Only a few nights ago, I had grabbed a heavy door and dragged it beneath the eyes of the watchtower. This wasn't much different. The same eyes were above me now, and I had escaped their guns once before.
I pried my arms beneath Muller's shoulders and locked my hands together across his chest. I felt his blood there, warm and sticky, and it took all my courage to stay with him. Then I heaved a deep breath and dragged him, so slowly that I wasn't sure if I was moving at all. Dirt rained down over us as the gap widened. It wouldn't be much longer before it was wide enough for an entire body to fit through, or before they weakened the roof and collapsed the tunnel. I wasn't sure which would be worse.
Muller mumbled something to me about letting him go, but I ignored him and kept dragging.
"I'm sorry," I told him as we went. "I wouldn't trust you and I'm sorry about that. You saved my life."
"Get my wife to freedom," he mumbled. "My son."
He was heavier than the door, but I knew I was strong enough. We rounded the bend with his boots dragging along the tunnel floor, slowing me down. Worse still was that Muller's body was steadily becoming heavier. Both his arms had fallen into the dirt and his head was slumped off to one side. I couldn't explain why, it just was.
"Gerta, set him down."
I felt my father's hand on my shoulder and looked up to face him. "I can't. He's hurt."
Papa pressed between me and Officer Muller, removing my arms and gently laying him on the ground. "He's not hurting anymore."
Oh.
I backed against the dirt while my father felt for a pulse at the base of Muller's neck. He turned to me and shook his head.
"I was wrong about him." That was all I could say, and it didn't seem like nearly enough.
Papa took my hand. "Let's go, Gerta."
I started to protest, but we heard orders aboveground for a man to be lowered into our tunnel. Wordlessly, I let my father lead me away.
The officer who had dropped into the tunnel behind us ordered us to halt, but by that time, we were too far away for his gun to be fired at the right angle. And then, suddenly, he stopped calling for us and I knew why. Just ahead of us in the dirt, Papa had stuck the striped flag of West Germany as a place marker. After three more steps, we passed beneath the Berlin Wall. We might not be out of the tunnel, but we were in the west.
We were in the west.
I could scarcely believe it. I felt like I was moving in a dream, one I hoped would never end.
Only a few meters ahead, I saw the end of the tunnel. I first mistook the dim light for sunrise and then realized it was a nearby streetlight. A single star in a sea of darkness.
I emerged from the tunnel in a small graveyard, blocked from the watchtower's view by the caretaker's shop. And from a hole disguised as a grave, I rose up to greet the coming morning. West German soldiers were here with their weapons drawn, making it clear that the Grenzers had missed their chance at us. They would not be allowed to step even a single toe into this half of the city.
I filled my lungs with the fresh air, too exhausted to even sit down.
Papa squeezed my shoulder and then went over to talk to Frau Muller. I couldn't hear what they said but I did see her tears as she cradled her baby close to her. Anna's parents went over to help comfort her.
From there, my eyes drifted to the Berlin Wall, the side of it we had never seen before in the east. It was covered in graffiti and signs protesting its very existence. The sight of it startled me, that people would dare to express themselves so boldly, so publicly. Beside me, Dominic leaned his elbow on my shoulder. "There's a lot more that you'll have to get used to," he said.
"I look forward to it," I mumbled, then jabbed him in the side, the first time in four years I'd been able to tease him back.
Mama hugged me and then we all walked over to Fritz, who was being cared for by one of the West German officers. The smile on his face was so wide that nobody would've suspected the injury to his leg.
"You did the impossible," Mama said, cradling each of our faces with her hands one at a time. "I could only sit back and hope. But you three children made it happen."
I hugged Anna next. "I can't believe you came," I said to her.
"You made me think about Peter, about what he would want us to do." Then her smile fell. "But I'm sorry about one thing. I promised you that I wouldn't tell anyone about the tunnel until tomorrow. I didn't even get halfway home before I knew I'd be breaking that promise with my parents."
I only hugged her even tighter. "You can break those kinds of promises to me any time you want!"
My father was there to hug me last of all. I had never seen him weep before, but now his tears flowed freely and he smiled through them. He held me back so he could look at me better and brushed his hand over my hair and across my shoulders. I knew how I must've looked: filthy, bone-tired, and even bloodstained, but he only gazed at me like he might look upon an angel. "My precious daughter," he said. "So brave. So bold."
"Officer Muller's family --"
"They are part of our family now." He looked at all of us, then back to me. "How should we celebrate our freedom?"
I smiled back at him. "Maybe we could all sleep for a few hours," I said. "And then I thought we'd go to the market together, to get something to eat."
He chuckled. "And what might you want from the market?"
"A banana." I'd been planning to ask for one since the first day of digging.
He hugged me again. "You shall have one today."
Only a few short hours later, I felt sunlight on my face. The sun never rises in the west, but that day it did. For me, and for my family, the long, dark night was over.
There was nothing logical about my decision to write this book. The timing was too tight, I was already contracted for a different trilogy, and, as was pointed out to me more than once, I wasn't a historical writer.
But Gerta was insistent, constantly interrupting my thoughts the way I'm sure she often pestered her family. Eventually, I gave in and wrote the first few words, which led to a story that refused to let me go. Although I didn't know if I could do Gerta justice, I was determined to try.
This could not have been written without the support of my family. While I holed up in a quiet room to complete this project, they assured me that clean laundry was a bonus rather than a necessity, and that they were perfectly good cooks (or better, as it turned out). They are a finer family than I deserve. Most of all, I am grateful to my husband, Jeff, who is unfailingly good to me. I cannot imagine a day without him.
Warmest thanks to those whose input and advice came at the most crucial times: especially my agent of awesomeness, Ammi-Joan Paquette, and my friends and fellow authors, Joanne Levy and Lisa McMann.
I am eternally grateful to the Scholastic family. It is their combined expertise and brilliance that sends this book out into the world.
Speaking of brilliance, thanks also to my editor, Lisa Sandell. It is the highest privilege to work with her, and with every book, I continue to learn from her wisdom. (If anyone wants a laugh, ask her what else she was doing the day this project went to acquisitions.)
Finally, my thanks to Dr. Cristina Cuevas-Wolf, Manager of the Collections Department at the Wende Museum in Culver City, California. With her help and expertise, I was able to see firsthand the objects and images of Cold War East Germany, of daily life behind the wall, and the invasive reach of the Stasi into its citizens' lives. I learned so much more there than I could have anticipated. Any factual errors in these pages are mine.
Above all, with this book, I send my respect and honor to the people of Germany. Ich bin ein Berliner!
Jennifer A. Nielsen is the acclaimed author of the New York Times and USA Today bestselling Ascendance Trilogy: The False Prince, The Runaway King, and The Shadow Throne, as well as Mark of the Thief. Jennifer also wrote Behind Enemy Lines, the sixth book in the Infinity Ring series, and the Underworld Chronicles, a humorous middle-grade fantasy series. She collects
old books, loves good theater, and thinks that a quiet afternoon in the mountains makes for a nearly perfect moment.
She lives in northern Utah with her husband, their three children, and a perpetually muddy dog. You can visit her at www.jennielsen.com.
This story is fictional, but it is based on real events and the heroism of a remarkable people who lived behind a concrete wall that stood for twenty-eight years.
Copyright (c) 2015 by Jennifer A. Nielsen
All rights reserved. Published by Scholastic Press, an imprint of Scholastic Inc., Publishers since 1920. SCHOLASTIC, SCHOLASTIC PRESS, and associated logos are trademarks and/or registered trademarks of Scholastic Inc.
The publisher does not have any control over and does not assume any responsibility for author or third-party websites or their content.
This book is a work of fiction. Names, characters, places, and incidents are either the product of the author's imagination or are used fictitiously, and any resemblance to actual persons, living or dead, business establishments, events, or locales is entirely coincidental.
Library of Congress Cataloging-in-Publication Data
Nielsen, Jennifer A., author.
A night divided / Jennifer A. Nielsen. -- First edition.
pages cm
Summary: When the Berlin Wall went up, Gerta, her mother, and her brother Fritz are trapped on the eastern side where they were living, while her father, and her other brother Dominic are in the West--four years later, now twelve, Gerta sees her father on a viewing platform on the western side and realizes he wants her to risk her life trying to tunnel to freedom.
ISBN 978-0-545-68242-8 (jacketed hardcover) 1. Families--Germany--Berlin--Juvenile fiction. 2. Families--Germany (East)--Juvenile fiction. 3. Berlin Wall, Berlin, Germany, 1961-1989--Juvenile fiction. 4. Berlin (Germany)--History--1945-1990--Juvenile fiction. [1. Family life--Germany--Berlin--Fiction. 2. Family life--Germany (East)--Fiction. 3. Berlin Wall, Berlin, Germany, 1961-1989--Fiction. 4. Berlin (Germany)--History--1945-1990--Fiction. 5. Germany (East)--History--20th century--Fiction.] I. Title.
PZ7.N5673Ni 2015
813.6--dc23
[Fic]
2014046788
First edition, September 2015
Cover art (c) 2015 by Tim O'Brien
Cover design by Christopher Stengel
Photographs (c): Ullstein - Sticha / The Image Works:
p. vi top; Popperfoto/Getty Images: p. vi bottom,
p. vii top; Peteri/Shutterstock: p. vii bottom.
e-ISBN 978-0-54568243-5
All rights reserved under International and Pan-American Copyright Conventions. No part of this publication may be reproduced, transmitted, downloaded, decompiled, reverse engineered, or stored in or introduced into any information storage and retrieval system, in any form or by any means, whether electronic or mechanical, now known or hereafter invented, without the express written permission of the publisher. For information regarding permission, write to Scholastic Inc., Attention: Permissions Department, 557 Broadway, New York, NY 10012.
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