There’s a moment of silence whilst we absorb this chilling fact.
“What about forging identity papers for the people in East Berlin?” I ask. It’s the only idea I thought of before coming here and I don’t want Harry and the others to think I’ve got nothing to bring to the party. “If the identity papers say they’re from West Germany they’ll be allowed to cross at the Checkpoint Charlie.”
Harry shakes his head. “You’re right that only West Germans and foreigners can cross the checkpoints into and out of East Berlin. For example, I have a West German and an American passport, so I can cross at Checkpoint Charlie whenever I want.” He grins to himself, obviously pleased with his special status. “But I don’t think false identity papers are the way to go. For a start, they’re damn hard to get right and even if we did manage to forge them successfully, we’d only get a handful of people out like that. I want to rescue as many as possible.” He stretches his hands into the air to indicate vast crowds. I think he sees himself as Moses leading his people to the Promised Land.
“Now,” says Harry, “Werner has a plan that he wants to propose.”
I feel a bit put out that my one idea has been so easily quashed, but Claudia gives me an encouraging smile. All attention is now on Werner who takes his glasses off, rubs the bridge of his nose, puts his glasses back on and clears his throat before starting to speak.
Werner, unlike Harry, does not relish being in the limelight. He talks quietly with his head bowed much of the time, but as he gets into his stride his confidence grows and I start to see a spark of genius behind those glasses. He explains he is studying engineering at the Technical University in West Berlin, but he has a girlfriend, Marion, living in East Berlin and that’s why he’s decided to take a break from his studies to work on this project with Harry; he wants Marion to join him in the West. Then he starts to outline his idea. At first it seems absurd, but as he describes the plan in more detail I can see that he’s given this some serious thought and I find myself being persuaded. Escaping over the Wall is too risky because of the shoot to kill policy, so he wants the escapees to go under it. He wants us to dig a tunnel into East Berlin.
“What do you think?” he asks, twirling his pencil between his fingers. He looks nervous, as if he expects us to laugh at the absurdity of his idea. But no one does.
“I think it’s a brilliant idea,” I say. “Count me in! I’ll dig a tunnel to Moscow if I have to.”
“We shouldn’t have to go that far,” says Werner, relaxing somewhat and smiling at me.
“You can count me in too,” says Claudia taking a swig of beer and looking jubilant.
“Thank you,” says Werner to both of us. He turns to Harry. “That all right with you then?”
Harry is frowning and I’m worried he’s about to raise an objection. But then he snaps out of it and raises his bottle of beer in a toast. “To the tunnel!”
“To the tunnel!” I reply. Hold on Sabine, I’m coming for you.
~~~~
Chapter 3 - Enemy of the State
Sabine
We are still alive, but it is as if part of us has died.
Brigitta is distraught at what happened at the canal and tries to shut it out by reading fairy stories, escaping into a world of make-believe where evil spells are broken by heroic princes. I try to tell her that we don’t know if the guards shot Herr Schiller or not. I say, maybe he and Horst jumped off the raft and swam to safety, although I know this is a wild hope. I don’t think she believes me.
Mother suffered a panic attack in the allotments after we escaped and it took me nearly an hour to calm her down. We had to hide in Horst’s shed. I was terrified the guards would find us. Now she has sunk into a mood of resignation and defeat. She expects she will never see Dieter again.
I am furious that we came so close to escaping and didn’t make it. I also think about Herr Schiller and miss him dreadfully. There is an eerie quiet now on the stairs whenever I pass by his apartment. I never thought I’d say this, but I miss the smell of frying cabbage and if I do catch a whiff of it from somewhere then my heart contracts because it reminds me so much of him.
The worst of it is, we can’t find out what happened to him because if we were to ask questions of anyone in authority, they would know we were trying to escape with him. That would land us all in prison, for sure. So we keep quiet and miss our friend privately, not knowing if he is dead or alive, but in our hearts fearing the worst.
Whenever I pass Frau Lange on the stairs I sense her watching me. The day after our failed escape, she asked if we had enjoyed the birthday party. I stared at her stupidly, not understanding her question, whilst she watched me through narrowed eyes. After a while I came to my senses and mumbled something incoherent and non-committal. But being the interfering old bat that she is, she couldn’t leave the subject alone. “And Herr Schiller, where is he? I have not seen him.”
“He is taking a short holiday,” I lied.
“Really?” she said, raising her eyebrows in disbelief.
A few days after my encounter with Frau Lange, Hans drops by and suggests we go for a walk. I can see he’s got things on his mind. We go to the nearby park with the old nineteenth-century water tower which was used by the Nazis to imprison Communist sympathisers in the 1930s. We sit down on the grass by the tower and Hans starts to talk. Non-stop. He is full of ideas for escaping to West Berlin. He’s heard there are students in the West who are forging identity papers and smuggling them into East Berlin but he doesn’t know how to get hold of one himself – he intends to look into it. And then there’s the sewer system. Apparently anyone can lift the manhole covers with an iron lever. Then it’s just – Hans makes it sound so simple – a matter of climbing down the shaft into the sewer system and navigating your way through the network of tunnels until you reach West Berlin where you pop up out of the ground, although he doesn’t say how you’re meant to get the manhole cover off the exit.
I listen and nod but only take in half of what he is saying. Deep down I am racked with guilt. How can I tell him that we tried to escape but didn’t invite him and his mother to join us? Hans would never do a thing like that. And poor Herr Schiller is dead, I’m sure of it, and…
“Sabine, are you listening? Did you hear what I just said?”
I jump at the mention of my name. I realise that Hans must have asked me a question and is waiting for a reply. “I’m sorry, what was it?”
“What do you think I should do first? Investigate false identity papers or the sewer system?”
I don’t think Mother will ever have the courage to attempt another escape, but Hans is looking at me expectantly waiting for a reply. “I, er, think maybe…maybe the identity papers. Yes, why don’t you look into that?”
“OK, I will.” He jumps to his feet as if he intends to look into matters straight away. I get up more slowly and together we walk back to Stargarder Strasse.
*
August turns into September. The Wall continues to grow, stone by stone, brick by brick, snaking through the city, around buildings, across roads, over tram-lines. Underground stations on lines leading to West Berlin are closed, their entrances sealed off with metal grilles. From the upper storeys of buildings friends and neighbours wave to each other across the Wall; those on the lower floors whose apartments are by the border can no longer see the opposite side of the street but stare at a concrete barrier when they look out of their windows.
When I go to the shop I overhear snippets of conversation.
“Die Amerikaner tun nichts.” The Americans are doing nothing.
“Die Mauer wird bleiben.” The Wall is here to stay.
Such things are said in hushed, confidential tones to close friends whilst stocking up on tins of meat and jars of Sauerkraut. No one wants to get into trouble with the Stasi for harbouring anti-communist feelings.
Soon it is time to return to school. I normally look forward to the start of a new term, but this time I’m apprehensive.
Things are different now. The Wall has created an atmosphere of fear and distrust. Which side are you on? Are you for the Wall or against it?
On the first day of term Mother leaves the apartment at six to go to work so I help Brigitta get ready and then walk with her to the entrance of the Grundschule, a grey, bullet damaged building on Pappelallee. I hope that a return to school will help her move on from the events at the canal.
“Tschüs!” Brigitta waves me good-bye and disappears inside.
“Tschüs!” I call after her. Then I continue on to the High School in Greifenhagener Strasse. The building dates from the Nineteenth Century, a five-storey brick monolith with rows and rows of identical windows. It looms up at me now as I approach the entrance. This is the final year of school for me - I will take the final exam, the Abitur, next summer. I’ve always wanted to go to university and study languages. I wanted to learn English, but we only learn Russian in East Berlin.
I join the other students entering the building and make my way down the long corridor. Rubber-soled shoes squeak on the linoleum floor. During the holidays the walls have been painted a garish shade of mustard brown. I can’t help thinking how I wouldn’t be here now if our attempt to escape across the canal had succeeded. That leads me to thinking of Herr Schiller which brings a lump to my throat and I have to push him from my mind so as not to break down and draw attention to myself.
“Sabine! Warte doch!” Sabine, wait! The sound of my name being shouted down the corridor brings me back to the present.
I turn round and see my friend Astrid striding towards me, overtaking the other students with her long legs. She looks amazing. The sun has bleached her blond hair golden and her skin is glowing with a healthy tan. Her summer camping trip has obviously done her good.
She catches me up, linking her arm through mine. “Hey, Sabine, good to see you. How are things?”
“Umm, fine.” Under the circumstances, I think. “How was your holiday?”
“Ach, wunderbar!” she laughs. “We camped in the forest for two weeks and we went swimming in the lake every day. And, oh my God Sabine, you should have seen the camp leader.” She gives me a look which leaves me in no doubt about the gorgeousness of the camp leader.
I feel better already. It’s impossible not to be cheered up by Astrid’s enthusiasm for life.
As we make our way to the classroom, she chatters non-stop, telling me about the camp which was organised by the Freie Deutsche Jugend, the Communist youth organisation. She always says she has no interest in the politics, she just likes to go on the organised holidays and have fun. I guess there’s no harm in that.
“And we stayed up late every night, drinking beers and telling jokes. You know, Sabine, you should give it a go. Next year…” She falls silent. We’ve reached the classroom and there’s an atmosphere in the room that is at odds with Astrid’s frivolous chatter.
There’s a group of students in the middle of the room and at the centre of the group are two boys I’ve known since the first year at the Grundschule, Matthias and Joachim. I haven’t seen them all summer and I’m struck by how much they’ve changed. It’s not just that Joachim has grown taller, or that Matthias is wearing his hair longer. There’s something else different about them. They’ve never been known for their respect for authority and they’re good at making people laugh with their merciless imitations of unpopular school teachers. But today there’s a seriousness about them. They are both dressed completely in black – black trousers, black shirts, black sweaters. As Astrid and I enter the room, Matthias is explaining their sartorial choices.
“It’s a protest,” he says. Joachim, hands thrust deep into his pockets, nods his assent. “We’re protesting against the Wall. We’re in mourning for the death of freedom in this country.” Matthias looks around his audience, inviting them to support him.
And it’s clear that they do support him. People start talking about their experiences of being unable to travel to West Berlin because of the Wall; Monika, a pretty girl who is normally shy and quiet, talks heatedly about how she was turned back at the Bornholmer Bridge Checkpoint when she tried to visit her cousin in Wedding; Gabriele had a similar experience to me at Friedrichstrasse station; Jens talks about how he got into a confrontation with an armed guard at Bernauer Strasse; everyone, it seems, has watched with horror as the Wall has been built. People have heard rumours of shootings at the Wall. I want to join in and tell my own story about travelling to Friedrichstrasse station on the morning the barbed wire was rolled out, but Astrid has walked over to the window and is waiting for me to join her. Her ebullient mood of a moment ago has evaporated.
“Die Idioten!” she says under her breath, glancing over at Matthias and Joachim. The idiots.
I’m used to Astrid being quite outspoken but I’m shocked at her abrupt change of mood.
“What do you mean?” I ask, keeping my voice low.
“Wearing black as a sign of protest,” she says impatiently. “What are they hoping to achieve?”
“Well they might not achieve anything, but they’ve got a point,” I say. “We’ve all lost our freedom.”
“Yes, I know that. But they don’t understand what they’re doing. They’ll just get themselves into trouble. And anyone who supports them will get into trouble too. They could make life very difficult for the rest of us. Don’t you see?”
“I suppose so.”
She lets the subject drop as the classroom starts to fill up. I guess she’s right, but even so, I admire Matthias and Joachim for having the courage to take a stand. I do sometimes wonder if the government would have got away with building the Wall if everyone had just stood up against them. But they had plenty of willing supporters in the teams of Factory Fighters and it’s difficult to argue with a machine gun. I was going to tell Astrid later about our escape attempt with Herr Schiller, but I decide maybe I’d better not mention it. She would probably think it foolish.
Just then Hans arrives and the guilt I feel about trying to escape without him wells up in me all over again. I realise I must never mention it to Astrid in case she lets something slip and Hans hears about it. He comes over to me.
“Tag, Sabine, wie geht’s?” Hi, Sabine, how’s it going?
I do my best to smile back. “Gut, danke.” Good, thanks.
“I’ve started to make some progress,” he says under his breath, “about, you know…”
At that moment Herr Keller, the form teacher, walks in. He’s a grumpy man and the summer break has done nothing to improve his mood.
“Tell you later,” says Hans.
The chatter dies down and there is a scraping of chairs as everyone finds somewhere to sit.
“Guten Morgen,” barks Herr Keller. He drops a pile of papers and books onto the desk. He doesn’t bother welcoming us back to school.
The first task of the day is to hand out the timetables. They have been typed on thin, shiny paper by Frau Weber, the school secretary. When I receive mine I scan it quickly - Russian, Physics, Chemistry, Maths, German literature and the compulsory Marxism-Leninism. I count the periods given to the study of Marx and Lenin. There’s a lesson at the end of today, Tuesday after break, first thing Wednesday morning and a double session at the end of the day on Friday. My heart sinks. The school has more than doubled the number of lessons in socialist politics. I look around the room. There are mutterings of discontent as people read their timetables and turn to their neighbours.
Hans raises his hand.
“What is it?” snaps Herr Keller.
“There must be a mistake here,” says Hans. “There are too many lessons in Marxism-Leninism.”
I doubt it’s a mistake and Hans is not going to make himself popular with the teachers if he starts questioning the timetable.
Herr Keller glares at Hans. He fidgets with his shirt collar as if he is not entirely comfortable with what he is about to say.
“There is no mistake,” says Herr Keller. “The extra lessons are necessary. We
cannot hope to build a successful socialist state in this country if its citizens are not properly informed about socialist ideals.” He sounds as if he is repeating something he has been taught to say, parrot-fashion.
Hans catches my eye and smirks as if to say, what a load of bullshit. I keep my own face neutral.
“And finally,” says Herr Keller, “The headmaster has asked me to tell the boys that they should sign up for military service. There will be an opportunity to do so in the school foyer during the morning break.”
The smirk is wiped from Hans’ face as surely as if he’d just been slapped. Something else takes its place. Anger. And a steely determination behind those blue eyes of his.
Dieter
Our first job is to find somewhere in the West to dig from. It’s Monday morning and I’m back in Claudia’s apartment in Jakobstrasse, having phoned work to tell them I’m sick. I don’t think Herr Pohl believed me.
I stayed late at Claudia’s place on Friday night, drinking beers and getting to know my new friends a bit better. Werner loosened up a lot after we agreed to go with his tunnel project. He explained that his girlfriend, Marion, is stuck working in a Trabant factory because the authorities won’t let her go to university – something to do with her father making a joke at work about the Communist Party leadership. His colleagues thought it was a very funny joke, but someone must have reported him to the Stasi. He was arrested and sentenced to five months’ imprisonment. Now the whole family is under Stasi surveillance. Claudia told us that she has a younger brother and sister who live with their aunt in the East Berlin district of Pankow, but she seemed reluctant to explain how come they’re over there and she’s over here. I told them about Sabine, Brigitta and Mother. Harry was a bit vague about who he knows in East Berlin but it seems one of his acquaintances is an actor. What I haven’t worked out yet is what the relationship is between Harry and Claudia. We’re using her apartment as a meeting place, but Harry is clearly the leader of the group, although he leaves all the technical stuff to Werner.
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