Stealing the Future (18 page)

“Evelyn, it’s good to hear from you, where have you been all these years? What are you doing these days?”

“Oh, you know, just scraping by, doing the usual—I’m working at the Kosmos cinema at the moment, so let me know if you need free tickets! What are you up to? Oh, listen, talking on the phone isn’t any fun—why don’t we meet up? I mean right now—we could go to the cinema right now! That would be so much fun, do say yes, dear Martin, it’s been so long!”

I was completely knackered, and wanted nothing more than to doze off in my own chair in my own flat. But Evelyn’s enthusiasm was infectious, and she was right—it had been so long. Why not? A film didn’t sound too strenuous, and I was curious about what had happened to Evelyn since I last saw her.

21:37

Half an hour later I was stood on the Karl-Marx-Allee, in front of the Kosmos, waiting for Evelyn. Behind me lights beckoned warmly through the glass façade of the cinema, but it was getting cold standing in the late September evening without a jacket on. After twenty minutes I was ready to give up and go back to the tram stop. I turned to gaze ruefully at the glow of the foyer when I saw Evelyn, just inside the entrance, waving at me.

“Silly you! I thought you’d never see me,” she grinned at me, not at all bothered about being late. “We’ll have to go straight in, it’s about to start.” Evelyn was dressed simply and elegantly, as ever, and looked exactly the same as I remembered her—the years had taken no toll from her.

We went through the foyer, and past the ticket collector—Evelyn just beamed at him as we went by into the auditorium. The trailers were playing, and we slid into the back row, the ranks of white seats before us a dusky grey in the gloom.

“It’s
Paul and Paula
—have you seen it before?” Evelyn whispered in my ear, her breath tickling me and making me twitch. I hadn’t seen
The Legend of Paul and Paula
for years, I probably saw it last with Katrin sitting between her mum and me on the couch at home. Because of its fairy tale escapism and its rejection of the cultural demands of Socialist Realism it had been a popular film in the 1970s. But then it had been banished to late night television and finally dropped after the main actors both went into exile in the West. Since the revolution the film had become popular again, a trend for nostalgia and an appreciation of the film’s celebration of love made it a favourite among young people.

It’s an enjoyable film, not demanding much attention or thought from its viewers, and the easy pace of the unfolding story suited my mood perfectly. We’d already got to the bit when Paul unexpectedly comes to Paula in the middle of the night, and is surprised that she has prepared a feast for him. The scene, playing on her prescience and his confusion, is touching, and I smiled at the memories it brought back.

It was at this point that Evelyn decided to slip her hand into mine. I froze, caught between the two-dimensional memories of a long dead past, and the heat making its way up my arm. I slowly melted into the warmth from the body close beside me, and my fingers slipped through Evelyn’s as we tightened our clasp. We explored each other’s hands, tracing outlines of fingers and palms, our heads moved towards each other until they were resting together. Things didn’t go any further, we just sat in a warm fuzziness as the story played towards its tragic conclusion on the screen before us.

After the film we sat in the foyer, Evelyn sipping a glass of
Rotkäppchen
sparkling wine while I confined myself to water. I was tired, and the memory of yesterday’s hangover was still too fresh to ignore. We chatted about the film and the cinema, and how Katrin’s
Jugendweihe
ceremony had been held here at the Kosmos.

“Do you remember:
Are you ready?
” laughed Evelyn.

“Yes, and then they had to swear to defend socialism, and to be led by the revolutionary Party!” I added, but Evelyn didn’t find that bit nearly as funny as I did.

She looked away, and there was silence for a second or two until suddenly she turned back to me, her eyes fixed on mine. “Martin, let’s go, right now! Let’s just go to mine,” she laid a hand on my knee, and tipped her face down so that she could look up at me through her eyelashes. “Martin, it’s been too long, say you’ll come!”

I sat there stiffly, looking at her, not knowing what to say or do. I could still feel the outline of her hand in mine, and that had awakened a need for human warmth that I had all but forgotten. The idea of holding Evelyn in my arms, sharing her bed, feeling close to her, to anyone—it was almost overwhelming. But I was tired, so tired. I could feel every muscle in my arm as I lifted Evelyn’s hand, sliding it off my knee, and putting it on the armrest of her chair.

“I’m sorry Evelyn, you’ve no idea how much I’d like to, but I think it would be better if I just went.”

Evelyn lifted her chin, and looked at me directly again. As an equal this time, not attempting to pull me in with her charm. Her eyes flickered, and I couldn’t tell whether what I read there was hurt, scorn or cold indifference.

Moscow:
Hostilities continued on the streets of Moscow last night as Interior Ministry and KGB forces clashed. So far, the conflict has been focussed on the centre of the city, but there are fears that it may spread to residential areas.

Görlitz
: Further marches in support of the regional Round Table were held in many towns in West Silesia last night. An estimated ten thousand people participated in the latest protest in the capital, Görlitz. The marchers have called for a full re-integration of the Round Tables at all levels of government in the Region. The West Silesian League condemned the marches, denouncing what they described as: ‘incendiary attempts by foreign agents to interfere in the internal affairs of West Silesia’.

08:15

It was good to be sitting in the office, surrounded by the team. I’d had a crap start to the morning—I felt guilty about Evelyn, the alarm clock went off an hour early, and I was clean out of coffee, even though I’m pretty sure I bought a packet last week. In the end I’d settled for a cup of
Presto
instant coffee, it didn’t taste particularly good, and it certainly didn’t give me the jolt I needed to start the day. But I was in the office now. Outside, the sun was shining, and in here I had a steaming mug in hand and my colleagues were with me. They all looked pretty sympathetic—I assumed Klaus had told them about the squat raid yesterday morning—nevertheless, when we got started Laura had a go at me about not sticking to agreements.

“I know we agreed on Friday that I’d write the report, hand it in, then walk away from it. But we got some more information from Saxony, and I think it’s fair to say we all had doubts, even last week.” I picked up the envelope from the Saxon police, passing it to Laura, who was sitting to my right. “I was going to tell you at the meeting on Monday but the wasp thing happened.”

Laura subsided visibly at the mention of the wasp, but rallied again. “What are you saying, Martin?” she asked.

“Well, I did a report for the Minister, but I left out the new information from Saxony. I wasn’t sure whether that was the right thing to do, and to be honest I’m not sure why I didn’t put it in either. In the end it didn’t matter, he knew about it anyway. Basically, the whole thing is weird, it doesn’t add up at all.” I starting listing all the things that had happened this last week that I was unhappy about, ticking the points off on my fingers as I went. When I got to the last finger I tapped it on the table, pausing for a moment: “Finally, he sends me to witness an arrest and he looks like some fat cat, satisfied that he’s tied up all the loose ends, and gives me a promotion. It’s all very odd, but I got the distinct feeling he was trying to buy me off. And if that’s the case, maybe we should ask ourselves, why?”

There was silence in the room, everyone looking at me, weighing up my words. For some reason I hadn't told them about Dmitri. I didn’t have any good reasons not to, in fact I should have told them—we were a team, we were meant to be working together. But it just didn’t feel like the right moment.

“Martin’s been under a lot of strain this last week, maybe he didn’t handle it as well as he could, but I think we might have done more to support him too. And if Martin’s got a strong feeling about this then we should listen to what he has to say.”

I was thankful for Klaus’s contribution, and was ready for his question.

“What do you think we should be doing, Martin?”

“I think we should be careful not to rock the boat too much at this stage: if I’m wrong then there’s no need for all of us to be making trouble for ourselves. But I’d like to go and interview Fremdiswalde. I don’t think he murdered Maier.”

“Martin! Why can’t you leave that to the police? Surely that’s their job!” Laura was running out of patience.

“What are we here for if we’re not trying to spot dangers to our society? So, strictly speaking, interviewing Fremdiswalde isn’t part of our job, but it doesn’t mean we shouldn’t take an interest! We didn’t ask ourselves whether it was our job when we shut down the Stasi! That was the police’s job too, and they weren’t doing it, so we turned up mob handed and took over the Stasi offices. Remember that? You were there too!”

“OK, OK, you two! Play nicely!” interrupted Klaus, leaning forward to attract Laura’s and my attention, “I know that last Thursday I was all for following it up, but I think Laura’s made a really good point: it’s just not our job. Martin—those were different times, we can’t work in those ways now.”

“I’m not sure. I think Martin may have a point,” Erika spoke up, edging into the conversation for the first time. “We can’t just sit back and let the state expand again, taking over responsibility for all areas of our lives. Yes, we’re RS, and criminal investigation is outside our remit, but we’re also citizens, and we have a responsibility towards our country. I think we should support Martin, give him another couple of days, and if he doesn’t come up with anything by then we can just try to keep it unofficial—try to minimise any fallout.”

I smiled a ‘thank you’ at her, while Klaus and Laura shared a glance before nodding a reluctant agreement.

We ran through the rest of the meeting, no surprises, nothing particularly exciting. I told them that the Minister had asked me to prepare the security report for the Wall debate. We agreed to leave it a couple of days before deciding who should take that task on, give me a bit of space to carry on nosing around the Maier case.

The others filed out of my office, and I pulled the telephone towards me, poking around on my desk for the letter from the Saxon police. Finding it, I punched in the number and asked for
Unterleutnant
Schadowski. A couple of minutes’ conversation, and I had all I needed: Schadowski confirmed that the theory was that Maier had been having an affair with the much younger Fremdiswalde, who was now the chief suspect. Maier had broken off the affair, and Fremdiswalde had lost it, killing Maier during a final liaison at the edge of the coal mine, then dragging the body down to where work was taking place. The Saxon police had prepared a report, and were sending someone up to interview Fremdiswalde tomorrow morning. I asked Schadowski to send me a copy.

“One other thing, Comrade
Hauptmann
,” continued Schadowski, “I thought you should know: I’ve been ordered to report to the Ministry of the Interior if I have any contact with RS.”

I thanked Schadowski, and hung up. His final words were hardly reassuring. Why the hell should I not be talking to Schadowski, and who exactly at the Ministry was keeping tabs on me?

12:37

Sitting on the S‑Bahn on the way to the Ministry I thought about last night. On the way home after the cinema I’d felt physical regret: it would have been so nice to cuddle up to someone in bed, to lie spooning another warm body. And there was a feeling that after all these years—years of being aware of that flirtatious tingle whenever we saw each other—something was inevitable. A feeling that by avoiding that inevitability I had somehow cheated fate, and fate would come back for revenge.

But this morning I just had a sense of vague guilt. I felt guilty that I’d refused Evelyn, even though it wasn’t something that I’d actually wanted; guilty that I hadn’t thought once about Annette last night, even though what was developing between us was something that didn’t just feel good—it felt like it had a future.

I swept my thoughts to one side as I got off the train at Friedrichsstrasse, and my mind turned to work matters. I’d had a phone call, been asked to report to the Ministry by some minor civil servant, so here I was. As I turned into the Mauerstrasse I saw the same goons that were there yesterday, but today they were in a dark blue Lada. Feeling their stares I pointedly ignored them, and went up the steps into the building.

I reported to the Minister’s secretary, expecting to be directed to Frau Demnitz again, but instead of which I was told to go upstairs to one of the tiny offices where the worker bees administered their paperwork. I was seen by a young man in a brown suit, no tie, just an open collar. He sat behind a desk that filled the space between the walls, and I wondered how he got out from behind it—did he crawl underneath, or climb over the top? His window looked over the courtyard below, but faced south, so I couldn’t see much more of him than a dark shape silhouetted against the bright window.

“Captain Grobe, you have been asked here today because it has come to our attention that you have not surrendered the paperwork attendant on your promotion for correct processing.” This guy had obviously been taking lessons from Frau Demnitz, and I wondered how long I’d be kept here, listening to his bureaucratic declamations.

I concentrated on the blue sky behind his left shoulder, feeling absurdly pleased when a fluffy cloud, high up in the sky, started a slow journey across the window. When I next tuned into what the drone was saying he’d moved on to the responsibilities of a higher rank. I wished now that I had paid more attention, because if I understood what I was hearing, this suit here was actually threatening me. Of course, he made use of bureaucratic phrases, but the gist of it was that if I didn’t pull my socks up, start behaving like a captain and doing what I was told instead of phoning Dresden at every opportunity, well, what? Unfortunately I’d missed the bit where the implicit threats might have been outlined, but I certainly wasn’t going to give him the satisfaction of asking him to repeat the juicy bits.

The civil servant hadn’t even begun winding down when I got up. As I left I asked him over my shoulder whether he was finished, but didn’t bother hanging around for an answer. I closed the door on him and wondered whether to just go back to Lichtenberg without dealing with all the promotion crap. But I thought that since I was here anyway, I might as well go and sort out the paperwork at the secretariat—if I didn’t they’d just haul me back again tomorrow. I followed the corridor round to the back of the building, and used the stairs there to go down to the ground floor. The front desk at the secretariat wasn’t occupied, and all the other staff were busy typing away, steadfastly ignoring me. I looked around the room while I waited, the sound of typewriter keys and the pinging carriage bells echoed round the bare room. In the corner a dusty cheese plant was about to give up the fight for life, and next to it a door stood slightly ajar. Not enough to see into it, but over the clackety-clack of the typewriters, and the more regular chatter of the telex I could hear a woman’s voice spilling out from the room beyond. I couldn’t make out what was being said, but I could hear the accent: gentle, Mecklenburg, quite a high voice. I’d heard it recently, very recently. But when?

“Can I help you, Comrade?” The secretary whose job it was to deal with enquiries had returned to her post.

I handed the Minister’s commission papers over to the secretary without a word, still staring at the door. The secretary drew a new pass out of a locked drawer, along with a form. She stamped the form, then handed that and the pass to me, along with some more papers for me to scribble my signature on.

“Here you are Comrade Captain—your new papers and a requisition slip for the dress uniform. You can get that at the Police
Präsidium
.”

I took the papers, but I was still staring at that door, the one with the sign,
Archiv
on it, thinking about the voice coming from behind it, because now I’d recognised it. The context had thrown me, but I knew whose voice it was. Now the question was: what was Evelyn doing here, at the Ministry?

13:57

When I came out of the station at Ostkreuz, the first thing I saw, on the corner of Simplonstrasse and Sonntagstrasse, was a dark blue Lada. The same two goons were sat there, watching people come out of the station. They hadn’t seen me yet, I’d stopped just under the shadow of the overhead track, and hesitating only for a moment, I turned around, crossing over the tracks by the bridge, headed for the far exit. As I came down the steps off the pedestrian bridge I could see the Tram 82 just go round its turning loop. A quick sprint, and I caught it just as it was about to leave.

I have an unfortunate character defect. At least, the Marxist-Leninists were always telling me that it was a defect, but I keep hoping that in these new times it may be seen as a positive trait. Whenever someone tells me to do something I have the urge to do the exact opposite—particularly if what they’re telling me to do seems unreasonable. And that’s probably the reason why, a few minutes later, I found myself in front of the prison in Rummelsburg.

I went to the administrative block at the front of the prison, and after identifying myself asked first to see Fremdiswalde’s belongings. A guard took me to an office on the first floor where he barked an order at a secretary. I was handed a box containing a grubby handkerchief, a small bottle of
Aminat
shampoo, a red penknife, a black and white check cotton Arabic scarf, a partly squashed
Fetzer
chocolate bar, a KWO works pass, an empty
Forum
cigarette packet, twenty Marks plus small change, a set of keys and an envelope with Fremdiswalde’s name on it. The envelope was addressed to a flat in Berlin-Friedrichsfelde.

“Is that it?”

“Yes, sir. Accused 264721 didn’t have any further items on his person at the time of his arrest.”

I took the keys and the envelope, put them in my pocket, and signed a receipt that the protesting secretary pushed over to me.

I had been left alone, standing in front of a grey steel gate, five meters high. It rattled as it ground open, just wide enough to let me slip through. A prison guard in green uniform and peaked cap sat in a metal sentry box, staring at me, no smile or acknowledgement touching his face. I stood in a non-space, a space that didn’t exist—neither the outside world, nor the prison—the gate rattled shut again behind me. Looking at the steel plates of the second gate in front of me, waiting for them to open, I ignored the guard to my right as well as the watchtower that looked down on me. In my mind I was elsewhere, or rather, in another time. The last time I’d been through these gates I was lying on the floor in the back of a truck, with police boots resting on my head, neck, back and legs. So often I find myself having to forcefully remind myself of the changes this country has gone through. Just a few years, but already I take so many of our new freedoms for granted, feel resentful of the burdens we have willingly taken upon ourselves as individuals and as a society. In the old days we were expected to go to meetings and official demonstrations, but to be there in body only. Now we demanded of ourselves that we give our whole presence to meetings:
No revolution without participation
, the clumsy slogan to be seen daubed on walls throughout our Republic. No matter how inconvenient it may be, active participation is our guarantee that no longer will people be dragged into this prison for daring to think for themselves. And, as I reminded myself, active participation was the reason I was here now.