Walls

by L. M. Elliott

  Damn, thought Drew. He glanced over at Matthias and murmured gratefully, “Thanks.”

  Matthias smiled back. “Kein Problem. I have decided I like having cousins.”

  “Cupcakes!” They’d all regathered for lunch, and Charlie was digging through the picnic basket Drew’s mom had packed before she’d left for Marienfelde for the day. “Oh, wow,” he breathed as he bit into one. “Marble cake. Your mom’s the best.”

  “Yes, she is,” said Joyce.

  Cross-legged, eating her cupcake as she pulled back the paper, Linda mumbled, “I just wish she’d come to the lake with us. Ever since we got to Berlin, she seems busy all the time.”

  Joyce reached over, napkin in hand. “You’ve got icing on your nose, kiddo.” Then she gave Linda a hug. “Mom’s never not been there when you needed her, right?”

  Linda shrugged. “I guess.”

  “The camp only gets busier and busier. They need her, too. Frankly, I don’t know how she does it all,” Joyce continued. “She made these cupcakes from scratch this morning. At 0630, when I was just crawling out of bed.”

  “But why did she have to go help refugees today? It’s Saturday!”

  “Torschlusspanik.”

  They all turned to look at Matthias.

  “Torschlusspanik,” he repeated.

  “Closing-door panic,” Fritz translated. “Since the failed U.S.-Soviet summit, the GDR is more confident and is tightening the noose. They announced they will soon issue fewer passes for East Germans who live outside Berlin to visit their families here in the city. Being granted the right to visit Berlin is how most refugees slip into the city’s American sector and then into Marienfelde to ask for asylum. So any East German who has considered fleeing to the West is hurrying to try it now, fearing that the escape hatch is closing.”

  “Your President Kennedy did this,” Matthias added with some anger. “He made a mistake thinking Chairman Khrushchev was just a peasant, not smart like him. Our newspapers in East Berlin say Khrushchev humiliated Kennedy. Now Khrushchev thinks he can push Americans out of Berlin and take the free zone into Russian control.” He turned to Drew. “I thought you said your President Kennedy was clever.”

  “He is!” protested Drew.

  “But he’s made things worse. Now Khrushchev is more bold. As Fritz says, he makes things harder for East Germans who wish to defect, yes. But also for Berliners who believe in the equality and justice of socialism and return dutifully to the Eastern sector every night. Like me. Like Mutter. We have proven our loyalty and deserve open borders,” said Matthias. “The rumor is that Khrushchev has sent the Russian chief of secret police to East Berlin to oversee the crackdown. I may have to carry a Kennkarte—an identity card that will only allow me to be in a district the SED chooses. Like the Russians do in the Soviet Union. If this happens, I will not be able to visit you.”

  “W-what?” Linda whimpered.

  Matthias frowned. “I would not like this, either.” He rubbed his forehead like his head was suddenly pounding. “Because of the panic, the Stasi, the FDJ, the Russians—they watch us more. They search for Republikflüchter and anyone they think helps them.” He looked to Drew. “On high alert, yes?”

  “Yes, that’s the right phrase.”

  “The Republikflüchter endanger us all.”

  “But the urge to live free is so strong, my friend,” Fritz said, patting Matthias’s back. “Think on it.” Then he turned to Linda. “German-speaking people like your mom, who can translate, are of great importance to the refugees at Marienfelde. You should be proud of her.”

  Linda sighed. “I suppose.” She stood. “Come on, Heidi. Let’s go for a walk.”

  Joyce and Drew watched their little sister pick her way through the sunbathers towards the tree line where she’d been dribbling the soccer ball with Matthias.

  “It’s going to be hard for her to trust new friends after Patty,” Joyce said sadly. She touched Drew’s arm. “You’ll keep a good eye on her after I’m gone? Promise?”

  Drew nodded. “Hopefully, there’ll be some nice kids coming in as their dads get new orders.” He choked a little on the words and glanced toward Shirley. Her eyes glistened with held-back tears.

  They went back to their cupcakes silently until Joyce found some cheerful small talk to chat about. “I’m so happy West Side Story is coming to the Titania Palace Theater before I leave for London. I’ve been learning ‘One Hand, One Heart.’ It’s so hard to hit those high notes delicately and on pitch. I can hardly wait to hear how this Maria performs it.”

  “Well, I can’t wait to see Natalie Wood in the movie version that’s coming out later this year,” said Shirley. “She was so good in Rebel Without a Cause.”

  “But can she sing?” asked Joyce.

  “She must be able to,” Shirley insisted. “Fun fact: did you know her parents fled Russia?”

  Charlie shook his head, but all Drew could think about was how much Shirley’s beauty reminded him of Natalie Wood.

  “Her real name is Natalia Nikolaevna Zakharenko.”

  “Really? Bet the Russians are steamed that she’s such a big star in the West now,” said Charlie.

  “Yes,” Fritz gloated. “Just as they fume about Nureyev—Russia’s best dancer leaping over chairs at the airport to escape KGB agents. Crowds of people watching Nureyev cry out that he wanted freedom—ha! That threw some mud on Khrushchev!”

  Matthias had been gazing into the distance, not seeming to pay much attention to their conversation. He stopped it short when he quietly warned, “It is best not to poke at a bear unless you truly mean to fight it. That is the question, is it not? What can Americans do if the Russian bear rises up against West Berlin? What are you willing to do? That is what brings Torschlusspanik.”

  He turned to look at Drew and Joyce, letting a beat pass before asking, “May I have a cupcake, please?”

  Drew cringed inside, watching Matthias linger over each bite as if memorizing the taste of the cupcake, while his mind reeled at his cousin’s rhetorical question. What would Drew’s father have to do if Khrushchev ordered a takeover of West Berlin? What should Americans risk for German freedom? For Germans like Matthias? The words Shirley had quoted from her nana—to not just stand by, to get involved, that the worst sin was indifference—came to him.

  Staring off in the direction Linda had gone while he munched, Matthias seemed unaware that Drew was watching him. So Drew took careful measure. He’d known his cousin almost a year now, and Matthias still looked as pale and scrawny as when they’d met. He wasn’t that much taller than Linda, which made it hard to believe he and Drew were the same age. Drew thought about the constant bread and meat shortages reported in East Berlin. Apparently, a guy could grow only so much on cabbage and onions and the state-run People’s Own Enterprise goulash.

  Last August, Drew had been appalled—and a little disgusted, if he was honest about it—when he’d spotted Matthias pocketing food at their welcome party. This morning, Drew made a mental note to send whatever cupcakes were left home with Matthias.

  “Wer ist der Mann?” Matthias muttered.

  “What man?” Drew followed Matthias’s gaze to the tree line, where Linda had been tossing a stick for Heidi to retrieve. The old dachshund had given up and was lying in the shade, chomping on the twig a few yards away from her.

  A man was approaching Heidi. Amid the sunbathers, he stood out, since he was fully clothed, but he was clad in typical-enough summer attire—a bright madras short-sleeved shirt and linen pants. He walked with a bit of a limp, but that was not uncommon among men in their forties in Berlin—lingering war wounds. Probably just a dog lover.

  When the man leaned over to pat Heidi, Matthias sat up tall, straining to see. When he scooped up Heidi, Matthias stood.

  A dog lover—just like the MPs had warned Linda against! Just like the guy in the G
runewald who’d tried to nab a colonel’s daughter! Drew catapulted to his feet and bolted. Matthias was right behind him.

  As Linda trotted toward the man to retrieve her dog, they rushed up so quickly that she nearly tripped, she was so startled. The man almost dropped Heidi. “Was ist los?” Matthias shouted at him. The dachshund yapped and squirmed.

  Instinctively, Drew planted himself between Linda and the man. “Hey, sis.” He tried to sound calm. “What’s going on?”

  “N-n-nothing,” she stammered.

  Matthias wrested Heidi out of the stranger’s arms.

  “Was ist los mit dir, junger Freund?” the man asked Matthias gruffly. He was pasty-faced, his bald head smooth and shiny. His eyes blinked, big and froglike, behind wire-rimmed glasses.

  Matthias held his ground. “Sie beißt,” he proclaimed. Heidi was really barking at the stranger now.

  “No, she doesn’t bite at all,” Linda protested, gathering the old dog up in her arms.

  Drew had never seen Heidi growl like that before. The dachshund’s reaction fueled his own distrust of the man. He followed Matthias’s lead. “Oh yes, she does bite, sis,” he insisted. “Ripped a big ol’ hole in the Bundespost guy’s pants last week.”

  “What?” Linda looked up at Drew, shocked. “Mom didn’t tell me that.”

  Drew put his arm around his little sister, bade farewell to the man with as much politeness as he could muster, and turned Linda back toward the rest of their group—all of whom were now standing, looking alarmed. Matthias followed.

  Making his eyes wide, Drew looked straight at Joyce. “I was just telling Linda that Heidi bit the German postman the other day,” he said over Linda’s head.

  Joyce took his cue. “That’s right. I think Heidi just doesn’t like men she doesn’t know. So in the future, kiddo, to keep the silly old girl happy, don’t be talking to strangers, okay?”

  Keeping up his pretense of nonchalance, Drew clapped his cousin on the back and announced, “After that race, I need an RC. Come on, Matthias—I’ve still got a little dough left over from taking Charlie to the cleaners in blackjack. My treat.”

  “Cleaners?” Matthias looked baffled.

  Charlie started to follow, but Drew waved him off, sensing the conversation he was about to have with Matthias needed to be private. “I’ll bring one back for you, Charlie.”

  “Did you recognize that guy?” Drew asked when they were out of earshot.

  “No,” Matthias answered.

  “Me neither,” Drew said. Worrying that maybe he’d over­reacted, Drew hesitated to tell Matthias about the MPs’ warning. “I just . . . I didn’t like the looks of him.”

  “Me neither,” Matthias echoed. “Torschlusspanik has me on . . . high alert.” He gave Drew a chagrined smile of apology. “I am most likely wrong about the man. But we must all be careful of strangers who could be Spitzel—the Stasi spies I told you of. Linda especially.” He put his hand on Drew’s arm. “The Stasi are everywhere in Berlin, even your sector. They want information about Republikflüchter so they can harm family left behind to make an example. To scare others from the thought of leaving.”

  “But that doesn’t have anything to do with us,” said Drew. “My dad doesn’t work with the refugees.”

  “No. But your mother does. To them, she is more dangerous than a soldier like your father. As a translator, she helps the West woo away our most talented citizens, a drain that destroys our country. The Party calls it Menschenhandel—Western abduction, capitalist man trade.”

  “That’s a crazy way to look at people choosing to flee oppression,” Drew insisted.

  Matthias shrugged. “To the Party, it is all an American conspiracy. They teach us that you are the devil. You tempt good socialists away.” He studied Drew for a moment. “But . . .” He looked pointedly at Drew, then at his backside, and deadpanned, “I see no tail or horns on you today.”

  “Ha-ha,” Drew pretended to laugh. “I left my pitchfork behind at my apartment.”

  Matthias stopped walking to make sure Drew was really listening to him. “Working at Marienfelde, your mother knows the names of refugees who go through the camp. She may also know where you Americans relocate them in West Germany—that’s the kind of detail the Stasi would love to learn. But to get that information out of her would only be possible if she were scared. What better way to coerce your mother than by holding—”

  “Linda,” Drew whispered.

  Matthias nodded. “But I am on”—he made quotation marks—“ ‘high alert.’ I see things that are not there sometimes. Shadows. What is your saying about shadows?”

  “Being afraid of your own shadow.”

  “Ah.” Matthias considered that a moment. “Yes. Hard to know what is real and what is only my imagination.”

  Drew certainly knew that feeling. Berlin bred it.

  CHAPTER TWELVE

  July

  1961

  “It’s so nice of you to come today,” Drew’s mom said, smiling over at him as they drove to Marienfelde. “Are you sure you really want to spend a beautiful July Saturday at the camp? You don’t mind missing Volksfest this weekend?”

  Drew made himself smile back at her. “It’s okay. I did my time manning the popcorn booth last weekend. We’ve already raised enough money to buy new couches for the teen club. And besides . . .” He broke off. Drew had been with Shirley at the post’s German-American festival the previous weekend. Now she was gone, sailing back to the States. It would be too empty at the carnival without her.

  Reading his mind, his mom said, “I’m so sorry about Shirley’s family being transferred, honey. She is a lovely girl. You’ll stay special friends, though. You can write, and . . . and who knows—maybe you’ll go to the same college.”

  Drew ground his teeth. He knew his mom meant well, but being pen pals with a girl he loved wasn’t exactly what a guy wanted.

  His mom stayed silent for a few moments and then tried light and breezy chitchat instead. “It seems like the Volksfest has been a good idea. I’m so glad the CO is taking a cue from Jackie Kennedy—winning people over with cultural events.”

  Drew managed a laugh. “You sure a carnival with a Wild West theme is a cultural event?” he teased her. Drew had felt like an idiot wearing a cowboy hat and toy six-shooters. Shirley, of course, had somehow remained sophisticated and beautiful even done up in a red gingham dress and enormous pioneer sunbonnet.

  For a bittersweet moment, he flashed back to the mini Ferris wheel stopping with them in the top bench, dangling, treating them to a two-minute sweeping view of the city. “Here’s looking at you, kid,” he’d said, pointing to the Brandenburg Gate in the distance and imitating Humphrey Bogart in Casablanca. “We’ll always have Berlin.”

  Clearing his throat to keep from tearing up, Drew joked halfheartedly, “Matthias gave me heck about those dumb plastic pistols I was packing. He kept asking me to spin them the way John Wayne does and calling me ‘pardner.’ ”

  “Did Matthias enjoy the carnival?”

  The image of Matthias shouting, “Yee-haw!” every time he bashed his bumper car into Drew’s did cheer him up a bit. “Yeah, he did enjoy it.”

  “You and Matthias seem to be getting close. Real friends.”

  “Yeah.” Drew nodded. He fell silent again and stared blankly out the window.

  “Well,” his mom said, “I’m really grateful to have your company today, and I’m proud of you for coming. The camp has become such an all-hands-on-deck emergency. We can feed and house three thousand refugees at a time during the week it takes us to verify their stories, check their health, and find suitable resettlement situations for them in West Germany. But every morning, we open the doors to a thousand more people, desperate to get in. We’re overwhelmed. So anything you do today will be an enormous help.”

  “Glad to help, Mom. It’s .
. . it’s what Shirley would do.”

  “Awww, honey,” his mom murmured. She reached over and took his hand. “This is the hard part of our life in the army—the constant uprooting, and the sudden goodbyes with people we’ve come to love. But it’s also the good part—the fact that we meet so many people with so many perspectives and experiences widens our minds to things we may not have thought of ourselves. Makes our hearts bigger, even if they ache when we part. I know Shirley has touched you in so many ways—maybe even changed you a little for the better, sweetheart—and in that way, she will always be part of you.

  “Oh gosh,” Drew’s mom interrupted herself as the radio broadcast switched from music to the news. “Sounds like they’re playing the president’s remarks from the Oval Office last night.” She turned up the radio. “I wish we had a TV.”

  JFK’s polished Bostonian voice filled the car: Seven weeks ago tonight I returned from Europe to report on my meeting with Premier Khrushchev . . . His grim warnings about the future of the world . . . his subsequent speeches and threats . . . and the increase in the Soviet military budget . . . these actions will require sacrifice on the part of many of our citizens . . . The immediate threat to free men is in West Berlin . . .

  Drew and his mom exchanged a troubled look.

  Kennedy continued: For West Berlin—lying exposed one hundred and ten miles inside East Germany, surrounded by Soviet troops and close to Soviet supply lines—has many roles. It is more than a symbol . . . more than a link with the Free World . . . an escape hatch for refugees. West Berlin is all of that. But above all, it has now become—as never before—the great testing place of Western courage and will, a focal point where our solemn commitments stretching back over the years since 1945, and Soviet ambitions now meet in basic confrontation . . .

  Drew’s mom extended her right hand protectively, pulling him to her side of the bench seat, under her arm.

  I hear it said that West Berlin is militarily untenable . . . Any dangerous spot is tenable if men—brave men—will make it so. We do not want to fight—but we have fought before. And others in earlier times have made the same dangerous mistake of assuming that the West was too selfish and too soft and too divided to resist invasions of freedom in other lands. Those who threaten to unleash the forces of war on a dispute over West Berlin should recall the words of the ancient philosopher: “A man who causes fear cannot be free from fear.”