Half Life by Jillian Cantor (easy to read books for adults list txt) 📕

Kaz truly believed that this would satiate my mind’s desire to learn, my heart’s desire to help people and improve the world? A bicycle?

Instead all I said was, “Kaz, this is much too expensive.”

“But,” he said, leaning in to kiss me on the forehead, “you are worth it, kochanie.”

MUCH TO KAZ’S DELIGHT I RODE MY BICYCLE ALL THROUGHOUT Krakow while Klara was at school and he was at work the following week. I explored the historic buildings and museums, the Royal Castle, and Cloth Hall.

I rode and I rode, pushing my legs so hard that I could barely breathe, my entire body consumed with sweat. My life unfolded in front of me: Klara’s schedule and audition, this bicycle, my garden, and cooking suppers for my family. It all stretched out, long and tedious and dull, and then I couldn’t be sure whether it was sweat or tears on my cheeks. I pedaled and I pedaled, and I pushed myself, harder and harder, until it felt like my heart might explode in my chest.

What was I doing here? I was only forty-one years old, and I hungered for knowledge. How could Kaz or my sisters believe that a bicycle would solve any of that? Maybe it was that they couldn’t know something I hadn’t told them: it wasn’t the bicycle I’d loved so much in Paris, but those beautiful scientific conversations with Pierre while we were riding together.

Pierre.

His letters had sounded defeated as of late. He’d given up on his pitchblende last year, as he’d said it was too hard, too much work to do alone. And then recently Henri Becquerel had discovered a new element, the one that Pierre had long suspected existed. Now it would forever be known as becquerelium, highly radioactive, even more than uranium. And Pierre wondered in his letters to me whether he should even carry on in science. What have I done with my life? he asked me.

I wrote him back, implored him not to give up on his scientific studies. Perhaps he could assist Hela and Jacques with their magnets until he figured out his next area of research. Next time will be different, I promised him.

Pierre wrote me back: And what about you, Marya? What are you doing with your bright and beautiful mind in Krakow? There is more for you than gardening and bicycle riding, isn’t there? I know there is.

THE FOLLOWING DAY, I RODE MY BICYCLE TO THE TRADING shop, and I sold it.

My pockets full of crowns, I walked myself to the university and registered for my very first real university course. The registrar did not question my motives, nor ask why a woman my age would be interested in science. No, he simply took my money, asked me to fill out the registration card and to choose my classes.

I wrote Marya Zorawska at the top of the card, my hands shaking with disbelief and excitement.

“What course does the woman professor teach?” I asked the registrar. I did not have to walk through the university, hoping to seek her out. I could simply pay and enroll in her course. I could learn from her!

He sighed, like I was not the first woman to come in here and ask him that this week. “Introduction to chemistry,” he said. “Professor Mazur.”

It was likely I had self-taught past any introductory chemistry course. But I signed up for her course anyway, and, a physics course taught by a man. Both were given during hours while Klara would be at her own school. This would have no effect on her or Kaz’s life or routine, but it would have a drastic effect on mine.

I put the remaining crowns back in my pocket and walked back toward Golebia Street. My legs were sore, quite tired now.

But it didn’t matter. I had my wings again.

Marie

Paris, 1910

By the beginning of 1910, I have crawled out of the long, dark tunnel of paralyzing grief and loneliness. And what is waiting for me on the other side? Paul.

Once, one time was a lie we told each other that first night we were together in December. But once is not enough. We spend more stolen nights together, late in my lab. But that is not enough, either. I want more; I need more.

So I rent us an apartment on the fifth floor at 5 rue Banquier, an inconspicuous sort of pied-à-terre. It is convenient to the university, easy to sneak away to during working hours.

From the outside, the building is quite plain looking, white plaster, with a small number 5 etched in front of the brown entrance door. The apartment itself is up five flights of stairs and has two bedrooms. I tell the landlord it is for me and my daughters, that I am needing a second home closer to my work now that my father-in-law has recently passed. Our home is in Sceaux, I say, nervously overexplaining, but my work is always here.

Most of that is true, except for the second bedroom, which is not at all necessary. I will never once bring the girls here. They are in Sceaux with their governess. We are all very sad in the wake of Dr. Curie’s death, but we take comfort in the fact that he lived a good long life. And I have made an effort for the girls’ daily routines to remain unchanged. I take this apartment because the location and price are good, despite the extra, unnecessary bedroom. And I like that in order for anyone to stumble upon this place, they must first undertake the inconvenience of five flights of stairs.

Paul laughs when I tell him that, the first time we meet here together in the winter of 1910, just weeks after the girls and I have laid Dr. Curie to rest. Perhaps it is Pierre’s father’s death that has finally, finally allowed me to admit the truth to myself: I am falling in love with Paul. What we have together is more than fleeting