The Chelsea Girls(7)
The day that Hazel was to depart on her tour, she’d stepped into the kitchen, wearing her uniform, only to see the ghost of Ben reflected in her mother’s eyes. Her father’s naturally lopsided countenance slid into a grimace as her mother ran from the room, one hand clutching her mouth as if she was about to be sick. No matter what Hazel did, it turned out terribly.
Maxine rubbed Hazel’s back. “Sorry to have spoken ill of your brother. I barely knew him.”
The major returned, accompanied by a wiry man with a pipe sticking out of his mouth.
Maxine and Hazel exchanged looks. No doubt Maxine had overstepped her place by advocating for the two boys.
“Which one of you speaks Kraut?” asked the wiry man.
Maxine raised her hand, as though they were in elementary school. To see Maxine cowed made Hazel even more nervous.
“Come with me. Both of you.”
As they walked deeper into the building, the man introduced himself as Colonel Peterson, the head of radio programming. “We’re in charge of all the music the soldiers listen to, as well as propaganda broadcasts. That’s where you come in. What’s your name again?”
Maxine introduced herself, then added, “And this is Hazel Ripley.”
“Maxine, huh? This way.” The colonel didn’t even look at Hazel. But she was used to that by now, and she’d already noticed that being in close proximity to Maxine was the equivalent to disappearing into thin air.
They entered a small soundproofed room where a microphone sat on a desk, next to some fancy equipment with lots of dials.
The colonel picked up a bundle of papers. “The soldier who’s been doing the propaganda broadcasts got transferred, and we’ve been looking for a German speaker to fill in. Radio waves, unlike newspapers or television broadcasts, aren’t deterred by borders or front lines, which gives us a direct line of communication with the enemy population. You’re a girl, but I figure it might be even better that way.”
“What exactly do you want me to do?” asked Maxine.
“Make your voice nice and pretty, and read off this list of German POWs.” He pointed to a single piece of paper beside the microphone. “Then say that the boys are safe and sound, in German. Once that’s done, pick some articles from these”—he tossed down a few copies of The Stars and Stripes—“and condense it for a German audience.”
“Condense it? I’m not sure I understand.”
He pointed to a headline. “Choose three or four articles that emphasize American values, American strength, and summarize them. We want to plant doubt in their minds. Make them wonder if the Fuehrer is not all that he’s cracked up to be, if they’re not being told the whole truth.”
“Right.” Maxine didn’t sound convinced. “I’ll take these back to camp with me and figure out what to say.”
“You don’t go anywhere. First broadcast is today, as soon as you’re ready. If you do a good job, we’ll have you on once a week.”
“What on earth? I can’t just speak off the cuff, I have to have something in front of me to read. I’m an actress. I need lines.”
The colonel wasn’t listening. “We’ll call you Lina aus Amerika.” His accent was terrible. “Lina from America. Don’t make it too heavy-handed. No calls for surrender, no ridicule. We’re just reinforcing what they know deep down, that they’re on the losing side. Got it?” He didn’t wait for an answer. “I’ll be back in thirty minutes.”
“But we’ve got to get back for a show—” The door slammed before Maxine could finish the sentence. She stared after him, aghast. “I can’t do it. What do I talk about?”
Hazel grabbed the newspaper and picked up a pen. “I can help you. And if we get this right, we’ll be back next week. That’ll give us a chance to find out more about the boys. Maybe we can reach someone higher up who’ll listen to us.”
“Good point.”
They sat down together at the table, studying the front page. “This one’s all about the dive-bombing of rail bridges in Northern Italy, backed by ground forces,” said Hazel. “I’ll strip out the basic ideas for you and write them down, so it’s a condensed version.”
Maxine nodded. “Great. Then I’ll just translate it off the page. What about this one? It says that the British forces are fifteen miles from Hamburg, which is Germany’s largest port.”
“Sure, that’ll work.”
“Reader’s Digest’s got nothing on you.”
Writing so fast, on the fly, made Hazel’s heart race. Figuring out how to pare down a complicated sentence, or simply racking her brain to find the right word, was a mental challenge—like memorizing lines, but more interesting. They’d summarized three articles by the time the colonel came back into the room with a technician.
“Remember, keep it light and pretty,” he said, as the technician handed Maxine a set of headphones. “Lean in close to the microphone.”
Hazel held her breath as Maxine read through the list of POW names, her voice soothing and calm in spite of the guttural German consonants. She stumbled on the commentary for the second news item, and glanced over in panic. Hazel gave a nod of encouragement and Maxine kept on, the abrasive sounds of the language mellowed by her delivery.