Sidney Chambers and the Perils of the Night

by James Runcie

  1. Explain Luther’s doctrine of the Cross. What is the difference between a ‘theologian of glory’ and a ‘theologian of the Cross?’

  2. What does Kant mean by the statement: ‘A hundred real thalers would not be worth more than a hundred possible thalers.’

  3. ‘Believers have a perpetual struggle with their own lack of faith.’ Explain what Calvin meant by this sentence.

  This was all first-year undergraduate stuff and Sidney was pleased. He wrote at length about how Calvin stressed that the reliability of the divine promises could co-exist with a human failure to trust in those promises; and that the person of Christ is seen as a confirmation of the promises of God.

  It was straightforward, and Sidney used the time to think less of the circumstances he was in and more about the nature of theology and the origins of doubt. He had none about his biblical scholarship and was therefore surprised when Fechner questioned him the following morning.

  ‘You are quite proficient in chemistry, I see.’

  ‘If I did well it must have been a fluke. I guessed most of the answers.’

  ‘Then you guessed very well. Interesting that you should do better in a subject where you have doubts than in a study where you appear to have none.’

  ‘I trust in the promises of Christ.’

  ‘So our pastor tells us. Of course we will give you food. But there are a number of questions which still need answers.’

  ‘I think I’ve had enough questions for one day.’

  ‘That is most amusing. Please excuse me while I allow myself a small chuckle.’

  Fechner stood up, looked out of the window and walked around his desk once more. Then he sat down. He said nothing. Sidney realised this was a technique to make him speak, his interrogator was forcing him to break the silence between them. He decided to say nothing and counted the seconds. After five minutes, Fechner asked him another question. ‘There are very many things we need to discuss, Canon Chambers; not least your knowledge of Dieter Hirsch – or perhaps I should say, Rory Montague?’

  ‘You think that is his name?’

  ‘You were heard to address him so.’

  ‘I may have been mistaken.’

  ‘Then why did he pass you confidential information?’

  ‘I was not aware of what he was giving me.’

  ‘And what were you supposed to do with it?’

  ‘I was asked to take it back to Cambridge and give it to the Master of my college. I imagined it was a letter; an explanation of some sort. Rory Montague had gone missing a few years ago.’

  ‘Missing?’

  ‘He had been climbing on the roof of King’s College with a friend.’

  ‘Is that what students normally do?’

  ‘Not exactly.’

  ‘Surely they should be studying?’

  ‘They should.’

  ‘Although sometimes they may not be studying the subjects they tell people they are studying, isn’t that right, Canon Chambers? They could, for example, be studying the industrial infrastructure of a foreign country. They could be planning to sabotage its scientific progress. They could be working against our ideological freedom to preserve the tyranny of capitalist exploitation.’

  ‘Of course they could be doing that,’ Sidney replied. ‘But I don’t think that’s likely.’

  ‘I am sure you don’t, Canon Chambers, but I still have not received a convincing explanation of why you are in the DDR, what you were doing on that train with a camera normally used by spies, and carrying a negative exposure of one of our most secret chemical plants. It is unusual for a priest to be in such a position, is it not? Particularly one who appears to be so adept in chemistry.’

  ‘I am hopeless at chemistry,’ Sidney answered. ‘I am far better at being a priest.’

  ‘That is not what my examiners think. Pastor Krause thought your arguments reflected the thinking of a decadent intellectual rather than the mind of a man who spends his time either in prayer or with his people.’

  ‘That is, I acknowledge, a weakness.’

  ‘Then I am sure you will not mind spending a little longer in our company. The circumstances here are not unpleasant; a man might even consider them monastic. Perhaps you could use the time to become a better man of God?’

  ‘I am not sure I need the excuse of being here to concentrate on my duties as a Christian.’

  ‘But I am afraid you have no choice, Canon Chambers. I have taken the liberty of ordering The Rule of St Benedict from the library. It is surprising we still have it. Many works have, of course, been taken away, but this remains. However, it is not in German.’

  ‘I presume, then, that it is in Latin.’

  ‘It is. You speak Latin?’

  ‘I do. I am good at Latin.’

  Fechner smiled. ‘Vanity again, Canon Chambers. You do disappoint me.’

  Sidney was led back to his cell, passing through the dark corridors with their exposed pipework and niches to prevent him seeing any other prisoner. He had met only guards and interrogators since his arrival. The place smelled of sewers and the warmth made it worse. He was given a few thin pork knuckles and some sauerkraut. The guard told him that it would make him healthy.

  Kristian Krause came to visit. This was the man who had marked down his theology exam and accused him of decadent intellectualism. Sidney took an immediate dislike to him and felt no guilt. Some men, he thought, even if they were priests, were inherently unpleasant.

  Pastor Krause gave him a copy of The Rule of St Benedict. ‘You may find it helpful in your cell.’

  ‘You think I should pretend I am a monk.’

  ‘There are worse ways of surviving.’

  ‘Have you ever been a monk yourself?’

  ‘My duties are in the world.’

  ‘I think a monk considers himself to be in the world.’

  ‘I mean with the people.’

  ‘Are you a communist?’ Sidney asked.

  ‘It is not irreconcilable with our faith. Perhaps it is even an opportunity.’

  ‘You mean that?’

  ‘Of course. We fight for the poor and the oppressed.’

  ‘While supporting the oppressor.’

  ‘Canon Chambers, I think your views of the DDR are naive. Perhaps you need some time alone to think. Your stay here might even be considered a blessing.’

  ‘I find it hard to see it in those terms.’

  After Pastor Krause had left, Sidney picked up his copy of The Rule of St Benedict. He chose a passage at random. ‘We believe that the divine presence is everywhere and that in every place the eyes of the Lord are watching the good and the wicked.’

  ‘Well,’ Sidney prayed, ‘I hope you are watching over all the people gathered in this place.’ It was becoming increasingly hard to make the best of things or even to think the best of people.

  ‘You must not be proud nor be given too much wine,’ Sidney continued to read. There was fat chance of that.

  ‘Refrain from too much eating or sleeping and from laziness.’

  Sidney hesitated. This was only making the situation worse. He tried to think positively. He could pretend, he supposed, that he was in some beautiful Renaissance cell decorated by Fra Angelico, but this only worked when he closed his eyes. When he opened them, he was confronted with grim reality. If this was God’s way of making him a better Christian then it was going to be a hard graft.

  ‘Do not grumble or speak ill of others,’ St Benedict admonished. ‘Place your hope in God alone.’

  The next day Sidney was taken to see Fechner again. ‘I thought you might have escaped by now.’

  ‘I presume that you are joking,’ Sidney replied.

  ‘I like a little amusement,’ Fechner continued. ‘Don’t you?’

  ‘What happened at Pieseritz?’ Sidney asked.

  ‘I am pleased that you are concerned.’

  ‘Was there an explosion?’

  ‘I am not sure that I am at liberty to tell you. Even if I were, I
think that the information might prove too useful.’

  Sidney knew that an interrogator must have been trained to give nothing away but thought that a matter of fact might be allowable. Clearly it was not.

  ‘Mr Chambers, I am sure you will not mind. I have ordered the polygraph. It is time to test whether you are lying or not.’

  ‘I try not to lie.’

  ‘You try? That means sometimes you do. You could be lying about your lying.’

  ‘I sometimes try to protect people from the truth. That is different, I think.’

  ‘It is still a lie. In this country the truth must come before everything else.’

  ‘But I have found,’ Sidney replied tentatively, ‘that there are often different kinds of truth.’

  He thought of explaining further but realised, by the look on Lothar Fechner’s face, that any Anglican meditation on the constitution of truth could only lead to trouble.

  Once he had been rigged up with galvanometers on his fingers, a blood-pressure cuff and tubes around his chest and abdomen, Sidney was asked a series of questions to test that the machine was working. What was his name? Who was the Prime Minister of Britain? When the real test actually began, he found the questions even weirder. They were nothing to do with espionage or his knowledge of chemistry but almost entirely about Hildegard. It was clear, perhaps, that Fechner was trying to destabilise him by concentrating on the personal.

  ‘How well do you know Mrs Staunton?’ he asked.

  ‘She is a very good friend of mine.’

  ‘Is the relationship physical?’

  ‘That’s a very personal question.’

  ‘Please answer it.’

  ‘I don’t see why I should.’

  ‘I would remind you that you are a prisoner.’

  ‘On what charge?’

  ‘We haven’t decided. There could be so many. In the meantime I would remind you of my original question.’

  ‘The answer is no.’

  ‘Would you like it to be physical?’

  ‘I don’t know. I haven’t thought about it.’

  ‘Do you love her?’

  ‘Again, I don’t know. I don’t see why I should answer these questions. This is a private matter. It has nothing to do with any case you may bring against me.’

  ‘In this country there is no privacy.’ Fechner lit a cigarette and let the smoke furl over his face. Sidney remembered him saying that he did not smoke. ‘Secrecy is the enemy of freedom, don’t you find? A man with a clear conscience has nothing to hide.’

  ‘That does not mean that his conscience is a possession of the state.’

  ‘Everything is the business of the state. That is how we build socialism. Everything belongs to everybody. There is freedom and equality for all.’

  ‘I have not seen this yet.’

  ‘Because we are still building. It needs time.’

  ‘And when will you achieve this dream?’

  ‘As soon as people like you start telling the truth.’

  The interrogation lasted an hour and Sidney had no idea whether he had done well or badly. He had hesitated before answering the question, ‘Is the Master of your Cambridge college a spy?’ and did not know whether he had been caught out or not. He felt that he was in the middle of a novel by Kafka; not that he had read any Kafka.

  He was taken back to his cell and given a small bowl of Soljanka, a traditional Russian working-man’s stew. Then, without any warning, the door slid open and his briefcase and suitcase were placed on the floor.

  ‘Change,’ the guard said.

  ‘What is happening?’

  ‘You are free to go.’

  Sidney could not believe his luck. ‘Why?’ he asked.

  ‘You want to stay? Don’t ask questions. Change and go.’

  The guard led him out back through the traffic-lit corridors. Every signal was at green. Sidney finally found himself in the entrance hallway that he had entered he did not know how many days previously. Fechner was waiting to greet him.

  ‘Here are your papers. I am sorry to have inconvenienced you.’

  ‘I am free?’

  ‘It was never in doubt.’

  ‘Then what was I doing here?’

  ‘Oh, Canon Chambers, you ask so many questions when it would be better to remain silent. You have a powerful friend. That is all you need. I only wish you had told us earlier.’

  ‘I did.’

  ‘You should have been more believable. I found it so hard to have faith in you.’

  ‘But I told you the truth.’

  ‘I see that now. But sometimes it is hard to believe in the truth, don’t you think? I find it particularly difficult, for example, with the clergy. They are so keen to tell me their version of the truth and it often has no relation to reality. I am sure they mean well but you cannot expect me to believe what they say. Perhaps you should teach me.’

  ‘I think you may be making one of your famous jokes.’

  ‘I think not.’

  ‘Perhaps in England, then.’

  ‘I do not think the English can tell me very much about morality. A pity. I enjoyed our conversations. I hope that you did too.’

  Sidney knew that he had to be careful. He reminded himself that this could still all be a trap. He had to remain on his guard no matter how tempting it was to be rude. ‘I found them stimulating.’

  ‘Then I hope you will remember them.’

  ‘Believe me, Herr Fechner, I will find it very hard to forget.’

  They shook hands, and Sidney was shown to the front door of the Runde Ecke. Outside, he could see Hildegard standing by a light-blue Trabant. As he made to greet her, she looked at him sternly and spoke in English. ‘Wait. Don’t touch me. They are watching. Get in the car.’

  Sidney obeyed.

  ‘Don’t look at me,’ Hildegard continued. ‘Concentrate on the road ahead.’

  She turned the key in the ignition but put her other hand on his thigh. ‘Keep looking forward,’ she said.

  Sidney obeyed. ‘Was it you who secured my release?’

  Hildegard smiled briefly, then checked her mirrors and pulled away. ‘I imagine we will be followed.’

  ‘I thought they would have had enough of us.’

  ‘It’s normal.’

  They drove into the outskirts of Leipzig. There were few people out on the streets and the trams were almost empty. No amount of sunlight could warm up the brutalist architecture. A farmer’s wife was selling watermelons from a rough wooden cart attached to a motorbike. A string quartet, their members already dressed in dinner suits, stopped at a street corner to discuss directions. The female cellist was shouting, annoyed at having to carry around such a large instrument in the heat when they were lost. After braking suddenly to allow a group of young Pioneers to cross the road, Hildegard reminded Sidney that this was the first time she had driven him.

  ‘Are you a good driver?’ he asked.

  ‘Terrifying,’ she replied.

  They were heading for the Hotel Merkur: a rectangular building that looked like a giant wireless, dominating the old city centre with its incongruous modernity. They passed the Hauptbahnhof, the station at which Sidney should have alighted. He asked whether he should look out for Bach’s church.

  Hildegard had other things on her mind. ‘Did they torture you?’ she asked.

  ‘No. I had a lie-detector test.’

  ‘Fechner told me.’

  ‘Do you know him?’

  ‘My father taught him when he was a student.’

  ‘He didn’t tell me that.’

  ‘He has been trained not to tell you anything.’

  ‘And did your father train him as well?’

  ‘It is best that you do not ask too many questions, Sidney. The answer is no, but you cannot be as curious here as you are in England.’

  ‘I have noticed. I presume it is all right to ask about your mother?’

  ‘Of course. And that is kind of you.’

  ‘
It is the reason I am here.’

  Hildegard drove through a red light. ‘I am sorry. There was nothing I could do. I am grateful to you for coming. I should have started by thanking you.’

  ‘There’s no need.’

  ‘I think there is.’

  ‘How is your mother?’

  ‘You will see her tonight. It is not as serious as people thought. She collapsed but it was not a stroke. Now she is frightened. I am sorry to have been away when you arrived. If I had still been in Berlin then none of this would have happened.’

  ‘It’s been quite an adventure.’

  ‘Is that what you call it?’

  ‘Now the ordeal is over I can look on the bright side.’

  ‘The ordeal is never over, Sidney. Not in this country.’

  ‘Shouldn’t you be careful what you are saying?’

  ‘I see you are learning. But I do not think you are a member of the Stasi unless, of course, they have recruited you already?’

  ‘I don’t think they would want someone like me.’

  ‘You’d be surprised.’

  ‘I think I’ve learned not to be surprised by anything.’

  ‘Then you haven’t spent long enough in the DDR.’

  They were now in a residential area. Hildegard’s childhood home, she told Sidney, had been on the eastern side of town, in Gustav-Mahler Strasse (even though, she said, neither of her parents had much time for Mahler). A few last-minute shoppers were bringing home jars of Spreewald gherkins, Filinchen and bottles of Vita Cola. Posters hung from government and municipal buildings displaying images of Walter Ulbricht, Secretary of the Communist Party, Wilhelm Pieck, President of the DDR, and Otto Grotewohl, the Prime Minister.

  Sidney was still adjusting to the visible signs of communism. ‘The shops are still open, I see.’

  ‘We do have them here. Although sometimes they close early. You know we have a joke?’

  ‘In the DDR?’

  ‘We say that Yuri Gagarin could find more milk in the Milky Way than he could in the DDR.’

  ‘That is a joke?’

  ‘It is the best we can do.’