The little black notebook was at the end of the display. Safe inside a glass box from prying hands, it hid behind bigger splashier leatherbound gold-lettered books. I was at a post-pandemic estate sale. Death was being turned into profit as we all moved forward.

 

I beckoned to the woman running the show. "May I see that little diary?" I pointed to the little notebook. The black cover was a little frayed and the pages inside were covered in mathematical formulas. As I turned the pages over, she leaned in and whispered confidentially, "My father believed that this was Richard Feynman's personal diary. He kept it when he was at Princeton." As the owner of Higgins Rare Books on the leafy Princeton campus, I frequently saw the personal effects of famous writers and scientists show up at garage sales. But I had to make sure before I shelled out any cash.

 

My physics was rudimentary, to put it politely. I racked my brain to remember what made Richard Feynman famous and won him his Physics Nobel Prize. Maybe this was where it started? If so, it could be very valuable. But I needed time to look this up. Make a correct valuation.

 

I walked over to the owner. "I am interested in this little diary. May I sit and read it for a bit, before I decide?" She nodded. "He worked here you know, in the forties. For fifty bucks his early work can be yours," she said with a wink. I found a table in a corner and sat down.

 

The diary was old, no doubt about it. The paper was crinkly, like those with a high fiber content. I love the smell of old books. The musty lingering aroma that comes from being shut away for a long time and suddenly brought to light. Like a magic genie released from the bottle, the old paper and ink had me ensnared in its mystery. 

 

I read the first few pages and understood nothing. Partly because I didn't know physics. But partly because the sentences were strange. Like this one. "I wrote in my day book." My physics may have been rusty but my German was pretty decent. My brain translated it to "Tagebuch" without much effort. But then I retraced my brain movement. Why was I reminded of German? Some of Feynman's colleagues probably spoke German, and French and Italian. But surely not to the extent that it would influence his writing? Feynman was a Jewish kid from Brooklyn. His first language was English. Why was I hearing German in these pages?

 

The chase was on. This diary was more mysterious than it appeared. As I touched the page to turn it, I noticed the edge. It was soft. In my business I knew what paper from different ages felt like. Pre-nineteenth century was textured and rough because it was fully handmade. Early twentieth century was soft and even. The forests of India and Burma provided all the pulp that Europe needed to churn out paper in their high speed Fourdrinier machines. Treated with water, filters and color, these paper machines created hundreds of thousands of diaries, notebooks and books that shaped the early twentieth century.

 

I knew Richard Feynman was working on the atom bomb project in the forties when he was at Princeton. I'm no physicist so I didn't know if what I was reading was related to the atom bomb. Maybe that's why he never published this research? But the atom bomb project was public knowledge. Why suppress something that was public? Was there a secret follow-up bomb?

 

Scraps of sentences stood out. "Perhaps reactions occur in which multiple electrons simultaneously transfer energy to one proton." I read it a few times. As far as I could remember, nuclear fission was about splitting the atom. An implosion. So what was this theory of collaborating electrons? Is this something that was never published? If so, the value was incalculable! But who was the writer?? I furiously flipped through the pages to get a clue. Any clue. And then just like that, the clouds parted. In all it's glory stood one little sentence. "God does not play dice with the universe". I'm no scientist but even I knew who said that!

 

My mind was racing so much I never noticed the couple looking over my shoulder, then walking away. A minute later there was a tap on my shoulder. The owner lady was speaking to me. "I'm sorry, I need that diary. That nice couple over there would like to buy it." She pointed towards the other customers and smiled.

 

I wasn't really listening to her. The German flavor of the writing, the complicated physics, the paper from the forties, the closely written text as if the writer was living during a severe paper shortage, all of this pointed to a physicist, but not Richard Feynman. In the 1940s, there was another physicist working at Princeton alongside Feynman. Someone who had fled from  Germany. Someone who was known for his comment, "God does not play dice with the universe."

 

As my mind connected these dots, I decided on a wild gamble. I took the couple aside. "I know you like this notebook, but I got here first, you know," I said, trying my bully tactic. The man answered, "You might have gotten here first, but I knew Richard Feynman personally. He was my PhD advisor and a personal hero. That diary has his life in it. I must have it."

 

I could see that bully bluster wasn't going to work. So I tried the soft touch. "I completely understand. But this is a piece of Princeton history. Don't you agree that it should remain here?" If this guy was a student of Feynman's there was a fair chance he lived in California where Feynman ended up. I was right. "I agree this is a part of Feynman history. Which is why we'll happily pay to take it back to CalTech."

 

I decided to play my last card. I walked back to the old lady and said, "I'll pay you double whatever they are offering." The lady, sensing a bidding war, smiled and walked over to the other couple. I waited with bated breath. Soon she returned. "They are willing to pay ten thousand dollars." 

 

"I'll pay twenty". I could not believe the words coming out of my mouth. But I also could not imagine I was holding a diary that once belonged to Albert Einstein. Correction—a diary that may contain an unpublished Einstein hypothesis. If I was right, I'd hit the estate sales jackpot. If I was wrong, I would lose my business.

 

She walked over with my offer. I could see the couple talking amongst themselves. After what seemed like an eternity, they shook their heads and walked away. It was done! I had won!

 

I wrote a check with trembling hands. I had never spent so much money so quickly. Diary wrapped in bubble wrap, I walked out into the sunshine. I called my friend at the Physics department. She was intrigued and eager to read the diary. This beautiful little black book was going to tell us what Albert Einstein wanted to keep hidden. Perhaps we would find out whether God ever played dice with the universe, after all.