The Amber Room

by T. Davis Bunn

  “Sydney?”

  “Not what you’d call top-quality stuff, Sydney told him.” Andrew’s face settled into bleak lines. “Heard some tales toward the end of last summer, from a bloke I use sometimes for ornamental work. Told me Sydney came in with a crate of odds and ends, asked him to see what he could do with it. This bloke did a load of patching, came up with a sort of Sheraton-Empire-Chippendale-Florentine bit of old rubbish.”

  “Is that legal?”

  “Long as the seller declares the item for what it is, lad, there’s no harm in working puzzles. This bloke’s just as hard hit by the recession as the rest of us. Anyway, Sydney started coming in every few days with another patchwork job, been at it ever since. Now he’s out about town with money to burn.”

  “Something smells funny,” Jeffrey agreed.

  “Yes, well, it’s been hard times for the likes of our Sydney.” Andrew tossed his cup into a nearby rubbish bin. “Problem is, I’m afraid he’s stepped over the invisible line on this latest caper. Gone from a bit of malarkey to something out and out crooked.”

  “You sound worried.”

  “I am. I’ve always had a soft spot for old Greenfield.”

  “Me, too.”

  “Yes, thought you did. But it’s a short road he’s traveling, if he’s turned to dealing in the false bits. I don’t like the idea of one of our own going down in flames.”

  Katya chose that moment to look out the back door. She walked toward them, carrying a slender package wrapped in brown paper and bound with twine. Andrew rose from his worried stoop and touched the knot of his tie. “Hello, what’s this, then?”

  Jeffrey waved her over. “Sorry this has taken so long.”

  “That’s all right.” She raised her package. “I found a present for Gregor.” She then turned and smiled a greeting to Andrew. “Hello. I’m Katya Nichols.”

  “You most certainly are.” He bowed over her hand, straightened, and said to Jeffrey, “Mount Street’s bringing in a different sort of clientele these days, is it?”

  “Andrew’s a dealer in Kensington,” Jeffrey explained to her.

  “The dealer in Kensington,” Andrew murmured, letting her hand go with reluctance.

  “Katya works in my shop.”

  “If that’s all you could think to do with this one, lad, then my estimation of you has just plummeted.” Andrew turned back to Katya. “Salaries are much higher over Kensington way, my dear. Shorter hours, much nicer working conditions, better lot of goods, five-hour lunch breaks highly recommended.”

  She treated him to the sort of smile that did not need to descend from her eyes. “And what is your specialty?”

  “Any odds and ends the lad here leaves for the rest of us to handle.”

  “Andrew loves to give me a hard time,” Jeffrey explained.

  “Hand on my heart,” Andrew insisted, “I’ve never put the lad down. Had enough of that when I did my apprenticeship as an electrician’s helper.”

  “You never,” Jeffrey said.

  “Straight up. Put paid to that as soon as I could, too, and never looked back. Gave me all sorts of trouble, that did. Proved a total ruddy disaster.”

  “So why did you go into it?”

  Andrew shrugged easily. “The old man said if it was good enough for him and all that. My first day on the job, walked into this house where they had a dog the size of my car. Gave me a bit of a whuff, it did. I played like the space shuttle, shwooosh. Took me thirty seconds to get my feet back on solid ground.”

  “A bit of a whuff,” Jeffrey repeated, smiling at Katya.

  “Second job,” Andrew went on, “we had this lady offer to take me and my mate upstairs. I was married by then, knew the old dear would have me guts for garters if I was to go and try that. I thanked her kindly, said there were some pleasures I was meant to forgo in this life.” Andrew shuddered at the memory. “Decided then and there I wasn’t made for hard labor. Too dangerous.”

  Jeffrey asked Katya, “Would you like a cup of tea?”

  “Love one, thank you.”

  “How about you, Andrew?”

  “Chip off the old concrete, you are.”

  As he made for the wagon, Jeffrey heard Katya say behind him, “So then you moved into antiques?”

  “Well, no, there was a bit more to it than that. What happened was, a couple weeks later I bought the wife a birthday present from a neighbor, a lovely little bit of gold and such. Cost me upward of a hundred quid, it did. That night I started worrying that maybe I’d been took, so I stopped by a mate of mine who worked in this jewelry store. Told me it was early Victorian, offered me nine-fifty on the spot.”

  Jeffrey returned, handed out the cups, and asked, “What did you end up giving your wife?”

  “A brand-new kitchen, can you imagine? ’Course, that was after I spent all I made from that sale and all we had left from the dole going around the neighbors, buying up whatever they had they didn’t need. Got took a few times, of course, but did right well in the end.”

  “So you stayed with jewelry?” Katya asked.

  “Bits and pieces, now and then,” Andrew replied easily. “I’ve kept my passion, Victorian mostly. That’s what brings me around here.”

  “You mean you collect for yourself?”

  “Oh my yes. Fact is, lot of dealers start off as collectors. Once they’re good and hooked, they find themselves with too many lovelies and strapped for cash. Then along comes something new which they absolutely must have, and they sell a piece they’ve grown tired of. If they’re careful and don’t get taken, they find themselves shocked to the very core at how much they make. It hits them then, doesn’t it? How maybe here’s a way of making pleasure pay off.”

  “Don’t let Andrew fool you,” Jeffrey said. “Very few manage not to get taken in this business. He also happens to be a very successful dealer of French Empire furniture and accessories, among other things.”

  “Why the interest in Victorian jewelry?” Katya asked.

  “It was a fussy period, the Victorian era,” Andrew replied, with the enthusiasm of a true collector. “It was proceeded by the Georgian, and a very severe style that was indeed. All straight lines and hard angles, nothing for the feminine or the foppish. Soon as the Victorians came, jewelry and furniture and houses all went in for a great load of foppery.”

  “I heard the railroads had something to do with this change,” Jeffrey said.

  “Well, perhaps not so much on the style itself, but certainly on its rapid spread. Before, you see, most people had a ten-mile radius which was their entire world, cradle to grave, as it were. All their lifelong, that was as far as their purses and their work would allow them to travel. The railways changed all that. Everyone, right down to a simple carpenter or jeweler or purchaser of a new home, could travel right into London-town and see the sights and learn about the latest fashion. Suddenly they could get ornaments from anywhere in the kingdom.”

  “Or designs,” Katya offered.

  “Exactly. Queen Victoria was a marvelous one for jewelry. She wore tons of it herself, yellow gold in the day and white gold at night. After her beloved Prince Albert died, she went in for funeral jewelry in a big way as well. That’s done in dark stones, you see, often with strands of hair either enameled or set in lockets, lots of inscriptions, in loving memory of the old so-and-so, what have you. Rings and brooches and great pendants dangling down.”

  Jeffrey glanced at his watch. “We need to be getting back. I’m opening the shop today.”

  “Where’s your man Kantor, then?”

  “You know better than to ask that.”

  “Right you are, lad. And about that other little item, you didn’t hear it from me.”

  Jeffrey smiled. “What other item?”

  * * *

  Jeffrey saw Katya off to classes with a kiss before placing the call to Poland. Conditions were improving; it took less than a half hour to obtain a line to Cracow, and once made the connection was fine.

&nb
sp; “Is that you, Jeffrey?” Gregor’s heartfelt pleasure could be sensed even over the telephone. Gregor was Alexander’s cousin, a deeply religious gentleman who had escaped from Poland during the war, only to heed what he felt was the Lord’s call to return and serve the poor. He also operated as Alexander’s primary contact in Cracow. He financed numerous charitable efforts through locating long-stored antiques to be sold in the West. “How are you, my dear boy?”

  “I’m fine,” Jeffrey replied. “It’s great to speak with you again.”

  “I, too, have missed your questing voice. When do you plan to visit with me again?”

  “I’m not sure. Alexander should be arriving tomorrow to see about something from the Marian Church for—”

  “I know all about the article and the gala. Alexander spoke with me the other evening. I am glad to say that my dear cousin has wisely decided to forgo the exertions of further purchasing trips after this one.”

  This was news. “He hasn’t said anything to me about it.”

  “He has so much on his mind just now, I doubt seriously if he can remember his own name. But never mind. This will most likely be the last antiques shipment he will arrange for himself. And why not, when he has a perfectly able assistant to see to such matters?”

  “Then I guess I’ll be seeing you sooner than I thought.”

  “As soon as possible after the gala,” Gregor replied. “And nothing could bring me greater pleasure, I assure you. As a matter of fact, I thought that was why you were calling.”

  “No. I have some news.” Jeffrey found it necessary to take several breaths before the band across his chest eased. “I wanted you to know that I’m thinking about asking Katya to marry me.”

  “My dear Jeffrey,” Gregor effused. “How marvelous for you both. Are you asking for my advice?”

  “I guess so.”

  “Do it!” Gregor shouted the words. “There. Have I done my duty well?”

  “You’re sure this is the right thing?”

  Gregor laughed. “Ah, my boy, you make me feel young again.”

  “I guess that means yes.”

  “Indeed it does. When will you ask her?”

  “In about three weeks, after she’s completed her exams. That is, I’ll do it unless my nerve gives out between now and then.”

  “I shall pray that it does not. As I shall for your peace of mind and for your joyful life together.”

  “Thanks, Gregor. Thanks a lot. It helps just to know I’m not going into this alone.”

  “My dear young friend, we are never alone.”

  “I know that.” Jeffrey hesitated, then continued, “At least, sometimes I know it.”

  “Yet there are other times, moments when you feel most alone,” Gregor finished for him. “You wonder who the Father truly is and where He is to be found.”

  “That’s it exactly,” Jeffrey agreed, and felt immense relief to have his doubts and fears pushed from the confining space of his heart. “Now that I’ve started looking, the fear that I won’t find God is enormous.”

  “Do you read the Bible?”

  “Every day.”

  “Do you pray?”

  “I try,” Jeffrey replied. “I feel as if I’m talking to the wall.”

  “Have you discussed this with Katya?”

  He nodded to a man a thousand miles away. “She tells me to be patient and keep looking.”

  “Wise advice from a wise woman.”

  “She says it’s a problem a lot more common to new Christians than the quick-fix preachers would have me believe.”

  “That’s what she called them? Quick-fix preachers?” Gregor laughed delightedly. “You shall make a worthy couple for His work.”

  “I don’t see how I can do much if I can’t find Him.”

  “He will find you, my dear young friend. Never fear. If you search in earnest, then He would withhold His gift of the Spirit only for a purpose. It will all be clear to you soon enough.”

  “You’re not just saying that to make me feel better?”

  “My dear Jeffrey.” Gregor sounded genuinely shocked. “I would never dream of doing such a thing. When you find your doubts rising, try to remember that the Lord Jesus did not tell His disciples to go out and look for the Spirit.”

  “He said wait and He will come,” Jeffrey finished. “I read about that the other night.”

  “Perhaps it would also help you to speak to others whose faith you admire. Ask them how they came to find the Father, what special moment stands out in their memory. Learn from their experiences.”

  “All right. Thanks.”

  “I thank you. It is always a delight to teach someone who truly seeks to learn. Now, when do you think you will be in Cracow next?”

  “A couple of months, I suppose. Right after Alexander’s gala.”

  “Excellent. Anything of utmost urgency my dear cousin can see to while he is here. We will speak more upon your arrival. In the meantime, seek out those who hold fast to faith. Ask them to share the moment of their illumination.”

  The moment of illumination. Jeffrey liked that phrase. “I will.”

  “Splendid. And take care of our dear Alexander.”

  “I’ll try. This gala is either driving him crazy or making him happier than he’s been in years,” Jeffrey said. “It depends on when you catch him.”

  “The gala, yes. Well, either it is a worthy activity or a harmless pastime.”

  “You don’t mean according to whether or not it makes money?”

  “Of course not. Listen to me, Jeffrey. A man can rebuild an entire nation, but if his eyes and ears and heart and mind are tuned to the clamor of his fellowman, his works are empty of eternal blessing.”

  “So what happens if you can’t find God? Do you just stop working?”

  “Not at all. You must do three things while you work. First, you must earnestly seek the Lord and never, ever believe that worthy action is a substitute for a daily walk in faith. Second, you must always dedicate your efforts to the Lord and seek His acclaim only. And third—can you guess what the third action is?”

  “Love.”

  “The most crucial element of all,” Gregor agreed. “Without love, your greatest effort is but dust blowing in the wind.”

  “It’s great talking with you like this again,” Jeffrey told him.

  “Make Christ your teacher, search for a knowledge of divine love,” Gregor replied. “And give your darling fiancée my heartfelt best wishes.”

  CHAPTER 5

  Erika found her former colleague, Birgit Teilmacher, fairly comfortable in her position as file keeper in the Dresden archives’ new location—an abandoned underground bunker system left over from World War II. Birgit had served as secretary to the director of the women’s prison, and anyone who held such a job was both Party member and Stasi informant. But no one had time to investigate secretaries—not yet, anyway. Birgit’s punishment for the moment was simply to be relocated and forgotten.

  Erika entered the concrete-walled room with, “How does it feel, spending eight hours a day underground?”

  If she felt any surprise at the unannounced visit, Birgit masked it well. “I wish it were only eight. They’ve got me doing the work of five people down here.” She inspected the other woman’s solid girth. “You haven’t been sticking to your diet.”

  Erika shrugged off her knee-length black-leather coat. “It doesn’t pay for people in my new profession to be too petite. Gives the jokers ideas.”

  “Set it down over there.” Birgit motioned to a corner filing cabinet. “You really should get another coat. That one makes you look as feminine as a tree trunk.”

  “It so happens I’m attached to that coat,” Erika replied. “It’s the only thing I have left from my old life.”

  “You should have chosen something else.” Birgit hefted a vast sheaf of papers. “I’m kept busy these days making records of change. Know what these are? Statistics on abortions. These are the latest hospital records. Abort
ions are up by over five hundred percent since the Wall came down.”

  “People get to choose between a new child and a new car,” Erika replied. “The new car wasn’t available before.” She took a seat and asked, “How are you?”

  “Enduring.” Birgit’s features took on a thoroughly bleak cast. “What other choice do any of us have these days?”

  The Ossies were coming to resent the Wessies and resent their economic invasion in ever-stronger terms. Companies that had been the lifeblood of small Ossie communities were being bought up for pennies, with the new owners showing nothing but horror over the factories’ condition. The best machines were stripped and often taken back to Western factories, or so the rumors went and the pulp newspapers accused—accusations most people were only too happy to believe. Ossie management and workers had been fired wholesale, with the remaining few required to retrain under Wessie technicians. Wessie workers, brought in at breathtaking salaries to work the best jobs, showed with every word and gesture their scorn for the East—people, land, factories, the lot.

  Other companies, now controlled by the West-dominated behemoth called the Treuhand, had been declared wasteful or polluting or decrepit or junk and closed down overnight. A land that had never known even half a percent of unemployment now had forty-three percent of its work force on welfare—at a time when rents had risen by six hundred percent and food prices had jumped almost twentyfold.

  On the other side of the vanished border, the West German government leaders faced a nightmarish dilemma. They knew beyond the slightest doubt that unless the situation in the East stabilized before the next election, they would be ousted. Their only answer was to spend as much as possible as fast as possible, and haul the new eastern states up by their bootstraps. Yet in the first two years alone, unification had cost the German people five hundred billion marks—over three hundred billion dollars. Inflation had been capped only by introducing a temporary income-tax hike and by raising interest rates to twice the highest level they had been since World War II. A nation of Wessies listened and wondered at the black hole called former East Germany that was bleeding their wealth.