Leaving Berlin (28 page)

“A friend,” Irene said faintly.

“Another friend,” the man said, amused by this, stepping forward now into the candlelight, buttoning his uniform.

“No. A friend,” Irene said, at a loss, looking over at Alex.

The room seemed to dissolve for a minute, as if he had brought the fog in with him, shrouding everything outside the reach of the candle, the flash of brass buttons, her eyes staring at him. Like that night in Kleine Jägerstrasse, a whole conversation in a look, everything understood in a second. The same bright sheen in her eyes, the tiny spark of defiance behind the dismay. When things came back into focus he almost expected to see the Christmas tree, Kurt lying among the presents. But there was only a Russian officer, buttoning his tunic, watching them both.

“I’ll go,” Alex said, not moving, his eyes still talking to her.

“No need,” the Russian said calmly, picking up his hat. “I’m leaving.”

They all stood still for another second, just looking, then the Russian started for the door.

“A friend,” he said, smiling to himself. “I wonder, does Sasha know how popular you are?”

“Why don’t you tell him?” A quick glare, then looking down, retreating. “It’s not what you think.”

“Ah,” the Russian said, enjoying himself. “You should get an appointment book.” He turned to Alex. “Or are you early?” He put on his hat, then stopped halfway through the door and looked at Alex. “You won’t be sorry. Make sure she washes, though. Between friends.”

The door closed with a click. Irene moved over to the table and put down the candle, then belted her robe.

“He works with Sasha,” she said, low, almost mumbling.

“You don’t have to explain anything to me.”

“No?” She took a cigarette from a pack on the table and lit it with the candle. “I thought you weren’t coming here anymore.”

Alex raised his eyebrows, waiting.

“He came to ask me questions.”

“That’s some answer,” Alex said, nodding at the robe.

She looked at him, then away. “Yes, isn’t it? So now he knows. I’m a whore. Not somebody who would help Sasha. Somebody he’d stay here for. Because he loved her. Who loves a whore? So he thinks I’m innocent,” she said, cocking her head toward where the Russian had been. “That’s how they know if you’re innocent now, if you’re a whore.”

“Irene—”

“Oh, look at your face. You don’t have to— It’s always in your face. You know, when I saw you at the door I thought, my God, he couldn’t help himself, he had to come. Like before. Stay away? You?”
She drew on the cigarette. “But that was when you were in love with me. Not now.” She crushed the cigarette on a saucer. “So why did you come? We’re supposed to be so careful.”

“We need to talk.”

“About this?” she said. “You already know. They think maybe I’m hiding Sasha. Now they don’t think it anymore. So that’s good anyway.”

“They’re going to think he defected.”

“Sasha? He would never do that. Why would they think that?”

Alex hesitated for a second.

“What is it? Why do you say that?”

“Because it’s the logic of it. It’s how they think. What else could it be? Now that he’s not holed up somewhere with you.”

“In our love nest. You know the funny thing? I think he did love me. In his way.”

Alex looked at her, disconcerted. “If you say so.”

“You didn’t know him. Anyway, he’d never defect.”

“But they’re going to think so and you’re going to help them.”

She looked up at him.

“They’re going to ask you again. And again. He didn’t want to go back to Moscow. You thought it was because he didn’t want to leave you. But now you know that wasn’t true, because you haven’t seen him. You’ve been thinking. He acted as if he was afraid to go back, that something bad was going to happen.”

“And they’ll believe that?”

“Bad things do happen. That’s the world they live in.” He paused. “Maybe it’ll be your friend again. Asking. He’ll believe you.”

“Don’t.” She turned away. “You don’t know what it’s like.”

Alex said nothing.

“So. That’s what you wanted to tell me? Sasha was afraid of Moscow? That’s why you came?” She looked over, her face softer. “Not to see me?”

“We need to talk about—”

“What?” she said, her voice intimate.

“Erich. I think you should go with him.”

“To the West?” she said, surprised.

“He’ll need somebody. I can get you both out.”

“Oh, like a travel agent. Two tickets, please. Just like that. One way. You can’t come back now if you do that.”

“You’ll be safe.”

“From what?”

“Maybe the next one who questions you isn’t your friend. Maybe it’s someone who wants real answers.”

“Why would they—?”

“Bodies get found. Things happen. You’re not safe here. You have to get out while you can.”

“Leave Berlin? What would I do? My life is here.”

“It won’t be, if they find him. It wouldn’t just be a few questions.”

“I know what they do. You think I’d—?”

“Everyone does. Whether they want to or not.”

She looked at him. “You think I’d tell them about you. You want to send me away to protect yourself.”

“To protect you.”

“You think I would do that? Give them you?”

“You wouldn’t be able to help it.”

“And you? Would you tell them?”

He looked away, not saying anything.

“No, not you. A man of principles. Only a whore would do something like that.”

“I didn’t say—”

She came over to him, reaching up for his arms.

“Don’t you know anything? I would never—”

“It doesn’t matter. You’re not safe here.” He looked down. “It’s not safe.”

“The only one who knows is you.”

He nodded. “I can’t protect you here. Sasha’s gone. You have to get out. Now. It’s not safe.”

“You keep saying that.” She looked up. “There’s something you’re not telling me.”

“You have to trust me.”

“Trust me. When a man says that he’s going to do something you don’t want him to do. Trust me. And then he’s gone.”

“This is different.”

“Yes? And are you coming too?”

“I can’t. I’m not welcome there. You know that.” He paused. “Not yet.”

“Oh, not yet. So I sit and wait for you. And you don’t come. And all we have is our secret.”

“But you’ll be safe. Erich will be safe. He’ll have a life there.”

“So it’s for Erich, all this.”

He looked at her. “It’s for you.”

“No. Once maybe. Not now. I saw it in your face before. Well, I don’t blame you for that. I never get it right. All my men. When I was young, I thought everybody loved me. I just had to pick. And always wrong. Kurt, what did he love? The revolution, whatever that was. Sasha? One call from Moscow and he’s off. Good-byes? He’s so sorry? No. But you. I thought, well, we’ll start over. But it’s never like that, is it? And now you want to send me away. Because you’re afraid I’ll betray you.” She shook her head. “I would never do that. Then what would I have left?”

He looked at her, feeling the heat in his face, ears buzzing. Never betray you. Tell her.

“Trust me,” he said finally. “Just this once.”

RIAS
ALREADY HAD GROUND
rules in place for the interview.

“We’ve had trouble with the Russians—they just pick people up in the street after they’re on the air—so we record now. Half an hour to set it up, see what he’s comfortable with, what we’re going to say. Then maybe an hour for the interview. We can edit later. By the time we air it, he’s gone and the Russians don’t even know he was here. Sound right to you?”

Alex nodded. The cadence of newsroom American with a German accent. Where had Ferber learned his English?

“Come by U-Bahn. Innsbrucker Platz. That what you did today?”

Alex nodded again.

“And no trouble, right? So do that. Then after I’ll have a station car get you to Tempelhof. He’s flying out right afterward, yes? Good. The important thing is that they have no idea until it’s too late. I’ll set up a recording studio. Any night. I’m always here nights. Last-minute, no leaks in between. Sound good?”

“Perfect.”

“You tell him what we’re looking for?”

“Personal story—what the work is like. Treating POWs like slaves. Everyone getting sick. Not the politics of it, just the human side. Don’t worry, he wants to do this. He thinks it might help.”

“The Russians won’t like it.”

“That’s the idea.”

“I mean, they’ll have a marker out on him. As long as he’s here anyway. Any idea when?”

“I’ll call you. Need a code word? How about ‘canary’?”

Ferber looked puzzled.

“The bird. They used to send them down into the mines. To see if there was gas.”

Ferber smiled. “Erich will be fine.”

Dieter must have been watching at the window because he was in the park before Alex had finished the first cigarette.

“How is he?”

“He sleeps mostly. To stay warm. There’s no coal, so it’s easier in bed. No more fever, but the medicine is gone. You’ll need to move him soon.”

“He’s well enough for the interview?”

“Mm. He talks about it. He wants to do it. Give the finger to Ulbricht, he says.” Dieter smiled faintly. “He’s a young man.”

“We’re almost there. Are we squared away at the airport?”

“Howley’s been away. Back tomorrow. Just let me know when and Campbell will make the call. Don’t worry, you have some time.
They have better things to do in Karlshorst than look for POWs. Since the news.”

“What news?”

“You haven’t heard? I thought your friend might— It’s Markovsky. We’ve got him. He’s defected.”

“What?”

“Your friend doesn’t know?”

“I haven’t seen her.”

“See her, then. Interesting to hear what she knows.”

“Where is he?”

“Wiesbaden. Very comfortable from what I hear. It’s usually like that, isn’t it?”

“But why? What made him do it?”

“They sent him a ticket, for Moscow, and he started wondering whether he should make the trip. Not that I blame him. People go back and—” Campbell’s version, the one everybody must have now.

“Quite a catch.”

“We’ll see. But meanwhile Karlshorst—it’s a sight to warm the heart. So don’t worry about your young friend—he’s got a little time.” He looked over. “Except the medicine’s gone. So you don’t want to wait either.”

He walked along Greifswalder Strasse, past the cemetery, then turned up the hill toward the water tower. The planes were back, humming across the sky the minute the fog had cleared last night. Unload, three minutes, take off to the West. With Erich on board. Irene, if she’d go. He saw her eyes in the candlelight, the Russian coming toward them. I’d never betray you. After she had.

Roberta Kleinbard was waiting by the courtyard door in Rykestrasse, hands nervous, fidgeting.

“Thank God. I thought maybe you’d gone away. All night— anyway, thank God. Please. I need your help. I need somebody to talk for me.” Her voice quavering, matching the shaking hands.

“What’s the matter? What’s happened?”

“Herb. They’ve arrested him.”

“For what?”

“I don’t
know
. They just came and—took him. What is it, I kept asking and of course they’d answer in German and—”

“Okay, okay,” he said, calming her.

“And they wouldn’t let Herb talk—just took him. No explanation. So I went to the Kulturbund and nobody wants to touch it. I got somebody to make a call, at least find out what happened and you’d think I had the plague or something. He wasn’t the only one, that’s the thing. They’re all scared there. The Party hasn’t said anything. How can they not say anything? People just—taken like that. You’ve got to help me. Please. I don’t know what to do. You’ve got a phone—”

“Come up,” he said, opening the door.

“Oh God, finally. I didn’t know what to do.”

“Regular policemen?”

“I don’t know. I guess.”

“Uniforms?”

“No, clothes. Is that bad?”

“Let me try the police first.”

“I’ll never forget this. I swear. What do I say to Danny? Your father’s a criminal? It has to be a mistake. I mean, Herb, he’s been a Party member since—they can’t just do that. It has to be a mistake.”

It took a few minutes to be put through to the desk, a little longer to explain why he was calling, Roberta hovering, hands in her coat pockets, clenched.

“He’s in Oranienburg,” he said finally, hanging up.

“Oranienburg?” Her voice dropped, almost a whisper. “That’s Sachsenhausen. A concentration camp. He’s in a concentration camp?”

“Not like that—for political prisoners. If you want to see him you have to apply to the commandant. In person. That’s all they’d say. Do you know someone in the Party you could—?”

“My God, a concentration camp. Come with me. Please. I have to see him. I’ll never ask another thing as long as I live. Oh my God,” she said, breaking down now. “How could he be a political prisoner? What does that mean? He came to be with them, the Party. It’s a mistake.” She put a hand on his arm. “I have to know if he’s all right. Please speak for me. You’re an American—I can trust you. The others, at the Kulturbund, it’s like I had the plague.”

They took the S-Bahn north to the edges of Berlin, Alex feeling his chest tighten as they approached the last stop. In the street he looked at a passing truck, the way he’d come here before, packed in the back, standing. Then hit with clubs, climbing out. People watching. An ordinary suburb. But his prison was gone. He stood on the curb, unable to move, disoriented.

“What’s wrong?”

“It was here. An old brewery. People could see in. They leased us out in work parties.”

He asked an old man waiting for a bus.

“They closed that one in ’34. Then they built the new camp. Over there.” He jerked his head east. “The bus, you have to wait forever. You’re young. It’s not far, fifteen-, twenty-minute walk. Down there and then left at the corner.”

On the walk they were quiet, Roberta finally silenced by fear. A place she’d never thought she’d see, something in a nightmare.

They turned down a street lined with trees, the walls of the camp on their left, barracks for the guards on the right. Where the SS used to devise new tortures, boot testing, the prisoners walking endlessly around a track until their feet were crippled. What did the guards say to each other at night, stories over schnapps?