Leaving Berlin (19 page)

“
Shh.
It’s all right.” Quietly, almost a whisper.

“But I couldn’t. At first I couldn’t.”

“Couldn’t what?”

“Shoot. Not after the women. Nobody ran. Why didn’t they run? That would have been—like a hunt. Not like this. Lined up, then in the pit. Then another group. And no one runs.”

“In the pit? In the mines?” Alex said, trying to make sense of it.

“No,” Erich said, his eyes focusing now, grabbing Alex’s sleeve. “Not in the mines. Before. We made them dig the pit and then we shot them. It’s a dirty business, Schultz said. But we had to do it. They gave us vodka before, for our nerves. You know, when you see them fall in like that, over and over, it does things to you. So we tried to help each other—”

“Who did?” Alex said, sitting up, motionless.

“Us. The soldiers. They said somebody had to do it, so we did it. And then I didn’t have the stomach for it, but I thought what will they do to me? Some punishment. So I had to keep going.”

“Shooting,” Alex said.

Erich nodded. “Until it’s done. The whole village.”

“And then what?”

“Then we covered the pit. Not us, other soldiers. The shooters were excused from that. And you know what Schultz said? A good day’s work. They don’t give medals for this, but—” He looked up at Alex. “He said we should be proud.”

Alex froze, hearing the thuds of the bodies falling in. He moved his hand away. What had happened to everybody?

“Now I dream about it sometimes,” Erich said. “The way they looked at us. Before we shot them.”

Alex looked over, dismayed. The man he was risking everything to help. Fritz’s son.

Erich turned his head on the pillow, somewhere else again, back in his waking dream.

“The children stayed with the mothers. It was easier. Sometimes hiding the face in the skirt, so those we didn’t have to see. And
once, after they fell in, we saw one of them crawling—we had missed him somehow—so Schultz went over to the edge and did it himself. Two shots, to make sure.” His voice had begun to drift. “And you know that night we had more vodka and what do you think comes? A letter. From Elsbeth. How she knew I must be suffering in the cold, it was always cold in Russia, but everyone in Germany was so grateful, how brave we were. And I thought, how can I tell her? What we were doing. Dirty business, he said. But it was worse than that, wasn’t it? I couldn’t tell her. Anybody. Schultz said we couldn’t tell.” He turned back, facing Alex. “Anybody. You won’t report it? That I told you this?”

“No.”

“We couldn’t tell the Russians. In the camp. They would have killed us. Revenge. It was bad enough, just being there. So we didn’t tell. But you, it’s different. An American.” He stopped, his face wrinkling in confusion. “I thought you were there.”

“I was.”

“They don’t know about such things there. You think you can’t do it. Then someone tells you to do it and you do it.”

Alex looked away, hearing Willy’s voice, his own panicked breathing.

“To help each other. If one stops, what does that say to the others? So you do it. And then it’s everybody shooting, not just you, you know?”

Alex looked at him, saying nothing. How old was he now? Twentysomething. Line after line, everybody shooting so nobody was shooting. He turned away.

“Try to get some sleep.”

“A few minutes. Sometimes when I sleep—” He clutched Alex’s sleeve more tightly. “So what should I have done? Somebody had to do it. They said so.”

Alex stood up. “Go to sleep. I’ll be here.”

“Yes, from America,” Erich said, still a puzzle piece to him, but he did finally close his eyes, his shallow breathing slowing, getting easier. Alex stood for a few minutes, watching him drift off, Fritz again, a boy’s smoothness spreading over his features.

He was still asleep when Irene got there.

“What did Gustav say?” she said, wiping his brow, barely touching it, not wanting to wake him.

“He needs medicine he can’t get here. He needs to get to the West.”

“The West? How? The border’s—”

“I know.”

“Maybe Sasha will help.”

“He can’t. You know that.”

“But it’s only one man. A boy. And you know Sasha’s—” She stopped, an awkward pause. “He’s very fond of me.”

“He’s not going to help you.”

“But if he dies here— It’s that serious? He might die?”

Alex nodded.

“Then what choice? He stays here, he dies. He goes back to Russia, another death sentence. What choice?”

“None. We have to get him out. You realize, he can’t come back. It’s a one-way trip.”

She put her hand back on Erich’s forehead, her face soft, then looked at Alex. “People come back.”

“Not always. Not this time.”

“What do you mean? Tell me.”

He started back to the other room, waiting for her to follow, then closed the door quietly.

“The only way out is by plane. That would mean military authorization. American. And somebody to take care of him on the other end. So they’d have to want to do this for him. Even break a few rules.”

“And why would they do that? For a German.” She looked up. “You mean they’d do it for you. Some favor. You know someone like that? Who would do this for you?”

“For me?” He shook his head. “I’m practically a fugitive. In contempt of Congress.”

“What does that mean?”

“Nobody in the American zone is going to do anything for me.” Hearing himself, the smoothness of it, not even a hesitation. “Unless I have something to trade, enough to pay Erich’s fare.”

“What are you thinking?” she said, looking at him closely. “You have some idea?”

“I met a man at the party from the radio. Their radio—RIAS. If Erich did an interview with them, I think Ferber would have enough clout to get him out.”

“An interview about what?”

“He hasn’t been in a POW camp. A slave labor detachment. Down in the Erzgebirge.”

“Where Sasha goes,” she said quietly. “Do you think he knew? That Erich was there?”

Alex shook his head. “Erich was just a number. Not even a name. How would he have known? He wasn’t supervising work parties. Not Maltsev’s assistant. They’re not names to him.” He paused. “Just slaves.”

“If I thought that,” Irene said, not picking up on this. “That he
knew all along— And now? Does he know now? The men who escaped—”

“They’re probably just numbers too.” He looked over. “It would be something to find out.”

“When I spy on him,” she said, a wry shrug, then looked up. “And Erich would talk about that on the radio? The mines? That’s the idea?”

“A firsthand report about what it’s really like there. From a former war hero.”

“War hero.”

“If he’s alive, he’s a hero.”

She looked at him. “It’s propaganda.”

He nodded. “But in this case, also the truth. He almost died there. He might die here, if we don’t get him out. I think they’d want the interview—eyewitness, not rumors.”

“And get Erich on a plane?”

“That would be the deal. But you understand what it would mean. Right now, he’s a POW on the run. If he does this, he becomes an enemy of the state.”

For a minute she said nothing, then breathed out, a kind of sigh.

“An enemy of the state. What state?”

“Sasha’s state,” Alex said.

She raised her eyes, holding his for a second. “But he would have his life.”

“Yes.”

“The Americans want to put you in prison, but you arrange propaganda for them,” she said, a question.

“They’re Germans in the mines.”

“And if they find out here you arranged this? You’d be an enemy of the state too.”

“Probably.”

“Then you’d go to prison here.”

“Do you have another idea? We can’t just walk away from this.”

“From Erich? No. He’s all that’s left now, from that life.” She lifted her head. “And you’d do this? Hiding him, it’s one thing, but—”

“It’s a lot easier to do it if you don’t think about it. What it could mean.”

She was quiet for a second, then looked away. “Yes. That’s often how it is, isn’t it?” She moved toward the bedroom. “Is it good to sleep so long, do you think?”

They woke him to give him the scheduled medicine, but even after more tea all he wanted to do was sleep.

“Alex has an idea. To get you to the West. Would you like that?” Irene said.

“You’ll come too.”

“
Ouf,
how could I do that? DEFA doesn’t move for me. But I’ll come visit. They have medicine there. Things you need.”

“I can’t stay here,” Erich said, not really a reply, some conversation he was having in his head. “The ones they catch, they put them in the worst mines. That’s what happens. They put you back, but worse.”

“Nobody’s going to catch you,” Alex said. “You warm enough?” He closed the bedroom curtains. “If you need light, stay in here. They took the blackout curtains down in the other room, so any light shows. Remember what I said about the stairs if there’s any trouble?”

Erich nodded. “Where are you going?”

Alex turned to Irene. “Where are we going?”

“The Möwe. Sasha said he’d meet me there. You don’t know it,” she said to Erich. “It’s just a place people go to. Sleep now and I’ll be back tomorrow.”

He nodded, closing his eyes. “You know what Elsbeth said? Her flat is too small.”

“It’s not her. It’s him.”

“My own sister. Blood.”

“Never mind, it’s better here. Alex is like family.”

Erich smiled, eyes still closed. “Ha! What would papa say? An American in the family. A spy.”

The hairs on Alex’s arms moved suddenly, as if some electric pulse were running along his skin. “Yes? Why a spy?”

“All Americans are spies. That’s what they told us. Don’t talk to them. If you see one in the village, report it. They’re all spies. Imagine how stupid—to think we could recognize them. How? Wearing uniforms? In Aue?” His voice drifted off.

“Yes, stupid,” Alex said, turning off the bedside lamp. “I’ll be back. Remember, no lights in the other room.”

“So careful. So maybe Erich’s right,” Irene said, teasing, then looked at her watch. “Anyway, there should be a power cut soon. They like to turn it off during dinner, so you can’t see how bad the food is.” A Berlin joke, tart, a shrug of the shoulders.

On the stairs the lights did go out, a quick flicker, then darkness, so that after they felt their way to the courtyard entrance they almost collided with a woman trying to get a flashlight to work.

“Oh, Mister Meier,” she said. “You’re in the building too? I didn’t realize.” Then, backing up, “Roberta Kleinbard. We met at the Kulturbund.”

“Yes, I remember. From New York. The architect.”

“Well, Herb’s the architect. But I help with the drawings.”

“You remember Frau Gerhardt?” Alex said, not sure if they had met. Both nodded.

“We’re across the courtyard,” Roberta said. “Did you just move in?”

“Yes, just.”

“So they’re putting all the Americans in one place, I guess. Tom Lawson’s in the back courtyard. He was the first. Here we go,” she said as the flashlight finally went on. “Follow me.”

They trailed the light, single file, out the entrance to the street.

“Thank God I bought extra batteries. Hard to get now,” Roberta was saying, but Alex barely heard her, his mind still back in the courtyard. All the Americans. Is that how Roberta saw him? What Erich thought too. He felt he had just seen himself in a mirror, rubbing bathroom steam away, seen finally what all the others saw, Markus and Martin and Erich making spy jokes. Not a German anymore, someone who hadn’t been here, couldn’t know what it was now to be German. Exile was irreversible, where he lived.

“You can still buy them in the British sector,” Roberta said. “But who knows for how long? They’re going to end the dual currency any day now, that’s what people say, and then what? Who has West marks unless you work over there?”

“Can we drop you somewhere?” Irene said, pointing to the waiting car, sent by Sasha from Karlshorst.

“Oh,” Roberta said, taking it in, impressed, then glancing at Alex. “If you’re going by the Kulturbund. But I can—”

“No, no, it’s on the way. Please.”

They got in, Irene giving the driver instructions. Roberta, who had assumed the car was Alex’s, now looked puzzled, a little wary.

“Another party?” Alex said.

“No, just dinner. With Henselmann. You know he’s in charge of the Friedrichshain project. New buildings all the way to Frankfurter Tor. Herb’s designing two.”

“Frankfurter Tor,” Irene said. “That’s miles.”

“A showcase street,” Roberta said, nodding. “Herb said they’re going to call it Stalinallee.”

“What, Grosse Frankfurter Strasse?” Alex said, remembering his drive into the city, the endless blocks of piled rubble. “But it’s always been—”

“Well, I know. But really, what difference does it make? And it’s the kind of gesture that might get the funding started. You know,
once you start a construction project, it’s hard to stop it. But getting started— And Herb’s designs are ready to go. He was at the Bauhaus, you know. Years ago. So this is like a dream for him. Come for a drink sometime and see. So convenient, being just across the courtyard. Do you face the street?”

“Yes.”

“They must think a lot of you,” Roberta said.

“No, it’s probably what was available, that’s all.”

Roberta looked at him, about to correct this, then decided to say nothing. Instead she turned to Irene.

“Can I ask what you do?”

“I’m at DEFA.”

“Oh, an actress,” Roberta said, excited, looking around, as if the answer explained the car.

“No, I work on the production staff.”

“Still. Just to be there. I was always crazy about movies, from a kid on. Of course, here it’s harder. But my German’s getting better. My son laughs at me now. It’s so easy for them at that age.”

“You’ve been here a long time?”

“No, just long enough to get homesick once in a while. For friends, you know. My sister was coming to visit, but with this going on,” she said, jerking her head up to the airlift, “it’s impossible. But soon. I mean how long can they keep it up? Their coal allowance is lower than ours now, and that won’t get anyone through a really cold one.” She had been looking toward the front seat, still trying to work out the car. “Your driver. He’s a soldier? It’s an official car?”