The House of One Thousand Eyes

by Michelle Barker

  There was the photograph of the hairy man with his pretty pink wife and fresh pink daughters. One hand, with wiry hair growing out of the knuckles, was wrapped around his wife’s shoulder. There was his leather armchair with the patches worn away by his sweaty body. There was the spot on his desk where he placed the wrapped chocolate before calling Lena into his office. She didn’t have even a moment of remorse when she picked up the telephone and asked for an outside line.

  She dialed the call-if-you-need-anything number. It rang. It rang for so long she was ready to hang up. She had to hurry; Jutta would be arriving on the third floor at any moment and there would be Lena’s Purimix, and Lena’s bucket and mop, but no Lena—and then a man answered in a voice foggy with sleep.

  “I’m sorry to wake you,” Lena said softly. “I’m Erich Altmann’s niece. I found the letter you sent him, about something he wrote.”

  “What? Who is this?”

  She explained again: a letter, the facts, the Western publisher. And then she told him how Erich had been erased.

  “He never sent me that manuscript,” the man said. “We had an arrangement, and I never heard from him.” But the man refused to tell her anything more. “I don’t know who you are.”

  “I told you—I’m his niece.”

  “And I’m the man in the moon. Sorry, but I can’t help you unless I know for sure you’re not one of them. Even then—”

  She hung up, wiped down Herr Dreck’s black telephone with the detergent, and walked out of the office—straight into Jutta.

  “What are you doing down here? I was waiting for you. I thought you’d gone to the toilet.”

  “No, I—”

  “Are you messing with the order of offices again? Why is your Purimix upstairs? I come down to the third floor expecting to find you ready to work, but you’re still on the second floor. Haven’t you finished here yet?”

  “Yes, I was just—I’d forgotten to do the corners.” The alibi had sounded so much better in her head. “You know how the Lieutenant General gets about his corners.”

  “No,” Jutta said. “I don’t. Come upstairs at once and help me with the Comrade General’s floor.” She stood in the hallway with her hands on her solid hips and watched Lena climb the stairs to the next floor before getting on the elevator. I bet she’s an older sister. Jutta liked being the senior one, the one who got to check up on things and approve or disapprove. She loved yelling at Lena if something was wrong, even though on her own floors Jutta spent half her time smoking and staring out the window.

  In Comrade Mielke’s rooms Lena straightened up and swept and wiped, trying her hardest not to feel dejected. The man on the phone hadn’t believed her. It was her last chance to find out more about Erich and she had failed.

  After their shift ended, Jutta said, “You know I’m supposed to report any unusual behavior from a colleague. Was it unusual, you being on the second floor?”

  “Of course not,” Lena said. “I was being thorough.” Control the jiggle in your voice. “Why don’t you come with me to House 18 and we can eat Schokoküsse for breakfast.” Chocolate-covered meringues on a wafer. Auntie will be upset if you’re not hungry for your egg.

  Jutta smiled. “You go. Have one for me. This old horse needs to get home to bed.”

  Lena took off her coveralls and said goodbye to Jutta. At House 18, she went through the portal. It’s a door, just a regular door, and the schrullig world wasn’t a world. It wasn’t like the one where the lion was in charge, even though there was all that Turkish delight. And yet this place was so different from anything she knew in the Better Germany that it felt like another world.

  She bought some Schokoküsse and ate them standing in front of the travel office, studying the photographs of Rügen. You weren’t allowed to swim there at night—no night boating or diving either. Rügen was too close to Denmark, and the border guards weren’t blockheads, not like the People’s Police. Rügen was a vacation without the promise of freedom. Just seeing it made Lena want to tear down the poster and stomp on it.

  — 13 —

  blindsided

  When Lena finally left the compound that morning, there were the usual guards on the sidewalks preventing curious bystanders from wandering too close to the gates—or worse, taking photographs. Photography was an acceptable creative outlet for young people, as long as they took the right photographs. Trees, yes. Dogs, sure. The perimeter of Stasi headquarters? No, Mausi, that was not allowed.

  Beyond the guards there were mothers pushing strollers, people carrying lunch boxes, children shouldering book bags. And there was a young man on the corner, pacing to keep warm, his hands gathered behind his back. Pace, pace, pace, and then he looked up—and it was Max. Heat rushed to Lena’s skin. Jutta was right—she should have worn something nicer, you should have washed your face. But cold realization came next.

  “What are you doing here?” she asked when she reached him. “How did you find me?”

  He kicked at some wet leaves. “It wasn’t that hard. There are only so many ways in and out of that place.”

  But why? What does he want? Unless—“You’ve spoken to the police.” She hurried away.

  “What? No, slow down. Why would I do that?”

  Why did anyone do it? “Because they threatened you. They saw you with me. They gave you an ‘or else.’” An instructive chat and a visit to one of their cells. Or they’d made him an offer he couldn’t refuse: a university education, maybe. You couldn’t just apply to university and expect to get in because you had good grades. You also needed the right family background, the right political opinions, and solid attendance at Free German Youth meetings. But the authorities had ways of getting around all that.

  Max was wearing blue jeans and a dark green coat. His hair stood up in the front, making him look like he’d just gotten out of bed—which he probably had. He smiled, and a dimple formed in his left cheek. That was all it took to make Lena slow down.

  Are you out of your mind? He’d spent eighteen months in the People’s Army. Eighteen months with his head stuck in one of those weird gumdrop helmets, wearing a stone-gray uniform that would harden anyone’s heart. He knew how to march in formation and shoot a gun—and he hadn’t been back for long. He still had the haircut. Eighteen months of training didn’t wash off in the rain.

  “I brought you a ticket to the play,” he said. “I’d really like you to come. It opens tonight.” He tried to press the ticket into Lena’s hand but she wouldn’t take it.

  “I work tonight. And anyway, my aunt wouldn’t approve of my going alone.” They passed an empty construction zone, the machines sitting there like they’d been forgotten. People would start liberating them if the construction workers didn’t come back.

  “Wait. I have another ticket.” He fished inside his pocket. “Bring her along. The tickets are good for any night.”

  “God, no.”

  “Then a friend. Someone. A brother or sister.”

  “I’m an only child.”

  “How about an uncle?”

  “I don’t have an uncle.” She put a hand to her mouth. How could you? But to try to explain to this young man who’d tracked her down and waited for her? You hardly know him. He’d hidden her in the pub, at great risk to himself.

  “Please, take the tickets. That way you can think about it and come when it suits you. You will come, won’t you?”

  She took the tickets. “Maybe. I don’t know.” Maybe? Who will you take? Danika? She’d be filing her nails within five minutes and complaining about how boring it was.

  “Do you go to sleep now?” Max asked. “During the day?” The sky was already light, the rest of Berlin eating their breakfast and brushing their teeth.

  “Yes, I live upside down. Night is day, and day is night.” Stop talking. Just stop. You sound like a baby.

  He slowed his
pace. Between the large housing blocks there were areas that Lena thought of as Surprise! Not exactly parking lots, although there were scores of Trabis parked there. But there were also bicycles, lines of washing, the odd shop, and people her age hanging around as if they weren’t quite sure what to do next. “Hooligans,” Auntie said. Lena wasn’t allowed to stop at those places on her way home.

  “It must be nice to work while everyone is asleep,” Max said. “Peaceful. Strange.”

  “It is.” Lena tried to walk slowly, matching his pace, even though Auntie’s face was in her mind, her no-nonsense eyebrows knotting at the thought of Lena’s egg going cold.

  “What do you do in the afternoons when you wake up?”

  “Depends. My aunt wants to win the Golden House Number plaque for our building, so we’re working on beautifying the courtyard. It’s a bit of a swamp.” Please don’t ask to meet her. One meeting with Auntie would kill even the sturdiest houseplant.

  “Do you live in one of those newer developments?”

  “Yes.” The Series 70 buildings, Auntie would have chimed in, with their own plumbing units, an entire wall of cupboards and shelving, and an adjustable multifunction table. “I’m very lucky,” Lena said. “My aunt’s late husband—” But it wasn’t proper to mention how high up Helmut had been in the Party.

  “Where are your parents?”

  So he was bold. That might be a good quality. Also a dangerous one. “They were killed in an accident when I was fourteen.” You’re not supposed to say accident. It’s bad for morale. Workplace accidents didn’t happen in the Better Germany. The workers were well-trained and never drunk. The machinery was modern, and the working conditions top-notch. But Lena was never sure how else to describe the explosion. The news reporters had called it an incident, but that word made her angry, as if the end of her parents’ lives had been some minor occurrence.

  Max sputtered an apology and looked as if he wanted to bolt to the nearest U-Bahn station, which wasn’t the worst idea.

  “I don’t want my aunt to see you walking me home. She’ll ask questions. She won’t let it go.” Lena realized she was crumpling the tickets in her hand. “Who are you?”

  His forehead creased in confusion.

  “In the play. What character are you?”

  “Oh. I play the cook in the canteen.”

  “I’ll think about it, all right? I promise.”

  Suddenly it seemed as if the screws had dropped out of his knees and elbows. He gave an awkward half wave, crossed the street without looking, and was nearly hit by a car. As if—no, don’t think it; but it was too late, she’d already thought it—as if he liked her.

  Why? What? What could he possibly see in her? She was plain, and small. She climbed the stairs to her floor, feeling wide awake and giggly, and entered the apartment with the smile tucked away like money in her purse. She wished she could go to the play that night, every night, for the rest of her life.

  “I’ve rewritten your petition for the swimming pool,” Auntie was saying when Lena sat down to breakfast. She’d given herself another home perm and her short hair looked woolly and sprung, like the fur of one of her porcelain dogs. “I added in a paragraph explaining your commitment to beautify—”

  His lips. They were full. He had big teeth, but not too big, not like Auntie’s.

  “Lena! Did you hear a word I said?”

  “The swimming pool. The petition.”

  “I’ve told them this is not only for your sake but for the good of the community, and ultimately for—”

  His forehead. It was serious. Lena decided that was good.

  Auntie went on about all the people she planned to bring on board. They would form a committee and devote themselves to these swimming-pool repairs. They would blah, blah, blah. When Max was onstage, Lena would be allowed to stare at him. She could watch his every move.

  “For God’s sake, girl, where is your head this morning?”

  “I’m tired, that’s all. It was a long night.”

  “I hope that Jutta woman is picking up her work ethic. I still think you should report her.”

  Jutta didn’t need a work ethic. She just needed to protect her corner of the vinyl and keep an eye on Lena. Wait, what did you say? Was that what Jutta was doing? Might be. Only might, you don’t know for sure. The way she had appeared at Herr Dreck’s door, it was as if she’d been checking up on Lena. Had she heard Lena on the phone? If anyone found out about that call—but if they did, they would blame Herr Dreck. He might not even be at work tonight. Lena might have found the perfect way to get rid of him.

  “There’s no talking to you today, it seems,” Auntie said. “I’ll get ready for work. What do you think of my hair?”

  She left the room before Lena could say “Curly.” Lena ate her breakfast without tasting it. Imagine: Herr Dreck gone. Imagine: seeing Max act in a play. She would go tomorrow. She’d think up a story to tell Auntie.

  *

  On Friday afternoons, Lena was expected to practice her embroidery skills. Auntie knew all about the handicraft award she had won as a student in Magdeburg, and she was a big believer in the value of such work. “Attention to detail,” she’d say. “Coordination. Manual dexterity. Do you know what dexterity means?” Handicrafts could solve the housing crisis. They could put a man in space. Plus they were beautifying, and anything that beautified their living quarters became heroic in Auntie’s eyes.

  Lena was embroidering small orange flowers onto a tablecloth for their sitting room table. It was tedious work that gave her a headache, and all she wanted to do was think about Max and how she might find a way to see his play on Saturday night.

  You are a terrible person. Your uncle has been erased, and you’re daydreaming about a boy. But no boy had ever taken an interest in her except Peter, and she wasn’t sure he was interested—even if Danika thought he was. They just happened to live on the same floor.

  Lena ate her supper, all the while thinking. She could tell Auntie she was going to the cinema with Danika. But then she’d have to ask Danika to lie for her, and that was dangerous. There was a part of Danika that liked watching other people get in trouble. Next time throw her cat out the door. Then she’d think twice about messing with Lena.

  By the time she was leaving for work, she still hadn’t hit on a solution. She said goodbye to Auntie, who was sitting in front of the television with her feet on a cushion because her ankles were swelling up again. When she opened the door she found Peter sweeping the hallway. There was something in the way he glanced up—pretend-casual, like, hey, what are you doing here?—that made Lena think he’d been waiting for her.

  “Where are you off to?” He leaned on his broom, making weird cow eyes at her. Oh no. Maybe Danika was right.

  “You know I’m going to work.”

  “I got Sweden on my radio before supper. I couldn’t understand a word they were saying, but it was first class. Listen, I was wondering—”

  Lena glanced at her watch. “I’m going to be late.”

  He hunched his shoulders. “Are you busy tomorrow night?”

  “As a matter of fact, I have tickets to a play.” Which play? The one my boyfriend is in. Boyfriend. That was a word. Use it in a sentence with my. It practically danced in her mouth. You’re getting carried away. He is not your boyfriend. He hid you. That’s all.

  Peter set the broom against the wall and it slid sideways and clattered onto the floor. “That’s fabulous. I was thinking of the cinema, but I love going to live theater.”

  “No, I meant—”

  “Lena?” Auntie poked her head out the door.

  “I thought your ankles were swollen.”

  “Why haven’t you left for work yet?” Auntie asked.

  “Can Lena and I go to a play together tomorrow night, Frau Keller?”

  “No, that’s not what I�
�” But no one was listening to Lena.

  “What play?” Auntie asked.

  “What play?” Peter asked.

  Lena sighed. “Factory: A Love Story.”

  “An excellent choice,” Auntie said. “It sounds like a romance between ordinary working-class folk. Lots of powerful emotion. I heartily approve.” She turned to Lena. “Off you go, now. You mustn’t be late for work.”

  “I’ll see you tomorrow.” Peter picked up the broom and hoisted it in a goodbye. Solidarity to the cleaning folk.

  Lena trudged down the stairs, the play tickets still in her pocket. She felt like ripping them up. How had that just happened? She was going to show up at the play with Peter? What would Max think? Peter was the last person she wanted to go with. And the way he had looked at her in the hallway, that shirt he’d worn to youth group last week—God, it was for you. How had she not realized? Why hadn’t he been called up for conscription yet? What if he tried to hold her hand? Perhaps she could ask him to trim his nails before they went.

  Max would look for her in the audience. He would see her with Peter. She couldn’t even say Peter was her brother because she’d already told Max she didn’t have one. Her cousin. The boy who lived down the hall. Auntie arranged it, I had nothing to do with it. She was so caught up in thinking about how she might explain things that she barely spoke to Jutta in the ashtray room.

  She took her cleaning supplies across the compound to House 1. Hello, three red flags. Good evening, stone Dzerzhinsky, stone Marx. You could pretend to be sick. Peter didn’t know the tickets were good for any night. You could go to the play on Sunday. But that meant she wouldn’t get to see Max tomorrow. She lugged her Purimix up the stairs and plugged it in to start on the hallways. What if they didn’t perform on Sundays? And how long was the play running for, anyway? Maybe the People’s Theater of Prenzlauer Berg was a tiny group with no money. One weekend, a budget version. Factory: A Brief Infatuation, and then it was over.