by Brianna Hale
It’s hard to track my progress in the low light. I keep waiting to come up against a brick wall diving one attic from the next, but I don’t. They are all connected like Frau Fischer said, one long open space that goes on and on. The balls of my toes grow sore from treading the narrow beams. I try to gauge how many apartment lengths I’ve come—when I spot it. A solid wall. Does it divide one apartment building from the next or is it the exterior wall? Am I over the empty apartment? I should have thought to count the trapdoors as I went, but I was concentrating on not falling. I’m standing over a trapdoor now and, paralyzed with indecision, I just stare at it.
My legs start to shake and I either have to go back or lift that trapdoor. Praying that it’s the empty apartment and I’m not about to peer into someone’s living room, I ease that trapdoor open. And breathe a sigh of relief. I’m over an empty room and there are rat droppings on the carpet. I’ve never been so happy to see rat droppings.
I drop down to the floor as silently as I can and make my way through the empty apartment to the back door. I can unlock the door from the inside and I find a piece of discarded cardboard, place it over the latch and wedge the door closed. When I return all I’ll have to do is push the door open to let myself back in, but from the outside it will look secure.
Finally out in the night air I stand in the darkness of the spiral fire escape for a moment, just breathing. So far so good. But how much time has that taken me? Reinhardt could be far away by now.
The Trabant is parked around the corner and once my feet are on the ground I walk quickly along the laneway and out onto the side street, keeping watch for guards and Volkspolizei. I spot the car parked beneath a tree which is just beginning to bud with spring leaves. Feeling for the keys I find them atop the driver-side wheel, just as Peter promised they would be, and in that moment I want to hug him. My little mantra, So far so good, grows stronger.
But once I’m sitting in the driver’s seat I become paralyzed again. What now? I didn’t think this far ahead because getting out of the apartment without being seen by Reinhardt’s guards preoccupied all my thoughts.
I’m no good as a spy. This is too nerve-wracking. My heart starts to race but I force myself to take another deep breath. First things first: I need to be able to see the front door of his building when he leaves. Starting the engine I ease the car forward, the headlights off. The car makes a loud put-put sound and I cringe, certain someone is going to become suspicious about what I’m doing.
I park at the end of the street where I can watch the front door and switch the engine off. The clock on the dashboard reads five minutes past eleven. If Reinhardt’s going out hunting it will be in the next hour. There’s nothing to do but sit and wait, and feel the cold seep into my bones.
Finally I see his tall, uniformed figure striding down the front steps of the apartment building and making his leisurely way to the Mercedes. Light from a streetlamp glints on the silver buttons of his double-breasted coat. I start out of my slouch and reach for the ignition—but stop myself just in time. He’ll hear me if I start the engine now, and my stomach quails at the thought of him turning and seeing me sitting here in the shadows.
I wait until I hear the purr of the West German car and see the red flash of parking lights before I turn the ignition. When he peels out of his parking space I count to three and then do the same. He drives fast, much faster than I was expecting, and he’s disappeared round the corner before I’ve driven six feet. I put my foot on the accelerator and the car whines in protest.
“Come on, come on,” I mutter, coaxing a little more speed from the cold engine. I turn a corner and find the street ahead of me is empty. When I reach the next junction I look left and right but those are empty, too.
“Scheisse.” At random I swing the wheel to the right and drive as fast as I can to the next corner, but there’s no sign of the black car.
I’ve lost him.
I drive about for a few minutes hoping to catch sight of him but my heart is soon pounding in fear. This is too reckless. I run the risk of being stopped by the Stasi or driving straight into Reinhardt if I crisscross the streets aimlessly. Reluctantly, I turn back towards the apartment and park the Trabant, feeling very disappointed about my failure.
Getting back into the empty apartment is easy, and so is stacking up a few packing cases so I can get into the attic. I’m soon back in my bedroom. In the stillness and silence of the familiar surroundings I realize how tightly wound I am. I can’t get my heart rate to slow down and adrenaline makes me pace up and down the room. Finally I lie flat on my back on the floor and take deep breaths.
Tonight was a waste of time but at least I know my plan can work and I didn’t get caught. Tomorrow I can try again and I’ll be better prepared. I will do this.
But the next night I wait in the Trabant for two and a half hours and Reinhardt doesn’t appear. At half past one I give up, chilled to my bones and feeling teary from exhaustion and nerves. As I trudge back to the empty apartment and let myself in I think how much I hate this. How does Reinhardt do this day in, day out? Even get excited by it? The subterfuge, the sneaking around. Perhaps it’s because he doesn’t have to do any of the sneaking himself. What he does is proudly proclaimed by his uniform and he gets others to do the sneaking for him.
The next night is another fruitless wait, but on the fourth he appears at a quarter past midnight. I turn the ignition of the Trabant as soon as I see the Mercedes’ lights come on—but the engine only sputters. I turn it again and again and watch in despair as the black car slides around the corner and out of sight. There’s no point trying the ignition again. I’ve flooded the engine. Tears prickling in my eyes I make my way inside, not knowing how I will keep doing this night after night only to face disappointment. I consider going to Peter and begging him let me do something else for the group, but I know he’ll refuse. Oberstleutnant Volker is too dear a prize.
On Friday evening as we’re getting into the car outside Stasi HQ Reinhardt touches the back of my cheek with his gloved fingers, an expression of concern on his face. “Are you feeling ill, Liebling? You are pale.”
I look down quickly, knowing there are dark smudges beneath my eyes. I’ve always needed a solid eight hours of sleep and it’s showing that I’m getting barely half that at the moment. “Yes, fine. Just not sleeping very well at the moment.”
He opens his mouth to speak again but I push past him and get into the car. I’m a terrible spy. I’m the worst spy.
Reinhardt must say something to Frau Fischer that evening as she stays later than usual and gives me a mug of hot beer to drink after dinner. “Hot beer will cure any cold or fever,” she tells me, standing over me as I drink it.
What it actually does is make me sleepier than I can ever remember being and I nod off on the couch. Sometime later I wake to find Reinhardt gently shaking me and helping me to my feet. Once I come to I push him away and stand up by myself. He protests, but I make my unsteady way to my room alone and close the door. I don’t bother going out at all that night, though I feel guilty about it as I fall asleep.
Over breakfast the next day I start to worry he’s becoming suspicious. It’s Saturday, which means he actually sits down and eats something, and out of the corner of my eye I can see him watching me narrowly.
When he gets up for his cigarettes he puts a hand on my shoulder. “Are you feeling better, Liebling?”
I shrug him off. “Yes, I’m fine. I told you, I’m just tired not sick.”
Unable to bear being near him I retreat to my room and close the door. Partly from exhaustion and partly from despair, I get back into bed and close my eyes, willing the world to go away.
I sleep for a little but when I wake up I feel worse, not better. I’ll be rested enough to follow him tonight, assuming he goes out, but thinking about sitting for hours in that cold Trabi casts a pall over my already low mood.
There’s a soft knock on the door and, thinking it’s Frau Fischer with mo
re warm beer I call out. “I’m awake.”
But it’s not Frau Fischer. It’s Reinhardt, and he pushes open the door watches me from the doorway. He’s in a white shirt and gray trousers, looking smart as always but without his usual black tie. His sleeves are rolled back past his elbows and I can see his irritation in the taut muscles of his arms as he folds them. “What’s got into you?”
“Nothing. I’m fine.”
“No you’re not. Come on, Evony. You’re stronger than this.”
I stare at the ceiling. “What’s got into me? It could be I’m being held captive by a madman in a country I hate. What do you think?”
Out of the corner of my eye I see him shake his head. “Tell me the truth.”
Damn his perception. Damn everything about him. “Fich dich.”
He strides forward and strips the bedclothes from me. I squeal with indignation as he scoops me out of bed and carries me out into the hall, struggling in his arms. “Put me down. Let me go.”
“No. If you’re going to sulk and swear at me you may as well do it in my bed.”
Anger and something else, something carnal, flickers through me. My nails dig into his shoulders and before he’s pushed open the door to his bedroom I’m kissing him. He kisses me back, fierce and needful, like a man dying of hunger. Then I bite his lip and he groans, and throws me down on the bed. I glare up at him through my messy curls as he begins to unbutton his shirt.
“You are the most obstinate young woman I’ve ever met. Am I ever going to touch you without it being an unnecessary battle?”
“No.”
He smiles his hard, unfriendly smile, shrugs out of his shirt and begins undoing his belt and trousers. “Good. Take off your clothes.”
At the sight of him naked some of my bravado evaporates, because it’s broad daylight this time and I can see quite clearly the hard lines of his chest, his flat stomach, and the length of his cock, thickening before my eyes, strange and beautiful at the same time.
He must see apprehension in my eyes. “Don’t worry, Liebling. I’m going to be very sweet about this.”
I strip off my vest and underwear, all I was wearing in bed, and level a look at him that very plainly says, I’m not.
When he gets onto the bed I pull back my hand to slap him across the face. I almost succeed but he captures my wrist and pins it to my side. I attack him with everything I have, my feet, my knees, my nails. He doesn’t try to stop me, though he deflects the fiercest of my blows without hurting me back. All the while he kisses me, plucks at my nipples, squeezes my behind. He finds my sex and the slickness there and he pushes one thick finger into me and the fist that lands on his shoulder suddenly clings to him. I moan his name, some of the fight going out of me. Capitulating shouldn’t feel good, but I let him lay me down on the cool mattress and he licks me while his finger explores. Then he adds another and I bury my hands in his hair. I teeter on the brink of coming for a long time, but the movements of his tongue are almost lazy and then when I finally think he’s going to push me over the edge he sits up, and I scream in frustration.
He yanks me down the bed, cutting off my cry, and, still unhurried, rubs the tip of his cock against my slipperiness. My anger grows again as I watch him consider me, his head on one side, drinking in my desperation, enjoying it.
“Do you want me, Liebling?”
I will not say yes. I will not beg.
He leans over me, sleek and smug, and pierces me slowly. It’s not like the first time. It doesn’t hurt. He feels good. So, so good, that I pull him closer and sink my teeth into the hard line of muscle across his shoulder and he hisses in pain. How dare he feel so fucking good. His thrusts are slow, easing into my tightness, exploring how deep he can push before I grab his hips and gasp. Every few thrusts he pushes a little deeper, and a little deeper, coaxing surrender from my body. And then he’s all the way to the hilt and he braces his hands on either side of my head, his eyes dark and goading.
“Do your worst then, you little cat.”
I rake his back with my nails, wanting to draw blood, wanting to hurt him, but he doesn’t care, and all the while he softly kisses my mouth, my neck, his fierce rhythm never letting up for a moment.
“That’s it, Liebling, get it all out. I can take everything you can throw at me.”
I fall back, whimpering, because what he’s doing to me is taking over everything else and I can feel myself tightening around him, reveling in the way my flesh yields to his. He drinks in every expression that flickers over my face. Hooking my legs over his shoulders he bears down on me heavily and the sensation goes nuclear. I still don’t beg but he must see the supplication in my eyes, the please don’t stop. It’s not fair that he can do this to me until I don’t want to fight back. It’s not fair that I fight him and yet I’m the one who ends up at his mercy and losing control while his body conquers mine.
As I come I pull him closer and feel him shudder against me, his rhythm stuttering as he pushes as deep as he can twice, three times, and then stills. I can’t make myself let go of him. In the hazy afterglow I cling to him, and he eases slowly off me until we’re lying on our sides, my cheek pressed against his chest.
His hand sketches circles on my back while his other holds me to him. I close my eyes, feeling more relaxed than I have in a long, long time.
“Are you having bad dreams, Liebling?”
It takes a few minutes to dredge myself up from this warm, sleepy place. Does he think nightmares have been keeping me up? I don’t want to answer, and so to deflect the conversation away from me I reach for the first reproachful thing I have to hand.
“You think of her when you’re in bed with me, don’t you?”
Unruffled, he rolls onto his back and closes his eyes. “I wouldn’t say I’m doing much thinking when I’m in bed with you. What I am thinking about isn’t her or anyone else who isn’t you.”
I prop myself up on my elbow and watch him. “You as good as told me you stole me because I remind you of her.”
“Johanna was a good-natured, beautiful girl who brought a smile to the face of everyone who met her. She was nothing like you.”
“Schwein.”
He opens his eyes and looks at me. “Ja, I know. You have told me this before. Liebling, you are nothing like her, and I am glad of this.”
I frown in confusion. “What? Why?”
He slides his arms around me and pulls me up onto his chest so I’m lying on top of him. “Because I’m nothing like I was then, either. You’re a hard young woman. You’ve faced difficult things and you have not crumbled because you are strong. You’ve probably thought of a dozen ways you might escape me.”
Just the one, actually, but it’s a good one. “You sound proud of me.”
“I am. So—” he reaches for his cigarettes on the nightstand and lights one “—when I wake in the night and feel a twinge of conscience about keeping you here against your will I am able to fall back asleep very easily.” He smokes his cigarette, watching me narrowly. “I’m not letting you go, you know.”
That Reinhardt is troubled by his conscience for even a moment I find hard to believe. “You will when you tire of me.”
He looks at me steadily and says, with deliberate slowness, “Nein. I’m not letting you go.”
I get that awful feeling that he’s able to read my mind. Smell treason. Sometimes I forget that my lover is der Mitternachtsjäger. Pretending to laugh, I say flippantly, “Are you threatening me or telling me you’re in love with me?”
“I have no idea, meine Liebe. Do you?”
I stare at him. I was being provocative, trying to deflect his attention from the guilt he might see in my face. He’s serious, though. How can he possibly think that he’s in love with me, even with his twisted ideas about devotion? I wonder if this is a new strategy to wrong-foot me, to gloat over my captivity, and say quickly, “You won’t break me. I won’t let you.”
“I never thought I would, and I don’t want you bro
ken.” He slides his fingers into my hair and caresses the back of my head. “I like you as you are, strangely. My churlish, ungrateful, bad-tempered girl.”
He smiles at the baffled look on my face. “I hardly expected you to be pleased that I have kept you here against your will, even if I have kept you out of prison. But you could have been tearful day and night. You could have stopped eating. You could have pulled all the books off the shelves and smashed every plate and glass in the apartment.”
“Verdammt. I didn’t think of that.”
He laughs, shaking me on his chest. “But here you are in my bed, and though you do take vicious delight in scratching me and swearing at me you are as sweet as any man could want.” His hand moves to stroke my cheek and he speaks softly. “Sweeter, even. You’re strong, Liebling, and I know how important that is. If you’re not able to fight then this world will crush your body and your spirit.” His eyes are dark blue in the half-light. “Please tell me if you’re having bad dreams or if something has upset you. I worry if you’re quiet. I’d rather you call me names and fight me than slip away where I can’t reach you.”
“Why do you even care how I feel? I thought all that mattered to you was that I was here.”
He continues to stroke my cheek, a look in his eyes like I’ve never seen before. “Because you are my shield maiden. No, more than that. You are my Valkyrie, and I want you strong. If you are strong then there’s nothing that can touch us. Touch you.”
My heart is racing, making me feel sick and confused, so I put my head down on his shoulder. He worries that I might be taken from him, too. If not love, he does seem to cherish something tender for me. It should make me exultant, because his affection can only be useful to me.
I can feel him watching me, made uncertain by my silence, and I reach for the first question that comes to mind. “I know so little about you. Tell me something about you.”
“Like what?”
“When did you join the Party?”
He seems surprised by my change of subject, but goes along with it. “About a year after I returned from the war. I’d read The Communist Manifesto as a prisoner and started attending meetings almost straight away, and then I was vouched for and made a member.”
