Life Behind the Wall

by Robert Elmer

  “We bring a little extra food to my grandmother every week,” Katarina told him, as if that had something to do with it. “But still she is hungry.”

  “It’s tough everywhere in the city.” DeWitt nodded and looked away from the scuffling and shouting. An older man had claimed a handful of potato peels and was doing his best to fight off the others. “But we’ll see if we can bring her something.”

  “She lives in the Soviet sector,” Erich told him.

  “Oh.” The man’s face fell even more. “That’s not good.”

  “We’ve tried to talk her into leaving.” Erich thought it never hurt to ask. “Maybe she would listen to you.”

  “Wish I could help you.” DeWitt shook his head slowly. “But there’s really nothing I can do. I can’t even cross the line, the way you kids can.”

  Maybe true. Still, it seemed as if the American should do something to help Oma.

  “This it?” DeWitt looked out at the battered apartment building. And no wonder he asked. The building next door had been hit by a bomb during the war, taking it from four stories down to one and a half. Much of the outside wall between the two had crumbled as well, taking with it most of Frau Landwehr’s living room on the third floor of their building and forcing the frau to find another place to live. The rest of their building seemed to sway in the wind, and only half the windows had survived. Herr Eickmeyer on the fourth floor had a great view of Tempelhof from his open patio (which had, before the bombings, been his kitchen).

  “Second floor,” Erich announced as he jumped from the taxi. “Follow me.”

  Katarina paused by the curb for a moment. “Want me to come along?”

  “Maybe that’s a good idea.” Erich looked up at their window too. “My mom won’t kill me if you’re there.”

  “We did our best to explain to your mothers,” DeWitt told them as he bounded up the short flight of front stairs. “But I can’t guarantee anything.”

  Except that he would be charming and funny and make it sound like a grand adventure — in perfect German, which of course led to the story about growing up with his German grandparents in Cleveland, Ohio. Erich’s mother listened to his story, wide-eyed, and then apologized many times for not having any coffee to serve her American guest.

  “I’m so sorry, but I traded our last ration for bread, and — ”

  “I understand.” He twisted his hat in his hands as he sat on their most comfortable living room chair, the one with the stuffing escaping the sides. “And now I hope you’ll understand about your children. I mean, about your son and your niece. They were only trying to find food for their grandmother.”

  “Yes, I know.” Frau Becker lowered her eyes. “We pray for her every day, but — ”

  “Erich told me about her.” He nodded and looked as if he understood, while Erich’s mother glanced up once, blushed, and returned her gaze to the worn rug. “And I want you to know that I appreciate kids who care the way they do.”

  She nodded as he went on.

  “Although next time they go flying with us, we’ll want to make arrangements first.”

  This time it was Erich’s and Katarina’s turn to stare at the rug.

  “I’m very sorry they put you through all this trouble.” Erich’s mother was still apologizing.

  “Not at all.” He shook his head. “As it turns out, my editor is pretty excited about all this. We have some incredible photos so far, and the wire services are already picking up the story. Erich and Katarina are going to be in papers all over the world.”

  “This is what I sent you to do?” Frau Becker looked at her son sideways, but the twinkle in her eyes told Erich he was probably safe. Hopefully Katarina still had the measure of flour for Oma, as well.

  “But only if it’s all right with you,” DeWitt told her. “I want to be sure we have your permission.”

  “Of course.” Frau Becker smiled.

  “And I want you to have this.” DeWitt held out a bulging cloth sack. “Just to thank you for letting me work with the kids.”

  “Oh, my goodness!” Frau Becker’s eyes lit up even more as she pulled out cans of Spam, condensed milk, and peaches.

  “Just a few things from the commissary that you probably can’t get around here lately. Maybe you can share them with your mother-in-law.”

  Frau Becker hid her face in her hands and cried, which only seemed to confuse the American.

  “I didn’t mean to upset you, Frau Becker. I just — ”

  “You’re very kind,” she interrupted him. “It’s just that I haven’t seen this kind of food for so, so long.”

  And it didn’t seem so strange, then, when she laughed softly over the food, the kind of laugh that says, “I can’t believe this is happening to me,” and asks, “Am I dreaming this, really?”

  But Erich enjoyed the sound; in fact, he couldn’t remember the last time he’d heard his mother laugh. For sure before Father had died. And he knew just how she felt as he quietly lifted the peaches, to be sure he wasn’t just seeing things. Real American peaches, packed in syrup from Oregon, United States of America. He tried not to drool. After so many months of eating hard bread crusts, he wasn’t quite sure how to deal with all this food, this real food. Just as he wasn’t quite sure how to deal with this American.

  Because, wait a minute — the man had to want something. They all did, and as DeWitt talked about his German grandparents again the thought came crashing back on Erich like a door slamming in his face. Of course. No one gave away food for free, just because. Erich could have kicked himself for letting down his guard, for believing it, for not seeing the strings attached.

  “Look, I have a three-day pass for this assignment,” DeWitt said as he rose to his feet and fitted his hat to his head. “If it’s all right with you, I’d like to see if we can get some more pictures of the kids and the gum drops, maybe from the ground this time, if we can get some other planes to do the drops too — ”

  “Gum drops?” Erich’s mother didn’t quite follow.

  “Oh, I’m sorry.” DeWitt chuckled. “I didn’t tell you about that.”

  And as Katarina told the story of the candy parachutes, Erich backed away slowly, trying his best not to get caught in the web his mother had stepped into. Surely he’d made a mistake helping this DeWitt. Even Katarina looked as if she’d let down her guard, lured on by all the food. Who wouldn’t be? But Erich wanted to shout: “Don’t you see? This man isn’t what you think he is! He’s an American, and you can’t trust people who bomb us one day and pretend to be our friends the next!”

  But nothing would come out of his mouth, so he just slipped to the edge of the room with his arms crossed and his mind racing. There had to be a way out of this trap. Meanwhile, DeWitt told them he’d be back the next afternoon at three, flying over with more gum, and would the Reconciliation Church still be a good place to drop them?

  10

  KAPITEL ZEHN

  HEAD-TO-HEAD

  “Well, he’s not my aunt’s friend, exactly.” Katarina did her best to backtrack, but the next afternoon the kids in their oma’s neighborhood weren’t buying it. “He’s just an American newspaperman, and he’s doing a story on the gum drop. That’s what we’re helping him with. That’s all.”

  “You’re helping an American?” An older boy named Wolfgang scowled at them with his big hands on his hips, then looked around at the group of kids who had gathered. Though he stood a head taller than most of them, he hadn’t ever really been a bully before — just a pain. Now he acted like both. “Did everybody hear that? Katarina and Erich are working for an American soldier!”

  “I’m not,” Erich said as he crossed his arms, but no one heard.

  How else were they supposed to answer? Erich didn’t forget where they were; in the Soviet sector of Berlin, you had to be very careful what you said on the streets. People disappeared here, taken away by Russian soldiers, who always snarled and grunted. Sometimes the people never came back.

&nb
sp; And they’d heard stories too. They’d seen the Watchers in the windows, like the one who had been tracking them with binoculars when Erich slipped into the airport. For all they knew, Wolfgang was feeding the Russians information too.

  “It’s just for a newspaper. Just some pictures.” Erich tried to make it sound like no big deal, but so far it wasn’t working.

  “Then where did you get all the food, if he’s not your mom’s ami?”

  Wolfgang leaned on the last word, ami, and everybody knew about amis. The American boyfriends who visited the homes of the women who had lost men during the war. The soldiers who came to visit with food, or cigarettes, or sometimes fancy clothes.

  “Katarina told you he’s not my mom’s ami.” Erich stood up to Wolfgang and clenched his fists. No one had the right to talk about his mother like that. She hadn’t done anything wrong.

  “Prove it.” Wolfgang stood where he was and kept the mocking grin pasted on his face.

  “We don’t have to prove anything to you.” Katarina wasn’t backing down either, bless her heart. This bigmouth was talking about her aunt, after all. “All you have to do is stand right here in the strasse while the American planes fly over, only don’t get run over, of course, and in about fifteen minutes you’ll see.”

  They hoped. DeWitt had promised he would be on the flight from Rhein-Main arriving right at three o’clock, hadn’t he? And while Erich didn’t trust the American’s word for a minute, now probably wasn’t the best time to say so.

  “I’ll see what?” Wolfgang laughed. “Is your mom’s ami going to wave at us as he flies by?”

  “You’ll see.” Katarina sounded more sure of herself than a girl had a right to be.

  “Humph.” Wolfgang still wasn’t convinced, but so what? “He’s going to have to do something pretty special, because in a few days the capitalists are going to be leaving the city with their tails between their legs.”

  “What’s a capitalist?” asked a little blonde girl named Ilse.

  “He means everybody but the Russians,” explained Katarina.

  “But that’s stupid.” Erich kept his arms crossed as he looked straight at Wolfgang. “Who told you that?”

  “My teacher. We’re going to be learning Russian too. Pretty soon it’ll be the world’s language. Is your mom’s ami teaching you English?”

  Erich might have hit him then; Wolfgang deserved it. But Katarina pulled him back by the shoulder, and his hands flew up for balance.

  “It’s not worth it, Erich.” Katarina was probably only trying to help. Trying to keep him from getting into trouble. Trying to help him turn the other cheek, the way it said in the Bible.

  But either Wolfgang hadn’t read that verse or he didn’t care. Because a moment later he tackled Erich and they tangled on the street, arms and legs flying. Katarina was there too, yelping and elbowing her way into the middle of the fight, while all the other kids gathered around and chanted, “Am-i, am-i, am-i!”

  Or something just as brainless. It all just sounded like a roar in Erich’s ears as the blood pumped in his head and he tried to stay alive. His chin throbbed with pain all over again. And he felt a punch connect to his ribs, then another. He heard the larger boy’s grunt, felt Wolfgang’s hot breath and forearm choking him. But the strange thing was that once Wolfgang had tackled him, all the hot, angry feelings dribbled away. Erich only wanted to keep from being choked to death.

  “Am-i! Am-i!”

  What was wrong with those kids? They cheered as if they were watching a soccer championship, only this match was over as quickly as it had started. Erich felt the lashes of the cane, saw Wolfgang roll away and scramble to his feet before running off with his crowd of squealing rats. Then Erich heard the scolding voice of his oma over everything, as in, “What in the world is going on here?” and “What are you thinking, attacking my grandchildren? Hoodlums! Go home!”

  She helped Erich to his feet with a firm grip on his ear. Katarina saw the kind of help he was getting and jumped up without any help, thank you. Then he had to explain what happened as Oma herded them back to her apartment.

  “No grandchildren of mine are going to behave like this.”

  “But — ”

  “Is that what you want people to know you for? For street fighting?”

  “No, Oma, but — ”

  Finally back in her apartment, she settled into her easy chair as if the effort had taken more than she had to give. And it had. She dropped her cane to the floor in front of her and coughed long and hard, so long and hard that Erich thought about running to fetch a doctor. Her face turned blue, and her hands shook as if she had been the one beat up, not Erich.

  “And this — ,” Oma finally managed, sort of catching her breath. “This is the kind of Chris tian example you want to set? They’ll know you are a believer because of the way you use your fists?”

  “No, Oma.” Erich patted her on the back; what else could he do? “But he said Mom had an ami.”

  Their grandmother stiffened at his words and looked over at him, her eyes barely open but now blazing and alive. “Oh, so he said that, did he? Well, then I hope you gave him a good poke in the nose.”

  With that she closed her eyes and rested her head back against her pillow. But her breaths sounded even more short and shallow, rattling and deathly. Erich straightened his shirt and looked over at Katarina. The look on her face told him she knew too. It was going to take a whole lot more than Fred DeWitt’s food to help their Oma Poldi survive the summer.

  As they thought of Fred DeWitt, the rattling windows told them an American plane had come in low once again, winging over the city toward its touchdown at Tempelhof. Erich and Katarina couldn’t help looking out the window, staring at the dozens of little white parachutes that blossomed in the sky over their city.

  “He’s really doing it.” Erich’s jaw dropped open, and he counted ten, fifteen, no, at least thirty little parachutes. Most drifted directly down onto Rheinsbergerstrasse, where they’d been fighting just a few minutes earlier. Well, yes, this was where they’d told him to drop them, but —

  “Did you think he wouldn’t?” Katarina glanced back to check on their now-sleeping grandmother.

  “How should I know?” Erich just shrugged. But as they watched, he had no doubt what was happening below them. A handful of the neighborhood kids jostled and jumped to catch the parachutes as they drifted to the street. Who had ever seen anything like this before? The kids giggled and laughed at the candy rain of chocolate and gum and other sweets — until an ugly snub-nosed Soviet army truck came flying around the corner. One little girl barely made it to safety as the truck screeched to a stop in the middle of the street and two soldiers jumped out.

  “Hey!” Erich almost leaned out the window to shout, then thought better of it. “Those soldiers need to get their own candy.”

  But the men shooed the kids away like flies and scooped up as much of the treasure as they could. The good thing was that some of it had fallen out of reach onto a nearby rooftop, and some had disappeared into a pile of rubble. A couple of parachutes even got hung up high in the bell tower of the Versöhnungskirche.

  Still, the blank-faced soldiers managed to corral most of the booty. Some they tossed into the front seat of their jeep; some they held up to the light of the sun to study a little more carefully. Well, sure, it might look like a candy bar, and it might taste like a candy bar, but it could still be an American trick. A nuclear bomb shaped like a piece of gum, perhaps? And even if it wasn’t, no telling what would happen to these children if they were allowed to eat a few sweets, especially when they were starving to death.

  “Look at Ilse.” Katarina giggled and pointed at the little girl on her knees, peeking around the truck. “She’s trying to grab a piece before it’s all — ”

  Erich saw her. Too bad one of the soldiers did as well. He stomped on the candy chute with his big black boot before poor Ilse could quite reach it.

  “Hey.” Erich groaned,
but of course they couldn’t have helped her, even if they’d been down on the street. They could only watch as the soldiers picked up the last few candy chutes, barked at the kids to clear the street, and then roared away in a cloud of thick black smoke. No doubt the Soviets would protest this to the American military leaders very soon.

  Finally the smoke cleared. Kids came out from their hiding places once more, careful at first, then dancing and hollering and waving their prizes like trophies of war. The soldiers hadn’t been quick enough to grab everything.

  “Look what the ami dropped for us!” yelled a little guy named Rolf, skipping in circles and holding out his parachute. He popped the gum into his mouth and started chewing as if his life depended on it. “Katarina was right! She was right!”

  So she was. Ilse had grabbed a piece of chocolate and started skipping around with the rest of them, waving her prize in the air. She stopped once in a while to smell it and hold it up, studying it almost as the Soviet soldiers had.

  Only one of the kids wasn’t dancing. Wolfgang just stood in the middle of the dance, staring up at Erich and Katarina with his hands on his hips as if it were all their fault that such a wonderful, horrible thing had happened on Rheinsbergerstrasse. Shouldn’t they be sorry for bringing this capitalist candy down on everyone’s heads? Erich couldn’t help feeling a chill creep up his spine before the other boy finally turned and marched down the strasse, looking very much like a soldier himself.

  11

  KAPITEL ELF

  LUTHER’S KEY

  “This is wonderful to have you all here, so wonderful,” Oma said, looking at her family the next Sunday. Her eyes glittered with tears, and her voice trembled when she spoke, as if the words might shatter before they reached the ears of the people sitting around her little kitchen table. They’d walked over together after church. Oma had set out her only lace tablecloth and a small tapered candle she’d saved for a special occasion. She had chairs for herself and the two mothers, wooden boxes for Erich and Katarina, and a sturdy pile of books for Katarina’s seven-year-old sister, Ingrid. It didn’t matter that they knocked elbows or that the chairs teetered dangerously. As Oma said, “Ein gemütlich abend ist.” And a festive evening it was. Especially with all the food they had brought with them, most of it hidden under their clothes to avoid attracting the attention of soldiers on the street. Yes, a feast!