Chapter 1320: Chapter 18: Henry Dawson (Kneeling and Begging for Monthly Tickets!)
October 31, 1952, Halloween Eve, 20:11 in the evening.
The driver in white gloves opened the rear door.
Einstein rubbed his weary temples and looked at his friend [Henry Dawson] beside him:
“You know, I don’t like this kind of occasion… not to ntion it’s Halloween, an inexplicable masquerade party, it makes feel… very noisy.”
“Oh, my dear brother.”
Beside him, Henry Dawson, with red and green paint sared on his face and colorful powder in his hair, laughed heartily and patted Einstein’s shoulder:
“Precisely because it’s a Halloween party today, I brought you along!”
“No.”
Einstein shook his head:
“To be precise, you dragged here, I didn’t want to go out at all, and I’m in no mood to attend such a aningless beastly party.”
“Speaking of Dawson, don’t you think even if you’re attending a Halloween masquerade party, your outfit is way too bizarre?”
“Everyone’s dressed up in strange clothes, wearing masks or headpieces, or with makeup on their faces… but what did you do? Painting your face with oil paint is one thing, but what on earth is that stuff you sprinkled over your head? Chalk dust? It’s simply awful, every ti you shake your head, it cascades down like flour from a sack.”
“Art! My dear brother!”
Henry Dawson shook his head vigorously, filling the car’s back seat with a burst of powder, scattering colorful chalk dust everywhere:
“It’s post-modern art, rock! Rock and Roll! Have you heard of it? It’s a musical genre that’s just started to rise, I bet it’ll beco globally popular!”
“Cough cough…”
Einstein was caught off guard by the swirling chalk dust, hurriedly pressed Henry Dawson’s head down to stop him from shaking his head and spreading his ‘biochemical weapon’:
“Rock… cough cough, does rock have to involve dumping colorful chalk dust on one’s head? If that’s truly the case, it’s a rather dreadful form of performance.”
“Aren’t you a realist painter? Why are you crossing into music?”
“Art knows no boundaries!”
Henry Dawson looked at this giant of the physics world and chuckled:
“Speaking of which, we’ve been old friends for so many years, and I’ve always wanted to paint an [oil portrait] of you, yet you always refuse . I’ve pleaded with you so many tis… you’re bound to agree at least once now, aren’t you?”
“A scientist as great as you must have a piece of artwork to be passed down through generations! Although you have all sorts of photographs, an artwork is not the sa as a photograph… our friendship is so strong, you can’t leave this opportunity to soone else! You must let paint your portrait!”
“This way, you will certainly be renowned for centuries, and let your good brother bask in the glory, making history alongside you! I can already imagine, hundreds of years later, this oil portrait being your only artwork from your lifeti, it’ll be auctioned for a sky-high price! Higher than Van Gogh, higher than Da Vinci!”
Einstein shook his head.
Brushed off the chalk dust on his hand:
“Give it up, Dawson, I’ll never agree to it.”
“Why?” Henry Dawson began shaking the multicolored chalk dust from his head again.
Einstein lowered his head and said in a deep voice:
“[For a sinner like , to be infamous is more likely, I’m not at all qualified to be celebrated for centuries.]”
…
For a mont.
The air in the car was sowhat quiet.
The cheerful noise outside the black vintage car contrasted sharply with the lancholy inside the cabin, human sorrows and joys don’t connect.
“Oh, you see, you see, my dear brother.”
Henry Dawson patted Einstein’s back and said softly:
“This is why I forcibly brought you here to attend the party… you can’t continue to be so dejected, otherwise the negativity will weigh you down, suffocating you, perhaps even leading you down a perilous path.”
“Listen to , Einstein, you need to relax, need to let loose, need to vent, need to forget all these negative emotions and unrealistic fantasies, it’s the only way to treat the depression and sadness in your heart.”
“It’s not your fault, I’ve said it countless tis, neither science nor art is at fault, it’s those who use science and art for sinister purposes who are wrong.”
“Your mass-energy equivalence formula could obviously be applied to many world-changing areas, power generation, unlimited energy, super engines… but the warmongers chose to use it to create the Atomic Bomb. If anyone ought to be held accountable for humanity’s fate, it should be them feeling guilty, not you.”
As Henry Dawson spoke, he couldn’t help but sigh inwardly.
He was telling the truth.
Today, his long-ti friend Einstein indeed didn’t want to go out and enjoy the Halloween atmosphere; he had forcibly dragged Einstein out, stuffed him into the car, and brought him here.
He just couldn’t stand it anymore.
Since the end of the Second World War, Einstein had been stuck in a dead-end of self-reproach and regret, circling deeper and deeper like an ant in a loop, almost collapsing under the strain.
Recently, Einstein even began using sleeping pills and ntal dication, his physical condition worsening, losing over ten pounds… which for a man in his seventies is not a good thing.
Doctors were concerned, friends were concerned, family were concerned, everyone was worried about Einstein’s physical and ntal state.
None of them wanted this centennial giant to collapse just like that.
Henry Dawson believed that necessary outings, socializing, and exuberant venting were crucial.
Just like how artists without inspiration, or writers facing writer’s block tend to do crazy and reckless things to vent emotions… proven effective in reality.
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