“Sie sind Johann Eberhardt, nicht war? ” the man said as Johann passed him. The Turk had to crane his neck and look up at the towering Johann, who was at least twenty-five centimeters taller.
“Ja ,” Johann replied, stopping but continuing to dry himself. “Why do you ask?”
“I am a friend of Bakir’s,” the young Turk said. He glanced around quickly. “May I talk to you in private?”
Johann hesitated but eventually allowed the man to follow him into the empty locker room. Bakir Demirel had been an engineering colleague of Johann’s for over three years. Both were registered with Guntzel and Stem, the leading technical employment agency in Germany. By chance, they had worked together on each of their last three assignments. Their skills were complementary. Johann was a superb systems engineer. His strength was in understanding how all the different parts of a complex engineering system worked together. Bakir’s talent was more focused. He was an expert in the fields of software engineering and robotics.
Inside the locker room, the stranger immediately crossed to the shower stall and turned on two of the jets. Johann looked at him quizzically. “You never know who might be listening,” the Turk said with a smile and a shrug.
“Now, what’s this all about?” Johann asked in an impatient tone.
“Bakir received a contract termination notice from the city of Berlin yesterday,” the man said.
“There must be some mistake,” Johann said. “Bakir’s contract was written after mine, and I still have three months to go. We haven’t even finished upgrading the distribution system for Wedding and Moabit.”
“The termination was almost certainly politically motivated,” the Turk said. “It is common knowledge that Herr Farckenbeck has higher aspirations. What better way for him to establish his German patriotism than to summarily dismiss all the high-paid foreign workers in the Berlin Water Department?”
“But the contracts have penalty clauses,” Johann said.
“Even better for Herr Direktor. This way he proves he is willing to sacrifice for the good of the fatherland.” The man stared directly at Johann and his smile vanished. “But I did not come here at six o’clock in the morning to talk to you about labor practices in Germany. I came to ask a favor on Bakir’s behalf. He is your friend, isn’t he?”
Johann nodded. “As I assume you know,” the Turk continued, “under the Foreign Workers Act passed two months ago, all non-Germans who do not have gainful employment are subject to immediate deportation. Technically speaking, following the interpretation of the law handed down by the courts last week, even those like Bakir, who are registered with employment agencies and have long work histories, can be deported between assignments. Although Bakir and his family have lived—”
“But that’s absurd,” Johann interrupted. “Surely someone like Bakir is an exception. The law was written to permit deportation of those foreigners who cannot support themselves and have therefore become a burden to the nation. Bakir has lived here all his life and is a successful engineer. He even has property and a savings account.”
“Which could be confiscated,” the Turk said with a wry smile. “Don’t get me wrong, I an-i not implying that the Freisinger government is motivated by profit, at least not yet. But what I said is correct. Bakir could be detained as early as today, before Guntzel and Stern even begin to look for another position for him… That’s why I have come to you.”
Johann was puzzled. “What does this have to do with me?"
“I’m coming to that,” the man said. “You have met Bakir’s wife, Sylvie, and his daughter, Anna, have you not?”
“Yes,” said Johann. “I had dinner at their home a few nights before Christmas.”
“Bakir believes,” the man said slowly, “that it would be smart for him to stay on the move until he has secured another job… But he is concerned about the security of his family while he is away from home. He sent me to ask if Sylvie and Anna could stay at your apartment for a week or so. That way his absence would not be so noticeable.”
Johann did not know what to say. His immediate thoughts were about how Eva might react. He quickly reminded himself, however, that it was, after all, his apartment, and it did have an extra bedroom and bathroom. He pictured Bakir in his mind. He has always been a good colleague and friend, Johann said to himself. I would like to help him.
The request was simple enough. Yet a feeling Johann did not understand was holding him back. He fidgeted uncomfortably.
The stranger continued to stare at him. “All right,” Johann said, when the protracted silence had become awkward, “I guess I can do it.”
“Thank you,” said the man, grabbing Johann’s hand and shaking it vigorously. “Thank you very much.” He glanced at his watch. “They will meet you in the Tiergarten, next to the Goethe statue, at exactly seven o’clock this morning.”
Before Johann could reply the man had disappeared.
It was snowing outside. Johann wrapped his scarf tighter around his neck. He was wearing only a thick sweatshirt over his T-shirt and jeans.
He headed in the direction of the Tiergarten, the huge park that was an oasis in the center of Berlin. Since the indoor pool was on the banks of the Spree, not far from Friedrichstrasse, the walk to the Tiergarten was not far.
Johann was having second thoughts about keeping Bakir’s wife and child in his apartment. Questions had been pouring into his mind ever since the strange Turk had abruptly departed from the natatorium. Why me? an inner voice kept saying. I really know Bakir only from work. I have never been involved in any way in his personal life.
Johann remembered the night of his visit to Bakir’s apartment in Kreuzburg. He had met many people that evening, most of them Turkish, all of them supposedly friends of Bakir’s. Why is he not asking one of them for help? Johann asked himself.
By the time he reached Unter den Linden and turned in the direction of the Tiergarten, Johann had convinced himself that Bakir must be a political activist. Perhaps he was even one of the leaders of the opposition to the Foreign Workers Act. Work stoppages and nonviolent demonstrations had been occurring periodically ever since the German legislature, bowing to the will of the Freisinger government, had passed the new law. Bakir would not have been fired otherwise, Johann told himself. He’s too good an engineer.
Johann stopped for several seconds in front of the Brandenburg Gate. To his left, on land that had been part of the Tiergarten until early in the twenty-first century, a series of museums dedicated to the study of German history stretched out in a row almost as far as Leipziger Platz. The first and oldest structure, which Johann had twice visited as a child, was the Berlin Wall Memorial Museum. Farther down the street was the controversial Third Reich Museum that had recently been the target of so many protests.
Johann crossed into the interior of the park behind the row of museums. It was snowing more heavily now. The occasional small meadows beside the path were completely covered in white. Here and there rabbit tracks broke the perfect quilt of snow. The heavy clouds had delayed the light of morning, but the scattered park lamps provided enough illumination for Johann to see.
Every hundred meters along the path a huge VERBOTEN sign, placed on the top of a thick post just above a pair of the ubiquitous scanning cameras, reminded those who were enjoying the Tiergarten that sleeping in the park, during the day or night, with or without a tent or a sleeping bag, was a felony offense punishable by a minimum fine of five hundred marks and/or thirty days in jail.
A rabbit scurried across the path and Johann gave chase. He was no match for the little creature, but he did manage to get his sneakers wet in the snow. As Johann was catching his breath he noticed that he was standing next to a tall, electrified fence protecting the back of the Museum of the Third Reich. Johann was staring idly at the building through the trees and the falling snow, thinking about his girlfriend Eva and her job at the museum, when he heard a sharp voice behind him.
“Was tun Sie hier? ” a man sa
id, appearing out of the trees. He was wearing the steel-gray uniform of the National Security Police (NSP).
“I was walking along the path,” Johann replied easily, “and I decided to chase a rabbit—”
“Your identity card, please,” the policeman interrupted, extending his hand. As he drew close Johann could tell that the policeman, like most of the members of the NSP, was very young, twenty years old at most.
Johann reached into the small pouch around his waist and handed the policeman his identity card. The youth seemed unusually nervous, as if he were new to his job, or perhaps intimidated by Johann’s size. The policeman was holding a portable computer, equipped with a small screen, into which he inserted Johann’s card. Nothing happened. The surprised officer repeated the action, but the monitor remained blank.
“Your card must be a fake,” the policeman announced imperiously. He pulled the nightstick from his belt. “You must come with me.”
Johann smiled. “Perhaps you forgot to switch on the power,” he said in a sarcastic tone.
A few moments later the angry and embarrassed policeman was reading information about Johann from the monitor in his hand. The personal data had been transmitted from the main database at NSP headquarters.
“What is your date of birth?” he said, wiping the monitor free of snow and holding it so that Johann could not see what was written on the screen.
“November eleventh, 2111,” Johann replied.
“What is your occupation?”
“Systems engineer. I currently have a position with the Berlin Water Department.”
The policeman was still not satisfied. “Where do you live?” he asked.
“Number twenty-eight, Schumannstrasse, Apartment F,” answered Johann in an irritated tone. “Look,” he continued, “I am obviously not a vagrant, and I have broken no laws as far as I know. If you continue to question me for no reason, I will be compelled to file a complaint with your organization… My cousin Ludwig, who is one of your local captains, has repeatedly assured me that the NSP does not harass loyal German citizens.”
The look on the policeman’s face changed dramatically. He immediately became apologetic and obeisant.
“I’m sorry, Mein Herr,” he said, stammering slightly. “I had no idea that Ludwig Eberhardt was your cousin. He is my squadron leader’s supervisor…”
He seemed to temporarily lose his train of thought. “I was just doing my job,” he said at length. “There are reports that activists may try to disrupt the grand opening of the museum tonight. We are on alert to stop anyone in this area of the park.”
Johann held out his hand. “My card, if you please,” he said curtly. “I must be on my way.”
“Natürlich,” the policeman replied with a wide smile.
The National Security Police had been created only four years earlier, just after the election of the Freisinger government. The original purpose for this new, national police force had been the reestablishment of border controls to protect Germany from the steadily increasing flow of immigrants, mostly Africans and Middle Easterners, who were pouring into Southern Europe from the Mediterranean regions. Although the concept of national frontiers had been supposedly abolished a hundred and twenty years earlier, when the European Federation had its political birth, Germany’s unilateral declaration of its intention to patrol its borders had never been convincingly opposed by any of the other federation members. The system that had been set in place was very effective. Within two years the movement of unwanted foreigners into Germany had slowed to a trickle.
The scope and sphere of influence of the National Security Police had then quickly expanded. Inside Germany, as the economic depression accompanying the Great Chaos continued to deepen and more laws were passed to restrict the activities of non-Germans, it was only natural that the new security officers assist the local police authorities in their dealings with the sizable Turkish and Egyptian communities. In fact, as time passed the local police gradually abandoned all responsibility for the implementation of the laws governing foreigners, leaving their enforcement entirely in the hands of the zealous and fiercely nationalistic NSP.
Meanwhile other smaller nations, Austria, Hungary, and Slovenia among them, decided that a set of similar border protection procedures should be established in their countries. They contracted with the German NSP, not simply to set up the initial system, but also to provide continuing oversight and key management personnel during the implementation phase. As a result, the NSP and their steel-gray uniforms became symbols of the domestic turmoil that was occurring throughout Europe.
For those Europeans beleaguered and alienated by the cruel realities of the worst depression in modern history, it was easy to blame their own disenfranchisement on the large number of foreign workers present on their soil. To them, Herr Freisinger and the NSP were heroes, striving to return Europe to the prosperity it had once enjoyed. To those alarmed by the resurgence of nationalism and racism embodied in the policies of the German government, the uncontrolled actions of the NSP were startling reminders of earlier days in European history, when rights of ethnic minorities had often been completely ignored.
The encounter with the security policeman had alarmed Johann. Now more aware of the possible ramifications of helping his friend Bakir, he toyed with the idea of not showing up for the appointment at all. After a short inner debate, however, his sense of honor compelled him to be standing next to the statue of Goethe at seven o’clock.
Bakir, his wife, and his daughter emerged from the snowy bushes one minute after the appointed time. Sylvie was wearing a scarf over her head and was carrying both their three-year-old child, securely wrapped in blankets, and a small suitcase. After they exchanged greetings, Johann’s Turkish colleague began thanking him profusely for his assistance.
Johann interrupted him. “I’m sorry, Bakir,” he said slowly, “but I cannot agree to this arrangement… I have been thinking about it carefully for the last hour, and I do not see how it is possible. To begin with, my apartment building has many regulations to guarantee our security. Only my identity card and Eva’s open any of the doors. To obtain permission for Sylvie’s card to be accepted by the locks requires another application, and personal approval by the building manager.”
“Sylvie and Anna will not leave your apartment,” Bakir said earnestly, “until I have found a job. They will stay in their room, if you prefer, and will not interfere with you and Eva in any way. Please, Johann, you are our only hope.”
“But what about all your family and friends in Kreuzburg?” Johann said, a little surprised at the tone in his voice. “Surely it makes more sense for your family to be with people they know.”
Bakir put a hand on Johann’s shoulder. “I cannot explain everything to you now,” he said. “There just isn’t time… But I have reason to believe that I have been wrongfully targeted for deportation by the NSP. If I can avoid arrest for a few days or a week, I will be working again. My job will then protect me while I try to clear my name. Meanwhile, if the gray shirts seize Sylvie and Anna, I will be forced to surrender… It’s very confusing, I know. But please trust me. I have always been honest and straightforward with you.”
Johann listened to his friend’s entreaty with mixed emotions. He wanted to help, but he kept thinking about dealing with Eva and the possibility that he might be breaking the law. Out of the corner of his eye Johann saw someone approaching. For a moment he thought it might be the security policeman and he felt a surge of inner fear.
“I’m sorry, Bakir, I just can’t do it,” Johann said hurriedly as a man walking his dog passed on the path behind them. “I could give you some money, if that would help.”
Johann saw the disappointment in Bakir’s eyes. The Turkish man stepped back and put his arm around his wife. “We are not asking you for money,” he said tersely. “All we need is time.” He heaved a sigh. “All right,” he said. “I understand. I had thought that you might…”
His voice trail
ed off as he turned to console his wife. Her eyes had filled with tears. “What will we do now?” she lamented. “What will we do now?”
Johann was miserable. He said good-bye awkwardly and turned his back on Bakir and his family. For fifty meters Johann watched his footsteps in the snow, becoming increasingly aware of his feelings of guilt. When he was again standing underneath one of the VERBOTEN signs, Johann spun around and looked back toward Goethe’s statue. Bakir was no longer there.
Johann shook his head and chastised himself. While he was thinking about how easy it would have been for him to help Bakir, he noticed that no snow was falling on the ground a meter or so to his right. Puzzled, he glanced up at the light on the top of the sign. What be saw, suspended in the air just to the right of the lamp, was a double helix of sparkling particles, each a tiny droplet of white. Snowflakes were falling on top of this bright helical pattern, but then disappearing, as if they were somehow instantly vaporized.
The double helix, about a meter long and thirty centimeters wide, was twisting slowly around an imaginary axis. The individual particles making up the two strands of the helix were brightly reflecting the light from the top of the sign. Although these particles were moving freely, both up and down, and from side to side, the overall shape of the double helix remained intact.
Johann could not accept what he was seeing. He closed his eyes, rubbed them once, and then reopened them. The strange bright particles were still there. The only change that had occurred was in the orientation of the helix. It had continued to twist slowly around. Again Johann looked above the formation. He carefully watched several individual snowflakes descend until they reached the top of the helical pattern, at which point they abruptly disappeared.
Johann’s engineering mind began to ask questions, attempting to find a rational explanation for the phenomenon he was observing. A second or two later the double helix made a slight move in his direction. Johann jumped up, thrust his open right hand into the pattern, and closed it around some of the particles.
Rama: The Omnibus Page 185
