For the Love of Physics Read Online Free PDF Page B

“Well, how often do I go to restaurants?” He tried to make these awful things seem trivial, like a minor inconvenience, perhaps for his children’s sake, and perhaps also for his own peace of mind. I don’t know.
    It’s still one of the hardest things for me to talk about. Why this ability to slowly see the water rise but not recognize that it will drown you? How could they see it and not see it at the same time? That’s something that I cannot cope with. Of course, in a sense it’s completely understandable; perhaps that’s the only way you can survive, for as long as you are able to fool yourself.
    Though the Nazis made public parks off-limits to Jews, my father was allowed to walk in cemeteries. Even now, I recall many walks with him at a nearby cemetery. We fantasized about how and why family members died—sometimes four had died on the same day. I still do that nowadays when I walk in Cambridge’s famous Mount Auburn Cemetery.
    The most dramatic thing that happened to me growing up was thatall of a sudden my father disappeared. I vividly remember the day he left. I came home from school and sensed somehow that he was gone. My mother was not home, so I asked our nanny, Lenie, “Where’s Dad?” and I got an answer of some sort, meant to be reassuring, but somehow I knew that my father had left.
    Bea saw him leaving, but she never told me until many years later. The four of us slept in the same bedroom for security, and at four in the morning, she saw him get up and put some clothes in a bag. Then he kissed my mother and left. My mother didn’t know where he was going; that knowledge would have been very dangerous, because the Germans might have tortured her to find out where my father was and she would have told them. We now know that the Resistance hid him, and eventually we got some messages from him through the Resistance, but at the time it was absolutely terrible not knowing where he was or even if he was alive.
    I was too young to understand how profoundly his absence affected my mother. My parents ran a school out of our home—which no doubt had a strong influence on my love of teaching—and she struggled to carry on without him. She had a tendency toward depression anyway, but now her husband was gone, and she worried that we children might be sent to a concentration camp. She must have been truly terrified for us because—as she told me fifty-five years later—one night she said to Bea and me that we should sleep in the kitchen, and she stuffed curtains and blankets and towels under the doors so that no air could escape. She was intending to put the gas on and let us sleep ourselves into death, but she didn’t go through with it. Who can blame her for thinking of it—I know that Bea and I don’t.
    I was afraid a lot. And I know it sounds ridiculous, but I was the only male, so I sort of became the man of the house, even at age seven and eight. In The Hague, where we lived, there were many broken-down houses on the coast, half-destroyed by the Germans who were building bunkers on our beaches. I would go there and steal wood—I was going to say “collect,” but it was stealing—from those houses so that we had some fuel for cooking and for heat.
    To try to stay warm in the winters we wore this rough, scratchy, poor-quality wool. And I still cannot stand wool to this day. My skin is so sensitive that I sleep on eight-hundred-thread-count cotton sheets. That’s also why I order very fine cotton shirts—ones that do not irritate my skin. My daughter Pauline tells me that if I see her wearing wool, I still turn away; such is the effect the war still has on me.
    My father returned while the war was still going on, in the fall of 1944. People in my family disagree about just how this happened, but as near as I can tell it seems that my wonderful aunt Lauk, my mother’s sister, was in Amsterdam one day, about 30 miles away from The Hague, and she caught sight of my father! She followed him from