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Chapter 2
Wednesday, October 12, 1960
The sunlight that pierced the thin curtains of my drab Bachelor Officer Quarters (BOQ) room awakened me three times. Hunger finally forced me into the shower at 2 p.m. My body remained on California time, but I was half a world away in Berlin, Germany.
As I dressed, the knot in the pit of my stomach returned. I was on a very dangerous island of freedom, far behind enemy lines, and my new job was probably impossible.
The elevator stopped on the ground floor, and I walked out into an open courtyard. Overcast skies were visible between the tall buildings that made up Tempelhof Air Force Base. The air felt cool and crisp.
After I took a wrong turn, I passed several base support facilities, including the bookstore, and ended up on an aircraft parking ramp. Turning around, I finally found the Officers Club. The closest the chef could come to breakfast was a bowl of cereal and an egg salad sandwich. I needed to stay awake to get my body clock straightened out, so I stopped in the bookstore.
The bell attached to the door rang as I stepped into a small, high-ceilinged room with shelves arranged along three walls and in neat center rows. I immediately noticed a striking blonde with peaches and cream complexion sitting behind a desk at the entrance. To avoid staring at her, I scanned the austere décor as I approached the bestsellers table in the center of the room. I selected three volumes—Advise and Consent by Allen Drury, Hawaii by James A. Michener, and The Leopard by Giuseppe Tomasi di Lampedusa.
When I turned around, I caught her watching me. More cute than beautiful, her violet-blue eyes were enchanting. I smiled at her.
She beamed as she asked, “May I help you?”
“I need a book to keep me awake for the next thirty hours. What do you suggest?”
When she stood, I immediately noticed that her short-sleeved sweater and matching straight skirt showed her slim waist, trim figure, and breasts to advantage.
With only the slightest trace of an accent, she answered in English, “In my experience, a poorly written or complex book requires concentration, which is one way to stay awake or to quickly fall asleep. A well-written book will keep you awake, because you want to find out what happens. Which do you want?”
“A page-turner, please.”
“I have read Hawaii, which I thoroughly enjoyed,” she advised. “It makes one want to continue, plus now I also want to visit Hawaii. Advise and Consent recounts US Senate confirmation hearings for a former member of the Communist Party. I do not like communists, so I will not be reading it. I read the first chapter of The Leopard. The book was written in Italian, and I think the translator made it difficult to understand.”
Intelligent and attractive. “Do I detect a slight accent?”
“Yes, I am a native Berliner.”
“My name is Robert Kerr, er…Captain Robert Kerr.” I wore civilian clothes and wanted her to know I was an officer.
“My name is Anna Fischer, Miss Anna Fischer,” she offered, smiling.
She looked flushed even as she sized me up.
“Why do you need to stay awake for thirty hours? It seems like a strange thing to do.”
I explained my problem and concluded by stating, “I plan to stay up, drink coffee, and read this book”—I held up Hawaii—“until bedtime tomorrow.”
“There is a café nearby that stays open 24 hours every day. I will be closing in 30 minutes, and I can show you where it is. That way, if you need coffee or food in the middle of the night, you will know where to go.”
“Thank you. That’s very kind of you.” Our eyes met for a brief moment as I paid for the book. I sensed her interest in me. I, indeed, was intersted in her, too.
Chapter 3
Anna
Wednesday, October 12, 1960
I sat alone at the front desk when Robert entered the bookstore that first time. Glancing up, I noted his striking appearance and long-legged stride. His tan and his sun-streaked light-brown hair indicated he spent a lot of time outdoors.
He browsed the bestseller table, his back to me. Broad shouldered and narrow-hipped, he looked athletic. When he caught me staring at him, he smiled, and his hazel eyes twinkled.
My heart beat faster. I blushed as he approached me. This was my first time to react to any man in such a positive way. When I stood, I saw he was taller than me. I could wear high heels if he asked me out on a date. Perhaps a strange thought, but I have always been self-conscious about my height.
I cleared my throat before I asked, “May I help you?” My voice sounded higher in tone than usual, reflecting the tension streaming though my entire body.
Few twenty-two-year-old women possess less experience with men than I. Though I had often resolved to allow a man into my life, I recoiled at the thought of physical contact with a man. It just brought back too many terrifying memories from the war.
When Robert remarked, “I arrived in Berlin yesterday and plan to stay up, drinking coffee, and reading a book,” I surprised myself by offering to show him a nearby café.
I thought then that, if I intend to start a relationship with anyone, it should be with a man to whom I am attracted. Robert was handsome. I wondered if he might be the man to help break down the barriers I had erected as a girl.
Chapter 4
Robert
Wednesday, October 12, 1960
Berlin amazed me. This was the first time I had set foot outside Tempelhof. Large, modern apartment buildings lined the streets. Small shops on the ground floor offered a variety of goods and services. Bakeries, butchers, greengrocers, tobacco shops, liquor stores, cobblers, hardware stores, restaurants and bars, among others, occupied the major thoroughfare Anna and I walked down.
Late afternoon sunlight filtered through the mature trees that shaded the street. New automobiles occupied every available parking space. I don’t know what I expected, but not this. Images of demolished buildings and rubble-strewn streets flashed through my mind. What I saw now could easily have been an affluent urban area in any of a vast number of American cities.
Anna’s ponytail swung enticingly as we walked side by side.
“The bookstore is operated by the Post Exchange,” she said. “I’ve worked there for almost a year now. I was recently given the job of managing the store, which involves supervising three clerks.”
“You seem to enjoy it.”
She smiled. “I love it.”
“Your accent is very British. Did you study in England?”
“No. I have never been outside of Germany. My mother studied there. We often listen to the BBC shortwave broadcasts.”
While I struggled to find another topic of discussion, Anna asked, “Would you tell me how you traveled from California to Berlin?”
“Pan American Airways has those new jet airliners—the Boeing 707. It can fly around the world in just over 48 hours.”
“I’ve heard about jet airliners, but have not seen one. The runways at Tempelhof are too short for jet aircraft to land there. They all land at Tegel Airport over in the French Zone.”
“On Sunday evening I left Los Angeles and flew by jet to New York. After a layover, I flew on the same jet to London.”
“I’ve always wanted to visit London,” she said.
“I can’t say I saw much of England. Just a four-hour wait at Heathrow. Early yesterday morning, I took a DC-6 aircraft from London to Tempelhof.”
Anna clasped her hands behind her back, looking at me frequently as we strolled down the sidewalk. She smiled radiantly, and then asked, “What did you do all of that time?”
“On both of the flights, the stewardesses pulled down a screen and distributed earphones, so I watched two movies—Leslie Caron in Gigi, and Elizabeth Taylor in Cat on a Hot Tin Roof.”
“Tell me, are the stewardesses as young and beautiful as everyone claims?” Anna glanced at me with a playful smile.
“They were all attractive.
One even gave me her name and address, hinting she could fly to Berlin for free.”
“Are you going to contact her?”
I shook my head. “She’s not my type.”
Anna glanced over and said, “Could I be….” she stopped mid-sentence, obviously embarrassed.
To keep the conversation going, I said, “The time goes reasonably fast—meals, movies, and a good book. It was pleasant overall.”
“So, you watched the stewardess pass up and down the aisle,” she teased.
“None were as attractive as you,” I admitted.
Anna paused, looked at me, and shook her head as if she hadn’t heard me correctly. She asked, “Could you sleep sitting up?”
“Even in coach, the seats were large and very comfortable with plenty of leg room. They recline, but not quite enough to sleep comfortably.”
As we arrived at an intersection, Anna said, “And so we are at the station. See the S and U. They stand for the S Bahn, the subway, and the U Bahn is what I think you call the interurban.”
“I know that bahn is the German word for train. So that makes sense.”
“In Germany, major stations like this have businesses that stay open 24 hours a day. Here is the cafe I told you about. It is a good place; the food and coffee in the airplane terminal are not so good.”
“Nicht sehr gut.”
“Oh! You speak German!”
“I took courses in German, and I am moderately fluent. I read German much better than I speak it. My professors were Americans, and my accent is atrocious,” I answered in German.
“I am impressed—you do exceptionally well,” Anna replied.
An uncomfortable pause followed as I sought the correct German words to ask her to join me.
“I had better go now,” she declared, and began to turn away.
I lightly touched her arm just as she started down the steps. “Excuse me, Anna—will you please join me for a cup of coffee?”
She looked back, smiling. “That would be nice; I would very much like that.”
We entered a large, brightly lit room filled with marble-topped tables and bentwood, cane-seated chairs. Anna suggested a table toward the back.
When the waiter arrived, Anna spoke German. “An espresso, please.”
While mentally searching for the correct German words, I failed to respond to his questioning look. I muttered, “I will have the same.” I then bent forward and whispered, “What is espresso?”
“See that brass colored machine our waiter is using?” she asked. “It forces near boiling water under pressure through finely ground coffee. It is delicious. You will like it.”
“Please say again, but speak more slowly.”
She did, and I replied in German, “Now I understand you perfectly. I will try to remember that the word for ‘pressure’ is druck.”
“See the curved glass counters along that wall; they contain cold cuts, cheeses, pastries and a variety of prepared meals. So, you can also eat here when you get hungry later.”
“Looks like they also have a well-stocked bar,” I observed.
“Yes,” she replied, then changed the subject by stating, “Robert, I am twenty-two years old, and I studied art history at Heidelberg University for two years. Please tell me about yourself.”
“I am twenty-six, have undergraduate and master’s degrees in civil engineering. Thank you for slowly enunciating your words. I can understand what you are saying.” I smiled and brushed the top of her hand with my fingertips. She withdrew her hand. I sensed that perhaps I was rushing things.
After a brief pause, Anna asked, “will you tell me about your life in English, if that is easier for you?”
In German, I responded, “I want to practice. Please indulge me…”
When I told her that I had attended a hoch schule in Los Angeles, she informed me “a school that prepares one for the university in Germany is called a gymnasium.”
“Like every young American male, when I turned 18, I was required to register for the military draft. Most years thousands of young men are drafted, and many more volunteer to join a branch of our military service.”
“But you’re an officer.”
“I wanted to serve as an officer. While in the university as an undergraduate at Stanford, I took Air Force Reserve Officer’s Training Courses.”
“Why did you decide to become an engineer?” Anna asked.
“Ever since I helped my grandfather Hunter construct a dairy barn when I was fourteen, I have wanted to be a builder.”
“You are fortunate to have found your vocation at such a young age.”
“I was lucky. My grandfather encouraged me by teaching me how to plan a project, lay it out on the ground, and how to use the correct tools to build it. So, I decided to become a civil engineer.”
“You build buildings?” Anna asked.
“In America, civil engineers design, construct, and maintain roads, bridges, canals, dams, and buildings.”
“Impressive,” she said as she extended her hand.
I took the opportunity to touch her hand lightly. The first few times I touched her, she either flinched or pulled back. This time, she briefly, almost experimentally, clasped my hand.
“You are young to be a senior rank, like a captain. You must be good at what you do.”
“Every officer who stays in the Air Force for over four years is promoted to the rank of Captain—in English, we say it is automatic. So, I am nothing special.”
“You construct buildings for the military. What are you going to build here in Berlin?”
I took this chance to practice the cover story Scott had concocted. “I’m a weatherman.”
“I do not understand. The American military is using a highly trained engineer to predict the weather?”
“Afraid so. They needed weathermen when I joined, so they trained me—I received six months of schooling.”
“That seems strange,” Anna observed, a puzzled look on her face.
Knowing I’d botched that part of our conversation, I glanced at my watch and realized I was hungry. “Anna, I hope I have not kept you from anything important. We have talked for almost two hours. Would you join me for a meal?”
“I would love to,” she replied, smiling. “I know the perfect place. It is small, inexpensive, and only three blocks away.”
Chapter 5
Wednesday, October 12, 1960
As we descended three steps into a cozy Italian restaurant, I turned to Anna and smiled. “It’s perfect—just what I had in mind.” The red and white checkered tablecloths, travel posters of Italian locals, and flickering candles in wine bottles provided the perfect atmosphere for the first of what I hoped would be many meals together.
A waiter, clad in a white apron and chef’s hat took our order. He looked at me and asked, “Americano, yes?”
“Yes, I am. How did you know?”
“I’m a genius!” he replied, raising his right hand into the air for emphasis.
“Robert, it is your haircut. Only men in the American military wear their hair so short here in Germany.”
In broken English, the waiter stated, “We hab de besta pizza in Berlin und Americano vino. Wha kinda of pizza you vant?”
After we both studied the menu, I turned to Anna and suggested, “How about three meat—ham, salami and pepperoni pizza with extra cheese?”
“That sounds wonderful.”
“What kind of American wine do you have?”
“Coca-Cola, of course,” the waiter replied, laughing at his own joke.
Laughing, I asked Anna, “I think we would like real wine, correct?”
“Yes. I do not share your American craving for Coca-Cola.”
“I know little about European wines. Will you help me select a wine?”
After some genial banter between the three of us about which wines they served, we settled on a half carafe of the house Chianti.
The rich, alluring fragrance of the cheese, sauce, t
oppings and freshly baked dough wafted over us as the next table was served.
“Anna, I’m glad we came here. You made an excellent choice.” Touching her hand lightly, I smiled. “Now it’s your turn to tell me about yourself. You are obviously well educated, and you attended university, but you did not finish?”
“My whole family has not been as fortunate as yours—two wars, the Nazis, and now the communists.”
Clasping both of her hands, I encouraged, “Anna, I know it was probably bad, but if you are willing to tell me, I’m genuinely interested in knowing about you and your family.”
“Ok, but I will relate this part in English to make sure you understand everything. Although my parents lived in East Berlin, I attended a gymnasium in West Berlin. I finished at the top of my class and was admitted to the University of Heidelberg in West Germany.”
“I’m impressed. Heidelberg is a very prestigious university.”
“University tuition is free for those who live in the West, so I officially immigrated when I was 18. I was still required to pay for books, accommodations, food, and transportation. The East Mark/West Mark exchange rate is so bad, my family could provide me with little support.”
“Go on.”
“A nearby family paid me to housekeep and babysit for them. I shared a room with another girl, and we cooked our meals on an electric hot plate. Last year, my family’s financial circumstances worsened. I was forced to leave the university.”
“That’s unfortunate.”
“In Europe, the university only takes three years, so I was desperate to finish my last year, but that was not to be.”
“So, you returned to Berlin.”
“Yes, I wanted to be near my family. During my interview for the bookstore position, I was told that only West Berlin residents were eligible to apply. I now live in one small room with the bath down the hall here in the West.”
She seemed to want to say more but she stopped, as if hesitating to share some troubling family or personal matters. After long moments of silence between us, she looked relieved when our pizza arrived.
After the first bite, I observed, “This is delicious. The thin crust is done to perfection.”
The Berlin Tunnel Page 3
