It was exactly a year later when Ursula declared her fit to be hired. “I was a secretary myself before we came to America, you know. That’s how I met Reinhard. So I know all the tricks a lazy girl does to pass herself off as competent.”
Lena didn’t know whether that was directed at her, but when her aunt smiled, relief washed over her. She had learned English easily; within four months she was practically speaking like a native.
“Reinhard has already talked to people at the University. The physics department is looking for a secretary. And…” Ursula’s smile broadened, “…there are two German students in the department whose English is not so good. They are thrilled at having a secretary who is bilingual. Especially in today’s world,” she added.
Lena swallowed. “But I know nothing about physics, Aunt Ursula. In Gymnasium I got most of the fundamental concepts wrong. Acceleration, rate, gravity… I’m hopeless.”
Ursula waved a dismissive hand. “You don’t need to know physics. I could barely add two and two and look where I ended up.”
But Lena didn’t want to meet and marry a German academician, like her aunt. Josef was waiting for her in Budapest, and as soon as she could, she would bring him to the States. In the meantime, though, she took the position.
* * *
Ryerson Physical Laboratory, a pleasant, ivy-covered building on 58th Street edged one side of the university quad. Lena liked to walk through it on her way to work, imagining she was a student at the university. She wondered if she would ever reclaim those carefree days.
Although the department was small, it prided itself on two Nobel Prizes won by its scientists, one of whom, Arthur Compton, was the department chair. She quickly learned that Ursula was right about one thing. She didn’t need to know anything about physics.
The one imperative was to make sure her typing was accurate. Most of the documents contained columns of symbols and fractions and percentages that, while a mystery to her, were known to the scientists, so it was critical to get them right. When she asked why, Professor Compton explained that the department’s mission was to instill the habit of careful, intelligent observation of the external world.
“In order to do that,” he said, fingering the small mustache that looked a little too much like Hitler’s, Lena thought, “we expect our graduate students to replicate classical experiments by eminent investigators. And that includes the data they observe and analyze.”
Lena nodded. She was intimidated by Compton but more relaxed around the students, who told her Compton’s nickname was “Holly.” But they never explained why, and she never figured it out. She and the scientists chatted and laughed and traded jokes that were surprisingly funny. There were the two German graduate students who had come to America a year earlier and soon depended on her to help write their papers. A young Brit and three Americans also hung around.
“There are actually three of us Germans,” Franz told her one day. “But Karl is at Columbia University in New York for the semester.”
“Why?” Lena asked.
The second German, Heinrich, smiled. “That’s where the action is. They’re doing lots of exciting experiments on the atom. I can’t wait for him to come back and tell us everything.”
Thankfully, Lena knew what an atom was. “But why are they experimenting with the atom?”
“Splitting it,” Franz said. “Even Einstein thinks it might be possible.”
“To what end?”
“Who knows? But they say Hitler is doing the same thing. So, of course, the Americans must too…” his voice trailed off. “At any rate, Karl will be back in September.”