The historian was saying goodbye because a voice had started calling over the sound system, a voice I was only slowly resolving into dreihundertzweiundvierzig, the 342 printed on our ticket. It was our turn. I gathered up my folder of documentation. We went through.
‘I’ll do the talking,’ Ogden said. ‘There’s no need for you to explain anything.’
Our number was flashing over another desk, quite unoccupied. We sat down in two moulded plastic chairs, fixed in pairs, and waited.
‘I’ll have to talk if it’s in German,’ I said.
‘Just translate what I say in that case,’ Ogden said. ‘I don’t think it’ll be as bad as all that. Just don’t say anything about how wonderful the socialist DDR is. They’ll think we’re spies or something.’
Then a woman was in front of us, brisk and unsmiling. She held out her hand. She took our two completed forms. It was the woman who had opened the door to us half an hour before. She turned and left.
‘Should we go and sit down in the waiting room?’ I said. ‘While they check the details?’
‘Are they done? Was that it?’
‘They would have taken our passports too,’ I said. A brisk shout came from the man I had called Kurt. ‘We need to go back there, he said.’
The historian had disappeared. The waiting room now contained half a dozen new arrivals, all of them filling in the form. We sat down again.
Time passed.
‘We should have gone to Romania,’ Ogden said at one point.
Outside I thought I heard the sound of rain at one point. It was more likely something – some substance like iron filings – being dropped in the stairwell.
It occurred to me that I had forgotten to return a book to the university library. It was a novel by Primo Levi. Returning the book had been one of my tasks on Tuesday before setting off. It was due back on Monday. Fines would shortly be mounting up. I considered sharing this with Ogden before deciding against it.
Three people were summoned as we had been, to hand over their forms. They came back as we had done. The others sat there with their forms, waiting.
‘How long do you think this will be?’ Ogden said, but there was no point in replying.
The waiting room filled up further. By eleven o’clock there were fourteen or fifteen people standing or sitting. ‘They should have posters up on the wall,’ I said. ‘Pictures of the beauties of the DDR.’
‘It’s not a travel bureau,’ Ogden said.
‘It is a travel bureau,’ I said. ‘That’s exactly what Reisebüro means, travel bureau.’
‘Well, they’re not here to tempt you with fancy advertising,’ Ogden said. ‘This isn’t a money-making scheme, like it would be in the West.’
‘Excuse me,’ a woman sitting next to us said, leaning forward. She had the plump russety quality with red hair and a squashed nose that I always associate with the name ‘Moira’. ‘Actually, it is a money-making scheme.’
I looked at Ogden. This was an unexpected statement from a stranger in a DDR office.
‘The whole business. They want to raise currency for the DDR,’ she continued. She was not lowering her voice at all. ‘The requirement to change money. Twenty-five Deutschmarks per day. The requirement to stay in government hotels and pay in Westmarks. Have you stayed in the official hotels? They’re not worth the money, I can tell you.’
I smiled weakly and without any real encouragement to the woman. I did not think direct criticism of the DDR was permitted or wise on its premises, in front of its citizens.
‘I’m sick to death of it,’ the woman said. ‘I wouldn’t go if I didn’t have to. My boyfriend. He comes from there. We met at a conference in Trier. It’s where Karl Marx was born but the conference was nothing to do with that. The conference was about what I work with, about Christina Rossetti. Georg works with the Rossettis too. We’re both members of a team, him in Leipzig, me in Bristol. He’s working on a concordance. I’m helping to prepare her letters for an edition. I’m English. You’re English? I’m English. He gave a paper about the prevalence of colour words in Rossetti’s verse and I showed him some unpublished correspondence. We suit each other. He’s fifty-eight, twenty-seven years older than me. I know I look older than that. He has permission to travel for these purposes but not often enough. I go over to visit him three times a year. We meet and stay in hotels. They’re horribly expensive. I pay for them. I don’t think he wants me to come and stay with him. I went once and his flat was full of the sense of somebody else’s life. Sometimes I think it wasn’t his flat at all. He hardly knew where the knife drawer was, where the cups were kept in the kitchen. The photographs had been removed from the table top before my visit. But he loves me. What would you do?’
‘I really don’t know,’ Ogden said. ‘I don’t think I can give you advice.’
‘They might be divorced,’ I said. ‘It might simply be that he didn’t want to talk to you about previous relationships. That’s the advice, isn’t it? When you meet somebody, don’t talk endlessly about the relationships you’ve been in before?’
‘Why are you going?’ she said, ignoring what I’d said. ‘Nobody goes unless they have to. What’s your reason?’
‘We want to travel a bit and see what we can,’ I said. ‘We’re going to be tourists. I think it’s going to be interesting to see a country that’s organized in a completely different way from the West, and perhaps to meet some of the people who live there.’ I smiled at her.
‘This is my seventh time,’ she said, not smiling back in the slightest. ‘Every time Georg tells me that he loves me and we should go to visit a different beautiful town with historic sights. Once I could no longer go on. I broke down and cried in front of him in the Zwinger in Dresden. He has never once asked me to bring anything across. I think that’s unusual. Why does he have no desire for anything from the West? He says he has everything he needs. It upsets me to have to go through this questioning before I can see Georg. I want to settle down with him but I don’t see how that could ever happen. He has friends who live in the UK. They visit me whenever I come back. They need to pick up the things that Georg gives me for them ‒ he always gives me something for them ‒ but they stay and talk for a couple of hours. They’re called Rudi, Anja, Monika, Gerhard, they’re nice people. They asked me if I’d like to come along to their discussion group ‒ they have a political, I think it is, discussion group. They live in the UK and Georg one day could live in the UK too. I said to him last time that if he asked me to marry him I would apply to come to live with him in the DDR. But I don’t speak German. Only guten Morgen, guten Abend, gnädige Frau, ich liebe dich, just that. He didn’t answer when I said I wanted to come to live with him, come and live in the DDR, but he wrote me such a beautiful letter. I have it, look, here. What do you think I should do?’
She had plucked an envelope, a letter on pale blue paper, from her bag, a black patent-leather handbag with a gold clasp. She stabbed at it with her forefinger.
‘Do they usually take as long as this?’ Ogden said.
‘But what do you think I should do?’ the woman said.
‘I don’t think you can do anything,’ I said. ‘The only thing you could do would be a negative thing. To stop seeing him and coming to the DDR. I don’t think you can advance the situation on your own. We have no experience on which to advise you, I’m afraid.’
The woman sank back in her chair. She thrust the envelope into her bag. She clicked it shut. Everything about her was neat, apart from the form she had tried to fill in. She had crumpled and torn it, resting it on the side of her handbag. She placed her hands over her eyes, making a wiping gesture. I realized with horror that she had actually started to cry. Nobody else in the room was paying any attention to her. Her story had been retold in a low, warm, serious-sounding voice, not at all in accordance with the madness and despair she appeared to be experiencing. I ha
d given her a firm response, which had taken into account the possibility that officials of the DDR might hear what I was saying. It would not be helpful to say, as I wanted to, that there was surely something underhand about the way she had met this man, that he was not telling her the whole story. He must be using her for purposes of his own. I wonder, now, what the story was, and what happened to Georg after the breakdown of the DDR – she must have known his real name, since they’d met at an academic conference. I had not asked what she took to his friends in the UK. Did he have some official status? Was his relationship with her a matter of public scrutiny? Or had he seen a pretty woman, plump and russety, and seen no reason not to make a move on her? I have sometimes thought of that woman and her edge, barely concealed, of romantic despair. I never saw her again after that moment in the DDR Reisebüro. I have always thought afterwards that it was politicians who had their way with her. Georg was their tool, whether he knew it or not, and so was she.
The tannoy came into action. ‘Nummer dreihundertzweiundvierzig, bitte,’ it said. It was our number.
There was already a man sitting at the desk above which our number flashed. He held out his hand, unsmiling. Ogden understood what he wanted. He handed over our passports. The man took them and flicked through them, pausing at a stamp in Ogden’s – it was an Egyptian visa, I discovered afterwards, from a holiday Ogden had taken with his parents after his A levels. He placed them in front of him. He began to ask his questions.
On
what dates
do you want
to travel, From the
fourth of April to the
seventeenth, What is your itinerary, From
Berlin on the seventh to Leipzig and to Weimar on the tenth to Dresden on the thirteenth and back to Berlin, What is the reason for travelling, For tourism, What is the reason for choosing the Democratic Republic for your tourism, An interest in the historic sites of the country and an interest in your country’s traditions, Where do you live, As it is stated on the form, These cities are different, why is that, I live in the town I was born in where I met my friend but he now lives in London, in the capital, What are your occupations, I am a student writing a doctoral thesis, Are you coming to the Democratic Republic for research, No, for relief from hard work, This is not the opportunity for humour, sir, I understand, What is the subject of your research, briefly stated, It is a historical account of the literature surrounding the anti-Catholic riots in Yorkshire in the 1780s and its relation to the seeds of proletarian resistance movements, Where are the funds for your travel coming from, From personal means, What are the sources of your income in general terms, Grants from the government, What grants from the government, Grants for my research, Are you in receipt of government funds enabling you to travel in the Democratic Republic in particular on this occasion and have you received any instructions for tasks to be undertaken during your travel, No, not at all, the grants are made for living expenses and research purposes over three years and the government has no reason to know where I am taking a holiday, How is a student grant sufficient to allow you to consider a holiday of two weeks, I have some private savings which I am using for this holiday, What is the source of these private savings, My father died last year and left me some money and I am using that, How did your father die, I do not see the relevance of this question, How did your father die, This is a private matter, I ask again, how did your father die, As you insist, he committed suicide, How much money did he leave you, I am sorry, but I do not see the relevance of these questions, Nevertheless these questions are being asked and are relevant and necessary, how much money did he leave you, He left me fifty thousand pounds, Where do you live now, In the town where I grew up, I would be grateful if you would try to answer these questions in a calm fashion, Please continue, Do you live on your own, No, Who do you live with, I live with a friend, What is the name of your friend, Joaquin Gorriategy, is that his full name, No, Joaquin Anibal Gorriategy, That is not an English name, No he was born in Chile, Please write down his name and age and contact details in full, where did you learn German, At school, And have you been to a German-speaking country before, Yes I have been twice to the Federal Republic and once to Austria when I was a child, Please describe your itineraries in those countries and the dates of your travel, I was in Austria in April 1973 when I was six years old, we went to Vienna for a holiday of five days at Easter and our itinerary included performances by the Vienna Boys’ Choir and the Spanish Riding School as well as going to see the Prater, and my parents went to the opera although I was left in the hotel room, I believe they saw the opera Tosca and my mother wore a long blue dress, These are serious questions and I must warn you again against answering them facetiously or with mockery, I am sorry, sir, If you hope to be granted entry to the Democratic Republic then mocking the officials and citizens of the Republic will not be looked on favourably, so I ask again if you would outline the itinerary of your trips to other German-speaking countries, in the first, you remained entirely within Vienna, and the others, please, The second trip was to Bavaria with my father when I was sixteen, and we visited the towns of Munich, Würzburg, Nuremberg, Bamberg and Rothenburg, Is that all, Yes, I believe so, And the dates of the trip please, August 1983, Could you be more precise, I think it was the two weeks before the return to school but I am not sure, And the third trip please, The third trip was with a youth orchestra I played with in the town I grew up in and it was an exchange with the youth orchestra in Bochum in the Ruhr Valley, And your itinerary there, please, We performed concerts in Bochum, in Essen, and in Münster, And the dates of the trip, September 1985, it was at the end of my second year of university, What were the names of those in charge of issuing the invitation, The invitation was one to the orchestra and I do not think I ever saw those names or met the people involved, What is your interest in travelling to the Democratic Republic, We are interested in its history and its culture and the people, Are you planning to meet with any particular citizens of the Democratic Republic during your trip, No, What are their names, We are not planning to meet with anyone, Are you a member of any political party in your country, No, Are you planning to overthrow your government through violent means, No, Have you ever undertaken any subversive action or distributed anti-government publications, Anti the government of the United Kingdom you mean, Yes, I am a supporter of socialism, That is not what I asked, Could you repeat the question please, Have you ever undertaken any subversive action or distributed anti-government publications, An election pamphlet by an opposition party could be viewed as an anti-government publication, but I have never taken part in any activity outside the normal range of ordinary political activities in my country, I would like now to ask some specific questions of Mr Ogden, He does not speak German, I will ask my questions and you can translate them to him, and afterwards translate his answers for me, is that understood, Yes, Where does Mr Ogden live, In London, Who does he live with, They are tenants who answered an advert and not friends of Mr Ogden, What is Mr Ogden’s profession, He is a personal assistant, Who does he work for, A British Member of Parliament, What party does he represent, The Labour Party, What is his name, Philip Cawston, Has Mr Ogden ever visited a German-speaking country before now, Never, What is Mr Ogden’s means of financial support, His job, What is his income, Ten thousand pounds, A month, No, a year, Who do you plan to meet with during your trip to the Democratic Republic, We have no plans to meet with anyone in particular, as I said a moment ago, Has anyone given you anything to take into the Democratic Republic, No, Has anyone given you a message to pass on to a citizen of the Democratic Republic, No, Are you planning to overthrow the Democratic Republic by any means, No, You realize that any false answers to these questions would result in serious consequences,
I understand that, I would like
to see the reservations you
have made with hotels
on your itinerary,
if you
; please.
We were dismissed. Soon we stood on the street outside the office building. It had the weightless, brilliant look of a town seen for the first time in weeks by a confined convalescent. Ogden and I looked at each other. My stomach began slowly to unclench. I realized that I was very hungry.
‘Should I have left Phil out of it?’ Ogden said. He lit a cigarette. His hands were shaking a little.
‘I don’t know what else you could have done when they asked what your job was,’ I said. ‘What would you have said?’
‘I guess I could have made something up,’ Ogden said. ‘I could have said I worked in my uncle’s shoe shop or anything. I just don’t like the idea of them phoning Phil up and quizzing him. Or deciding that they’ll let the Daily Mail or the Sun know that Phil’s got a member of staff who likes going to the DDR on his summer holidays. They could make that look terrible.’
‘I don’t much like the idea of them phoning Joaquin up either,’ I said.
‘Be that as it may,’ Ogden said.
‘I don’t think there’s going to be any problem,’ I said. ‘They like being terrifying, if they can manage it. In the holidays, claiming the dole – don’t you remember how those juniors in the dole office tried to frighten you if they were really bored? Tell you that your dole would be stopped if they couldn’t see evidence you’d been looking for jobs? This is the same. He was bored and he wanted to frighten us a bit. It’ll be fine when we’re over in the DDR. Not everyone in East Germany wants to devote time to scaring students.’
A Small Revolution in Germany Page 12
