The House of One Thousand Eyes

by Michelle Barker

  What do you plan to do in Friedrich So-and-So’s apartment? Don’t you think you’re going too far? No. Going too far was making someone vanish. Going too far was erasing an entire life as if it had never happened.

  Lena took the U-Bahn, then the S-Bahn, and then she was in Prenzlauer Berg, on Erich’s street. There were no men parked in Ladas anymore, or at least Lena didn’t see any. She stood in a doorway across the street and watched her uncle’s window. It was dark. Friedrich’s cat sat perched on the sill, looking angry at anything that could fly.

  It didn’t seem like Friedrich was home, but he’d been home in the middle of the day last time, and in his undershirt. If he didn’t bother with a proper shirt to answer the door, he might not bother with lights either. No job. A layabout. He must have been a huge disappointment to the Stasi men who’d given him the prize of Erich’s apartment.

  Ring the bell. See if he answers.

  And if he did? Run away. He might call the police, but she was wearing her Zehas; the police would never catch her.

  The front door of the building was left unlocked during the day, so she let herself in. She had to pass the mailboxes, which made her hate the new name beside her uncle’s box all over again. She climbed the stairs and rang the bell. No one answered.

  What if he was in the bath? That was why he couldn’t hear the bell. Right now, he was lying there naked, his hairy stomach making a round squishy island in the warm water. Erich doesn’t have a bathtub. What if he was in that stinky shared bathroom in the stairwell? She went over and pushed on the bathroom door. A putrid smell rushed to meet her. No one was in there.

  She returned to the apartment and knocked. Waited. Knocked again. She wasn’t really going to let herself into Friedrich So-and-So’s apartment, but somehow her hand was fitting the key into the keyhole. She turned once, twice, and pushed the door open.

  “Hello?” she called, just to be sure, before she entered. Because now, now, Mausi, what she was doing was against the law.

  Something moved in the corner of the room. It was the cat, slinking toward her. It meowed and sat on its haunches, staring at her as if it was waiting for something. She shut the door, so it wouldn’t escape.

  “I don’t have to show you my identity card, kitty,” she whispered.

  If Friedrich So-and-So comes home while you’re here, you understand you will be trapped, and both of your speedy-fast Zehas will be standing in the biggest bowl of grease you’ve ever seen. Therefore, she’d better move quickly.

  She went straight to the kitchen and opened the freezer. There was half a plum cake wrapped in plastic, which would take about two years to defrost. Something was wrapped in newspaper; Lena didn’t even want to know what it was. There was Ketwurst—the Better Germany’s answer to the American hot dog—and there were a few white rolls. Mostly the freezer was full of ice. I could have told you this would happen, Auntie would have said. How many years has it been since he’s defrosted it? and, That layabout hair of his—anyone with long hair, you know they won’t defrost their freezer.

  But there, poking out of the ice, was a corner of plastic, as if the ice had known its job and had grown around it. There was no time for defrosting. Lena fished in the drawers for a knife. She took out the plum cake, Ketwurst, rolls, and unidentified remains, and set them on the counter. Then, with the tip of the knife, she picked away at the solid wall of ice.

  No, no, no! You must never chip the ice out of a freezer. You’ll ruin it.

  Lena murmured an apology to Erich, even if it was Friedrich So-and-So’s freezer now. But soon something emerged from the ice: paper, covered in plastic to protect it. She had to be careful not to poke right through it with the knife.

  She forgot about the noise she was making. She forgot about the time that was passing. She even forgot about the cat, who sat on the counter watching her. All Lena’s attention was focused on the plastic-covered page that she couldn’t free by pulling on it. It was stuck.

  Hurry.

  She hacked more fiercely. Almost. Almost. Yes! She pulled out the plastic-wrapped paper, put down the knife—and the door to the apartment opened. There stood Friedrich So-and-So, not in his undershirt. He was wearing an overcoat and galoshes, and he held a mesh bag full of groceries.

  “What in hell’s name—? What are you doing in here?”

  Go, Mausi. Go.

  But Friedrich So-and-So took up all the available doorway space, blocking it so Lena couldn’t get out.

  I told you you’d step in the grease. Now what?

  Lena glanced at the open freezer and the food on the countertop. “I was hungry.” The secret paper was still in her hand. She stuffed it into her coat pocket, then glanced around for something, anything, to distract him. All she could think of was the cat. Grabbing it under one arm, she rushed toward Friedrich and rammed into him, tossing the cat toward him at the same time. There was a loud squeal from the cat, and “Jesus!” from Friedrich as he dropped his groceries. Lena pushed past him. She was almost out the door when something caught her sleeve. That something was Friedrich So-and-So’s fleshy hand.

  “You’re not going anywhere,” he said.

  That’s what you think. She twisted and pulled, and then she got free, and at that very moment the best thing possible happened: the cat got out.

  Don’t let the cat out, Danika was always saying when Lena came over. Letting the cat out was the worst thing ever, because then you’d have to chase it, and cats were experts at making humans look like fools. Plus, all they ever really wanted was to be outside.

  Lena flew down the stairs, past the cat who seemed both thrilled and terrified by this sudden turn of events. She expected to hear a scuffle behind her, some gentle tongue-clicking and a promise of fish if the cat would just cooperate for God’s sake. Instead she heard lumbering footsteps and the wheezing of a man unused to running. Cat be damned, he was chasing Lena.

  She pushed open the heavy front door and took off down the street, hoping to get around the corner before Friedrich So-and-So made it outside. With any luck, he’d have no idea where she’d gone. But who else was watching? There may not have been any men sitting in Ladas, but what about the older lady walking with a cane? Or the younger one in her pretty leather shoes that matched her purse? Or the shopkeeper sweeping outside his shop? Any one of them could point and tell Friedrich So-and-So She went that way.

  Lena flew around one corner, and another, and then she forced herself to walk. Running made her look guilty. She needed to get away from here. He could be coming around any corner, even this one.

  Lena’s heart raced. What if Friedrich called the police? Her speedy Zehas wanted to run, fast, away, but her head was full of noise, a thousand voices at once, every clock in a clock store ticking at a different speed, every television set on in her building. On the next street there was a VoPo, a member of the People’s Police, wearing his long gray-green coat and fancy hat and speaking into a handheld radio.

  Erich used to make fun of how dumb the Volkspolizei were. He said they had to use transparent lunch boxes so they would remember whether they were going to work or coming home. Are their dogs dumb too? Lena didn’t like those big German shepherds, with their deep-woof barks that sounded like an approaching storm. She needed to get off the street.

  You should go home.

  But now the voices in her head were screaming. Even the clouds were closing in on her, the way the walls had in the school principal’s office—“There’s been a terrible accident”—coming closer—“Both of your parents”—the ceiling, the floors—“are dead.”

  She wanted to sit down, catch her breath. You should get off the street. Her ears were buzzing—oh no—and when she looked up, the tram lines sagged closer to her head. She would attract attention soon, the kind where they called a doctor with a soft voice who asked if you knew your own name and then reminded you of it over and over.r />
  Down the next street was Erich’s favorite Kneipe, the one with the piggy-faced barman. Still, the pub was better than the curb. It would be warm in there, and dark, and she could sit and clear her head. You understand that if Friedrich comes into the pub, you’ll be cornered. But why would he? He didn’t know Erich; he’d said so himself. The Stasi wouldn’t have told him any more than he needed to know about his new apartment: congratulations, here are the keys.

  She pulled open the door and was struck by the sudden darkness and the intense smells of beer, and sausage, and smoke. It took a moment for her senses to adjust, and then there was the barman, smiling his I-have-the-right-to-deny-you-service smile. It might be the only power he has in his life. Maybe he has a terrible wife who orders him around at home.

  “You again,” he said. “No milk today, Fräulein.”

  “I would just like a glass of water.” But maybe you weren’t allowed to drink water in the pub if you didn’t buy something to eat. Only now she realized she was ridiculously hungry. Auntie doesn’t want you spending money in restaurants. “I’ll go look for my uncle.”

  He shook his head. “He isn’t here. I haven’t seen him in a while.” The expression on his face told Lena he must have liked Erich.

  She steadied herself on a bar stool, its seat worn smooth. “I haven’t seen him either.”

  They held the moment between them as if it were made of glass.

  “Are you all right?” he asked, but he must have realized she wasn’t. He reached for a mug, filled it with water, and said, “Here. Sit for a while.”

  Lena took the water to the one empty booth, near the back. He probably didn’t mean a booth. But she would only stay for a few minutes. Friedrich would give up, wouldn’t he? He seemed like the giving-up type. There’d been a can of smoked eel in his grocery bag, rare and expensive; Lena had seen it through the mesh. How long would you chase someone if you knew that was waiting for you? Anyway, she had to get back before Auntie finished work. Perhaps she shouldn’t have stopped at the pub. But it felt good to be sitting there in the dark. She felt hidden, and safe.

  As she sipped the water, a waitress came over with a piece of buttered bread on a plate and set it on the table. Lena took large hungry bites, grateful that no one could see the butter smeared around her mouth.

  She was wiping it with the back of her hand and wondering what terrible thing Erich had taken such pains to hide in his freezer when light flooded into the pub from the front door. Two members of the Volkspolizei strode in.

  — 11 —

  barley. sure.

  The policemen were all business and no beer. “Good afternoon, Citizen,” one of them said to the barman. “We’re looking for a girl.”

  Already? Lena pressed herself into the darkest corner of the cracked leather booth and hoped the men were still blinded by the change from daylight to the bar’s gloom.

  “A girl, huh? Aren’t we all?” the barman said with a laugh.

  Three young men entered the pub behind the police. They hovered near the door, glancing uncertainly at the policemen’s expensive-looking coats.

  “Citizen, this is police business,” one of the VoPos said to the barman. “Did a girl come in recently?”

  The young men were turning to leave when the barman said, “Look, you’re chasing my customers away.” He called to the men. “Come in. Take a booth. First round’s on me.”

  But Lena had sat in the only free booth. She slid down until she was under the table, taking her plate and mug of water with her. Legs and boots appeared, and the young men hustled themselves into her booth and scooted around, one of them stepping on her hand. She let out a tiny cry and a face appeared beneath the table. Eyes wide, she said nothing. The young man lifted his legs so she could hide beneath them, then set his boots onto the floor with care.

  “No,” the barman said to the police. “No girl.”

  “You won’t mind if we have a look around?” one of the policemen asked. Everyone knew it was not a question.

  “Be my guest.”

  As the policemen wandered from one table to the next, the pub grew quiet. Lena waited to see trouser legs; they would be coming soon, and then there they were. Creased. Stiff. Would the men peek beneath the table?

  Panty-hosed waitress legs appeared. “Your beers, boys. On the house.” She seemed to linger there, arranging coasters, glasses, napkins.

  “Prost,” one of the young men said to her, and the trouser legs moved on.

  “Thank you for your cooperation, Citizen,” the police said to the barman. “If a girl does come in—”

  “I’ll make sure to contact you.” The barman finished the sentence in the expected way.

  Light shone in from the front door again, and then the room returned to darkness.

  The young man who had been hiding Lena raised his legs so she could climb out, but she waited a full minute before pulling herself awkwardly back up to the table, the mug of water in her hand. She’d left the plate on the floor.

  “Thank you.” She couldn’t look any of them in the eye. “You didn’t have to do that.” There was no need to say more; they all knew if the police had found her under the table the entire group of boys would have joined her at the station.

  She stood up to leave, but the one who’d hidden her placed his hand on her arm. “Stay here with us awhile. They’ll have put a man outside.”

  Lena forced herself to face him. He was only a few years older than she was, and his short blond hair stood up in a cowlick at his forehead. There was something intense about the way he looked at her, but also something earnest, like he hoped she would tell him the rest of a very good story.

  “Don’t mind the conscription haircut,” he said. “I just finished service.”

  “Now he gets to mess around on the stage with us monkeys,” said one of the others. He had an excessively large nose.

  “I’m Max,” said the one who’d helped her.

  The others introduced themselves—Bem with the big nose, and Dieter—and said they were actors at the local theater.

  Lena glanced at her watch. “I’ll have to find some way out of here. My aunt will be home soon and I have to work tonight.”

  “Where do you work?” Max asked.

  There it was, the question that killed everything. “Stasi headquarters,” she said, and stared into her mug of water.

  “And the police are after you?” said the one named Dieter. He had a face that hung a bit at the edges, as if it was tired of holding on to his head. “Scheisse. What did you do?”

  She should be able to trust them. They’d helped her, after all. But the what-ifs crowded into her head and started ordering drinks. What if the police stopped everyone on their way out of the pub to ask them questions? What if an officer made one of these three young men an irresistible offer—a phone, a Trabi, a better job—if he agreed to talk? Who wouldn’t talk if you could get a cardboard car out of it? People waited ten years for a Trabi, sometimes longer. And even though the cars broke down and you had to fix them yourself, and they had no gas gauge, having your own Trabi was a form of freedom.

  Already she’d said too much by telling these men where she worked. Now they would think what everyone else thought: if she worked at Stasi headquarters, she must be Stasi herself. Sure enough, the conversation turned to the weather, the football scores, the next youth group meeting.

  “I really do have to go,” Lena said. Fifteen minutes had passed. How long would those VoPos watch the door? “Thanks for everything. I’m sorry to have inconvenienced you.”

  She stood up, putting some money on the table to pay for her bread. Bem slid out of the booth to let her pass. To her surprise, Max followed her.

  “Where are you going, man?” said Dieter. He didn’t move.

  “They’re looking for a girl,” Max said. “If she’s seen alone on
the streets, someone is bound to stop her.” He turned to Lena. “Is it okay? We’ll pretend to be together. I’ll set you on your way home. You’ll be safer that way.”

  The waitress appeared and gave an almost imperceptible follow-me nod.

  “You’re as dumb as a bean straw,” said Bem. “Don’t be late for rehearsal.”

  “I won’t,” Max said.

  They followed the waitress through the kitchen and out the back of the pub, which opened onto a sour-smelling road. It was empty. Lena wanted to thank her, but the woman’s face was a closed door, say nothing, so Lena only nodded, and the woman pressed her lips together in understanding and went back inside.

  “Where do you live?” Max said.

  “Lichtenberg.”

  “Seriously? What are you doing all the way over here?”

  Lena’s mouth went strange, as if Erich’s name had grown to the size of a bird.

  “Don’t tell me,” Max said. “It’s better if you don’t. I’ll take you to the S-Bahn station.”

  Lena hesitated. “Would you mind if we walked a bit?”

  “Like to the next station, you mean?”

  She couldn’t help but smile.

  “I don’t mind at all. I’ve been cooped up with those two clowns all day. I could use the fresh air.” He studied her in a way that made her feel self-conscious. What would he see besides a skinny girl with straight brown hair and crooked teeth? “It would help if you were carrying something. Groceries, you know? A reason for being out here.”

  She took a mesh shopping bag out of her pocket. Everyone traveled with one, in case something special showed up in one of the shops. It happened without warning—a delivery of honey, or toilet paper, or licorice sticks (don’t tell Auntie).

  They turned onto a main street and saw that people were lined up for something at the co-op. Lena wanted to know what, but she didn’t dare draw attention to herself by asking.

  “Choose anything,” Max said once they were inside. “How about a small bag of barley?”