A Night Divided

by Jennifer A. Nielsen

  Fritz started forward. "Mama --"

  But she held up a hand. "How much farther do you have to go?"

  "A long way," Fritz said. "We're not halfway yet."

  "How deep below the surface are we?"

  Fritz shrugged. "We started at the level of the air-raid shelter. I've tried to keep it flat, but the farther we've gone, the harder it's been to keep track of that."

  I stepped forward. "Mama, we know you don't like this idea, but now that we've started, we have to finish it."

  "I know." Mama finally patted at the tunnel walls, then looked back toward the entrance. "Fritz, you will not join their military, and, Gerta, you must grow up where you can read any book you want, think any idea you want. And we will be together again as a family. We will finish this tunnel."

  With that, she set the food on the ground and pushed past me, pausing only long enough to gently brush a hand across my cheek. Then she stood beside Fritz and pointed to the sunken area.

  "Those bricks will give us support," she said. "But if we can find a sheet of wood, we can force everything upward. It might work."

  "But where can we get the wood?" Fritz asked.

  "There's a door on the upper floor of this building," I said. "It fell off its hinges so it's just lying there on the floor. It's the perfect size!"

  "How do you know about that?" Fritz asked. "We only went up to the main floor for the brick."

  "On one of the trips, I checked upstairs to see if there was more," I said. "But I hurried back down because most of the roof is exposed to the sky. At the right angle, the guards could look down from the watchtower and see inside."

  Mama pressed her mouth tightly together and Fritz only shook his head. "We'll have to get the wood from somewhere else," he said. "Not upstairs, where we're exposed."

  "Then from where?" I asked. "Unless we dismantle our own doors at home, where would we get something like that? And even if we did, can we just carry a big door through town? What'd be our excuse for having it?"

  "I bumped into Frau Eberhart when I was bringing you this supper," Mama said. "The woman wouldn't let me go until she asked a hundred questions about you two and this garden. I can't imagine her letting us get past with a perfectly usable door."

  Fritz exhaled slowly. "Okay, then we'll get the door from upstairs, but tonight, after it's dark. I'll do it."

  "It'll be me," Mama said. "You two have taken enough risks."

  "No, I'll go," I said. "Neither of you knows where it is and we obviously can't bring a light to look for it. I'm strong enough, and I'm the smallest. If they turn their spotlights onto the building, I'll fit in the shadows the best."

  Mama and Fritz looked at each other. Neither wanted to admit it, but they knew I was right. And so without another word, it was decided. After dark, I would go under the noses of the guards.

  I learned that courage was not the absence of fear, but the triumph over it. -- Nelson Mandela, South African activist

  We spent the remainder of the evening working in the tunnel. With Mama's help, we made far more progress than ever before. She suggested we concentrate our efforts on deepening the tunnel and not to worry about spreading out the dirt anymore.

  "It was a good plan while you needed it," she said. "But if the Grenzers come back for another investigation, they'll find the tunnel anyway."

  So we piled the dirt up in the basement, similar to how we had done it at first. Mama showed me how to pack it down with the bucket so that more would fit into the same space, and so that it wouldn't fall all over. While Fritz continued to build supports for the sunken area, Mama dug and I hauled dirt. I hadn't thought she'd be as strong as Fritz, but she dug with a ferocity I'd never seen before.

  "This is the strength of a mother fighting for her children," she said. "When you have children of your own, you will understand. I should've been here with you from the first day."

  "We should've told you from the first day," I said. For the first time, possibly ever, my mother and I were on the same side of an argument.

  When we took a rest shortly before curfew, Fritz suggested Mama should return to the apartment and make noises to cover for our absence. "If someone is listening, they need to think we're all home."

  "I won't leave you both here overnight."

  "We'll get the door, then sleep here in the tunnel," Fritz said. "That'll mean Gerta and I can start working first thing in the morning. Besides, we're in no greater danger here than we would be at home."

  I doubted that was true. If they came for us at home, we'd probably be arrested. But if they found us here ... well, we knew where we were.

  Still, Fritz was right about satisfying the microphones, so Mama reluctantly kissed each of us good-bye and said she would return in the morning. She also promised to bring us enough food for another day's work, which cheered me up considerably. Even though I knew we had almost nothing in the apartment, she was my mother, and if she said she would bring food, then food was coming.

  Fritz and I continued working until long past dark. Mama had run into a sandy patch of dirt, so it came apart easily and wasn't as heavy to haul away. When it was very late, we at last made the decision to go upstairs.

  "Are you sure you want to go?" Fritz asked.

  I was sure I didn't. If there was anything I had ever been so certain of in my life, it was that I didn't want to drag a door off the exposed top floor of this building. But it couldn't be Fritz who went. He was taller, and there was more of him to get caught in their searchlights.

  We went first to the main floor. I wasn't comfortable here since we could be seen from the back windows if someone happened by. But we'd spent enough time here earlier today to know where it was safe to stand.

  It was the upper floor that worried me. From my view out Anna's window, I knew she could see this level if she happened to look, which meant any number of other people could too. It would be a bright moon tonight, but the moon hadn't yet risen. All the more reason to hurry and get this over with while I still had some darkness on my side.

  Obviously, the main thing to avoid was being in the view of the watchtower guards. There were always lights on the tower at night, but I figured if I couldn't see the lights, then the guards shouldn't be able to see me.

  "Be careful." It was a completely unnecessary thing for Fritz to say, but I was glad he said it anyway.

  I nodded and then started up the stairway to the upper floor. If I stayed against the far wall, I was in total shadow cast by the watchtower lights. A few glowing stars would help me see, but mostly I hoped my eyes would adjust soon. Dirt and small rocks littered the stairs. That meant they could be slippery, and we'd have to carry the door down when we were finished. Dragging would make too much noise, especially if it pushed rocks down with it. At the top of the stairs, a wide hole in the roof gave clear sight to the watchtower. Since the hole was much closer to me than to them, I figured it was easier for me to see out than for them to see in, and I prayed I was right. My urge was to hurry and get this over with, but I forced myself to move slowly. Slow would be harder for them to see. Slow kept me carefully thinking through every choice I made up here.

  The door was in the opposite corner from where I was crouched. Half of it remained in shadow and the other half sat beneath the light of the stars.

  I patiently crept on all fours toward the door, instantly aware of how still and quiet the night was. Every creak in the floor seemed magnified, so I was sure they could hear me. My breath seemed to echo in the air. Even the pounding of my heart was a drum that their dogs could surely hear, if not the guards themselves. Despite all that, I soon reached the door and lifted it to test its weight. It was made of solid wood -- very good news because it could withstand the weight of the dirt when we tried to stabilize the tunnel. But bad news for moving it. I would have to drag it to the stairs.

  I wasn't worried about my strength in moving the door -- day after day of hauling dirt had made me much stronger than I used to be. But a heavy doo
r would make more noise along the floor and probably leave a noticeable trail of dirt behind, one I couldn't clear without getting out into the open.

  I tugged at the door, but it didn't budge. I couldn't figure out what the problem might be. It should've moved in my hands.

  Then, with a high-pitched whine, the watchtower light powered on and I froze. There was no reason to panic yet -- the lights always swooped around in the night, much like the paths of birds of prey, patrolling for anything on the ground that could be devoured. The light washed across the Death Strip and then up in the air. It shone through the broken-out windows above me, stealing too much of my shadow, but also revealing the problem with the door.

  A broken beam from the roof had fallen on the door, pinning it to the ground. I had to remove that beam.

  The watchtower light swung in a pattern. Two swoops over the ground to the south, where I was, then once through the air as it moved to the right. Then two swoops to the ground on the north. While the light went north, the darkness returned. That was my chance to get the door.

  I used that moment now to dart forward, keeping my body low. By the time the light returned, I was closer to the broken beam, but safely back in the shadows. With the next round of darkness, I pushed at the beam, but only gave it one nudge before I had to withdraw again. When my next opportunity came, the beam wouldn't roll at first, and every shove caused a cracking sound that echoed through the quiet night. Determined to get it free, I pushed with every ounce of strength within me. Finally, it turned just enough to release the door. It took another several slow-motion minutes to get back into my original shadow. Then, one centimeter at a time, I began pulling the door again. I dragged it through the darkness and hid while the light swept past.

  How ironic that I had been so critical of East Berlin for feeling darker than the west. Now, that very darkness was my only hope to complete this task.

  After I got the door into total shadow, Fritz was there to help me carry it the rest of the way down the stairs. Only then did I feel safe enough to breathe again. With his help, we were soon back on the second level. I wanted to return to the upper floor and brush over the drag marks, but Fritz insisted it wasn't worth the risk. I agreed without protesting, not because I thought he was right, but because the idea of returning there turned my insides to jelly. That was as close as I ever wanted to come to being in the lights of the Death Strip.

  He only earns his freedom and his life who takes them every day by storm. -- Johann Wolfgang von Goethe, German writer and statesman

  Fritz and I had a surprise waiting for Mama when she returned the next morning. The door was already in place in the tunnel. It must have been a closet door once, we decided, because the narrow width was perfect for this space. And after we lifted it onto the dirt ceiling and added Fritz's mortared bricks to hold it up, we started pushing in other bricks to force the door upward. That part was incredibly hard, but Fritz was smart. He figured out how to raise the door little bits at a time with smaller wedges, then work the brick in to push the dirt upward.

  "Did the door do any good?" Mama asked.

  We didn't know. But the ground wouldn't sink any further and Fritz said he would keep a better eye on the ceiling from then on.

  After her inspection was complete, Mama pulled out the food she had promised us. Several times during the night, I had wondered what she might bring, but never imagined anything this wonderful. There were meat patties, honey and crackers, some fruit, and even a few candies.

  "Where did this come from?" I asked gleefully.

  Mama frowned. "Will you promise not to think too badly of me?"

  Fritz and I agreed, and then she said, "It was in Herr Krause's apartment. I figured he had lived there alone and nobody had cleaned his place out yet. The food should go to somebody, why not us? But still, this is stolen food, and that was wrong."

  To make her feel better, I told Mama about taking the pulley. She scolded me properly for that, not only for stealing but for the risks I'd taken. I didn't mind. Knowing that her crime wasn't as bad as mine seemed to make her feel better, and that was good enough for me.

  While we were eating, Mama also pulled out a letter addressed to Fritz. He turned it over once in his hands, then frowned and tore it open. He had to hold up a flashlight to read it, and when he did, I saw the military stamp show through the paper.

  "What is it?" Mama asked.

  Fritz's eyes drifted from her over to me. "They changed the date for me to report for the military," he muttered. "I'm expected to begin serving on Monday. That's only two days away."

  I nearly exploded. "You had until the end of the month! You're not even eighteen for another two weeks!"

  "I worried about this." Mama's hands began shaking. "Orders change sometimes."

  I put my hands over hers to steady them, but instead, it made mine shake too. We had so far to go, and still no idea of how we'd get back to the surface in the west. "We'll never finish the tunnel by then. We were barely going to make it by next week."

  Fritz crumpled up the letter and threw it on the ground. "Yes, we will." He stood up and grabbed the shovel, then began tearing into the wall. Without a word, I picked up the bucket to continue working while Mama quickly packed up the food. If we weren't finished in two days, then nobody could've finished it, because we would dig harder than anyone ever had before.

  When Fritz got tired, Mama took over for him, and while the one worked, the other helped me haul dirt up to the basement. Meter by meter, our tunnel grew and expanded. It was no wider than it had to be, and the work wasn't as neat as Fritz and I had done in the beginning. But we were going forward.

  By early afternoon, Fritz and I were so tired that Mama insisted we sleep while she continued working. So we returned to the air-raid shelter and my eyes closed before my head even hit the ground. I wasn't sure how long she let us sleep, but it felt like hours. I only knew that when she called for us, we both sat up groggy and disoriented. Then Mama called again and I raced into the tunnel with Fritz at my heels.

  Mama held up a hand for us to stop, then motioned for us to be silent. With urgency in her voice, she whispered, "Listen," and pointed to the end of the tunnel.

  I couldn't hear anything at first, but when I walked forward and pressed my ear against the dirt, a sort of sound did come through. Thumping. Digging.

  Something not far from us was hitting against rock. Someone else was tunneling!

  Panicked, the three of us retreated to the shelter to discuss the matter.

  "There must be other East Germans trying to escape!" Fritz said. "Somehow our tunnels have intersected. If we connect with them, we can join our efforts."

  "If you're right, that's too risky!" Mama said. "We don't know these other people and we shouldn't tie our fate in with theirs. If they are found out, then we are found out."

  "But we could move so much faster then," Fritz said. "Besides, they didn't sound that far away. They'll probably connect with us at some point anyway. We might as well try to get to them and see how we can help each other."

  "I think the sounds came from ahead, toward us," Mama said. "Could it be Stasi, building a tunnel along the length of the Death Strip? That way, anyone who tries to cross underground will have to run into them."

  That was possible, maybe even likely. And if she was right, then it meant we were only another meter or so away from walking directly into their hands.

  "There's a third option," I said. "Maybe the tunnel is coming from the west. What if it's Papa?"

  I hadn't believed it until the words emptied from my mouth, but once they did, I knew I was right. Papa would never have asked us to dig -- Fritz and Mama both told me that. But maybe he wasn't asking me to dig. Maybe the dance was telling me that he was already digging.

  Mama didn't seem convinced but Fritz nodded his head and said, "He sent Gerta the picture of the building. But it wasn't about where our tunnel should start -- he was telling her where his tunnel would end. He wanted us to b
e ready for the time when he broke through."

  "What if you're wrong?" Mama asked. "How can we know it isn't the Stasi?"

  We couldn't know, not for sure. But we couldn't stop digging either. Maybe when we broke through to the other tunnel, there might be other East Berliners, or the Stasi. Or, as I was sure must be the case, we would find my father.

  Everything that is done in the world is done by hope.

  -- Martin Luther, German priest

  Curfew was approaching, which brought on another fight with Mama. Fritz and I wanted to keep working. With only two days left before he would be expected to report for military duty, our time crunch was worse than ever. If my father was on the other side, then we could connect with him tonight and be free.

  "And what if it's not him?" Mama asked.

  I didn't dare to think about that. If it wasn't him, then our efforts here were doomed. No, we were doomed.

  "We won't get much farther tonight," Mama said. "We're all exhausted, and it's important for whoever is listening in our apartment to hear your voices. Besides, if there's bad news coming our way, I'd rather they find our tunnel while we're not here."

  Mama was right about everything, especially that we were exhausted. Too tired, in fact, to put up any reasonable protest for staying. So we put down our tools and followed her home. In my bedroom that night, I was so excited about what might be in the other tunnel that I was sure I would never get to sleep. But within only seconds, sleep found me anyway.

  I awoke early, and deliberately made plenty of noise so that everyone else could wake up too. We had a quick breakfast, chatting cheerfully the entire time about how excited we were for Fritz to report to military service the next day, and about our confidence that once the state saw how well he served, Mama would surely be restored to her former job. Lies. I was tired of always having to lie.

  As soon as we felt it was appropriate, we ventured back onto the street. In our anticipation to reach the tunnel, we started down the sidewalk too quickly and bumped straight into Frau Eberhart.