Otherwise, you get to go to a pastel landscape and eat bland food for the rest of your life, and he gets to act in moronic plays like Factory: A Love Story.
One of the teams on the television show had given a wrong answer. There was pandemonium on the screen. Max took his hands away. “Is it true what Günter said about them threatening to lock you up?”
Lena nodded. “It happened once before, after my parents died.” They didn’t just die. They were killed. At last you have someone to blame. But what did that matter? The people responsible were bigger than she was. They were hunters. They had all the guns, all the buttons to press, and all the forms to sign.
“And now? Günter said you’d found out something important.”
Yes, Lena had found the truth. The truth shall set you free. Not in the Better Germany, it wouldn’t. In the Better Germany, the truth got you locked up. To live in this world, you needed to be able to do three things: keep your head down, keep your mouth shut, and learn to like cabbage. Lena had only mastered the third thing, and now look.
“It doesn’t matter,” she said. The less he knew, the better—for his sake.
“It must matter to them. Come with me. Günter is getting false identities for both of us. You’ll need to be ready. We’re going to be part of an East German circus traveling to Romania.”
Laughter came from the television. “A circus?” Lena said. “And who will I be—the tightrope walker?”
“Why not? There will be jugglers and flame-swallowers and a bearded lady.”
“Well, then. We’ll blend right in,” Lena said. “What about the police at the train station?” They were always on the lookout for people they suspected were trying to flee the country.
“We’ll be part of a group. That’s why it’s a good idea. The circus is leaving for Romania on Thursday, and we’ll go with them. Once we get there, we’ll make a magical transformation into West Germans, and then we’ll get on a plane and fly home to Munich.”
Thursday: that was three days from now. A lot could happen in three days, and even so—what about Auntie? “I don’t know.”
“But you’ll think about it.” Max shut off the television.
Sure. In the meantime, she curled herself into his body like a cat, tucking her head under his chin and pressing her ear to his chest, listening to the life flow through him. At least you’ve had this. It was something to be thankful for, even if it got taken away from her. He wove the fingers of one hand through hers, and stroked her hair with the other. They sat like this for a long time, an island of beating hearts in this brown and orange room.
Finally Max said, “I should go. They’ll be waiting for me at the theater.”
She lifted her head and kissed his warm neck. “I wish you could stay.”
“So do I.” He kissed her, then stood up and put on his coat. “Günter’s friend will come see me with the details. I’ll let you know as soon as I hear more.”
The dogs’ eyes were fixed on her. Stop staring at me. I don’t know if I’m going. She said goodbye to Max, gave him another kiss at the door, and then he was gone, his footsteps echoing down the stairs. She went to the window, waiting to see him leave the building and cross the street.
Would she sit Auntie down and tell her she was leaving? Or would she simply disappear? And then Auntie will worry about you and telephone the police. Wouldn’t it be better if she knew?
Wouldn’t it be better if she didn’t?
What if Auntie came too? Are you kidding? Auntie, leave the Better Germany? Mausi was right: Sausage Auntie would never leave.
There was Max, a walking contradiction—the military precision, and the hair that wouldn’t behave. The lemony scent of his soap was still on Lena’s skin. And there, parked on the street, was a Lada, with a man inside reading a newspaper.
Surprise.
Lena sat down. Picked up her book, then put it down. Stood up, looked out the window. The man was still there. Maybe he wasn’t there for her. Stop. You can’t afford to play these games anymore. You know that’s why he’s there.
Lena got her coat and put on her regular shoes. Not her Zehas: there was no point running from these men. She’d go for a walk, see what happened. If the man in the Lada had something to say to her, he could say it.
She turned the lock twice and went down the stairs, into the cold. It was windy, and the sky was darker than it should have been for mid-afternoon. Rain was coming. Lena thought immediately of the courtyard, and the willow tree. It hadn’t had much time to set down roots. One big rain might wash it away.
The courtyard was not yet the refuge that Lena and Auntie had envisioned, but they had made progress. The trench gathered rainwater so the ground wasn’t as muddy, the military bushes stood sentry against subversive winds, and the raised garden Hans had built in the corner would soon be full of plants. Even the tile path to nowhere would one day lead to the other side of the housing development. Lena might never see that happen. The courtyard’s unfinished state was suddenly painful to her. If only they’d worked harder, she might have had one game of Skat at a table outside with Peter and Danika.
She hunched herself against the wind, wishing for one of the winter coats in Jutta’s magazine. Walked past the Lada without looking at it. Waited. Waited. See? There must have been other class enemies living on her street, and she’d had no idea.
And then—there were footsteps behind her. Someone tapped her on the shoulder. “Citizen Altmann?”
Lena turned around. It was a plump bald man in a brown suit. “Yes?”
“Come, please. A little chat. It will only take a moment.”
He led her to the car and opened the door to the backseat. The man in the driver’s seat was still reading his newspaper. His fingers were black with ink.
So—there’d been two of them. The plump bald one must have been waiting outside, hiding somewhere. Lena got in, wondering which side of the car she should sit on. She hadn’t been in many cars in her life. The Lada smelled like mustard and bratwurst, and newsprint, and sweat. Should she put on the safety belt? Her hands were shaking so badly she wasn’t sure she’d be able to fasten it.
She decided to sit right in the middle. She waited for the men to turn around and speak to her, but they stared straight ahead, as if the car were moving.
The bald man in the passenger seat held up a small camera that Lena recognized. “You’re in a lot of trouble, Citizen Altmann.”
Lena nodded. There was no denying it now.
“You understand that if this camera were to land in the wrong hands, you would be charged with treason.”
Lena was quite sure it was in the wrong hands right now.
“Do you know what the punishment for treason is in this country?” he asked.
She nodded again. It was the death sentence: execution by one close shot to the back of the head.
“However, you have a friend in the ministry,” he continued. “A special relationship with Lieutenant General Drechsler, isn’t that so?”
Lena wanted to say no. She wanted to scream it. But no was the wrong answer, and in this case, the wrong answer might get her killed. So she said yes in a small voice, because she was small and Bruno Drechsler was huge.
“The Lieutenant General has argued for clemency. Do you know what clemency means?”
Lena was tempted to smack this man on the back of his round bald head. “Yes,” she said politely. “My aunt taught me that word.”
“He believes it would be an act of kindness on the part of the State to return you to the institution that took care of you after your parents died.”
They didn’t just die. They were killed. Lena’s hands curled around the cold edge of the brown leather seat. An act of kindness—were they kidding?
“Would you like that? Would you like to go back to the hospital?”
“No!” T
he word leaped out of Lena’s mouth. “Please, I’ll work somewhere else. A textile factory. Anywhere. Please don’t send me back there.”
The inky man rattled his newspaper. “I don’t see why not. A warm bed, three meals a day. It’s better than a bullet to the head.” He spoke in a flat voice.
But the plump bald man said, “Kurt, the girl doesn’t want to go. We’re reasonable people. Surely there’s a job at a textile factory for a pretty young girl like Miss Lena, isn’t there?”
The inky man shrugged.
“The thing is—” The bald man turned in his seat and smiled at Lena. His teeth were stained and his lips were chapped.
What is the thing? Do you even want to know? Lena knew three things: head down, mouth shut, eat cabbage. Was there a fourth?
“The thing is, you want something from us. But we’re not in the charity business, you know? If you want something, you must give us something in exchange. That’s fair, wouldn’t you say?”
Lena realized she was supposed to nod, so she did, but she did not like where this conversation was going.
“You have a friend.”
Lena waited.
“Max Baumann. He left your apartment a few minutes ago. You know Max Baumann, don’t you?”
“Yes.” Lena couldn’t lie. They’d seen him.
“Max Baumann is planning on doing something very silly. He’s going to try to escape from the Republic. Can you imagine?”
“That’s not true,” Lena said.
“Please.” The inky man rustled the newspaper and it made a sound like dead leaves.
“We know about his plans to escape with his actor friends. And we suspect, given the present circumstances, that Citizen Baumann has asked you to come. You’re not thinking of joining them in that tunnel, are you?”
“No, I’m not.” Lena had never thought the tunnel was a good idea.
“We’ve had some trouble finding out when your friends are planning on carrying out this adventure of theirs. But you seem to have a very special relationship with Citizen Baumann. Perhaps you might overhear something interesting. I can’t make any promises. But it could go a long way toward keeping you out of the hospital.”
“I don’t see why she doesn’t want to go there,” the newspaper man said again. He didn’t even look up.
“You’ve never been there,” Lena said. That’s enough. Don’t tell them things they don’t need to know.
“What do you think, Lena? Can you find out the details for us? You understand that failing to report a planned defection is a punishable offense.”
Say you’ll find out. Just say yes, and figure it out later. “I could try.”
“Try hard,” the inky man said.
The car fell silent. Lena could hear the wind outside.
“You know about Max, don’t you?” the plump bald man said.
What does he mean? Lena said nothing.
“You know he still sees that figure skater. What’s her name? Rhea? Ruta?”
“Rita.” The inky man put down his paper. “She’s a hot one.”
The bald man went on. “My friend here has a thing for red hair. Me, not so much. But apparently Citizen Baumann likes them fiery.”
“Hot.” The newspaper man turned and winked at Lena.
“But Max would have told you he already has a girlfriend.” The plump bald man set the camera on the dashboard. “Well, then. Shall we meet back here tomorrow? Around the same time? What do you say?”
Lena couldn’t say anything. Her mouth was stuck shut. Her body felt heavier than it ever had in her life. “Can I go now?”
“Silly girl, you’ve always been free to go.”
She slid to the passenger side of the Lada and fumbled with the door handle, pulling harder and harder until she realized the door was locked. As soon as she had unlocked it, she got out, and shut the door in such a rush she nearly caught her hand in it.
She ran across the street without turning around. When she arrived back in the apartment she went to the window. They hadn’t moved.
— 28 —
the usefulness of a baby next door
Lena and Auntie were having supper. It was Monday night, Black Channel night, a work night for Lena. No one had telephoned or shown up to tell her that her employment at Stasi headquarters had been terminated. Maybe Bruno Drechsler had changed his mind. What that might mean for her tonight at work Lena didn’t even want to consider.
Tell Auntie.
She struggled with her ham sandwich. She wasn’t the least bit hungry.
“We’ve had a response to our swimming pool complaint,” Auntie said between bites. Her appetite was more than making up for Lena’s lack of one. “Our letter has been passed on to the proper authorities.”
“That’s wonderful.” Someone in the neighborhood would get to go swimming. It wouldn’t be Lena. Tell her now. Get it over with. Tell her what? Which part would she want to hear?
“The leaks will be repaired, and the roof. In the meantime, the whole building could use a proper cleaning. We could form a work brigade.”
Not another one. After the turnips were planted outside, they wouldn’t be able to work on the courtyard until spring came—therefore, yes, let’s clean the pool building while we’re waiting. Lena finished her sandwich and got ready for work.
As soon as she was outside, she took a long look up and down the street. The Lada was gone. Lena walked quickly at first, because of the cold, then more slowly as she drew closer to the compound. Nothing about this felt good. They had called what she’d done treason—and it was. She’d photographed documents, like an enemy spy out of some Western movie: James Bond, except without the clever weapons or exotic drinks.
Thank goodness it was Ernst at the gate. She spotted his long arms from half a block away as he stood sentry beneath the lights.
“Good morning,” she called when she was near. At least she’d see one friendly face.
“Comrade Altmann.” He stood with his legs planted like posts and wouldn’t let her pass. “I’m sorry, you don’t have clearance anymore.”
It would be like that, would it? She shouldn’t have been surprised. Your arms are too long, she wanted to yell at him, but it wasn’t Ernst’s fault. He was only doing what he’d been told.
Now what? Go home and explain everything to Auntie? Auntie would yell until it was time for the Black Channel. Then Lena would have to sit through Schnitzler’s whole tirade, and afterward lie awake in bed for hours waiting for the ceiling to fall on her, piece by tiny piece.
Wait a minute. Auntie doesn’t know you’ve been fired.
Lena felt around in her pocket. There was the single ticket to Factory: A Love Story, which was still playing, even though there couldn’t have been many people in the audience anymore. Rita. A wave of heat rushed through Lena. He already has a girlfriend. Sure he did. Lena worked nights. She was probably his daytime girlfriend, and Rita was for later. She marched over to the U-Bahn station. The night was wide open ahead of her. It was time to settle this.
What will you do about the men in the Lada? The exchange they’d demanded. Was Max even planning to go with Lena and the circus troupe, or had that just been a story? Maybe their tunnel scheme was still going ahead.
She transferred onto the S-Bahn and sat very still, wishing she could trade lives with anyone else on the train. Like that man in the corner—she could be him, gripping his battered briefcase and staring straight ahead at nothing. She’d be the lady holding a mesh bag of potatoes and wishing people wouldn’t stare at the giant red birthmark on her face. Everyone on the train was carrying something in their heart that weighed them down. If we could all say one, two, three, drop it, the train would become so light it would lift off the tracks. That was the trick, to stop carrying the heavy things; to learn how to put them down and walk away.
W
hen she arrived at the People’s Theater, she took a seat near the back. There were fifteen people in the audience, including her. Factory: A Love Story had been bad enough the first time. Seeing it again made Lena angry. There was a cast of eight: eight people wasting their lives memorizing the dumbest lines in the history of theater. For what?
This time Max knew all the ingredients for borscht. There was no way he could see Lena so far back in the dark. Good. You’ll surprise him. Maybe Rita would be waiting for him, and Lena could run over and kick her in the shins.
But when the play was over and Lena went backstage, it was just the actors. Someone had brought beer, and they were drinking it, but it didn’t seem like a celebration. No one was talking. It was more like Factory: A Love Story had inspired each of them to drink alone, in the same room.
Dieter saw her first. “Max, your girlfriend’s here.”
Lena glanced around to make sure Rita hadn’t snuck up behind her, but no, he meant you.
Max took off his chef’s hat and pulled the cushion out from beneath his apron. “Right, you’re not working tonight. I’d forgotten.” He led her away from the group, took in the expression on her face, and said, “I’ll get my coat.”
Outside, Max draped his arm around Lena, but she pulled away. “Tell me the truth about that girl Rita. You’re still seeing her, aren’t you?”
“What? No, I saw her once when I got back from service, but we both knew it was over. You and I have been through this. Why are you so worked up about—”
“There’s no circus troupe, is there? You’re still planning on going with Bem and Dieter.”
“Who talked to you? What’s happened?”
It began to drizzle, and they took cover beneath the awning of a restaurant with darkened windows. The paint was peeling off the building, and bits of molding had broken away. Across the street was a bakery with half its sign missing. Lena wondered if you’d only get half a bun in there, or half a loaf of bread. Everything in the city was dying.
The House of One Thousand Eyes Page 26