Berlin: A Novel

by Pierre Frei

  'Don't move until your flight is called,' he told the girl beside him. And stay away from the senator. Have a good journey.' He rose.

  All clear. And thank you very much.' Ashburner made off before Waltraud could clasp him gratefully to her opulent bosom.

  As he passed, he took a look at father and son. Dad had a fat, jowly face. Brubaker Junior was colourless as a glass of water. The captain opened the newly glazed door of the lounge and stepped out into the open air. Nearby lay the burnt-out skeleton of a four-engined plane. 'The last Lufthansa flight from Barcelona,' a young air-force sergeant told him. A Junkers 290. An incendiary bomb hit it after it landed. That was back in April.'

  The DC4, with its port engine roaring, came in under the badly damaged suspended roof of the arrivals area. Two men rolled the steps out. A stewardess appeared at the top of them, looking out over the smoke-blackened remains of the former central airport as if it were a sunny, fairy-tale landscape. With routine civility, she said goodbye to the few passengers who made their way down the steps, then returned to the shelter of the cabin.

  Ethel was wearing an old trench coat and an all-weather hat. She never had bothered much about her appearance. 'So there you are.' He took her travelling bag and case.

  Are you getting enough to eat?' She had read about the starvation rations in Germany.

  'Oh, you can get all you need in the PX. Or I go and eat dinner at the Harnack House.' He put her baggage in the jeep. The day had turned hot. A cloud of dust drifted over from the ruins on Berliner Strasse.

  'People really might clean the place up a little better,' she grumbled as they drove through the rubble.

  'If the German Luftwaffe had reached Venice you wouldn't talk such nonsense,' he snapped, and realized with surprise that he was defending the city and its inhabitants. He braked, because a horse-drawn cart, laden with rubble, was crossing the road.

  'How primitive. Don't they have any trucks?'

  'No,' he said crossly. At the same moment he realized that he was showing more hostility with every word he spoke. He changed the subject. 'Tell me, dear, what's new at home?'

  'They brought in Jesse Rollins as pitcher for the Chicago Cubs.' Ethel was an admirer of the baseball pros.

  'Is Rollins still having a relationship with the mayor's wife?'

  'He's having a relationship, yes, but not with Millie Walker.' She giggled as if she had heard a good joke. For the rest of the drive she talked about the neighbours. 'Liz Lunnon's expecting her fourth. Folks say it's not her husband's. Dick and Ella Jarwood are getting divorced - because she wants to leave Venice and he doesn't. Vanessa King's at loggerheads with the mayor. She says America is a free country and she won't take that Lady Chatterley book out of her window.' She chuckled. 'I read it. All that about the gardener fellow sticking flowers everywhere ...'

  He listened, and thought of Jutta. Would she be bored in Venice, like the lively Ella? Maybe not if she made friends with Vanessa. She was a bookseller too. But Ethel still stood between them, and so far she hadn't said a word to indicate what she thought of their divorce.

  They stopped at the entrance of the US enclave. 'Uncle Tom's Cabin,' he explained.

  'I wept over that story when I was a little girl.'

  'I don't mean the book -- it's the name of the U-Bahn station and the area round about, right, Ted?'

  'Yes, sir.' The young military policeman grinned and raised the barrier. Ashburner turned right at the corner.

  Acacias, how pretty,' she cried, delighted. 'They cut them all down at my parents' in Springfield when the telephone line went underground.'

  He carried her case and bag into the bedroom and put them down beside the bed. 'It has clean sheets on it,' he told her, earning an amused glance. 'I'll be sleeping on the sofa next door. Can I make you a coffee or a tea?'

  'I'd rather have a drink. Any bourbon here?' She settled comfortably in the armchair, kicked off her flat loafers and stretched her legs uninhibitedly. She reminded him of the athletic, tomboyish high-school girl he'd married ten years earlier.

  He poured two whiskeys. 'How was your journey?'

  'Endless. The bus to Chicago, then the "Century" to New York. Six hours' flight from New York to Newfoundland. Refuelling in Gander. They have to be full up to reach Shannon in Ireland. That's the shortest way to Europe, the stewardess told us. Ten hours over the Atlantic, just imagine. Not to mention four hours going on to Frankfurt and almost two hours to Berlin.'

  'You must be exhausted.'

  'I never felt more awake, and I'm ravenously hungry. I'll just shower, and then let's go and have dinner in your Harnack House, OK, Johnny?' That was what she'd called him in the first years of their marriage.

  'OK.' He admired her energy.

  She was fresh and slightly pink from the shower, which suited her, like the way she'd pinned up her damp, shining brown hair. She wore high heels and a full-skirted summer dress, blue with white spots and a blue bolero. He hadn't seen her look so chic in a long time. She pulled the dress up to her thighs to adjust her suspenders.

  Limousines and army vehicles were parked outside the Harnack House. A band was playing inside. 'Capt. & Mrs Ashburner', he wrote in the visitors' book. That was the rule, like showing his ID card. Germans could come in only accompanied by Allies.

  Harold Tucker and his wife crossed their path. Myra Tucker was obviously tipsy. All go smoothly at Tempelhof, John?' asked Tucker.

  'Yes, sir. This is my wife Ethel. Colonel and Mrs Tucker.'

  'Hi, Ethel. Just call me Myra,' babbled Mrs Tucker, seeking support on her shoulder.

  'Delighted to meet you, Mrs Ashburner. You and John must visit with us sometime soon,' said the colonel, trying to gloss over the difficult situation. 'Come along, Myra.' He led his swaying spouse away.

  'Seems to have a problem, poor woman,' said Ethel dryly.

  Ashburner pulled her chair out for her. The waiter brought the menu. They chose veal goulash with rice, and a Rhine wine to drink, with apple tart and vanilla ice to follow. Ethel talked vivaciously about trivialities. When they reached coffee, he couldn't contain himself any longer. 'You did get my letter?'

  'Swing, that's great!' she cried, clapping. 'Come on, Johnny!' She led him away from the table to the nearby nightclub. Engineers had converted the horseshoe-shaped auditorium of the Harnack House, turning the rising tiers of seats into terraces with little tables. The bar was at the top. Down below, where Max Planck had once delivered his lectures, they were dancing to swing.

  There was a table free by the dance floor. 'Champagne,' she demanded. That was something new, too.

  He played along; he had to keep her in a good mood. 'Cheers,' he said, raising his glass to her.

  'Cheers, Johnny.' She emptied her own. 'Let's dance again.' He had no choice. Luckily the slow foxtrot kept her high spirits within bounds. But she pressed so close to him that at every step her knee came between his thighs.

  'Hey, you're not drinking,' she cried when they were back in their seats. He emptied his glass in a single gulp. Another followed when they returned from the dance floor for the third time, feeling heated, and then another too. On the way home he realized that he had drunk a little too much.

  'How about talking now?' he asked in the bedroom.

  'Tomorrow, Johnny.' She let her dress slip to the floor beside the bed. She looked very sexy in her suspender belt and panties.

  'OK, tomorrow, then.' He took a blanket from the cupboard and went to settle down with it next door.

  'Will you help me off with this?' He waited for her to turn round so that he could undo her bra. It fastens in front.' He groped clumsily between her breasts until they leaped out at him. Suddenly it dawned on him that she had planned this all along. Now they were closely intertwined, just as they had been on those hot Sundays at the beginning of their marriage, when they couldn't get enough of each other.

  'So what's your new girl like?' she asked later, in the dark. 'I've heard these German girls are good in bed.
Congratulations.' She laughed softly. 'Our goodbye fuck, Johnny. I hope it was fun for you. I'm going to Chicago with Jesse Rollins. We want to get married. I came to sort out all that divorce stuff with you.'

  'You devil!' He turned her over and took her wildly.

  Inge Dietrich wrapped up two sandwiches for her husband. He put them in the briefcase that he strapped to the carrier behind his bike. 'Coming home the same time as usual?'

  'I don't know. Don't wait up for me.' He kissed her: his thoughts somewhere else entirely. That indefinable feeling wouldn't let go. A feeling that he'd missed something important. He'd run right into it and never noticed. He had lain awake half the night, searching for something he couldn't grasp. Towards morning the answer had seemed close enough for him to reach out for it, before it ran through his fingers again.

  Inge was worried. She knew that the murders of those women pursued him into his dreams. He had taken up the gauntlet thrown down by the sinister killer. To him, it was a man to man fight that he had to win.

  She cut bread for the others. It was grey and sticky; the baker had stretched the dough with minced potato peelings. Yesterday she had been to Frau Kalkfurth's for a special ration of syrup made from the waste left after processing sugar beet. Her father trickled the thick, dark brown goo on a slice of bread. 'I'm worried about your husband. He's been asking when the security services firm will be starting up again.'

  'He wants to go back to his old job once these dreadful crimes have been solved.'

  'I wouldn't if I were him,' the district councillor said. 'If he stays with the CID they'll take him on in the police force officially, and that'll give him pension rights. You have to think of the future.' Hellbich helped himself to another spoonful of syrup.

  Ben bit into his second slice of bread and inspected the semi-circle stamped in it by his teeth. There was no more, but that couldn't dampen his high spirits. The suit was waiting for him. In half an hour's time he could take that tailor-made dream home.

  His mother appeared in headscarf and jacket. 'The pharmacist has peppermint tea off the ration. It'll make a change from the chestnut coffee, and it's good for the bronchial tubes.' In fact no one in the house had bronchial problems except for her father, who was plagued by a permanent smoker's cough, but she liked to look on the bright side of everything. It was her way of countering the bleak misery of everyday post-war life.

  The district councillor reached for his hat. Ralf put his school bag under his arm. 'Coming, Ben?'

  'You go ahead,' called his brother from upstairs. From out the window, he saw his grandfather, Ralf and his mother leave the house. He took the suede shoes out of their hiding place. His socks had holes in their left toes, but the shoes hid them. The collar of the shirt he'd worn for his confirmation was two sizes too small and wouldn't do up, but the striped tie from Father's wardrobe held it together at the neck. He tucked the shirt into his trousers and put his sweater over it. He deposited his school bag in the garden shed.

  He entered the veranda workshop on Ithweg, filled with anticipation. 'Just a moment, please, Herr Dietrich.' Rodel was busy brushing a heavy ulster. I forgot about it all these years, it was hanging in mothballs at the back of the storeroom. Professor Simon, the distinguished surgeon brought it in to be pressed in '38. They took him and his family away next day.' Ben was hardly listening. His eyes were searching the workshop. 'I'll mothproof the coat again afterwards, just in case Herr Simon has survived. A few have come back from the camps. Little Rademann from Schmidt's drug store, for instance. He doesn't talk about it, but it must have been terrible. Now they're trying to turn it against him, but he was only the commandant's orderly. Heidi - Heidi! Bring Herr Dietrich's suit.'

  Heidi took her time. Through the open doorway Ben could see her tidying her hair in front of the mirror and undoing the top button of her blouse, perhaps because it was quite a warm day. She disappeared from his field of vision, and soon afterwards came into the workshop with the suit over her arm.

  'Hi.' Ben put out his hand, but Heidi was too busy putting the jacket on the black tailor's dummy. She handed Ben the trousers and stood there waiting.

  'Heidi, please!' Her father gestured impatiently. She tossed her hair back with a challenging air and went out.

  The trousers were long and narrow, with sharp creases in them, high turn-ups, and a perfect fall to the velvety brown suede shoes. Ben felt like whooping out loud, but a man of the world didn't break into cries of delight just because of a pair of well-fitting trousers. He coolly noted that the jacket was Al - the prefix which since time immemorial had distinguished car registration plates in the capital from those of lesser beings in the provinces, a synonym for all that was first-class and metropolitan.

  A masterpiece. You don't see this kind of thing every day.' Herr R6 del helped Ben into the jacket and straightened his tie. 'Finest pre-war horsehair and ivory-nut buttons. My last reserves.' The tailor looked in a drawer.

  Heidi reappeared. Another button on her blouse had undone itself. Ben could see the pale glimmer of her breasts. 'Suits you really well.' She came close to him and stroked the lapels. Aren't they soft?' Her warm, sweet breath wafted over his face. 'Sunday at two in the hollow by the lake,' she said softly. Ben took a deep breath. His suit seemed to have finally routed Gerd Schlomm's short lederhosen.

  R6del had found what he was looking for. 'Here, a little extra.' He tucked a decorative silk handkerchief into the breast pocket of the jacket. And please recommend me elsewhere, Herr Dietrich.' Ben got into his old clothes. The master tailor wrapped the suit in a grey cloth and draped it over the boy's arm.

  Once home, Ben got upstairs unseen and hid his treasure in the locker in the attic. Even his fertile imagination wouldn't have stretched to devising an explanation for this surprising addition to his wardrobe that would satisfy his parents. The suit disappeared behind the district councillor's black frock coat, last worn for his son's funeral. Lance-Corporal Werner Hellbich had died in a German field hospital of burns suffered while training a Volks- sturm civil defence brigade. A seventy-year-old conscript had aimed the rear fire jet of his bazooka at him by mistake.

  Grandmother Hellbich was polishing the hall floor. 'You're early home today,' she said in surprise

  'Our maths teacher is off sick,' he lied. 'I'm going to the barber's.'

  'Tell him to cut it shorter this time, will you?'

  'Medium length with a parting,' Ben told Herr Pagel. The barber had moved his business premises to his own apartment. His salon was out of reach, in the American prohibited zone at Onkel Toms Hiitte U-Bahn station. A GI from Brooklyn was giving his comrades crew cuts there.

  'Yes, sir. Want a magazine to read?' Herr Pagel had salvaged several years' issues of the Berliner Illustrierte. Ben picked an old number celebrating the first flight to New York of the airship Hindenburg.

  And a packet of condoms,' he added casually as he was paying for the haircut.

  'Top quality peacetime wares. Guaranteed not to split.' Herr Pagel pushed what he wanted over the table. 'To keep the most precious part of you warm.' He winked at Ben, who pocketed the box and got out of there. He would have liked to ask a couple of questions about how to use the condoms, but he felt embarrassed. He hoped there were instructions with them.

  Inspector Dietrich had ordered several officers to keep watch on Frau Kalkfurth's garage round the clock. No luck. 'Killers like our man have a sixth sense,' said Franke gloomily.

  'More likely he goes through some macabre cycle of compulsion.' Klaus Dietrich had been reading several works of criminal psychology covering similar cases. 'He'll be back when the mood takes him again.'

  Vollmer put his head round the door. 'Captain Ashburner, sir.'

  'Come in, captain. How are you?'

  'Fine, thanks.' Ashburner put a small, gleaming metallic box down on the desk. It was about the size of a matchbox. 'Know what that is?'

  'No idea.'

  'Come on, I'll show you.'

  There were two
jeeps parked out in the road. Corporal Miller was sitting in the front vehicle smoking a pipe. Ashburner bent down and fixed the box under Miller's jeep. A magnet. Sticks like glue. OK, corporal, drive on.' Miller stepped on the gas. Ashburner strolled over to his own jeep. 'Get in, inspector. Here, take this.' He handed Dietrich a canvas bag.

  'Would you tell me what's going on?'

  'Open it.' Ashburner drove off.

  The bag contained a rectangular grey object the size of a cigar box, with switches and buttons, rather like a radio. A radar device?'

  'Not a bad shot, inspector. Throw the left-hand switch and turn the middle button to the right.' Loud beeping was heard, and soon became weaker. 'That's the little transmitter under Miller's jeep. The corporal's driving faster than us. The signal gets weaker as the distance increases. So let's step on it a bit.' Ashburner accelerated. The beeping tone grew louder, and then suddenly softer again. Ashburner braked. They reversed a little way and turned into the side street they had just passed. The beeping was more and more insistent. They stopped. Miller's jeep was waiting for them, concealed in the entrance to a building. Ashburner bent down and fished the little box out from under the other jeep.

  Amazing.' Dietrich was enthusiastic.

  A loan from our strategic services people. They're already working on a smaller version, one you can stick under a suspect's shoe.'

  'No one's going to believe this.'

  And it's no one's business to know about it either. My role as an adviser doesn't stretch to helping out the German police with electronic toys.' The captain put the little transmitter in the bag with the receiver. 'There's a pair of headphones in there too. You put them on and throw the right-hand switch. OK, I'll take you back to the station.'