The Girl Behind the Wall

by Mandy Robotham

  There’s a huge relief as she moves through the Wall for almost the last time. More and more she feels that her luck is bound to run out soon. Even a cat has only nine lives.

  Once through, Jutta takes the tram north for speed, avoiding the border of Friedrichstrasse station and getting off at Oranienburger Strasse and hotfooting it towards the Charité through a dreary veil of rain, matching her mood. It’s already 4.30 and Karin will have finished for the day and likely already checked the hole in the wall. Jutta musters nerve that’s in short supply and sits at their bench, hurriedly slipping in a note as hospital workers move to and fro. Karin should get it by the next working day, giving her enough time to make the necessary arrangements and allow her to meet Jutta early the day after. They’ll likely need a whole day for what she is planning. She retraces her steps, walking this time to a U-Bahn one stop north of Friedrichstrasse, and again giving the area where border guards, People’s Police and no doubt Stasi are in abundance a wide berth. She’s striding with purpose, the persona of an office worker heading home towards a warm fire, a hot meal and their daily dose of propaganda on Aktuelle Kamera.

  ‘Hey, hello, nice to see you here.’

  Jutta’s flimsy resolve sags. Not again. Much like in the Presse Café, the voice is clearly aimed at her and she looks up to see that it is the boy Vopo, complete with uniform and fishbowl helmet. The earnest smile is the same as he lopes towards her and she feels compelled to stop and acknowledge him.

  ‘Oh, hello,’ she mutters, wary of those catching a look as they walk past. ‘Sorry, I was miles away.’

  ‘It’s that time of day,’ he nods. ‘People just want to get home in this weather.’

  ‘Yes,’ she says. And that awkward pause rears up. Whether or not he thinks she’s Karin, what can he want?

  ‘I haven’t seen you at the café recently,’ he says at last. ‘I thought perhaps I’d bump into you.’

  ‘No, I’ve been a bit under the weather lately,’ she says. ‘Holed up at home.’ Please take the hint, Jutta pleads inside herself. ‘But no doubt I’ll see you there soon …’

  ‘Erich,’ he offers earnestly. ‘Maybe next week, there’s a band …’

  ‘Yes, maybe,’ she casts behind her. ‘Sorry, I have to catch my tram.’ And she effects a half-run towards the nearest stop, boarding an opportune carriage which pulls up sharply.

  She watches him through the rain-spattered window as it draws away; he’s making a play at patrolling and looking stern under the rim of his helmet. Is he friendless, sinister or simply a nice boy pressed into service? And why target her, or Karin, as he likely thinks she is? She searches her memory: did she tell Karin of her encounter with the boy Vopo on that crazy exchange day? Perhaps she didn’t, with so much to remember. Thankfully, Axel’s ultimatum means they won’t have to dodge unwanted attention from any Vopos much longer.

  Still, the feeling rankles as Jutta travels one stop and alights, pushing towards the portal and her own feeling of safety. Except it’s not home she targets once through to the West side. Her very being needs lifting, and she stops in a bar near Harzer Strasse to use the phone.

  ‘Danny, it’s me. Are you up for some company tonight?’

  64

  The Last Ghost

  2nd November 1963, East Berlin

  They meet in a park in Wilhelmsberg, a good way east of the Charité, as extra insurance against being spotted together. The rain has stopped but the wind is whipping through the trees, and it helps that both sisters can legitimately hide behind scarves and hats. Karin’s eyes, Jutta notes, still look dry and tired.

  ‘How are you feeling?’ she opens.

  ‘Better,’ Karin says. ‘Only throwing up once a day, which is an improvement.’ But underneath her scarf, Jutta can tell she’s smiling, can only hope the reason is good.

  They walk to a collection of benches near a playground and buy hot chocolate from a stall.

  ‘I hate that I’ve gone off coffee,’ Karin complains. ‘I do want it, but then the smell makes me retch.’

  ‘It won’t last forever,’ Jutta reassures. ‘And it will be worth it.’

  Amid puffs of steam, she cannot hold back. ‘Did you tell Otto?’ Will he come? Please say he’ll ghost through to the West.

  ‘Yes.’

  ‘And?’

  ‘He’s delighted,’ Karin says, ‘with the baby.’ But her thinned lips are more telling, and Jutta’s heart – against her better judgement – plummets. You haven’t convinced him, have you?

  ‘He proposed, Ja-Ja,’ Karin follows on.

  ‘Oh, wow. What did you say?’

  ‘I said yes.’ Karin turns and looks at her sister, her soulmate, her companion in and out of the womb, and the look is of apology. And regret.

  ‘That’s great, I’m so pleased.’ Jutta is working hard to inject a dose of enthusiasm.

  ‘I mean, it will have to be quick and I doubt anyone will get a pass to come over for the wedding,’ Karin says. ‘It will be a small affair anyway, but maybe you can make it in some way? I don’t know where I’ll get the material for a dress …’ She’s talking excitedly, with more verve than her sister has seen in months.

  ‘No,’ Jutta cuts in. ‘I won’t be there.’ It’s her tone which makes Karin stop mid-sentence and look hard into her sister’s face.

  Jutta tells her. About the timing and Axel’s proviso, that their own portion of freedom – their oxygen – is certain to be capped off. And soon. In four days.

  ‘So, you have to come soon, if not today, then tomorrow, for the both of you to make it through,’ Jutta blurts. ‘Have you talked to Ott—’

  ‘I can’t.’ It’s Karin’s turn to slice into their future dreams. ‘He wouldn’t leave his parents, not so soon. And I can’t make him.’ She looks intently at her rough, wringing hands, as if the stark truth and the finality of not seeing her family is bleeding through her, inch by inch. ‘I’m sorry, Jutta,’ she mumbles. ‘I really am. I have to stay.’

  From somewhere deep down, Jutta is oddly not surprised, though the whump to her innards still winds her. The brutality of the decision Karin is forced to make. But she won’t permit herself to react; if she drops her hastily contrived mask, the truth will come tumbling out. No matter what she thinks, or the risks endured to free her sister, Jutta can’t let her disappointment show. Karin has to be allowed to decide on her own happiness. She deserves it, for living the past two years, as some kind of recompense for what started out as pure misfortune. Otto is her redemption. Not the GDR or its false politics, but the man she clearly loves.

  Karin’s fingers search for her sister’s. ‘Jutta? You understand, don’t you?’

  ‘Yes, I think I do.’ And this time, with her mind suddenly focused on Danny, Jutta means it. She does fathom how Karin can make such a sacrifice – because she has tasted that feeling and found it sweet. She has tasted love.

  Being Jutta, though, she jolts herself back into the world and the moment; more than ever, they can’t waste this day, or the precious time left. ‘You know I can’t come through again, don’t you?’

  Karin nods, bites her lip as she always does when deep in thought. ‘Then maybe today we should both go through, to see Mama,’ she says. ‘I want to tell her myself, about the baby and the wedding.’

  Jutta considers in silence. It’s a crazy idea, but no wilder than every trip since prising open the rabbit hole. ‘It’s risky, like always,’ she says at last.

  Karin blows at her cup, sips and swallows. The seconds tick by, wind swirling tiny dust bowls under their feet. ‘I know, but haven’t you taken that risk, for me, so many times?’ Karin reasons. ‘And I do owe it to Mama – to tell her she’ll be a grandmother. And Gerda too. I know it will break their hearts, but more so if I don’t go.’

  ‘Then let’s do it. Let’s go home.’

  Jutta would prefer to head straight for the portal but Karin pleads to go back to her flat and collect some gifts she’s been making for the family, to hand over
personally. It’s still early in the day and time is on their side, although Jutta is aware that pity and sorrow are causing her to acquiesce; she will do almost anything to make it better for her sister, to ease the pain of what is likely to be a lengthy parting. If not a permanent one.

  Mindful of Karin’s fatigue in early pregnancy, they take a tram across town and get off just north of Friedrichstrasse station.

  ‘Listen, we can’t risk old potato face Lupke seeing us both in my block, so I’ll go home and you wait in the Presse Café,’ Karin says. ‘I’ll collect you there, come in with my hat and scarf, so no one will notice.’

  While she feels uneasy about delaying their crossing, Jutta is already weary and craving coffee that at least holds a candle to that in the West. ‘All right, but be as quick as you can. We need to get going.’

  Karin’s eyes sparkle in response – much like Jutta, she’s not allowing herself to think of the long-term forecast, only the pleasure of what today will bring. The painful reality can wait.

  The Presse is moderately busy for a Saturday morning, with a few faces Jutta’s seen before, and the barman doesn’t look twice as she orders coffee and sits in the window, keen to watch for Karin’s approach. The first sip wets her lips, the second – even though it’s weak by Western standards – gives her something of the kick she needs. The third, though, catches in her throat and she has to swallow back a bitter mouthful.

  Christ! There he is again, through the window, the long, eager strides of the boy Vopo, out of uniform and walking towards the café. It’s too much of a coincidence. He’s everywhere she is – or Karin. Either way, it’s not good. And today of all days.

  Swiftly, Jutta heads for the women’s toilets, hoping she can hover and peek out to spot which table he’s at, then sidle past unnoticed towards the exit. It will be an uncomfortable wait for Karin outside on the street but what choice does she have?

  Too late. She turns and he’s there in her pathway, like the proverbial bad penny.

  ‘Hello!’ he says, his lips broad. ‘There’s a nice surprise.’

  Jutta musters every ounce of energy to return his smile. ‘Oh. Yes. Just a quick stop – lots to do,’ she blurts. ‘I was just going.’

  He makes no effort to move. ‘I wonder, can I talk to you first?’ he says, eyes alight, still genuine, though his look is now more determined than innocent.

  ‘Well, I am running late …’ Jutta is inching sideways towards the exit. In the back of her mind, she considers making a run for it, but common sense tells her no. Under her coat, she’s sweating.

  ‘It won’t take long,’ he presses. ‘I promise.’

  He leads her to a window seat, and this time Jutta feels utterly exposed. Is there Stasi out there, looking in? How will she signal to warn Karin when she approaches?

  ‘So, I’m all ears,’ she says lightly, with every effort to contain the tremor in her voice.

  He cranes his long neck towards the table. ‘Well, this is difficult,’ he begins. ‘But I think I know where you’re from.’

  ‘Oh, do you? Um, my family’s from Dresden,’ she lies, plucking geography from the air.

  He looks at her, rubbing the rim of his cup. Not scowling as such, but a look that says: don’t patronise me. ‘I know you’re from the West side,’ he murmurs.

  ‘Well, more recently, yes. But I’m here now, to stay.’ Jutta smiles – badly. How? How does he know?

  ‘We have a mutual friend,’ he says, a little sheepishly. ‘A concerned friend. They asked me to keep an eye on—’

  ‘Stop there!’ Jutta hisses in a whisper. She feels heat and sour spit rising. Panic. ‘Don’t talk like that.’

  ‘I mean I’m not going to say anything,’ he runs on breathlessly, ‘and I’m not spying. Really. I simply wonder if you know someone that can help, me and my family. Or that you might be able to? You know what I mean.’

  Here it is. The trap. I’m the fly being led to the sticky centre of the Stasi web.

  ‘Look Erich, you’re mistaken. I don’t know anyone, and I can’t help you.’ Jutta looks square into his young face to reinforce her barefaced lie. There’s a few soft whiskers around his jaw, but he seems barely old enough to shave. ‘Those words, thoughts even, could get us both into a lot of trouble, so please stop.’

  The expectation in his face tumbles, and she can detect no animosity or malevolence. Or cunning. He looks genuinely sad. If he’s Stasi, he’s darned good.

  ‘No, no, sorry,’ he says. ‘It was wrong of me, I shouldn’t have … but if you could …’

  ‘Goodbye.’ Jutta summons the courage to rise, praying that Karin is approaching the café. Already the prospect of their joint visit to Schöneberg is fast disappearing, and Jutta feels eager to reach the rabbit hole as quickly as she can. Alone. And for the last time. But she needs to warn Karin first. Where is she?

  Jutta senses the eyes of the boy Vopo burning into her back as she heads through the door and onto the pavement, instantly scanning for any sign of Karin. Just let me get out, far enough away to run. An S-Bahn train screeches on the bridge overhead as, with huge relief, she picks out her sister in a crowd of people crossing the road, eyes peering out from under her hat, her scarf hung loosely.

  It’s then that everything reverts to slow motion; frame by frame is how she will remember it.

  Karin’s face is the first to twist, as if it’s suddenly made of molten wax, though she’s not looking directly at Jutta, but beyond and at the space behind. There’s a warning shout from what sounds like Erich, who’s clearly followed her into the street. The noise of the road and railway make it hard to tell who he’s shouting at. In the same second, she hears it – the unmistakable growl of a vehicle approaching; not the comical putt-putt of a Trabant, but a heavier workhorse sound. The vision of a green and white Polizei vehicle is alarming enough, but the second sight – a normally innocuous image of apples and oranges in vivid paint against metal on the side of a small, grey van – frightens her to the core. There’s a squeal of brakes from one side and Jutta’s head spins towards a human cry on the other; she catches his youthful face, warped with alarm, eyes ablaze, mouth contorted.

  ‘NO! NO!’ Erich is shouting, teeth flashing.

  NO what? What does he mean?

  The first grab is to Jutta’s coat, the second on her arm, firm and unyielding. Wordlessly, two men in plain clothes push and shuffle her towards the van, she instinctively resisting and digging her shoes into the pavement, but their force is infinitely greater. As they move her, Jutta swivels again to catch Karin’s face frozen in horror, body poised to run forward in defence of her sister. Jutta manages to yank hard on their thread, catch Karin’s eye and their unmistakable connection is mercifully intact: STOP! Jutta’s look pleads. Please stop. Stay safe.

  Karin is static with fear, her mouth open slightly, and Jutta understands then every word and sentiment that would come tumbling out if they had the chance. Everything bound up in love, sacrifice, and sorrow.

  Their thread goes slack in response to more protests from behind. Perhaps driven by the injustice, or even guilt, Erich is frenzied, physically pawing at the men manhandling Jutta and shouting indiscriminately. From somewhere, there’s a glint in the grey daylight, and her eyes barely register what it is until the dull thud of a gunshot echoes around the street; the cries stop instantly and a second thud follows – this time, a body hitting the ground, after it folds in two in front of her, frame by painstaking frame.

  She sees only one half of Erich’s face before the heavy men bundle her into the side of the truck, but what portion she sees is lifeless, a solitary eye staring at the grubby ground.

  65

  Stasiland

  2nd November 1963, East Berlin

  There are no apples or oranges in the van, nor the smell of any rotting vegetables. No odour except the sour stench of fear that a good deal of pungent disinfectant has failed to dislodge.

  The men don’t utter a sound as they push Jutta inwards,
plunging her into darkness, feeling their own way with ease. She’s thrust into a space and made to sit, her knees bashing against cold metal, the chill pushing through her tights. Shackles claw at her wrists and close over with a ratchet sound, her feet fixed in the same way. It’s followed by the resounding bang of the door and a lock twisting, acoustics that tell her she’s not manacled simply to a seat, but in the tiniest of metal cells. In the second before the van door is slammed shut she catches a glimpse of the space she’s in – grey and black peeling paint on steel bars, well-used, barely enough room to sit; anyone bulkier than she would be doubly uncomfortable. This is the Stasi fingerprint, fitted out for the purpose – the capture-wagon, a concept surely out of a Grimm’s fantasy. But no, here in the GDR it is truth. This is the reality of ghosting the Wall.

  In total darkness, Jutta feels the van set off with a jolt, turning left then right again and again, swerving around corners so that her shoulders are pushed with force into the steel confines, making sharp contact with bone under the layer of her coat and her thin skin. After a few minutes she gives up trying to track their direction – it’s impossible with no light and barely a sound breaching the metal prison on wheels.

  Her neck begins to ache with the constant lurching of the van and her mind goes oddly to a rag doll still sitting on her bedroom shelf at home, a childhood toy precious to Jutta but one Karin would tease her with at times, shaking the doll’s head until Jutta felt sure it would tear off. Karin … Karin. KARIN! She’s jerked from her own shock and leans forward, hitting her head and dry-retching at the thought of what’s happened to her sister. She could easily be in an identical van behind, plucked off the street with similar efficiency. A double triumph for the Stasi, though, if she’s astute and quick enough, Karin will have turned tail in the confusion over Erich and walked calmly away. It’s the most Jutta can hope for.

  Erich. The boy Vopo. What was he doing? He’s dead, she’s sure of it. Unless it’s an intricate charade to fool her, but his eye was inert, and it’s almost impossible to fake that. Was he Stasi? Or simply a desperate lad who suspected she could help his family over the Wall, having somehow fallen upon their ghosting? It’s already happened repeatedly – border guards and People’s Police sickened by their own system and taking advantage of their position to leap the Wall, or scurry through. They read of the successful escapes in the West, though Easterners hear only of cruel punishments for those failed attempts, fear being the Stasi currency. Was he courting her, or Karin, to help his family across too?