Leaving Berlin (14 page)

“Like in a story,” Erich said and for a second he did seem like a child, tucked in, drowsy, trusting.

“Good night, my friend,” Alex said. His responsibility now. The last thing he needed. He looked down again. Not a child. An old man’s face, gaunt, a death mask.

Get out of it. Go down to the bar and find Brecht or some other alibi. But his mind was racing, planning. He felt in his pocket and pulled out a business card. Ferber. Happy to give him a tour. He’d
need something to get them to keep Erich. Some chip. He owed Fritz this much at least. His stomach tightened, a dread he could feel rushing through him, like blood. Knowing he’d pay somehow. Don’t. And then the odd relief of having no choice, suddenly calm, the way it had felt standing up to the committee.

T
HE MAN WAS STANDING
next to the statue of Gretel, his back to Alex, collar pulled up against the cold. A worker’s cloth cap and peacoat, slightly bent over, no longer young. Earlier there had been a woman with a dog but no one since, so it must be him. But how to do this? No password or coded signal, just turn up in the park. The fountain basins, drained for the winter, were covered with snow, the Grimm figures and the Baroque colonnade beyond like pieces of confectionary, but he couldn’t look at them forever. It must be him. Or just an old man out for a walk.

“Herr Meier?” the man said, barely turning.

“Yes.”

“You got the message. Good. Dieter,” he said, introducing himself. “We can talk here, there’s no one. You have a cigarette maybe?” A Berlin accent, brisk.

“What’s up?” Alex said, offering it.

“You, Herr Meier, what else?” He leaned in to light the cigarette. “You haven’t tried to contact anyone, I hope?”

“No.”

“Good. And if anyone tries to contact you, don’t respond.”

“Just you.”

“That’s right. Campbell’s orders. At BOB they think Willy was running you himself. Whoever ‘you’ are.”

“And the Russians?”

“If they knew, you wouldn’t be here. The two who saw you in Lützowplatz? No longer with us, alas. A rare distinction, Herr Meier. Unknown to the Russians, unknown to the Americans. How many in Berlin can say that?”

“If I’m so unknown why did they try to kill me?”

He shook his head. “Not kill you. Kidnap you. Maybe turn you. Trade you. Any possibility. But the point was to find out who you were. So they follow Willy and what happens? They still don’t know.”

“You’re sure?”

Dieter nodded. “A source there.”

“What about them? Do they have a source with us?”

Dieter sighed. “Well, they must. How would they know to follow Willy exactly then? So there’s a leak. He was right, it turns out.”

“Who?”

“Campbell. He wanted someone outside BOB. An independent contractor.”

“That’s you?”

Another nod. “So you talk only to me. Until he comes. That’s his message to you.”

“And what if it’s you, the leak?”

“Well, it might be. You decide. Do you enjoy such puzzles? Maybe you like to think the worst. Me, I like to hope for the best.” He turned to the statue, looking at it. “The witch wanted to bake her in the oven. What kind of men do you think they were, the Grimms, to tell children such stories? How the world really is. So,” he said, shifting gears. “It’s clear? You don’t contact anyone. Just me—if you can trust me. Come here for a walk. I’ll find you. If there’s something wrong, Peter will—”

“Peter?”

“The boy at the hotel.”

“His name’s Peter?” Alex said, unexpectedly thrown by this. “How old is he anyway? I mean, a child, how did he get—”

“My nephew’s son. So it’s safe. He doesn’t know. He thinks I’m working in the black market. So he’s training for that. It’s exciting for him. It’s what he wants. That’s the choice now in Berlin. Be a criminal or a spy. So, a criminal. I don’t blame him. The money’s better.”

“They why don’t you do it?”

The man looked at him, then rubbed out the cigarette. “You want to know why I do this? If you can trust me? So. I work for the Americans because they’re not the Russians. That’s the politics of it, nothing else. I used to think things. A better world. Anyway, better than the Nazis. Then the Russians came. They raped my daughter. They made me watch. Then they beat her—she was fighting them. And she died. So that’s my politics now. Stop the Russians. You think it’s wrong to use Peter? He doesn’t do much—messages, little errands. Those last weeks of the war I saw boys younger than him hanging from trees—traitors because they ran away from the Volkssturm. And then the Russians came. There are no children in Berlin.” He motioned toward the statues. “So maybe they were right, the Grimms. Come, walk with me.”

They headed behind the colonnade into the park.

“Have they asked you to do things?”

“Like what?”

“The radio, for instance. A talk. Why you chose the East. How it’s the right path for Germany, a united Socialist Germany. Maybe a literary interview. Whatever they suggest, do it. The more valuable you are to them, the safer you are. Don’t worry,” he said, suddenly wry. “No one will hear. No one listens to their radio.” He paused. “You’re in the Party?”

“No.”

“Join. Make them feel sure about you.”

“Brecht didn’t.”

“Well, he’s Brecht.”

Alex looked at him, amused. “That’s what he thinks too.”

“He’s a friend? Do a radio with him. The Kulturbund party, it was a success? Comrade Markovsky was there, I hear.”

“Yes.”

“So you met? And how was that?”

“Pleasant. But short. He had to leave. Some crisis.”

“In Karlshorst?” Dieter said, interested. “Maybe something with our friends in Lützowplatz.”

“No, out of town. Someplace called Aue.”

Dieter turned. “Aue? Are you sure? He said Aue?”

“That’s what it sounded like. A long drive at night, apparently. There was talk about that.”

“What kind of crisis?” His voice more urgent. “Did he say? It’s important.”

“Some labor problem. Maybe some kind of strike, that’s what it sounded like anyway.”

“No, not a strike,” Dieter said, thinking. “That’s not possible there. Did he say anything else?”

“No. Oh, how they always leave it too late. They should have called him earlier. That was it. He didn’t seem particularly upset. More annoyed at having to leave the party.”

“But he drives to Aue. A labor problem. In Aue.”

“That’s important?”

“In Aue, yes.”

“Why?”

“It’s in the Forbidden Zone.”

Alex looked at him, the phrase out of a magazine story.

“Aue is where they send you first, the distribution point. They call it the Gate of Tears.”

“Forbidden Zone?” The sound of it still implausible.

“The Russians sealed off the whole area. It’s controlled by Moscow, all the operations there, so it’s difficult getting information out. For the Germans too. The SED has no say, they just take orders. So something like this—it’s a break. Anything you could hear—”

“What am I listening for?”

“Yes, of course,” Dieter said quickly, distracted. “You don’t know. The Erzgebirge, they patrol the whole range. Fences sometimes, three meters.”

“Why?”

Dieter looked at him, surprised, something he assumed Alex already knew. “The uranium mines. You remember Oberschlema, famous for radium baths? In the old days it was good for the health. Well, they thought. Over on the Czech side, more spas, it’s the same region. Now the mines. The whole operation is called Wismut. If you ever hear him talk about that—”

“And no one knows?”

“No, people know. And they don’t know. We’re good at that. Ask anyone now, did they know about the Jews and no, they didn’t know a thing. Except who’s living here then? Who else would know? And at first, of course, when the Russians are using criminals, Nazis, it’s easy not to know. But they start drafting ordinary Germans and then the rumors start.”

“Who’s using criminals?” Alex said, not following.

“The mines. At first people went for the wages. Jobs that pay, that wasn’t so easy last year. And the papers made it sound good.
Neues Deutschland
. So not a secret. But then word got out about the conditions and no one would go. So Ulbricht sends ex-Nazis, political prisoners. He empties the jails and still not enough, so they start drafting forced labor. Twenty-five, thirty thousand last year. And they ask for seventy-five thousand more. These are rough figures,” he said with a side look to Alex. “Myself, I think it’s even more. And Ulbricht will
find them. His own people—well, if you still think someone like that is German. The Russian bear just gobbles them up—feed me more. And Ulbricht does. People who have never done work like that. For them like a death sentence. Unless they can get to the West—anything to avoid the mines. We’re losing many that way. Last night, did you meet your publisher from Aufbau?”

“Aaron Stein?” Alex said, remembering the watery eyes.

“Yes. A decent man. You know he resigned from the central committee last year, the secretariat, to protest this. He said the SED should say no. Of course, how could they do that? A great embarrassment to Ulbricht, a respected man like Stein. We thought maybe a chance for us, someone we might recruit, but no, still a believer. So what happens? He resigns and Ulbricht sends more workers anyway. Thousands. And they don’t come back now, they keep them working, so it’s hard to know how it is there. How much are they shipping out? Why do they keep asking for more people? So you see, when you tell us he’s going to Aue—this is better than we hoped, to know that.”

“It’s not a lot.”

“Yes, but why? What happened? So now we listen. Even rumors. We have ears outside the zone. In the processing plants. We go to Farben in Bitterfeld and ask, what do you hear? The TEWA plant at Neustadt.”

“Neustadt?” Alex said, raising his head. But how many Neustadts were there in Germany? A hundred?

“Yes, near Greiz, but outside the zone, so we can talk to people there.”

“Do they use POWs? The mines?”

“Yes, of course. They were among the first. They’re already prisoners, so they can’t pick up and leave if they don’t like the work. Why?”

Alex looked up. “No reason,” he said, wary. But Dieter was still looking at him. “I just thought, useful, if we could find some to talk to.”

“Well, yes, anyone, but here you are with such a source—”

“I met him for two minutes. Do you really think he’s going to talk to me about any of this?”

“But he already has. Every lead is useful. And of course there’s the woman. An old friend of yours, yes? Campbell said.”

“Did he? When?”

“She sleeps with him. A man will say anything in bed.”

“Mining conditions in Aue? Is that what you would talk about?”

Dieter smiled. “My friend, at my age you don’t talk. You have to save your breath.” They had been walking gradually uphill and he stopped for effect, catching his wind. “It’s not so difficult for a woman. All she has to do is listen.”

“What makes you think this one will?”

“Well, I leave that to you.” They were rounding a small hill. “It’s kind to walk with an old man, but you should go now. Or someone might wonder. But first, let me show you something interesting. This way.”

“But don’t you want to know who else I met? I thought that’s what—”

“Another day. Nothing’s more important than this. Aue,” he said, repeating it to himself. “You understand, we’ve been trying to get good information for a long time. What grade ore are they shipping? How? In what form?” He stopped. “Excuse me, it’s a lot all at once maybe. I’ll make a list, what to listen for. Right now, anything. You know, the propaganda value alone—”

“What, that the Russians have labor camps? Everybody must know—”

“But who’s in them? Who’s supplying them? The Russians are capable of anything—yes, old news. But Ulbricht, the German Communists, feeding the beast? With Germans? Their own citizens. Who would trust a government like that? My friend, keep your ears open. Keep your ears open.”

“All right. When do I see you again?”

“Just come to the park. I’ll know. Otherwise, next week, same time, if you can. Look.” He pointed toward what appeared to be a construction site. Narrow-gauge rails had been laid across the park, sloping uphill, the open tram cars loaded with rubble sent up from Friedrichshain. “You see they’re making a mountain. On the flak tower. What’s left of it. They dynamited it, but you know they were built to—anyway, now it’s covered. So, higher and higher. And then some grass, trees, and in a few years it’s gone, buried. The war? No sign. All the sins covered up. That’s what we do. The Russians cover theirs with memorials. Have you been down to Treptow? The memorial they’re building there? Stalin’s words, now in granite. A statue higher than this hill. A Soviet soldier rescuing a child. From Fascism. A broken swastika. Maybe someday somebody believes it. You have one more cigarette?” He coughed as he lit it. “Peasants. They didn’t know how to flush a toilet. You know what happens when you give a peasant a gun? You make a monster. That’s what the statue should be.”

“But they did break the swastika,” Alex said.

“Yes,” Dieter said, glancing at him. “You’re a Jew, yes? Meier? So, all right. We had monsters too. Maybe worse. But they didn’t rape my Liesl.” He flicked away the end of the cigarette. “Barbarians. Now they want to do it to Germany. No. Not them. That’s my politics now.”

Martin was waiting for him at the hotel.

“We have your housing assignment,” he said, pleased with himself. “In Prenzlauer Berg. A very nice area. So. You can pack now?”

“Now?” Erich, still in Ruth’s room.

“Yes. I have a car for us. You will be anxious to see it.”

“What’s the address? I want to write it down.” He took out a notebook.

“But I will take you,” Martin said, puzzled.

“For the desk here,” Alex said, improvising. “To forward mail.”

“You are expecting mail here?”

“From America. It’s the only address they have. Until I send the new one.”

“Rykestrasse forty-eight. Near the Wasserturm. A very nice street.”

Alex jotted down the address, two copies. “For me,” he explained, “if I forget it. I won’t be long. A few minutes.”