“When would that be, exactly?” Greta quickly composed herself. “What I meant was, why would you translate such a vile, wretched book?”
Frau Levinsohn cleared her throat and glanced significantly to the front door and along the length of the lobby.
“Hitler’s autobiography is a manifesto of hate,” Greta continued, lowering her voice. “He advocates genocide and Lebensraum. Why would you choose to introduce his racist ideology to millions of new readers?”
“There are already a few English versions in print, all of them severely expurgated. The best of a bad lot came out three years ago, only a third as long as the original, with the most offensive, most revealing passages omitted. A reader would have no idea what Hitler really thinks, what he intends for Germany, for Europe, for the Jews, for the world.”
“And you believe an unexpurgated edition would reveal him as the monster he truly is.”
“Exactly.”
Greta sat back in her chair, thoughts churning. Hitler’s autobiography had become an enormous bestseller since being published in two volumes in 1925 and 1926, earning him millions of Reichsmarks. After he became chancellor, he had compelled the government to buy millions of copies and distribute them as gifts to every newlywed couple in Germany. “Your translation would be an authorized edition,” she pointed out. “Hitler will earn royalties from it.”
Grimacing, Dr. Murphy acknowledged that this was so.
A trifle sharply, she said, “I for one am loath to do anything that would put a single mark into that man’s pocket.”
“Miss Lorke, please keep your voice down,” Frau Levinsohn murmured.
“No, no, she has a right to express herself,” said Dr. Murphy.
She regarded him in utter disbelief. “No, I really don’t, not here, not anymore. This isn’t Ireland. Surely you can see that if the Ministry of Propaganda is for something, good people should be against it.”
“Goebbels’s purpose may be nefarious, but mine isn’t.”
“And yet you’re still giving the Nazis what they want, which is aiding and abetting them, even if you don’t know their intentions.” To spread their repellent ideology in England and the United States was the glaringly obvious answer, but she would not be surprised if Hitler had something even worse in mind.
Dr. Murphy leaned forward and rested his elbows on his knees, his gaze earnest and deadly serious. “The world beyond Germany’s borders will never grasp what this man stands for if they read a sanitized version of his manifesto.”
“I understand that. I just don’t know which is worse, to say nothing or to say too much.”
“Your ethical concerns prove that you’re the right person for this work. Don’t refuse until you’re absolutely certain you can’t do it. Take a few days and think it over.”
Greta pressed her lips together and nodded. They parted with a handshake, Dr. Murphy’s large hand warm and solid and reassuring around hers.
She slept restlessly that night, her mind churning over his proposal. She wished Adam were there to kiss her, stroke her head, and calm her frenzied thoughts until sleep came. She wished he would be there in the morning, to hold her as she unburdened herself, asking questions and offering insight until she sorted out her conflicted feelings and made a decision.
She was tired of spending so many troubled nights alone.
For the next two days, she slipped in and out of the apartment building furtively, reluctant to run into Dr. Murphy or Frau Levinsohn until she decided. She did not have a chance to discuss the job with Adam until the evening of the second night, when she met him, John Sieg, and John’s wife, Sophie, at the Siegs’ apartment in Neukölln to sort a new batch of pamphlets for distribution. It was a reprint of a joint statement by prominent German Communists, Social Democrats, and expatriate intellectuals living in Paris, a call to unity published earlier that summer in the international edition of the Rote Fahne. The banner headline sent a surge of energy through Greta whenever she saw it—“Be United, United Against Hitler! A People’s Front to Rescue Germany from the Catastrophe of War”—and she found herself turning her gaze to it whenever she found her confidence flagging. If these rival political factions joined together, as they should have done before the National Socialists seized complete control, their combined strength could yet be enough to bring down the Reich. In the shadow of fascism, the disputes that had once divided them seemed insignificant now.
John Sieg was a Communist and an American citizen, born in Detroit to German immigrants, educated alternately in