by James Runcie
Hildegard parked the car outside the hotel and helped Sidney to check in. She told him to wash, shave and shower before the hot water ran out. She had prepared supper at her mother’s and would wait in the lobby. Her sister Trudi was out with friends and so it would just be the three of them.
Sibilla Leber lived on the second floor of a modernist building off Konradstrasse. It had one bedroom, a small living room where she ate, and a little kitchenette. The communal bathroom was outside and down the corridor. ‘At least it’s cheap to heat,’ she explained. ‘Not that I need to get any warmer.’
Sidney remembered his father giving him a piece of advice. ‘If you’re thinking of marrying a woman you need to take a good look at her mother because that’s what you’re going to get in the end.’
Sibilla Leber had the same short blonde hair as her daughter but it had begun to grey as it curled down to the level of her dark-green eyes. Her nose was slightly more upturned, her face thinner and gaunter, and her mouth, while still appealing, had gathered lines around it; the result of smoking, Sidney thought. She was smaller than her daughter and wore a blue cotton suit that looked like a uniform that had seen better days. Nevertheless, she had a definite presence. Now in her late fifties, she had had both her daughters when she was very young, and been widowed at the age of twenty-seven.
The evidence of her husband’s life was all around them. Hans Leber had been a prominent member of the KPD, refused to give the Nazi salute and wrote for Red Flag, the communist newspaper. Then, after the Reichstag fire and the Leipzig Trial, the persecutions began. The Blackshirts raided newspaper offices, smashing typewriters and duplicating machines, confiscating propaganda. Although communist activities were declared illegal Hans Leber continued to resist. ‘He used to say, “It’s easy to call yourself a communist if you don’t have to shed any blood for it. You only know what you really believe when the hour comes and you have to stand up for it,” ’ Sibilla Leber explained.
A propaganda poster showing the martyred Hans Leber hung from the wall. He was a pioneer of freedom, marching at the head of an endless queue of new recruits stretching back across a long road that led from the storm clouds of fascism and capitalism to the new dawn of communism. ‘It was April 1933. My husband died as he lived; as a fighter in the class war.’
‘You must have been very proud of him.’
‘It is different today, but I will never abandon what he fought for. Even if the movement has changed. There will always be bad communists, just as there are incompetent priests. But the solution is to purge the undesirables and stay true to the ideals.’
Sidney was not sure he agreed but tried to keep the conversation going. ‘You need to replace bad faith with good people.’
‘Exactly.’
‘Even if we all fall short.’
Hildegard asked a question. ‘Do you think it is easier to be a good communist than a good Christian?’
Her mother leaned back in what was clearly her favourite armchair. ‘Communism is for this world. Christianity is for the next. I have two loyalties.’
Sidney could see that Sibilla Leber had been, and could still be, a formidable woman. Then he remembered something his mother had told him in response to Alec Chambers’ perceived bon mots. ‘I wouldn’t take your father’s advice too seriously, if I were you, son. If there’s one thing that’s guaranteed to infuriate a woman it’s to tell her that she’s turning into her mother.’
Supper was served and Sibilla Leber explained that it was part of communist ideology to eat well and eat lots; especially fatty food. She had no real interest in who Sidney was or why he had come. Instead he was merely the audience for the recounting of her life story and her political beliefs. She hadn’t even asked about his recent ordeal, presumably because she considered there had been nothing wrong with arresting a perfectly innocent priest on a suspicion of espionage.
When they had finished their main course, Hildegard cleared the plates and served up Rote Grütze: a fruit compote made from red berries, topped with vanilla custard. ‘This is a special treat,’ she said, ‘because it is the summer. Normally we have just the one course.’
‘I am honoured,’ Sidney replied.
Hildegard rested a hand on his shoulder. ‘Of course you are.’
Sibilla Leber reminded Sidney that Karl Marx was German. ‘This has been Germany’s dangerous century,’ she warned as she spooned Rote Grütze into her mouth. ‘But we still have time to redeem ourselves. Out of the evils of National Socialism will come the refining fire of revolutionary equality.’
After supper Hildegard began to play the piano. Her mother carried on talking. Leipzig was the home of pianos, she told Sidney. The town had one of the first ever to be made, by Bartolomeo Cristofori in 1726, and, at the beginning of the century, the Zimmerman company in Leipzig was the largest piano factory in Europe, producing some twelve thousand instruments a year.
‘This has always been my favourite piano,’ Hildegard called out as she played. ‘It has the perfect action for Bach.’
‘I thought your piano was in Berlin?’ Sidney asked.
‘That is borrowed.’
She was playing the Partita No. 1 in B major. She knew it was one of Sidney’s favourites and had played it for him one of the first times they had met. He listened for a while before asking, ‘And what is the perfect action for Bach?’
‘It must be sensitive and responsive, but still have some tension.’ Hildegard continued to play with a lightness of touch that concealed the strength of her forearms. ‘A bit like you, Sidney.’
‘I don’t know about that.’
Hildegard stopped. ‘There is no need to blush. I paid you a compliment. What is wrong with that?’
‘I am not used to it.’
‘Perhaps you should get used to it. I might say it again one day,’ and she gave a little laugh.
Sibilla Leber interrupted. ‘Warum lachen Sie?’
‘Es ist nichts,’ her daughter replied. It may well have seemed as if it was nothing, but at that moment Sidney knew, also, that it was everything. He watched her play. He admired her concentration. It was a kind of prayer.
They left for Berlin early on Sunday morning. Sidney had hoped to attend the 11 a.m. communion at St George’s but their train to the West stopped earlier than its expected destination. Instead of a loudspeaker warning the passengers Achtung! You are now leaving the Democratic Sector of Berlin a panicky voice told them: End of the line! End of the line! The train ends here.
They were at Treptower Park. Once inside the station they saw a row of Trapos, blackclad transport police with semi-automatic weapons slung over their shoulders. ‘Something’s going on,’ Hildegard told Sidney. ‘We shouldn’t have stopped. There are more police than usual.’
A group of soldiers was closing the ticket halls and turning people away from the platforms that led to the West.
‘Come on,’ said Hildegard. ‘We can’t stay.’
She led Sidney out into the streets and they headed towards the Brandenburg Gate. As they did so, they could see members of the Factory Fighting Group gathering in military formation with a line of water cannon. A group of trucks arrived, piled high with barbed wire.
Hildegard asked a policeman what was happening. He told her that the border was closed. No one was going in, and no one was coming out. He pointed to a man drawing a white line on the street. ‘That is where the Wall will be.’
Security forces were grouped all over the city: Vopos, Bereitschaft Polizei, Kampfgruppen and East German People’s Army units. They were searching buildings on the sector lines, inspecting stairwells, windows and upper floors. Sidney looked up to see armed men on the rooftops.
Vopos took up assigned beats of streets, assisted by customs police. Armoured cars and machine-gun carriers assembled near the industrial site at the Rummelsburg S-Bahn station. Sentries were placed at two-metre intervals along the entire Berlin-sector border to prevent escapes, while border troops, factory paramil
itaries and construction units barricaded the streets with barbed wire, tank traps and improvised concrete bolsters.
Hildegard took control. ‘I think we should go somewhere less dangerous.’
‘But we have our papers.’
‘You have been arrested, Sidney. They will find something wrong.’
‘I am willing to risk it.’
‘You are too reckless. Come with me.’
They carried their luggage through the streets and stopped at a small café. Hildegard suggested they have a coffee and make a plan. Crowds of families, holding children to their chests and on their shoulders, pulled prams that were filled with their possessions. One man even had a mattress on his head, as if he was planning somewhere to jump.
A passer-by stopped at the window and looked straight at them.
‘My God,’ said Sidney.
‘What is it?’
The man continued to stare at them. It was Rory Montague. He held his look for a few seconds, nodded, and then walked on.
‘It can’t be him, but it was.’
‘Who?’
‘The man from the train. They shot him while he was trying to escape.’
‘He must have survived. Did you see the body?’
‘They told me he was dead.’
‘Perhaps they only wanted you to believe that he was dead. But, if he was not, then they must have let him escape. Do you think you are in danger?’
‘I may be. Why would they shoot him and then let him get away?’
‘They wouldn’t do that.’
‘I thought he was working for the SIS. He gave me the negative to give to the Master. That’s why I was stopped. I told you.’
‘So perhaps he was not working for the SIS but the KGB? He framed you.’
Sidney tried to think it through. ‘He wanted me to be arrested. They arranged for me to think he was dead.’
‘But why would they need to do that?’
‘So that I would tell people when I got back to England. I would inform the Master.’
‘And whose side is the Master on?’
‘I don’t know.’
‘But what you do know is that Rory Montague is alive. If he wants you to think that he is dead then that puts you into danger. We must leave East Germany today. It is too dangerous to stay longer.’
Sidney hesitated. ‘I don’t understand why he went to all that trouble. Why do the British need to know that he is dead?’
‘Perhaps he was working undercover and has defected.’
‘But why would he have me arrested?’
‘To warn you.’
‘Wouldn’t it have been simpler to kill me?’
‘Not on a crowded train.’
‘They could have done it when I was arrested. They could have staged a road accident or gone in for a bit of food poisoning. I am sure a doctor could have attributed my demise to natural causes. What did you say to Fechner?’ Sidney asked.
‘I reminded him of history. I told him I still knew people: important men who could influence his future. I assured him that you were not a threat.’
‘You vouched for me?’
‘I also gave him money.’
‘You bought my freedom?’
‘It is more complicated than that.’
Sidney wondered where she had found the money and how much his freedom was likely to have cost when she asked him another question. ‘You told him that you loved me, didn’t you?’
‘Fechner told you that?’
‘He mentioned the lie detector. So it is true?’
‘Yes, Hildegard, it is true.’
‘Why have you not told me this before?’
‘I wasn’t sure if you were ready.’
‘We have known each other a long time now. What you really mean, Sidney, is that you were not sure that you were ready.’
‘I suppose so.’
‘Are you ready now?’
‘I think I am.’
‘Then we had better leave, while we still have lives to live. Already it is harder to cross. Don’t kiss me yet. That man has seen us, and I think your permit has expired. We must find a place and wait until night. We do not want another arrest.’
Crowds were gathering on the Potsdamer Platz and in front of the Brandenburg Gate. There were tanks in the back streets, and barriers across the rail tracks in the north of the city. Warning billboards had been erected. Soldat auch Du bist eingesperrt!
Tanks of the East German People’s Army were parked on either side of the border approaches, their turret guns pointing westwards. Armed men in steel helmets guarded the crossing as construction workers began to insert concrete posts into the cobbled streets.
Cars were being diverted to Checkpoint Staaken. A few westerners were showing their identity cards, and after lengthy conversations and interrogations they were allowed through to be greeted by students protesting at this violent division of their city. Already, it reminded them of the communist repression of the Hungarian uprising.
Ulbricht, murderer! Budapest! Budapest! Budapest!
In the Bernauer Strasse people were jumping from the windows of their Eastern apartment blocks down into Western streets, pursued by Vopos and Grepos. They were waving, calling, holding up children and pets, making their last attempts to be reunited with their loved ones. The soldiers ignored them.
An old man made his way to the checkpoint. As he did so, he threw a grocery bag into the garden of an apartment block. ‘I don’t want those bastards accusing me of smuggling sausages.’
‘I can’t believe that they can cut us off so quickly,’ Hildegard said. ‘There must be gaps in the barbed wire or places where we can cross.’
They made their way north, following the contours of the River Spree, and could see the ruins of the Reichstag in the distance. There was no barbed wire. Hildegard turned to Sidney. ‘Can you swim?’
‘Would you like me to carry your suitcase, Hildegard?’
‘I could lighten it by wearing some more clothes.’
‘That might help.’
In the distance they could hear gunfire. ‘You don’t think …?’ Sidney began.
‘That they are shooting people who are trying to escape? Yes, I do.’
‘Wouldn’t it be easier just to present our papers?’
Hildegard had opened her suitcase and was taking out a second blouse and a raincoat. ‘That man has seen you, Sidney. The Stasi will have already warned Border Control to check you.’
‘Despite your intervention?’
‘One man helped us. We were lucky. And I don’t trust anyone. I will take your briefcase. Do you think we can do this in one trip?’
Sidney thought about the story of the fox, the chicken and the sack of corn. Now was not the time to tell it. ‘I don’t see why not.’
‘Are you a strong swimmer?’
‘I was almost a Cambridge Blue.’
‘You are joking, Sidney.’
‘I thought it might reassure you. Give me your suitcase.’
‘How can you manage the two of them on one hand?’
‘Backstroke,’ said Sidney, slipping into the water. ‘It’s very warm, you know.’
‘Keep your voice down,’ said Hildegard before jumping into the dark water. ‘It’s not so far. We need to be fast.’
The cases were heavy and Sidney’s progress was slower than he had anticipated. He kept checking the depth to see if he could stand up but every time he did so he feared that he would sink. ‘Don’t drown on me!’ Hildegard whispered. ‘Let the suitcases go if you need to. I don’t care about them. All we need are our papers.’
‘And you’ve got them?’
‘Of course.’
‘Are you a strong swimmer?’ Sidney asked.
‘I was champion at school.’
‘Are you telling me the truth?’
‘No,’ Hildegard repeated Sidney’s words. ‘I thought it might reassure you.’
They were halfway across the river when Hildegard asked s
uddenly, ‘You do love me, don’t you?’
‘Of course.’
‘Only I have to know if there’s something worth living for.’
At last Sidney was within his depth. He stood up and began to wade slowly towards the edge. Hildegard knelt down and held out an arm to take each case in turn. She led Sidney through a series of alleys and side streets. ‘We must keep going west and avoid the main roads.’
Their clothes clung to them and the night was now cold. ‘How long will this take?’ Sidney asked.
‘Less than an hour. When we find ourselves in the Tiergarten we know we are safe. People say it is very romantic at night.’
‘Life doesn’t feel so romantic at the moment.’
‘You have to have faith.’
They approached the Tiergarten through the ruins of the Reichstag and made their way diagonally south-west. It was dawn by the time they reached the university and a further stretch of the Spree.
‘You don’t want me to swim across this as well?’ Sidney asked. ‘My clothes are almost dry.’
‘There is a bridge. I used to swim in the Neuer See when I was a student.’
‘I wish I had known you then.’
‘No, you don’t. I was too serious.’
‘And you’re not now?’
They left the Tiergarten and passed the Zoological Gardens. The first of the Monday-morning workers were entering the railway station and a newspaper vendor was selling copies of Der Tagesspiegel and the Berliner Morgenpost with the headline Wir rufen die Welt!
They made their way towards Hildegard’s apartment off Schillerstrasse and climbed the stairs. Matthias had left for work, and Trudi was still in Leipzig. They opened their suitcases and discovered that everything they contained was either damp or water-damaged. Hildegard found some towels and fished out a shirt and a pair of trousers from the wardrobe of her brother-in-law. ‘I know these won’t fit but we can wait until everything is dry. I will make coffee.’
Sidney took off his jacket. ‘My passport has not been stamped. What about your papers? Will it be hard now for you to go back?’
‘I think so.’
Sidney headed for the bathroom to change. ‘I think I should get back to the vicarage. They will be expecting me.’