I crossed The Wall and visited shabby East Berlin only once, but I spent several afternoons at the zoo, which was all rebuilt and was totally amazing. Inquiring at the zoo office, I learned that my elephant pal, Siam, had survived the war and the beginning of the peace, nourished by cabbages Berliners had grown all around the zoo. But he'd passed away, I was told, in 1947. However, Knorke, the hippopotamus who'd survived the fìrebombings in his tank of water, was still going strong, still siring an endless line of little hippos named Bulette, Jette, etc. I found him, and for hours I stood by his pen and stared at that big, ugly thing, and cried and laughed.
As for Dieter's Pension… it was no more. Occupying most of the block was a very plain, very brown apartment building. A big structure without a single balcony.
On my last day in West Berlin, I met Marianne for coffee and torte at a Konditorei, and she presented me with an envelope of old black and white photos. They'd been in a trunk with the last of her aunt's things, she said, puffing on a cigarette, and she wondered if my mother might be in one of the pictures. I flipped through only three and would have screamed when I saw the fourth if all the wind hadn't rushed from my lungs. I couldn't believe it. There were the two of them, Loremarie and her Evchen, embracing by the Brandenburg Gate. My God, Mother was as beautiful as I remembered. Full of hope, I shuffled through the rest, and some twenty pictures later came across one of Loremarie and Dieter, this one obviously taken after the war because they were standing next to a jeep emblazoned with an American star. It wasn't a good photo, the faces and figures all blurred and foggy, and I held it closer, studied these friends from my former life. Oddly, in the background I noticed the shape of a boy and a tall man, the two of them walking as if they were about to join Dieter and Loremarie. My heart squeezed, then jumped. That was me, wasn't it? Absolutely. I'd know those knobby legs anywhere. That was me with some stranger. But who? I couldn't tell because the man's head was turned as he looked back down the street. It looked like Joe, it really did, but that of course was impossible.
Actually Berlin was quite inspirational, and I feel better and more secure than I think I ever have. At last I possess a picture of my mother, and whenever I want I use hypnosis like a record player to hear her voice. That city was inspiring, though, because although it was smashed and ruined, then cruelly broken in two, its healthier part managed to not only rebuild itself but regain its true character and even thrive. Like the island metropolis of West Berlin, I'd lost huge chunks of my life, and if it could move on, so could I. It's going to take time, but I'm willing to work. Besides, my love and admiration for Alecia continues to deepen, and I get to see her a lot. And she is dressing better these days, not that that really matters.
Who knows. The whole process'll probably take years, but maybe one day I'll be out of therapy. Maybe then I'll be able to actually ask Alecia out on a date. Something simple. Like a lost tropical island or a remote mountain village in the Himalayas. She actually did let something drop about the two of us going sailing out on Lake Michigan, which I guess I'd settle for.
Yeah, right, dream on, I keep telling myself. I'm nuts. I admit it. Alecia and me, shrink and dink, off into the sunset… when hell freezes over or…or the Berlin Wall comes tumbling down.
Then again, there've been greater miracles.
ABOUT THE AUTHOR
Robert Alexander is the New York Times bestselling author of The Kitchen Boy and other historical novels. Under the name of R.D. Zimmerman he has written numerous mysteries and been nominated for both an Edgar and several Lambda Literary Awards.
Born in Chicago, he resides in Minneapolis. For more info please visit: www.robertalexanderbooks.com
Title Page Copyright Page
Acknowledgements
Dedication Page
Deadfall In Berlin Chapter 1
Chapter 2
Chapter 3
Chapter 4
Chapter 5
Chapter 6
Chapter 7
Chapter 8
Chapter 9
Chapter 10
Chapter 11
Chapter 12
Chapter 13
Chapter 14
Chapter 15
Chapter 16
Chapter 17
Chapter 18
Chapter 19
Chapter 20
Chapter 21
Chapter 22
Chapter 23
Chapter 24
Chapter 25
Epilogue
About the Author
Deadfall in Berlin Page 25
