by Alex Cugia
They handed over their coats and Thomas added his briefcase, deciding he'd no need of it at lunch. An idea had flashed into his mind but he'd then lost it and he was still puzzling over the issue, the answer tantalisingly just out of his consciousness as they sat down at a corner table in the small, empty back room. A petite Chinese woman in an azure silk robe came over, took their orders and left.
“I know I said that you should take every chance of using the Deutsche Bank restaurant, of being seen there and chatting with people, learning what’s going on. But this time it’s better here as the place is always half empty and I wanted to make sure no one eavesdrops. The food’s OK as well – not brilliant but perfectly good. I'd recommend the Peking duck.”
“So, Stephan. What’s up?”
“You remember the conversation we had last time you were here?”
“Sure.”
The waitress arrived with a number of small dishes, one of them with the shredded duck meat, warm and aromatic and inviting. Thomas inhaled deeply then followed Stephan’s example, laying a thin pancake on his plate and spreading it lightly with sauce from one of the dishes. They each added thinly sliced spring onions and other matchstick vegetables, sprinkled on the meat and fragments of crispy skin, rolled up their pancakes and ate in silence for some moments.
Stephen, still chewing, looked at Thomas who nodded in response to the eyebrows raised in query. “I’m now fully convinced, Thomas, that my suspicions were accurate and that what we spoke about that day is correct, it’s what’s actually happening. Among other things, Herren spent the whole day in Bonn when the Soviet delegation headed by Gorbachev came over last June.”
"MmmHhh." Thomas rolled up another pancake and nodded again but said nothing, waiting for Stephan to go on.
“We’ve closed that financing deal I told you about. Between the Euroloan, the bonds and the medium term note program, the total financing is now set at fifty billion Deutsche Marks. That’s a huge amount of money to lend to a country like Russia. Just huge! Now put it into context. The West German government has been the biggest sponsor of Russian perestroika anywhere in Europe, anywhere at all in fact. But why is it lending all this money? What is it getting out of it?”
“Maybe it thinks that these changes in the Soviet Union are going to open up things up massively and it’s just getting on the ground floor, grabbing the chance to become a favoured partner, poking Britain in the eye when it comes to financial dealing.”
“Possible, but I don’t think that’s it. Kohl’s deeply conservative and traditional and he’s a hawk as far as Eastern Europe’s concerned. He’ll do business with the Soviets if he has to and if it’s good for the country but he won’t like it and I’d doubt he thinks it’s necessary. No, what he really wants is a greater Germany, German unification. I think he sees a way to work with Gorbachev to get that.”
“Listen,” Stephan continued. “Gorbachev was in East Germany just the other day and everyone could see how tense the relations were between him and Honecker. East Germany wants nothing to do with perestroika and the more liberal Gorbachev tries to make the Soviet Union, the more he pushes his glasnost, the more hostile and hard-line Honecker and the DDR politburo becomes. They see themselves as the remaining guardians of socialist purity but in addition they’ve either learned that Gorbachev has done some deal with the West and is hanging the Ossies out to dry in the process, or they strongly suspect that’s what’s going to happen, just like I do. They don’t like it one little bit but it’s entirely consistent with what I’ve been hearing and finding out.”
“Consistent, yes, and persuasive.” said Thomas slowly. “You think this is what Herren’s been setting up, getting ready for the Berlin Purchase, as you called it. Gorbachev gets the money he needs and he works behind the scenes for German unification or, at least, does nothing to stop it.”
“Well, it’s pure speculation, obviously, but, yes, I think that’s probably it. The facts back it up but nobody’s ever going to find proof of it anywhere. Herren is now sending me over to East Germany to scout for potential banking acquisitions, to start building a banking network for us there. That also points in the same direction.”
“You say the financing deal’s been closed, the loans are in place. What happens next?”
“What do you think this opens the door to? Suppose all this is actually true, that it’s going to happen soon, next year I’d guess. What’s going to follow from that?”
Stephan sat back with an air of satisfaction and took a long pull of the Tsingtao beer they’d each ordered to complement the richness of the duck. For a short while there was silence. Stephan leaned forward again, closer to Thomas. “Isn’t this going to be the biggest economic shock wave ever to hit the West European economies, at least in times of peace? And think of the opportunities if you know in advance what’s going to happen! Just what could you do if you were in that privileged position?”
Thomas nodded.
“You’re right about that. There’s hardly anything would compare in terms of impact. And the opportunities for investment and speculation ... You could make a killing on practically anything you got involved in.”
“Exactly! But how?” He look closely at Thomas. “What would you do, for instance?”
“Land values are dramatically lower there so I would buy land in Dresden or Leipzig, even Berlin. They’ve some good production and manufacturing plants in specialist areas like optics but most of it is all over the place, lurching from famine to glut and back again at the whim of the Party it seems. Anything to do with infrastructure would be worth investing in. Machinery. Communications. Some factories. And the government would be paying for it all so there would be no credit risk. I can see the West German companies having a field day and their stock values would soar.”
“You’re right. The government would be paying and interest rates would rise to hold off inflation. Bond prices would fall. So would the Deutsche Mark. That’s another thing. There has to be a common currency but how are the two Marks going to be valued? I know there’s an official exchange rate of parity but that’s just absurd. Then there’s the black market rates, which are astronomical, well, you probably know that anyway. My guess is that the DDR will push for as near parity as they can, that really helps them, while we’ll want to keep as high a multiplier as we can get away with as otherwise it’s just going to cost too much. And Kohl really wants unification so he’s going to use his political muscle to make sure nothing derails that. Either way, though, there should be pretty good returns. Safe returns too! Absolutely gold plated safe, guaranteed by the Bundesbank.”
Thomas whistled slowly, his food forgotten. “Yes, I suppose you could expect all the financial variables to be turned on their heads.”
“Absolutely! It’s the financial opportunity of a lifetime.” Stephan checked his watch and signalled the waitress for the bill. “Hey, we need to head back to the bank for your meetings otherwise in the meantime you might miss out on the job opportunity of a lifetime. Let’s talk more about this later. You're staying over tonight, aren't you?”
Chapter 17
Thursday November 9 1989
THOMAS’S last two economics exams were scheduled for January. With the option of joining Deutsche Bank for an internship in February, passing them became critical, complementing the earlier ones which he’d passed brilliantly. Now that the Stasi was paying him a regular stipend his economic troubles were greatly reduced and he was able to focus more on his work. Latterly he’d been attending classes regularly and had spent the past weeks studying, sometimes even for up to fourteen hours a day, driven and taking time off only for the concession to himself of singing lessons.
He’d spoken to Bettina with increasing frequency, at least daily during the past week. These calls were supposedly on account of their roles as informer and monitor but in the past few days neither of them had mentioned anything to do with his work for the organisation. Most of the talk had been about developments in t
he DDR and where the country was headed.
Honecker had been deposed three weeks earlier but this had done nothing to stem the rising tide of protests. If anything their intensity had grown. On the previous Saturday a demonstration in Alexanderplatz initiated by actors and theatre employees and grudgingly permitted by the authorities had brought out well over half a million people, some said a million or even more, now the largest demonstration ever in East German history.
People were now protesting openly, careless of Stasi or police retribution, and their numbers and their demands were growing. Two days earlier the man who was the Stasi, Mielke, had resigned, tearfully protesting his love for the people and his desire to protect them. To his apparently genuine surprise and distress these claims made in parliament had been met with ridicule and derision.
The government itself had fallen on the same day although Egon Krenz, Honecker’s replacement, had remained as Party leader. “He’ll be gone by Christmas if this keeps up.” Dieter had said.
People went about their usual business, mostly ignoring the fractured and conflicting news reports from the radio or television, particularly when the gap between the report and what could be seen happening not only in Dresden or Leipzig but in smaller towns and cities throughout the country, even in Berlin itself, was evident. There was a feeling of imminent change, of pressure building up which would be impossible to contain, yet few ordinary people, even the most vigorous protesters, could have said with certainty what would happen. There was optimism but simultaneously a sense of fear and gloomy foreboding.
"What's that quotation?" Thomas had said to Bettina one day "Something about things falling apart and the centre no longer holding."
"I don't know" she'd replied "but things certainly are falling apart. And perhaps the worst is the passion so many of us blindly have for what's going to destroy us. They don't understand what they'll get with this freedom they're chasing so hard. These coming changes terrify me."
He'd thought of this conversation again. How could she be so pessimistic about the future when all this ferment was happening? It could mean the end of his nightmare and surely she would welcome that for him. It was now almost ten in the evening and he had a sudden longing to hear her voice, to talk with her. He raced down the stairs and on to Gneisenaustrasse but no phones were free and two people were already waiting. He headed over to the Museumskneipe, one of his favourite haunts close to the Europacenter, deciding to have a few drinks and call from there.
Thomas loved the kneipe for its absurd decoration: all sorts of old objects hung down from the ceiling, old tubas and trumpets through to life-sized pieces of an old warplane. The kneipe’s seats had come from a 1920s train. He was sitting underneath an early industrial spinning machine and had just finished his second beer when he decided to try calling Bettina again. Again the line was engaged. He waited, tried again, waited, tried again, then after several more attempts gave up. A queue had formed behind him and people had started making barbed comments.
It was a cold, early November evening. He left the kneipe and was wandering aimlessly when he began noticing more and more people running as if fleeing for their lives, focused but distracted as if concentrating on saving themselves or watching some extraordinary, dramatic spectacle. Cars, forced to slow down or stop suddenly to avoid hitting people in the swirling crowds streaming on to the roads, were honking angrily, their brakes squealing and the drivers leaning out and shouting in fury. Thomas caught up with a young couple on Budapesterstrasse and asked them where everyone was heading, and just what was happening.
“The Wall! It’s the Wall!” the girl answered, panting, trying to catch her breath and then bursting into tears. Thomas looked at her, puzzled by the tears flowing down her cheeks and the wide smile on her face. She grabbed him suddenly, kissed him exuberantly, and ran off, shouting something that Thomas couldn’t understand, briefly deafened as he was by the desperate honking of a car about to run him over. He thought he heard something like “It’s finished!”
Despite himself he found that he was running with the growing crowd towards the Brandenburg Gate, still a good fifteen minutes’ away. People poured in from the side streets and the houses, the rivers of people becoming a turbulent flood of humanity. Traffic on the 17 Juni Strasse was practically at a standstill, unable to part the crowd. Thomas kept running until he was in full view of the Gate, part of the mass of people filling the Pariser Platz and pressing up against the eastern section of the Wall.
Thousands were now gathered on the western side of the Wall, on the other side of the Brandenburg Gate, shouting and chanting. Word had spread that Günther Schabowsky, the East Berlin Party Secretary, had announced on television the lifting of the travel ban and the immediate opening of the Wall. Thomas squeezed up on an observation turret together with four others and could see that nobody was yet risking crossing over. However, a growing mass of people was pressing the VoPos, the East German police, to be let through. An elderly woman was shouting and gesticulating close to a young officer’s face though Thomas couldn’t hear over the noise of the nearby West Berliners.
The crowd swelled and got noisier on both sides of the Wall. The VoPo officers in their sludgy green uniforms were half-heartedly holding back the crowd, sometimes shouting and displaying flashes of anger but usually exhibiting a kind of passive acceptance of what was happening, something very different from their usual arrogant behaviour. No one raised a machine gun or threatened the increasingly restive and daring crowd on the eastern side. A few from the west had clambered up and were sitting on the Wall itself, cheered on by those in the east. A VoPo raised a rifle towards the group but the eastern crowd howled with rage and surged towards him knocking the weapon out of his hands.
This broke the dam. Scores of East Berliners stormed the first barrier, then ran through the Gate and climbed up as best they could on the second part, reaching for the hands of the westerners sitting on top, some of whom were now even letting down ropes. With shouts and tears of joy they landed on the other side, hugging everyone in sight. In the controls turrets of the East the guards were standing impotently by, watching this dramatic shift in the ordered scheme of things, doing nothing.
Thomas felt an immense surge of pure joy and the thought that this could be the start of Germany unification flashed into his mind. The Stasi would disappear. Life would return to normal. Any hold that Dieter had over him would vanish. He’d wake up, the bad dream realised for what it was, and forgotten.
Thomas managed to negotiate his way through the maelstrom of people and get closer to the Western part of the Wall. A young man landed almost on top of him, then sank his face on his shoulder, crying. There was a confusion of sounds, of laughter, shouting, crying, singing, all merged into a single confused roaring as of a sea, excited at having covered hundreds of miles of open ocean to now pound on a promised beach. A small group of Easterners was whirling in a complex dance, buffeted by the crowd, approaching closer to the turrets and then whirling away before returning again like a dust storm and shouting insults at the guards, one of whom reached for his gun and then dejectedly put it down and looked elsewhere, diminished. On the western side, Easterners started running as if any moment they’d be pursued and hauled back. Some collapsed with exhaustion and lay sobbing on the ground.
Some Westerners had arrived with sacks of hammers and Thomas grabbed one, pounding at the Wall until some chips came away. With the help of others he climbed to the top of the structure, eager hands helping him up.
Although the former crossing here remained firmly closed, as it had been since mid-August, thousands were massing on the eastern side shouting for it to be opened, old and young and middle aged, men and women, children and even some still in uniform and with others pushing small carts or prams filled with sad possessions. Some were trying to force open the check point or attempting to climb up and over the barriers. Hundreds more were constantly running from Unter den Linden and the other side streets. Many of the
guards were now abandoning their turrets and mingling with the raucous crowd.
Thomas now desperately wanted to see Bettina, to be with her and celebrate the happiness and euphoria which must surely now be gripping the whole country. He had a vague idea of how to reach her and thought he could manage it in less than an hour. Judging from the mass of people on both sides, this unprecedented spectacle of joy and brotherhood would go on for the whole night.
It seemed as if the whole of East Berlin was on the move towards the West and Thomas had difficulty making way in the other direction. Every so often the flood of people was so great he was forced back along Unter den Linden towards the Brandenburg Gate despite himself. Then the crowd would thin slightly and he’d make headway, dodging the constant stream coming towards him. There was a carnival atmosphere. Total strangers caught his eye and embraced him, beaming with joy. His mood changed. He remained euphoric but now he resented these constant contacts and felt jaundiced towards the people and their simple happiness. The tide of humanity and the waves of anonymous affection were obstacles in the way of his reaching Bettina quickly, something he needed desperately to do.
He dodged down some side streets and made progress and at Alexanderplatz found a phone booth to try calling Bettina again. Her line was again engaged. Here the crowds were thinner and he ran for ten or fifteen minutes, asking directions a couple of times, finally finding the kneipe where they’d been on the evening Stephan had visited. He recognised the apartment block she’d pointed out on their return to the car and found the main door open. He climbed the stairs until, on the fourth floor, he saw her name on a door. For a few moments he stood there looking at it, catching his breath. Suddenly wondering why he’d come, fearing anger at this unannounced intrusion, he panicked and walked blindly down the flight of stairs, his steps slowing as he came to the second floor. He stood there for several minutes, arguing silently with himself, willing himself to act to see her, then turned, strode back to her door and pressed the bell before the next wave of doubt could hit him.