Cold Angel: Murder in Berlin 1949

by Horst Bosetzky

  I give up. There’s no sense. The best thing to do is to wait until Mrs. Stöhr and her mother go out for a walk and then search for some money in their closets. But, just as I turn into Kantstrasse, they return from a walk to get some fresh air.

  1:30 PM. The bell rings. I run to the door. It’s Mrs. Merten. She’s all dressed up for the holidays and holding the typewriter. My heart is close to bursting. I have to resist a strong urge to take the Merten woman in my arms. “Please come in a moment and make yourself comfortable, dear Mrs. Merten.” I’ve got to soften her up, my life’s happiness depends on her.

  “Thank you but just for a sip, I still have another appointment.”

  I go to the kitchen to put on the water. Back in my bedroom, I can’t resist, I put the Erika on my writing table and open the case. What a beautiful model. Kurt won’t believe his eyes. My fingers brush the keys. What a feeling! Kurt will touch the keys every day and think of me. “My dear Lisbeth gave me this and she made such a great sacrifice to get it for me. Now my work is so much easier.” And he’ll write me love letters every day.

  As we are drinking Mrs. Merten gets down to business: She takes her handbag. “Mr. Beigang gave me the receipt here … for the 50 mark deposit.”

  I try to steady my nerves and look up at the clock. “Almost two o’clock… My brother in law should have been here a while ago; he’s bringing me the money he owes me, over a hundred marks…”

  Merten gets up: “I’m sorry, but in that case, I have to take the typewriter back. Mr. Beigang made that very clear.”

  I’m on the point of shouting at her but I hear Stöhr wandering around the apartment. I get a hold of myself. “No, no, please don’t take it away!” I pull her down to the sofa again. “Couldn’t you come back tonight, then we could settle everything.”

  Merten hesitates. “Well, this evening I’ll be taking the streetcar and it does take me past your place, but…” She fears her boss more than she pities me. “Without any … I can’t…”

  I have an idea. “Why don’t you take this silverware here as guarantee?” I bought that a little while ago for Kurt so he could make his wife a present. The poor woman, it’s not her fault that things are the way they are. I’m so kind-hearted, I’ve always been.

  “All right,” Merten says finally. “I’ll be back here around seven and then I must have the deposit.”

  I thank her and walk her to the door. After she leaves I go to the typewriter and kneel in front of it to give it a kiss. “You are my happiness!” I dance around the room. Everything will be fine now and I can make up for the life that was stolen from me.

  I go back to the station and spend my last few marks for a big fir tree branch, put it in a vase and add a lot of tinsel. “You’ll see, Kurt, next year we will be living in our own house and we’ll have a big Christmas tree. By Easter, I will have received my American inheritance. Where would you prefer to have a villa? Wannsee or Dahlem?”

  I put the typewriter underneath the branch of fir, I open the case and type the first lines addressed to my dear, oh so dear Kurt, in capital letters: HEREBY DO I SWEAR MY LOVE TO YOU – ELISABETH. Afterwards time passes as if in a dream and I forget all my worries.

  7PM. Outside on the landing the doorbell rings. I jump. Kurt…? Merten…? Before I’ve had time to think, Mrs. Stöhr is at the door and she opens. I wait. There’s a knock on my door. “Mrs. Kusian, your brother in law is here.” Walter – my God! I wanted him to leave me alone so I told him that I was on duty during the holidays. I must meet him outside the bedroom, he mustn’t come inside. So I close the door behind me and whisper in his ear. “Shh…, Mr. Muschan is inside.”

  “I was thinking of the children. They’re still in Thuringia at your parents. I hope they have received all the presents, including the Christmas Stollen.”

  “Yes, I sent everything off, I gave it to a truck driver.” I intended to send them off. They’re still in my room under the sofa. I forgot about everything because of the typewriter. And the Christmas Stollen is on the coffee table, all nicely set out next to the typewriter, waiting for Kurt. After all, I’ve got to think of myself sometimes! Walter is so sad, it makes me feel awful. As he is going down the stairs I run after him and kiss him on the mouth.

  Afterwards I sit by the window, I look down at the street and wait. I wait for Merten, I wait for Kurt. I take some Pervitin again. How can I get through the evening otherwise? I must solve the Dorothea Merten problem. Somehow. Anyhow.

  8:10 PM. The 75 stops right in front of the apartment building. The streetcar comes up and I see Kurt getting up and walking to the exit. He gets off and waves at me. My God, much too early. He must not be here before Mrs. Merten. I wave back and run down the steps. We meet outside.

  “What’s going on?” he asks

  “You can’t come up, I have visitors, a surprise, the Grünstädels from Thuringia. They must not know that we… They wouldn’t keep it to themselves and if my parents find out about you, all hell will break loose, they’ll disinherit me. Go across the street to the Delphi cinema or wait for me at Kindl’s on Kudamm.”

  “I won’t go into the movie house.”

  “Well, go to Kindl restaurant.” I kiss him. “I’ll make it up to you later.”

  I curse the moment when I have to let him go away, but it can’t be helped.

  Back in my room, I wait for the Merten woman. I put on my nurse’s outfit because that’s definitely one way to appeal to her. Then I go to the window again. I want to intercept her before she rings the bell. Mrs. Stöhr doesn’t need to know everything that goes on in my room.

  9:15 PM. Finally Merten is here and I manage to meet her on the landing. She’s wearing a stylish dark brown coat and a hat with a feather. She’s carrying a large grocery bag in which I can see clothing and the silverware chest. “Please forgive me, it’s a little late: we talked and talked at my girl friend Olga’s,” she says as she rubs her hands together. “It’s minus 17 outside.”

  I make a gesture of invitation. “Take off your coat and warm up a little here.”

  Soon she’s sitting on the sofa. I turn on the radio and lean against the warm stove. It’s nice and cozy. “Cigarette?” I hand her my packet and give her a light. How did she make it through the Christmas celebration, I ask.

  “Oh, it’s all pretty sad. My husband and I have drifted apart. According to him it’s because all I think of is my novel, and I take no interest in him. But in reality, he’s had another woman for a long time. I think she’s the wife of some important politician. But I don’t care. If only the divorce and all the rest could be taken care of.” She pours her heart out to me, after all, I’m a nurse.

  I tell her all is not lost. “It’s never too late to start a new life. But you should move to another town soon. If you keep meeting your ex husband on the street, the wound never heals.”

  “You’re speaking out of experience…?”

  “Yes.” I tell her a little about Walter. “He’s attached to me still, like a loyal dog and he brings me coal.”

  I’m beginning to like her a lot and I wonder if I shouldn’t propose that we say ‘du’ to each other and maybe I’ll call her Doris. But the thing with the deposit for the typewriter remains. And my dear Kurt has been waiting in the restaurant an hour and a half by now… My God!

  10PM! I can’t postpone any longer. “Well, now, let’s get down to business,” I say.

  Merten wants to put it off a little while longer. “Let’s finish another cigarette first.”

  “I still have a great deal to do tonight.”

  “If you still don’t have the money I have to take the typewriter back, although it really pains me.”

  Merten has no pity. No talk of friendship anymore. I’m terribly disappointed in her. I hate her, she’s cutting the ground under my feet. IT’S YOU OR ME NOW! From then on everything happens very fast. It happens and I don’t have the power to stop it. YOU WANTED IT! She could have let me have the typewriter. Why are people such eg
otists? IT WOULD’NT OF HURT YOU, YOU EGOCENTRIC PIECE OF SHIT. WHY DON’T YOU LET ME HAVE THE HAPPINESS OF MY LIFE!

  I go to my dressing table to look for something.

  “Ah, you do have the money,” she says, her voice full of reproach. She pretends to be offended, as if I had been putting on a show the whole time. She doesn’t even turn to face me, she bends over the radio to turn the music on louder.

  I don’t take any money from the vanity, I take a thin clothes line. In war, you have to kill. And for me it’s war against everyone – everyone who refuses to give me what I deserve. Walter killed a man during the war, in close combat. In a war, it’s all right to kill and this is my war, my war against the world.

  As I think this I walk up behind Merten and, with lightning speed, I throw the noose over her head. I pull sharply once. But my first attempt fails. Merten is much stronger than I thought and resists. We fight. YOU FILTHY SNAKE, YOU ARE NOT GETTING AWAY! Finally, her body shudders one last time. I check. She’s definitely dead.

  WHERE TO PUT HER? Kurt is waiting in the restaurant outside. Here the Christmas table is laid, the typewriter is waiting for him. Where do I put the Merten woman? She looks stupid with the noose around her neck. Where? Where? I can’t cut her up and get rid of her in the space of half an hour, I can’t throw her out the window, I can’t hide her in the closet since I don’t have one that’s big enough. I turn on my heels and look all around the room. The only possible place is the sofa. But will she fit under the sofa? The wooden toy train and the two dolls that Walter bought for the children and that I completely forgot are under there. I can see it won’t work. The sofa is too low, there’s too little room between the underside and the floor. I’m close to despair. What else can I do but jump out the window? I have made many suicide attempts before. I walk to the window, grab the knob, open and I am on the point of pushing the window panes out. Then I have an idea. What if I lift the couch up and lean it against the wall, push Merten underneath it and then let the whole thing crash down on top of her… it works. I can breathe.

  I listen. Did the Stöhr woman and her mother hear anything? The only thing that separates my room from theirs is a sort of jib door. But no, everything is quiet. Still, I’ve got to make sure. I go over to their room.

  10:10PM. I knock. “Come in!” I open the door: mother and daughter are serenely playing cards.

  I look at them. “Could you lend me three wine glasses? I’m expecting company.” Mrs. Stöhr goes to the glass cabinet and takes the glasses out. I thank her and take them into my room. Why did I say three? I don’t know anymore. Maybe I was thinking of myself, Walter and Kurt. Or myself, Merten and Kurt. That way, the Stöhr woman won’t be suspicious. If Merten had already been dead I wouldn’t have asked her to lend me glasses. Or maybe I was thinking of the Grünstädtel family, the story I made up for Kurt: three people, the man, the wife, the grandmother.

  10:37. I go back to my room with the three glasses and take my coat. As I leave I check the sofa one last time. If I pull the cover down to the floor, everything looks fine. Thank God! I leave and lock the door behind me. Twice.

  10:50. I go to the Kurfürstendamm. I’m terribly worried that Kurt has left the Kindl and that this whole sacrifice was in vain. He’s still there and my heart feels so much lighter. The restaurant is empty, I spot him immediately. He’s sitting all the way at the back with an empty beer glass. My poor baby!

  “I was getting ready to go,” he grumbles. I give him a kiss. “You don’t know how that hurts. Let’s hurry home, I’ll make it up to you. Your presents are waiting.” On the way to Kantstrasse, I tell him about the unexpected visit of the Grünstädels.

  “We drank a little too much and in the end the old lady felt so ill we had to put her in a taxi home.”

  11:05 PM. I open the door to the apartment. Finally, I have Kurt, my love, all to myself. For the entire night. He’s mine.

  “Wait outside a minute, I’ll light the candles,” I tell him. I light them and my heart beats like a girl on her first date. I have got what I wanted. Finally. Kurt, my love, will see how much I love him. I was willing to do anything for him. Now it’s his turn. This is going to be a long night, he’ll be tender, he’ll be passionate, and by early morning, he will have proposed! “I am going to get a divorce and then we’ll move to another city together and start a new life.”

  I go back out and let him in to my room. He is still a little grumpy and asks if I still have visitors.

  “Why do you say that?”

  “Well, there’s a lady’s coat and hat and an umbrella on your coat peg…”

  My God, Merten’s things. I forgot about them completely in my haste. I try to brush it off. “Oh, these things…? My visitor forgot them.”

  Kurt doesn’t understand. “With such Siberian temperatures outside…?”

  “Yes, we forgot when we put the old lady in the taxi. But come now: time for the presents. I imitate the ding dong of a bell. Kurt sees the three glasses on the table and believes the story of my visitors. He doesn’t ask any more questions, thankfully. I beam at him: “So now my love, I hope you’ll be impressed…” I lead him over to the presents I have displayed: the TYPEWRITER, the silverware and a carton of American cigarettes.

  I’ve looked forward to this moment so much, I expected heaven on earth - and yet…

  Kurt seems to freeze. Instead of jumping for joy and taking me in his arms he seems embarrassed, he barely manages to blurt out: “God Liz, you’re crazy. I never expected… The typewriter is much too expensive. It really makes me feel bad, all these presents…how could I ever return the favor with my salary…? All I have for you is a shawl, a carton of soap and a box of candies.”

  I’m devastated. I really missed the mark. To dispel the dark mood, I invite my landladies over. Mrs. Stöhr and her elderly mother wish us a happy and blessed Christmas celebration. Both of them admire my presents. I go to the kitchen and make us some coffee. We talk and eat some Christmas Stollen.

  12:30 in the morning. Mrs. Stöhr and her mother leave. The radio plays Music through The Night. I still feel a little down as I go and prepare the bed. Our bed. For our love.

  These are the best hours of my life.

  EVERYTHING IS WONDERFUL. MY HAPPINESS HAS NO END.

  Finally I have what I always deserved.

  22.

  Me - Tuesday, December 27 1949

  I walk my love to the streetcar stop. We embrace one last time. Then I run back to my room. I have to cut up Merten’s body and dispose of it. But to be able to do that I need Pervitin – and I have none left. And no money to buy any. I think. The only thing I can do now is take Merten’s beautiful suede gloves and sell them at the second hand shop. I won’t get much for them but it will be enough.

  When I get back home I inject some M and take some Pervitin. When the effect kicks in, I set to work and pull the body out from under the sofa. I keep telling myself ‘a corpse is a corpse’. How many dead people have I seen in my life? Hundreds. This one will be no different. But, oh the cursed rigidity of this corpse! I have trouble taking the clothes off. When Mrs. Stöhr goes out to shop I take the sharpest knife from the kitchen. I put on a white coat. When I wear that coat I become what I really should be: Doctor Elisabeth Kusian, M.D. I explain the anatomy of the human body to the group of students. “So, what can we see here on the body? Numerous fairly large hematomas. What does this mean? It means that there will not be much bleeding anymore.” I carve with great precision. The cuts I make follow the contours of the bones perfectly. I separate the legs from the hip joint and sever them at the knee, just as cleanly as I did Seidelmann’s. When Merten is cut up, her arms, legs and head fit into the two backpacks that Walter left for me. I’ve lined them with paper. As for the torso, I have to wrap it in a blanket first and push it under my bed. I have to work very hard to clean the floor and I’ve carried many bowls of bloodied water back and forth to the bathroom. Then I burn Merten’s papers in the furnace. Her handbag I’ll th
row in the garbage bin downstairs.

  When the sun begins to set, I’m so tired all I can do is throw myself on the bed and sleep.

  23.

  Me – Sunday, January 1 1950

  I’ve got to open the window. I can’t stand the fetid odor of the corpse anymore. The fireworks have ended. I ‘celebrated’ New Year’s Eve alone: Kurt had to go to work. But he will come and see me today New Year’s day, and there’s also Walter to take into account. The dismembered corpse must go now. The last few days I’ve just lain in bed paralyzed, staring at the ceiling. When I don’t take M or Pervitin I always fall into a deep depression.

  I have to act now. I have to take her to the Eastern sector! I follow the voice inside me, I take the first rucksack and walk to the S-Bahn. It’s 4:30 in the morning and there still are many people out and about. Some are still celebrating in the train car and pass around bottles of bubbly. I make myself as small as possible in my corner. What if one of them hits on the idea that I have something to drink in my back pack and asks me… No. I’m in luck. I get off at Alexanderplatz. Just a few steps north and, immediately, I enter a landscape of ruins. The street sign says Memhardstrasse, I walk to Prenzlauer Allee. I go inside a bombed out house and empty my back pack. When the Eastern police find the body parts, they will look for the perpetrator in the Eastern sector. They are at complete loggerheads with the Western police. In the East, the whole thing will fizzle out, they’re so ineffective. And when in the West they find that Merten is missing, nothing will happen. Mr. Beigang of course knows that she brought me the typewriter, but that won’t mean anything. “Yes, she did,” I’ll say. “And I gave her the deposit, I put it in her hand. Where she went after that she didn’t say, that’s beyond my knowledge.” And no one will suspect me because A NURSE WOULD NEVER COMMIT MURDER!

  I take the train three times. Just once, I meet a woman I know with her husband. But they don’t bother me after I say a very short hello.