Stefan had been hoping he could give Elsa a reason to remain in East Berlin with him. But if anything, this incident had given her all the more reason to flee.
22
Berlin
July 2003
Annie couldn’t believe she had sunk this low. She was following Kurt. Tailing him like she was some cheap detective.
It had started innocently enough. After work, she noticed that he was heading in the direction of Potsdamer Platz, a hive of activity and glass buildings. This direction took him away from his normal route home, so Annie, her curiosity sparked, fell into step behind him. He wound up at the Sony Center, the centerpiece of Potsdamer Platz—a miniature city unto itself beneath a massive glass canopy. The center’s domed ceiling, created out of glass and sails of translucent fabric, covered the open-air plaza below.
Annie followed Kurt into the plaza, where he found a table not far from the high-tech fountain in the open-air space beneath the glass canopy. He was obviously meeting someone, so she found a seat a safe distance away and pried open her book—a novel, which she always carried in her purse. She also ordered a Pepsi, and she drank it slowly, like a barfly nursing her last drink of the night. She had gone two days without a Pepsi, and she needed something to calm her nerves.
Why am I doing this?
She knew the answer. She didn’t completely trust Kurt. She didn’t completely trust anyone anymore. She didn’t even know what she hoped to discover by following Kurt here; she just followed him on a hunch. She noticed him peering around, as if looking for someone, and she raised her book in front of her face, like she had seen a million times in movies. She felt foolish, like a conspiracy nutcase playing at espionage. She should just get up and leave before he spotted her.
She didn’t, though.
Although everything about the plaza was modern and new, she felt that it was still haunted by the gray ghosts of the Cold War. After being bombed into oblivion by the Allies, Potsdamer Platz emerged as one of the major tension points in the Cold War. The Allies constructed a massive illuminated sign that broadcast news from the free press into the East, while the East Germans retaliated with a monstrous sign encouraging people to cross the border and shop at the GDR’s HO stores. Then came the Wall, built right through the middle of Potsdamer Platz, and the area made yet another transformation. It became a depressing stretch of desolation, as East Germans tore down buildings to improve the sight lines for guards in the watchtowers.
The Cold War was over, but Annie was still playing spy. She should just go.
That was when Herr Adler arrived. He swept into view, wearing his standard attire. Wrinkled white shirt, rumpled pants. Kurt stood, and they shook hands, and then Herr Adler took a seat. Annie didn’t think that Kurt ever socialized with their boss, so she wondered what this was all about. The two of them ordered coffee, but no meal. After a while, it was evident that this rendezvous was not a social event; it was deadly serious. Herr Adler was usually jovial around the office, but he looked irritated—exaggerated arm movements as he talked. And then it took a heated turn. Herr Adler folded his arms across his chest and glared across the table. Even from a distance, Annie could see that he was firing lasers in Kurt’s direction. Kurt leaned forward, his hands motioning every which way as he spoke. Herr Adler remained bolt upright, stiff as a slab.
Suddenly, Herr Adler jabbed the air with his finger and then leaped to his feet, clearly furious. Kurt also stood up, and he motioned to the chair, seeming to be encouraging Herr Adler to sit back down and talk things through. But Herr Adler was having nothing to do with it. He turned on his heels and stalked off across the plaza. Kurt remained standing, watching Herr Adler go, and he appeared conflicted, perhaps wondering whether he should pursue him. Finally, he sat back down and stared into his coffee cup for a short time. Then he tossed some money on the table before departing the way he came.
Annie watched him leave, more confused than ever. She cared for Kurt, but did she really know him? Did she really trust him?
With Jack, there had never been an issue of trust, never a reason to follow each other, never a reason to suspect. Even her last serious relationship, with Richard, hadn’t been a source of suspicion. She met Richard at church—a divorced man with four children, two of them teenagers. When he proposed, she had panicked, and all she could see was the potential for heartbreak, the possibility of losing another man. So she turned him down, and six months later, she fled to Germany, back to the Berlin she knew as a child.
Kurt had taken away much of the loneliness of being in a new land. But now he seemed like just another stranger in a sea of strange faces.
Annie stared up at the glass canopy, which hung suspended over her like some alien mother ship—which was fitting. She was an alien in a land that was very different than she remembered. Ever since Jack had died, she hadn’t fit anywhere, but Berlin heightened her sense of isolation. It reminded her of the days and months after Jack’s death, when she felt so much like an oddity. People tried to comfort her with pat answers, but she could tell they felt awkward and embarrassed. She felt like a foreigner, so out of place. Everyone thought she was seeking words of advice, but she just wanted a presence, someone who would be with her in her grief. How did C. S. Lewis put it when his wife, Joy, died? He said his wife’s absence was “like the sky, spread over everything.” Annie stared upward at the glass canopy above, a fragile glass sky.
To Lewis, she thought, making a toast in her mind. I know exactly how you felt. She finished her Pepsi and stuck her novel back in her purse and headed for home.
The next morning, Annie had chocolate cake for breakfast. A bad sign. Whenever she felt unsettled, she would slice into something rich and chocolate.
The day progressed as any other, except it was on the more productive side. She came across three documents that had been ripped into only four pieces each—pretty simple puzzles, so she neared the day’s finish line with seventeen completed puzzles in all. One of her personal bests.
Kurt was quiet much of the day, but when they did talk, the conversation often shifted back to Frau Kortig.
“I went up to the sixth floor, you know,” he suddenly said at the end of the day, out of the blue.
Annie’s eyes shot up from her work. “You did?” She had also thought about checking out the scene of the death, but she didn’t have the nerve. “What did you find?”
“I didn’t find any answers, if that’s what you mean.”
“I’m not surprised,” she said. “Frau Kortig left us nothing but questions.”
“That’s usually the case with a suicide.”
If it was suicide, she thought.
“I wish I had known that she had been split from her father by the Wall,” Kurt added. “We had that in common, you know—being separated from parents by the Wall.”
Annie leaned back in her chair and finished off her Pepsi. “She kept most things to herself.”
Kurt sighed. “But maybe she would’ve opened up if I tried to talk with her. Maybe our common pasts would have meant something to her.”
Annie put all of her completed puzzles in a neat stack and started putting away supplies. “Now you’re sounding like me. Weren’t you the one who told me not to feel guilty about Frau Kortig?”
“Yes, but . . .” He held up one of his shredded pieces and just stared at it. “Perhaps you’re right.”
“Aren’t you finishing up?” she asked, hooking her purse over her shoulder. “It’s quitting time.”
“In a moment. But don’t let me hold you up. I’ll lock the door on my way out.”
Annie paused in the doorway and looked back. Kurt was still staring at the puzzle piece. “Are you all right?”
He snapped out of it and smiled. “Don’t worry. I’m fine.”
“See you in the morning, Kurt.”
“Right. Bye.”
On her way out, Annie crossed paths with Frau Holtzmann, who gave her a frosty stare. She still hadn’t forgiven Annie
for challenging her opinion about Kurt.
The night was muggy, the air heavy with impending rain, and Annie hadn’t gotten even a block down the street before she realized she was missing her cell phone—again. She probably left it on her desk, so after taking a quick look at her watch, she rushed back inside the building and up the stairs.
When she threw open the door to the office, she was shocked to find Kurt standing at her desk, looking down at her stack of completed documents. As she was opening the office door, she thought she heard the distinct click of a closing desk drawer. Her desk drawer? Kurt whirled around, his face going beet red.
“Oh!” Annie didn’t know what to say.
“Forget something?” he asked, still in full blush.
“Yes, but . . .”
“Your phone?” he said, displaying her cell phone.
“Yes, thank you.”
“I noticed it on your desk and was just going to chase you down.”
If that is true, then why the blush and obvious awkwardness?
“Thanks,” she said as he slid the phone into her hands. She stared him in the eyes, wondering whether to ask him if he had been rummaging among her files. But she didn’t have the emotional energy to make such a challenge, so she simply retreated to the door and said, “See you tomorrow.”
“Auf Wiedersehen. See you tomorrow.” Kurt spoke in an overly cheerful tone—like someone trying to hide his true feelings. She had caught him red-handed, and he obviously knew it.
23
East
Berlin June 1962
Elsa stared at the jangling phone, expecting it to be Peter’s father. He had called the day before, telling her that he wanted to meet again, and he sounded angry. He was perpetually stirred up, and she dreaded the idea of seeing him. But she couldn’t say no to another meeting, so she put him off by asking him to call again the next day.
Today was the next day.
On the fourth ring, she picked up the receiver. “Hallo?”
“This is Uncle Wilhelm.”
The voice was deep and unfamiliar. The voice was not that of Peter’s father, thank God, and it certainly wasn’t her uncle. But she knew what the voice signified. She felt her heart begin to palpitate. She sat down on a chair, overwhelmed. The day had finally arrived, so suddenly, so unexpectedly—as they said it would.
“Hallo, Uncle Wilhelm. How is Aunt Anna?”
Those were the exact words she had memorized. The agreed-upon response.
“She’s feeling better. We wanted to make sure you were still coming to visit.”
“Oh, yes. I’m looking forward to seeing you again. How long has it been now?”
“Eleven months.”
Eleven months? That meant eleven hundred hours. The escape was happening at eleven o’clock today. Elsa began to breathe rapidly, and she glanced at her watch. It was 9:30 a.m. She had an hour and a half.
“I have my tickets purchased. I look forward to seeing you soon, Uncle Wilhelm.”
“Before you come, don’t forget to leave fresh flowers at St. Boniface Cemetery.”
St. Boniface Cemetery: the meeting spot.
“I won’t forget.”
“Good-bye.”
“Good-bye, Uncle.”
Elsa set the receiver gently on its cradle and took a deep breath. This was it. She had been expecting the phone call for over two weeks, and she had almost given up on it. They hadn’t told her the time or place of the escape—until now. Safer that way.
She went to her closet and drew out her thin black coat. She turned the coat inside out and checked the hidden pockets that she had sewn into the lining. Inside one pocket were her most valuable papers, and inside another were pieces of jewelry. A favorite set of earrings. A locket. Another pocket held letters. This was all she would be able to bring with her.
She drew out one of the envelopes and knifed it open with her finger and removed the small folded paper. The letter was from Stefan. His first love letter. She had received it three days ago, and she had read it at least ten times.
As she took in the words for the umpteenth time, she wondered, did she really want to be reunited with Peter? Peter had written letters like this to her, but that was a long time ago. And even when he did, his words were so formal, so contained. Stefan’s words were not as polished, but they rang true. She was drawn to his honesty.
Elsa thought back to the night at the Wall with Stefan. It had ended badly, but it was not altogether awful. She could never have imagined Peter letting her climb onto his back to take a peek over the Wall. And she could never have imagined Peter enjoying the American pop music blaring across the border. He would have taken the side of Beethoven.
So why was she doing this? Why was she leaving Stefan?
She had no choice. She couldn’t risk being thrown into prison again. If they deprived her of sleep, if they turned her waking moments into a nightmare, she would crack.
She folded the letter back in half and slid it into the envelope and returned it to the hidden pocket. Then she set aside her coat and went to the closet, where a black dress hung on the rack, waiting for this day. They had told her to have mourning clothes ready, and today was a day for mourning, a day for graveyards. She took out her black hat, draped in a black veil, and she set it on the bed next to her coat. Then she took a seat on an upholstered armchair and watched the second hand make ten full laps around the dial before she stood up and walked over to the telephone.
Her finger was shaking so hard that she misdialed the first time, her finger slipping out of the rotary hole. Finally, the call went through, and she heard the ringing in the distance, as if in a dream.
When a man’s voice answered, she was tempted to slam the phone back down, but she didn’t. She had no choice. She had to go through with this.
West Berlin
Peter crouched at the lip of the hole, the gopher run that they had dug into the basement of the West Berlin factory. With a stick, he doodled in the dirt, mindlessly drawing circles in the dust. When he finally heard movement below, he leaned over and peered into the hole, as if gazing into a well, and spotted Katarina. She clambered up the ladder, her jeans and shirt covered in dirt. She looked up at him and smiled, her face smudged like a coal miner’s. In one of her hands was the end of a rope.
“Everything is set to go,” she said.
“Very good,” he said, taking the rope from her. With his other hand, he pulled her up and out of the hole. Her hand felt warm, and she had an earthy smell.
Peter could not imagine Elsa doing this kind of work. He couldn’t picture her getting into the dirt like Katarina—at least not voluntarily. Today, however, she would have no choice but to get down into the dirt, into the tunnel, if she hoped to reach the West—if she hoped to see him.
Bringing Elsa to the West was going to complicate his life. He and Katarina had still done nothing beyond that initial kiss. But when Elsa reached the West, would he still want to marry her?
Did he even have a choice in the matter?
Peter couldn’t just leave Elsa in the East, at the mercy of the Stasi. That much was certain. But what would she think if he brought her to West Berlin only to leave her for another woman? Would she wish she had remained in the East? And who was to say that Katarina would even have him? What if Katarina thought of herself as nothing more than his sister?
But sisters didn’t kiss like that.
“You feeling all right?” Katarina asked, looking him in the eyes from only six inches away. She licked a finger and wiped a smudge of dirt from his face.
“Just a little nervous, that’s all.”
“That’s understandable. But she’ll be all right. Don’t worry.”
The Kappel Group had already brought in six groups through the graveyard tunnel over the past three weeks. The first escape had been tense, but the other five couldn’t have gone more smoothly.
“What time do you have?” Peter asked.
Licking her finger again, Katarin
a wiped the dirt from the face of her watch. “Almost ten o’clock.”
One hour to go.
“And Elsa definitely answered the call?”
Katarina smiled and took his hand. “Don’t worry. Yes, she answered. Everything will be fine.”
When she started to pull her hand back, Peter held on. He had tried to ask her about their relationship the night before, but she said she was much too tired to talk. But he had to know before Elsa reentered his life.
“Katarina, there’s one thing I have to ask.”
Katarina didn’t look him in the eyes. She tried to pull her hand away, but he held on. She had put him off last night, but she never imagined he would try to bring up the subject an hour before Elsa was due through the tunnel.
“Can’t it wait, Peter? We don’t have much time.”
She looked around for the others, but they were nowhere in sight. Jürgen, Alexander, Wolfgang, and Maria were going over last-minute details in the dim meeting room they had established in the far corner room of the basement. She would even welcome the sight of Wolfgang right now if it meant preventing Peter from talking about his feelings for her.
“I have to ask you something.” Peter looked over his shoulder to make sure they were alone. Then he turned back to face her. He still had her by the hand. “We haven’t talked about that night on the dance floor.”
“Peter, I’m sorry. I know you are spoken for. I crossed a line that night.”
“You don’t have to apologize. You didn’t do anything wrong.”
She finally managed to slip her hand out of his. She was so confused. She liked him; he was so much more decisive than Stefan, so much more mature, and so much more like her father—or at least how she had reconstructed the memories of her father. But he had a fiancée, and Elsa would be by his side in a matter of hours. She couldn’t handle this just now.
“We never talked about what that night meant,” Peter said.
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