Leaving Berlin: A Novel Read online

  She kept holding herself, swaying a little. “If they find him, they’ll—shoot him. That’s what they do.”

  “What’s the difference, he’s dying where he is.” Then, hearing his tone, “They won’t find him. We’ll think of something.”

  “You will, you mean. The Adlon. Imagine. Why do you do this? It’s trouble for you.”

  “You think I’d walk away from Erich? Any of you?”

  She stared at him, not saying anything.

  “Maybe it’s for Fritz,” he said, avoiding her eyes.

  She smiled to herself. “How sentimental you are. He did it for the money. Your father paid him.”

  “But he did it.”

  “And now you. But nobody pays you.” She glanced toward the bathroom, fidgeting, suddenly nervous. “He shouldn’t use so much. Frau Schmidt will be up. She thinks she owns the water too. The Gauleiter.” She turned back to him. “So it’s for Fritz. Not me. But maybe for me a little.”

  Waiting for him to agree, something from the lost part of the evening. He looked at her for a minute, listening to the water running. A trickle to get the most out of the geyser.

  “I’m not the same person,” he said quietly.

  She tipped her head back, not expecting this.

  “I have a family.”

  She nodded, still surprised. “The wife who wasn’t me.”

  “A son.”

  “Yes?”

  “Everything is for him now. What I do. Sometimes things I don’t want to do. It’s not about me anymore. I can’t explain—” He paused. “It’s not the same.”

  “Just now. In the street. It wasn’t the same?” She looked away. “Why are you telling me this? You want to be faithful to a woman you divorced?”

  For a second he almost smiled. An Irene response, tart, fast.

  “You know before, it was the same for me. So let me think that. Not that everything’s different.” She rapped on the bathroom door. “It’s enough water, Erich. There’s soup ready.” She started setting out a bowl, willed activity, still fidgeting. “So this son. What is he like? A wunderkind?”

  “No. Just a boy. A beautiful smile, when he smiles. Serious. He thinks about things.”

  She held the soup spoon in midair. “Like his father. And have you thought about this?” She nodded toward the bathroom. “What it means? It’s prison, helping a POW escape. I’ll keep him here. You don’t have to do this.”

  “Yes, I do.”

  “Because of some old debt? It’s foolishness. Paying back Fritz?”

  “I don’t know why. Does it matter? He needs help.”

  “Is that what happened in America? Why you left. Something you had to do. Why? Because you had to. And now look.”

  “That’s right. I had to.” Ending it. “Where are the clothes? I’ll pick some out.”

  “Who is the friend at the Adlon, the one who’s away?”

  “A friend.”

  “Oh, without a name.”

  “She doesn’t know she’s helping. Neither do you.”

  “But how can I go then? See him?”

  “You don’t. Not yet. He’s not really there. There’s nobody in the room.”

  “Then what do I do?”

  “For one thing, don’t tell Sasha.”

  “But he could help.”

  “You mean that much to him? That he’d do this for you? Maybe you believe it.”

  “You don’t know him.”

  “He couldn’t. He’s not just some Ivan—five wristwatches and a German girlfriend. He’s a big shot at Karlshorst. Who do you think is after Erich?”

  “Oh, Sasha. Chasing soldiers,” she said, dismissive.

  “He works for Maltsev,” Alex said, thinking out loud. “Security. So he might hear. Any escapes, there’d be reports. You could keep an ear open—you could do that.”

  “How do you mean?”

  “If he says anything. What they’re thinking. Do they know he’s in Berlin? They might still think they’re hiding in the woods by the camp. Do they know about the truck? He’d hear things.”

  “And if he never says?”

  “Ask him how his day was. Talk to him.”

  Irene looked at him. “Spy on him, you mean.”

  Alex took a breath. “Yes, spy on him.” That easy, the line not even visible.

  They left by the Luisenstrasse end of the street, under the elevated tracks, with the charred wreck of the Reichstag looming up on the right. No cars, nobody following. The snow had stopped, patches already disappearing in the streets, leaving a wet sheen. Erich was dressed for the cold, his lower face wrapped in a scarf, a hat covering the rest, safely indistinguishable. But eventually they’d be in the lobby. Work out the logistics. Not the bar, where Brecht might be holding court, with some spillover group from the Kulturbund.

  They were lucky. The bellhop was there, immediately at his side, eyes wide, scenting trouble.

  “Frau Berlau’s room,” Alex said, a low voice, almost a mumble. “What number?”

  “One forty-three.” No hesitation, already part of it.

  “Get the key. Meet us there.”

  The boy slid away. Not much older than Peter.

  On the first floor, no one in the hall, they only had to wait a minute before he reappeared and opened the door.

  “The maid won’t come in,” he said. “But she’s back Friday. Frau Berlau.”

  Alex nodded, leading Erich inside. “Let me give you something.” He reached into his pocket, but the boy waved it aside.

  “Don’t forget the park tomorrow. The Fairy Tale Fountain,” he said, pulling the door closed, this just part of the same drama, in on it.

  It was the room of a nun, tidy and austere, a single bed and neatly stacked piles of books, Brecht’s plays, copybooks with production notes and reminders.

  Erich began taking off his coat. “Someone’s already in the room?”

  “Ruth Berlau. Can you remember that? A friend of yours. She said you could use it. If anyone asks. Don’t go out. No noise. No one’s here, understand? It won’t be for long.”

  “And then what. What’s going to happen?” He started shaking, a nervous tremor, crying without tears.

  Alex took him by the shoulders. “We’ll get you out. But right now, you need some rest.” He glanced at the bed. “Better sleep on top. Then nobody’ll know. They usually keep a duvet in here,” he said, opening the armoire.

  “Out,” Erich said, brooding. “The house in Pomerania maybe. The Poles would hide me.”

  Alex shook his head. “It’s gone. Here, this should be warm enough. Off with the shoes.”

  “So where? They have to send you back if they find you. It’s an agreement. If I go there,” he said, cocking his head to the West. “They have to send me back. So where do I go?”

  “We’ll get you out, don’t worry. But first sleep, okay? In you go.” Talking to a child.

  “I can’t stay in Berlin.”

  “No. We’ll get you to the West.” Suddenly sure, now that he’d said it. “I have friends there. We’ll fix it, all right? Do you need anything else? Don’t open the door to anybody. Just me. Three knocks like that, okay?” He knocked lightly on the night table. “Three.”

  “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.

  3

>   RYKESTRASSE

  THE 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 las
t 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.”