A Night Divided

by Jennifer A. Nielsen

She smiled with tears in her eyes and then hugged me tight.

  Just a few more hours to wait, and we would be gone.

  There is no such thing as a little freedom. Either you are all free, or you are not free. -- Walter Cronkite, American journalist, 1965

  I stared at the clock over our stove, willing the hands to move faster and then feeling frustrated because they didn't. Everything had been cleaned and packed up, so now there was nothing left but to wait and to think, and then to think about waiting. It was unbearable, and I didn't understand how Mama could sit so calmly on the couch and knit a blanket she knew full well would never be finished.

  I did have one particular thought that continued to nag at me. As silly as it might have been to care about something so trivial, I wished I had offered Anna the harvest from our garden.

  I looked back on all she had done for me since we started on the tunnel. What I had thought was her cruel rejection of our friendship was only her way of creating distance between us, so that she wouldn't have to know anything I might be up to. Then, when the Stasi began putting more pressure on her, she had warmed to me again. By my cold responses she must have known I was keeping secrets. But when she discovered them, and would have been entirely justified in revealing everything she knew, she held back to protect me, risking herself and everyone she loved.

  And in return, I couldn't even offer her family our harvest.

  But there was something I could do. I sat at the small desk in my room that afternoon and began to write a letter. Her name was at the top, but the letter wasn't for her. It was for the Stasi who would search my apartment tomorrow.

  Dear Anna,

  I'm writing this letter to apologize for my rude behavior over the last couple of months. You were brokenhearted when your brother tried to escape and never guessed he would try such a thing. But I wasn't there for you like I should have been. I wasn't the friend you deserved.

  What I couldn't tell you was that I came to understand why Peter left. You don't know, so I'm telling you now: He was right.

  We are not animals who can be corralled behind a cement wall. And although the state might listen to our words and watch our actions, they will never know my thoughts, which means they will never truly control me. And if I am my own person, then it's time for me to leave this prison.

  Somewhere in his growing up, Peter saw the sun in the west, and couldn't live through another dark night. Nor will I. If you had known my plans, I know you would've tried to stop me, so please forgive me for keeping you ... in the dark.

  Your truest friend,

  Gerta

  I read the letter over and over again, erasing parts that didn't seem quite right and replacing them with words that better communicated my feelings. Everything I wrote in there was true, except for the last couple of lines. Those were meant to protect Anna from any accusations of helping us escape. Then I left the letter on my desk, where it would easily be found tomorrow.

  Once I left my room, Mama had returned to cleaning. I suppose that kept her mind busy, but at the moment she was polishing the brass knobs on an old rocker in the corner of the room. She was as anxious as I was.

  In the center of the room was a pile of the things she wanted to bring with us to the west. It was far more than she and I could carry together and I knelt beside it to weed out what could be left behind. Mama let me do it without protesting. Maybe she figured that would keep me busy too.

  I didn't want any of my clothes, not one piece. They were bland and orderly and represented a life I intended to leave behind. Besides, I'd seen the magazines and knew how girls my age were dressing elsewhere. Fritz wouldn't want his clothes either, and I promised myself that I would make Mama change her fashions too. It was for her own good.

  In the center of the pile was a box of china that had been passed down to my mother when she was married. It had been in her family for generations, which meant it had come through two world wars, the Allied bombings, the Hunger Winter of 1947, and somehow had even survived the tennis balls my brothers swore they never tossed around our apartment. Mama loved those dishes and so did I -- they were supposed to come to me one day. But how would we ever carry them so far? I shook my head at her and pushed the box aside. Mama must've known I was right because her only protest was a weak sigh and passing frown. She knelt down and wrote on a paper, For Frau Eberhart. I forgive you.

  I set her note on top of the box more gently than Frau Eberhart deserved. If my mother was trying to teach me a lesson, then the point of it escaped me. I hoped to understand forgiveness better one day.

  Moving my attention back to the pile, I found my old stuffed bear near the bottom. One eye was missing and the stitching had come loose along his back, but I never cared that he wasn't perfect. For weeks after the barbed-wire fence went up, and Papa and Dominic didn't come home, I wrapped this bear in my arms every night and cried into its fur. It had comforted me then, but within a few hours, I would have my father back again. I didn't need the bear anymore.

  Mama also had her Bible in the stack. I shook my head and started to move it aside, but Mama pulled it back, insisting it must come with us. I took another paper and on it wrote, For the Stasi, who need it more than we do.

  Then I set it on the Bible and handed it over to her. She read the note, silently mouthed words I couldn't read, and then set the Bible aside.

  As part of her insistence that we leave everything cleaner than the day it was new, Mama suggested we put away the items that couldn't come with us. Afterward, we shared a small supper together. I wished there was more, but told myself I could have as big a supper as I wanted tomorrow. We didn't say much to each other. Our hearts and minds had already flown to the tunnel, so nothing was left to talk about here.

  Once we were cleaned up, Mama announced it was time to go and meet Fritz, to take him to the military station. I literally dropped everything and dove into a sweater to leave. After so many long days of back-aching work, our time had finally come. But even as we reached for the knob to leave, a knock came at our door.

  Mama quickly motioned for me to remove my sweater and clear everything from the front room that might look suspicious. Maybe it was only a neighbor coming to borrow an egg, or something equally innocent, but even the simplest visitor could present a major problem. We had only a few sacks, mostly old photos and family records and a personal treasure for each person in the family, but I grabbed them and stuffed everything into an empty cupboard in the kitchen. Then she answered the door.

  "Frau Lowe, guten Abend," a man's voice said. "May we come in?"

  The door was just wide enough for me to see who was on the other side. When I did, my breath caught in my throat. This was no visiting neighbor. The Grenzers had come for us at last.

  Many kiss the hand they wish to cut off. -- German proverb

  Mama stood at the door, wedging a foot behind it to prevent them from pushing past her. It was a nice idea, though I knew it'd do little good if they wanted to get inside.

  "How can I help you?" Her tone was just as it ought to have been: polite, firm, and innocent.

  "We just got word that your son, Fritz, has failed to report for military service today."

  I tilted my head, curious about why they came before the day was over. Surely other boys had also failed to report in. Why did they take all this trouble to check on Fritz? Then I answered my own question. Fritz's file. The GDR already considered Fritz a potential enemy to the state. Above nearly anyone else, they would make sure Fritz was in their custody.

  "He still intends to go," Mama said. "In fact, my daughter and I were going to join him on his way, very soon."

  "Where is he?" the officer asked. "Perhaps we can bring him to meet you."

  Mama hesitated. I could see her mind working for the exact words that might technically allow her to avoid telling a lie. I rarely went to so much effort. "He can't be far away right now. His things are here, so I know we'll see him soon."

  "Of course." He said that
as if he didn't believe her. "Well, Frau Lowe, we will wait outside the apartment for him to come. As you said, I'm sure we'll see him ... soon."

  Mama nodded, then shut and locked the door behind him. She didn't need to tell me what to do next.

  As quietly as possible, we raced through the apartment, destroying anything that made it look as if we were packing to leave. I tousled my bed, Mama put dishes in the sink, and we put away anything that had been left out as intended gifts or to take with us. The notes on the china and Bible were ripped up and flushed down the toilet. So was my note to clear Anna of any suspicion. That left an ache inside me, but I promised myself to find a way to help her once I was on the other side. If I reached the other side. None of that was certain now.

  From the front room window, we could see onto the street where two Grenzer cars were waiting, almost acting as barricades to our building. Curfew began in less than an hour. Afterward, getting to the tunnel would be very difficult, if not impossible. Worse still, I knew it wouldn't be long before the Grenzers would demand answers for where Fritz was. And what could we possibly say when their questions came?

  Mama said things for the microphones about how Fritz would be back soon and about how silly the officers would feel for ever wondering about him. But fear clutched at my throat like a noose, and I could barely answer. It seemed senseless now to pretend.

  With every tick of the clock, the Grenzers would become increasingly convinced that Fritz wasn't going to show up. Which would lead them to one of two conclusions. Either he was escaping the country on his own, or else we were helping him hide somewhere. Whatever they decided, the Stasi would be here soon with questions we absolutely could not answer, no matter how they threatened us. Or worse. If we talked, it would cost Fritz's life, and Papa's and Dominic's. Even Officer Muller and his family, if they came.

  When I looked, there didn't appear to be any officers out the back window. Maybe we could use a rope or something to lower ourselves down. But it would take us past the windows of apartments below ours, and someone was bound to see and report us. Besides, we had no rope here, and the sheets we might've tied together for an escape were hanging from a clothesline at the Welcome Building.

  Mama cheerfully suggested we might go for a walk, offering the microphones an excuse that we'd find Fritz ourselves. But we both dismissed that idea without further conversation. The Grenzers wouldn't just let us walk away, and even if they did, we'd certainly be followed.

  One more thought came to my mind, something so awful it made my toes curl inside my shoes. But I couldn't ignore it anymore. Expecting that Mama and I would arrive soon, Fritz and Papa would open that tunnel tonight. They would wait as long as possible for us to come, hoping for the best, and silently wondering if the worst might have happened. At some point, it would become obvious that we weren't coming. They would see the instability of the tunnel, discuss the Grenzers' investigation directly overhead, and conclude the only logical thing they could: Tonight was our last chance. Fritz would be forced to cross into the west without us. By morning, Mama and I would be in a Stasi prison.

  The thought of that terrified me, but I had always known things might end this way, and I had to be strong. Or at least, pretend that I was for Mama's sake, since she looked as afraid as I was. She'd probably been thinking the same thing, though neither of us could freely discuss it here.

  Another knock came to the door and Mama went to answer it. This time the Grenzers didn't wait for courtesies before they barged in to search our home. There was nothing to find -- Mama and I had made sure of that. And in full view we had left Fritz's bags packed for the military, hoping it would look like that was still his plan.

  They were thorough in their search, looking in closets, under beds, and behind doors, even in places where no human body could fit. When they began opening drawers and rifling through papers, I realized they were looking for more than just Fritz. They wanted grounds for arrest. His arrest, and ours.

  For the first time, I was grateful that Mama had made us clean so thoroughly. Nothing in our apartment led to the tunnel or to any sign of us planning an escape.

  We stood in the center of the front room, Mama and me holding hands. My clutch on her was fierce, but she whispered that we must remain calm. Finally, one officer approached us. I recognized him as Viktor, Fritz's old friend. If Viktor remembered me, he gave no sign of it. Viktor was with the Stasi. I remembered that all too well.

  "Our apologies for any inconvenience to you and your daughter," Viktor said. "You understand that at this point, it is clear that your son is not planning to report tonight?"

  "I can't give you any explanation," Mama said.

  "Nor am I asking for one," Viktor replied. "But if he is not here by curfew, we will bring you and your daughter in for a conversation with my superiors. They will demand an explanation and you will provide one to them."

  The way he ended his sentence turned my stomach into knots. Mama couldn't say a word in response, and I only gripped her hand tighter.

  Viktor frowned down at me. "You and your brother are very close, no? Where do you think he is?"

  I shrugged lamely. From his expression, he obviously knew that I was holding something back, something big, but he wasn't authorized to pry those secrets from me. That was for the interrogators to do. And they would pry, or dig, or tear those secrets from me using methods I couldn't begin to think about without feeling sick. I wouldn't pretend to be strong enough to resist them. I only hoped I could hold out long enough for Fritz to get away.

  They do not have the courage to say it was a wall of disgrace. -- Helmut Kohl, chancellor of West Germany when the wall came down

  Once they had determined that Fritz wasn't here, the other officers said they would conduct a search of every apartment in this building, in case Fritz had gone into one of the others to hide. Viktor was ordered to wait here with us.

  Mama released my hand and casually went into the kitchen to prepare some tea. Why would she care about that with everything else happening? I couldn't even think straight, and she wanted a cup of tea?

  But my mother surprised me again. Because when the tea was ready, she offered it to Viktor.

  "Thank you, Frau Lowe, but no," he said.

  Mama insisted. "You must be thirsty from such a long evening, and it's my family's fault that you've been so inconvenienced. It's only some tea."

  I'd known for a long time that when my mother wanted her way, it was impossible to refuse her. Now Viktor understood that too. After she held out the tea long enough, he slung his rifle over his shoulder, then took the teacup. As if this had suddenly become a social visit, Mama sat down on our couch and patted the cushion for me. She gestured for Viktor to sit as well, but he would not.

  It didn't seem to matter to her. "I remember when you were no taller than my knee," Mama said to him. "You and Fritz were in nursery school together so long ago and have remained friends since, I believe."

  "We were friends as children, yes," Viktor said stiffly.

  "But look at you now, so strong, so grown-up. You're young to have so much responsibility."

  "I'm just a junior officer," Viktor said. "But perhaps in time, I will earn my way up."

  "I'm sure you will." Mama stood again. "But part of becoming a man is knowing what's important in life. Would you agree?"

  Viktor stiffened his spine. "I know what's important. Your son would do well to learn the same things."

  "Absolutely. Things like family are what matter most. You have a family too, Viktor, you have a mother. If you were in trouble, how far would your mother go to help you?"

  Viktor faced forward without answering. But I knew he was listening.

  Mama took my hand and brought me to my feet. She reached into her pocket and pulled out the keys to the Trabant from Oma Gertrude, then left them on the kitchen table. He eyed the keys and looked away again. But he understood what was happening as well as I did.

  Trabant cars weren't grand in any wa
y, but even the most run-down car often took months to find. A new Trabant might take a decade or more, if someone as young as Viktor could even afford one.

  Viktor and my mother were locked in a stare, and I wondered if they were coming to a sort of unspoken agreement. I didn't know, I couldn't tell. I had trouble looking at anything but the gun over his shoulder and thinking about anything other than the way he'd dumped Herr Krause on the sidewalk not so many days ago.

  Viktor belonged to the state. His friendship with Fritz meant nothing to him, and we mattered even less. Though he continued staring at Mama, his hand slid to the stock of his gun. He didn't need to shoot. All he had to do was call in the other officers and they would do it for him.

  Finally, Mama raised all ten of her fingers and nodded at him, but he didn't respond. Then she started backing us toward the door, one small step at a time. How far would he let us go before he grabbed the trigger? Or were the ten fingers part of their silent agreement? I squeezed Mama's hand like I'd never held on to anything before. What if she was wrong?

  Finally, Viktor stole a glance at the Trabant keys, and then I knew we had him. Bribery was a form of currency in the GDR, and we finally had something valuable enough to offer.

  He looked forward again and said, "I hear a sound in the back room. Don't either of you go anywhere while I check it out." He grabbed the keys, and then started to walk toward Fritz's room. As soon as he was gone, Mama opened our door.

  There was a back exit in case of fire and Mama and I took that way down as silently as the metal stairs would allow. To me, our footsteps sounded like booming echoes, forcing both of us to our tiptoes to dull the noise.

  I didn't dare ask Mama about her ten fingers, not even in a whisper. If it was a signal for time, was that ten minutes, or did we only have ten seconds? I didn't know and only hurried faster. Once we reached the main floor, we inched the back door open, leading us into a dark alley so quiet that it sent shivers up my spine.

  "I expected someone to be waiting here," Mama whispered.

  Which made me wonder what her plan had been if there was. We were out of money, had given up the only valuable thing we still owned, and carried nothing with us but the clothes on our backs. I only answered, "There aren't enough officers for every exit."