purge of Jewish professors from the University of Berlin.
Frau Levinsohn knew Greta earned a living from a patchwork of freelance writing and editing, and one evening after Greta returned from delivering a proofread manuscript to Rowohlt, she met her at the door. “I may have found a job for you,” she said, her dark eyes keen with expectation.
Intrigued, Greta followed her into her office, where Frau Levinsohn poured her a cup of coffee and told her about another tenant, an Irishman named James Murphy, a professional translator and author. “He did the English translation of Max Planck’s latest book for a prominent London publisher.”
Greta’s eyebrows rose at the Nobel laureate’s name. “Where Is Science Going?”
“Yes, that’s the one. And just last year, Dr. Murphy translated Edwin Schrödinger’s book Science and the Human Temperament.” Frau Levinsohn peered at Greta over the rims of her glasses. “Dr. Murphy is a dedicated scholar and his work is very highly regarded.”
“I would imagine so.”
“For the past few months, Dr. Murphy has been working on another project, perhaps his most important book yet. Unfortunately, he has fallen ill, and he needs an assistant to help him complete the manuscript. When I told him about your qualifications, he asked to meet you as soon as possible—if you’re interested.”
“I’m definitely interested,” said Greta. “What book is he translating?”
“Dr. Murphy wanted to explain that himself.” Frau Levinsohn glanced to Greta’s cup to make sure she had finished her coffee. “If you wouldn’t mind waiting in the lobby, I’ll bring him down to meet you.”
Greta agreed, and as her landlady hurried off, she settled into a chair in a quiet corner away from the front door, mulling over the possibilities. Was the project the collected works of Albert Einstein? Unlikely, since the Jewish genius had lived in America since 1933. A comprehensive study of quantum mechanics by Werner Heisenberg? Was he even still in Berlin? So many renowned scientists had fled the Reich that it was difficult to remember who remained. Whoever the author was, Greta knew she would have to read deeply in his field of study in order to make her translation as rich and accurate as possible.
Before long Frau Levinsohn returned with a gentleman in his middle fifties attired in a well-cut suit and tie, walking a trifle unsteadily, perhaps, but looking very little like an invalid. He had to be more than two meters tall and at least one hundred kilograms, and he carried himself with regal dignity that commanded respect. He had full cheeks, a deeply cleft chin, and a wispy fringe of fair hair clinging defiantly to the back of his head. Although his gaze was intelligent, his eyes were bloodshot and the skin around his nose was flushed from capillaries spreading like fine red roots toward his cheeks.
Greta rose to meet them, and after Frau Levinsohn made introductions, they sat down for a chat. “Frau Levinsohn recommends you very highly,” Dr. Murphy said in flawless German, with only a trace of a charming Irish lilt. “I understand that you’re a freelance writer and editor, and that you’ve studied in the United States and at the London School of Economics.”
“I was only in London for a few months, but otherwise that’s correct,” she replied in English. “Frau Levinsohn told me about some of your previous translations, and I confess I’m quite impressed.”
Pleased, he smiled and briefly described his translation process, how he tried to be true not only to the literal meaning of the author’s words but also to the intent and emotion behind each phrase. He did not explicitly state his political views—wisely so, as other residents and visitors occasionally passed through the lobby on their way to the elevator—but as he spoke, certain words and allusions convinced Greta that he was no Nazi sympathizer. Even before he finished describing her responsibilities and schedule, and the wages he could provide, she had decided that she would accept the job.
“If my terms are acceptable, I’d like you to begin tomorrow,” he said, “but before you decide, I feel obliged to tell you what the project is.”
Greta prepared herself to hear the title of a challenging work full of specialized technical language. “I’m very eager to know,” she said, smiling.
“The Ministry of Propaganda has hired me to produce an unabridged English version of Mein Kampf.”
Greta recoiled. “Why?”
He shrugged and ran a hand over his scalp. “Goebbels didn’t say, precisely. Perhaps they want to have an English edition ready to release when they feel the