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Back The Radio Operator Save as PDF
Chapters (43)
  1. Cover
  2. 1
  3. 2
  4. 3
  5. 4
  6. 5
  7. 6
  8. 7
  9. 8
  10. 9
  11. 10
  12. 11
  13. 12
  14. 13
  15. 14
  16. 15
  17. 16
  18. 17
  19. 18
  20. 19
  21. 20
  22. 21
  23. 22
  24. 23
  25. 24
  26. 25
  27. 26
  28. 27
  29. 28
  30. 29
  31. 30
  32. 31
  33. 32
  34. 33
  35. 34
  36. 35
  37. 36
  38. 37
  39. Acknowledgments
  40. Bibliography
  41. A Note from the Translator
  42. About the Author
  43. About the Publisher

Harlem in the last light of day. A veil descended, steadily draining all the color from the streets. He now saw everything through Lauren’s eyes, as if in a kind of double vision, but it seemed to go over well with her. The Abyssinian Baptist Church and the Harlem Alhambra got a favorable look; a red neon sign announced a film, Paradise in Harlem, featuring an all-black cast. They passed by a shop advertising fur coat storage, photo stores, cafés, barbershops, newsstands, food carts selling bacon, eggs, hot dogs. Suits with padded shoulders. Knit ties. The signs advertising the prices usually larger than the item for sale. More and more people on the street, always more than anywhere else. From the buildings came the hum of sewing machines. Floral-print dresses drying on clotheslines. They walked next to each other as if their destination were clear. Soon they had reached his building.

“Should we go to the Savoy Ballroom? I can’t dance very well, but they have the best orchestras around. Duke Ellington, Louis Armstrong, Chick Webb!”

“Couldn’t we go to your place instead? I’d really like to see your radio setup,” said Lauren.

He did a walk-through of the apartment in his head. No, everything was put away. Just as Max had instructed him. He had thrown away the pamphlets from the print shop. He always hid the tables of call numbers and frequencies behind the radio equipment. He took a deep breath, then he let her up.

19

New York, May 1939

SHE DIDN’T SEEM THE LEAST BIT SELF-CONSCIOUS. HE ASKED himself if that bothered him, if he didn’t prefer a little female nervousness. Or was this really only about the radio? His street was plain—boring redbrick tenements, a tire shop, an auto repair shop—but here too Lauren directed her keen, alert gaze at all of it. He thought of her home: A hotel with many rooms. Forty rooms. Five suites and two cottages in the garden. He saw Lauren going in and out, laughing and making conversation with families, with married couples, with honeymooners. She saw pajamas wrinkled with sleep, toothbrushes with crooked bristles. She saw the traces of strangers’ love lives; she said hello and goodbye and thank you; she spoke her friendly lines as daughter of the house. Was this the reason she could follow a man she barely knew into the lobby of his building and act like it was the most natural thing in the world? Meanwhile he was looking around to see which of the neighbors were at their windows, ready to poke fun.