Einstein's dreams - a chapter

A MAY 1905

There is a place where time stands still.Raindrops hang motionless in air. Pendulumsof clocks float mid-swing. Dogs raisetheir muzzles in silent howls. Pedestriansare frozen on the dusty streets, their legscocked as if held by strings. The aromas ofdates, mangoes, coriander, cumin are suspendedin space.

As a traveler approaches this place fromany direction, he moves more and moreslowly. His heartbeats grow farther apart,his breathing slackens, his temperaturedrops, his thoughts diminish, until hereaches dead center and stops. For this isthe center of time. From this place, timetravels outward in concentric circles—atrest at the center, slowly picking up speedat greater diameters.Who would make pilgrimage to the centerof time? Parents with children, andlovers.

And so, at the place where time standsstill, one sees parents clutching their children,in a frozen embrace that will never letgo. The beautiful young daughter with blueeyes and blond hair will never stop smilingthe smile she smiles now, will never losethis soft pink glow on her cheeks, will nevergrow wrinkled or tired, will never get injured,will never unlearn what her parentshave taught her, will never think thoughtsthat her parents don't know, will neverknow evil, will never tell her parents thatshe does not love them, will never leave herroom with the view of the ocean, will neverstop touching her parents as she does now.And at the place where time stands still,one sees lovers kissing in the shadows ofbuildings, in a frozen embrace that willnever let go. The loved one will never takehis arms from where they are now, willnever give back the bracelet of memories,will never journey far from his lover, willnever place himself in danger in self-sacrifice,will never fail to show his love,
willnever become jealous, will never fall in lovewith someone else, will never lose the passionof this instant in time.

One must consider that these statues areilluminated by only the most feeble redlight, for light is diminished almost to nothingat the center of time, its vibrationsslowed to echoes in vast canyons, its intensityreduced to the faint glow of fireflies.Those not quite at dead center do indeedmove, but at the pace of glaciers. A brushof the hair might take a year, a kiss mighttake a thousand. While a smile is returned,seasons pass in the outer world. While achild is hugged, bridges rise. While a goodbyeis said, cities crumble and are forgotten.And those who return to the outer world. . . Children grow rapidly, forget the centuries-long embrace from their parents,which to them lasted but seconds. Childrenbecome adults, live far from their parents,live in their own houses, learn ways of theirown, suffer pain, grow old. Children cursetheir
parents for trying to hold them forever,curse time for their own wrinkled skin andhoarse voices. These now old children alsowant to stop time, but at another
time. Theywant to freeze their own children at the centerof time.

Lovers who return find their friends arelong gone. After all, lifetimes have passed.They move in a world they do not recognize.Lovers who return still embrace in the shadowsof buildings, but now their embracesseem empty and alone. Soon they forget thecenturies-long promises, which to themlasted only seconds. They become jealouseven among strangers, say hateful things toeach other, lose passion, drift apart, growold and alone in a world they do not know.Some say it is best not to go near thecenter of time. Life is a vessel of sadness,but it is noble to live life, and without timethere is no life. Others disagree. Theywould rather have an eternity of contentment,even if that eternity were fixed andfrozen, like a butterfly mounted in a case.