teszek, gúnyosan nevettek volna rajtam, és örökre kitörölték volna ne­vemet a Tudomány nagykönyvéből. Így aztán jegyze­teimben továbbra is X néven szerepelt (a nagybetű leg­alább a név képzetét kelthette), ugyanakkor tudtam, hogy legalább a magam számára a dolog végére kell jár­nom, és ennek nincs más módja, mint hogy magát a feltételezett forrást vegyem vizsgálat alá, vagyis Anna Berthát. Igencsak sietnem kellett. Két nap múlva kará­csony, és az ünnepek alatt nem dolgozhatok, siessünk hát, nyakunkon az ünnep, sőt mindjárt nyakunkon a valóságos, végleges halál.

Wilhelm már tudta, mit kell tennie. Tudta, ha meg­sugarazhatná Anna Bertha valamely testrészét és a se­gítségével beleláthatna az asszonyba, talán e ravasz kör­körösséggel sikerülne tetten érnie azt az ismeretlen valamit, ami évekig fogva tartotta és munkaképtelenné tette, ami azonban most mégis, hirtelen megkoronázni látszik tudományos karrierjét, ha ugyan valaha is közzé meri tenni az eredményeit.

Anna Bertha!, kiabált Wilhelm.

Willi nincs itt.

Ezt gondolta Anna Bertha 1895. december 22-ének szokatlanul hideg reggelén, amikor fölébredt. Nem is annyira gondolta, mint inkább a bőre hűvös kipárolgá­sából, a mellette támadt üres tér tapintható kietlensé­géből, a lepedők redői közé bújt sivár döbbenetből érez­te, hogy egyedül van. Még nem nyitotta ki a szemét. Ez az érzés az elmúlt, hosszú évek óta minden reggel meg­ismétlődött, és minden reggel, hogy kihűlt testét vala­miképpen életre keltse, hogy valamiből erőt merítsen ahhoz, hogy kikeljen az ágyból és egy újabb, végtelen­nek tűnő, s éppen ezért számtalan, a való világgal kap­csolatos tennivalóval teletűzdelt, ám valójában mér­téktelenül üres napot elkezdjen, minden képzelőerejét összeszedve s erősen összpontosítva arra a pillanatra gondolt, amikor Willi teste utoljára kulcsolódott az ő testére. Amikor utoljára ébredtek úgy, mint egy fris­sen sült fonott kalács, vagy összenőtt ikerpár. Ami­kor egymás testét úgy vették birtokba, mint aki saját, lombos-pagonyos birtokán jár-kel, amelyben minden egyes cserje és fűszál a másik tekintetétől kel életre, a másik érintésétől keringenek a nedvek, a másik lehe­letétől termelődik az oxigén, a meleg, a hajnali pára és a délutáni zsongás, s amikor végre mindez a képzelete puszta erejétől megidéződött, a keze, amelyiken min­dig, még éjszaka is hordta a Willitől kapott eljegyzési és karikagyűrűt, elindult az öle felé, amelyet aztán ujjai lassú, körkörös mozdulataival juttatott ebbe a múltbé­li, talán sosemvolt világba. Ez tartotta benne az életet, sőt mondhatni, ez volt az élete maga, és amikor a közös gyönyör felidézett emlékének eredményeképpen meg­érkeztek a magányos gyönyör első hullámai, akkor a másik nevét kiáltotta, először halkan, aztán egyre han­gosabban, meg azt, hogy jöjjön vissza a másik.

Jöjjön vissza hozzá az, aki nélkül az ő élete csak egy fluoreszkáló, s gyorsan kihunyó jelenés. Olyan delejes erőt érzett magából kisugározni, amelyről biztos volt, hogy előbb-utóbb célba ér, és éppen ezért, meg azért, hogy fel tudjon kelni, minden reggel újból és újból meg­ismételte, és minden reggel, újból és újból nem történt semmi, a szolgálók, mire Anna Bertha kiért a konyhá­ba, lesütött szemmel sürögtek-forogtak, hiszen ők hal­lották Anna Bertha kiáltozásait, csak az nem hallotta, akinek kellett volna, a Willi.

Ám 1895. december 22-ének reggelén, karácsony előtt két nappal, amikor Anna Bertha utolsó kiáltá­sa még éppen ott rezgett a levegőben, egy hangra lett figyelmes, mely először igen távolról, majd egyre kö­zeledve és erősödve hallatszott, s amikor már csak né­hány szobányira volt tőle, felismerte, s csakugyan, hir­telen Willi robbant be a szobába és lélekszakadva kérte Anna Berthát, hogy öltözzön fel és jöjjön vele a labor­ba, oda, ahová Anna Berthának még soha nem volt szabad belépnie. Anna Bertha szívdobogva, kapkod­va öltözött, tudta, hogy ez a karácsony más lesz, mint a többi, s valamiképp azt is érezte, bár nem tudta volna megmagyarázni, hogy miért, hogy ez a karácsony nem csak számukra, Anna Bertha és Willi, de az egész világ számára emlékezetes lesz. Willi sietve beterelte a titkos laborba, majd komoly képpel behajtotta az ajtót. Anna Bertha olyan izgatott volt, mintha maga Jézus akarna a würzburgi házukban újból megszületni. Kétségtelenül érezhető volt valami az újjászületés semmihez sem fog­ható érzéséből, amikor Willi egyszer csak hozzáhajolt, és azt mondta elfúló hangon, kérem a kezedet, amit Anna Bertha úgy értett, hogy Willi újra megkéri a ke­zét és ezért szorongatja éppen a tőle kapott gyűrűkkel ékesített ujjakat. Willi ekkor ráhelyezte a kezét valami­féle lapra, matatott a műszereivel, majd holtsápadtan egyszer csak közölte, hogy kész.

Készen van a kép.

Miféle kép, kérdezte bizonytalanul Anna Bertha, s ekkor Willi felmutatta neki az első, X-sugárral (valójá­ban Anna Bertha-sugárral) készített képet, amelyen az ő kezének csontozata látható, megfosztva húsától, ám az őket, Willit és Anna Berthát összekapcsoló jegy- és karikagyűrűkkel ékesítve. Íme:

An x-ray of a hand with a large bulge on the ring finger

A kép láttán Anna Bertha fölkiáltott, láttam a halá­lomat!, de ebben a pillanatban ez sem érdekelte, mert Willi, féktelen örömében, a nyakába borult, s dohány­szagú, forró lehelete őt olyan boldogsággal töltötte el, hogy azt sem bánta volna, ha valóban holtan esik ös­sze. Ám ekkor Willi, mikor érezni kezdte az Anna Bertha-sugár ismerősen fojtó hatását, ellépett tőle, sietve fogott egy tollat, és gördülő, cirkalmas betűivel a kö­vetkezőket kanyarította a kép fölső szélére:

Hand mit Ringen, 1895.

A többi: x.

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