by Joseph Kanon
“For his file?”
Markus shrugged, something irrelevant.
Alex sat looking out, then turned in his seat. “Are you asking me to be an informer?” Hearing himself, struck finally by the sheer implausibility of the moment, a laugh somewhere in the pit of his stomach, trying to rise then curling in on itself, one knot tightening into another.
“Informer,” Markus said, dismissing the word. “I am asking you to help me in my work. To keep Germany safe.”
“Germany.”
“Yes, I know, we are not yet a state. But we will be. The West is already making theirs. A new currency. Soon, a country. Armed. Against us. So how do we defend ourselves? How do we protect the revolution?”
“By snitching on Aaron Stein?”
Markus looked over. “More jokes. It was a worry to me at first, all this joking. Then I saw that it was useful. It puts people at ease with you. No, not ‘snitching.’ If Comrade Stein is working for the Party what does he have to fear if we know what he says?”
“And if he’s not?”
“Then it’s important for us to know. To help him correct his mistakes. As you say, we all make mistakes. He will be grateful for this, I think.”
“Markus, I’m not—” The words sticking somewhere in the back of his mouth. “No one asked me to do anything like this. When they invited me.”
“No, I’m asking you. When I saw you, at the Kulturbund, I thought, yes, someone in an excellent position to hear. And with a debt. A state that took you in, that treats you as—”
“Are you saying I have to do this if I want to stay here?”
“It’s not a question of bookkeeping, this for that. But think how pleased the Party will be, knowing how you help them.” He paused. “And, you know, very useful for me. To use this old association, the trust we have for each other. It’s just a matter of time before someone else suggests this. I’m not the only one to see your position, how convenient it can be. And eventually the Party agrees and you will do it anyway and then someone else gets the credit. But to do this work now, at my suggestion, it would be a great personal favor to me. I know, it’s only the younger brother, but we have a history. A friendship.”
“I’m not—”
“Think about this. Think of all the advantages. Before you decide. There are many who do this.”
“Who tell you what Aaron Stein says to them?”
“Stein, others. An informal arrangement. No desk at K-5,” he said lightly, another joke. “A talk, from time to time. Of course, confidential. Comrade Stein will never know. No one will.” He looked over again. “It will be our secret.”
Alex felt his stomach clench, some rush of acid.
“This is what I ran away from. The FBI watching—”
“Is it? I don’t think so. I think you were running away from prison. For your admirable Socialist principles. Now you have—the opposite. A good life. It’s a small price, to help those who helped you. Especially when they need this help. To protect themselves.” He took out a business card. “Think a little. How easy this will be. And how useful. Call here. We’ll meet for coffee. Another advantage. A friend from the old days, what could be more natural? A friendly visit, coffee. What could be more natural?”
“You’re so sure I’d be good at this?”
“You don’t have to be good. Just tell me what you hear. I’ll do the rest.”
They had left Alexanderplatz and were heading up Greifswalder Strasse. “Turn up here,” Alex said.
“I know where you live,” Markus said, smug.
But not who’s living there with me.
“Do you have someone telling you what I say?”
“Alex, so suspicious,” Markus said.
“You know, something I don’t understand. You ask me to do this and all the time I’ve been feeling—all the questions—”
“I wanted to be sure of you.”
“And now you are.”
“They say in the service you should never be sure of anybody.” He turned, a small smile. “Yes, I’m sure. At first, just a worry only. Another service rule—there are no coincidences. So you go to Lützowplatz. A coincidence? The service rule says no. But life—it’s a different thing. We have someone now for questioning.”
“You found him?” Alex said, his stomach tightening again.
“I think so. Someone in the service, so maybe the first rule is right. I’ve been suspicious of him for some time. So now we’ll see.”
Answering questions. Or just screaming in pain. Claiming to be innocent. Feeding on each other.
“I can get out at the corner here,” Alex said, suddenly aware of the street. What if Erich was up, a light on? One small detail, a light, and everything would unravel.
“It’s no trouble,” Markus said, turning into Rykestrasse.
Had he told Erich to keep the light off? He couldn’t remember. The utility closet on the stairs, the escape route, the knock signals, but maybe not the light. One slip. The world he lived in now.
The car stopped in front of the building. Alex looked up, counting floors. No light. He breathed out, then realized Markus was talking.
“How things turn out,” he was saying, the end of a thought. “When I was young, you were—all of you, all of Kurt’s friends—like gods to me. I wanted to be with you, do what you were doing. And now look. Here we are, working together. It’s such a pleasure for me. Well, so think.” A farewell touch of his fingers to his temple. “You can call me. You have a telephone, I think?”
Alex nodded.
“You see, only the best for you. One more thing? When you were talking to Comrade Stein, it was about books only? Nothing else?”
A trap if Markus already knew, listening through walls.
“No, I asked him why he had resigned from the secretariat last year.”
“Ah,” Markus said, pleased, another test passed. “And what did he say?”
“Nationalist feelings. He thinks the SED should be more protective—of German interests.”
“Yes, I have heard this.”
“But that’s all,” Alex said, looking at him. “He’s a loyal Communist.”
“That is your assessment?”
“Yes. Completely loyal. I’m sure of it.”
“The first rule of the service?” Markus said. “Don’t be sure of anybody.” Teasing, almost waggish. “Well, perhaps you’re right. We’ll see. Good night. It’s such a pleasure for me, all this. Who could have predicted it?”
Alex watched the car pull away. We’ll see. Inside he stopped at the foot of the stairs, suddenly unable to move, as if his knees had given out, and leaned against the wall. Now what? Maybe he could get out before he had to do anything. But what if he never got out? Writing odes to Stalin and looking and listening, betraying everybody. What both sides wanted. Because of course in the end he’d have to do it. Think about it, Markus had said. But who said no to such a request? From a grateful Party. A refusal would make him suspect, someone to watch, the last thing he could afford. Make yourself valuable to them.
His breath was coming faster, running in place. What if Campbell never got him back, kept him dangling here, waiting to drop into Markus’s net? One slip. Who got out of Berlin now anyway, all blockaded up, his Dutch passport something the Soviets could flick aside, like a gnat. Their property now, with his privileged telephone. Making reports for Markus’s files. Another line crossed, maybe all of them just lines after that first one, a raised gun in his hand. No witnesses. Except there had been. Had Markus dug the old lady up? Someone to tighten the noose around his hapless colleague’s neck. Markus, who now believed in coincidences. And being sure of someone.
He turned his head toward the stairs. Voices. Only one flight up, his flat, unless they were loud enough to carry down another floor. He started up, instinctively on tiptoe. Had Erich let someone in? But there was no light under the door. Voices again, rising, then falling. No, not voices, one voice, talking into a void. At the door, he listened. Nothing, then the vo
ice again. Erich’s. A few words, a falling off, then a sound of distress, almost a whimper, no words, as if someone had twisted his arm, caused some sudden pain. Alex put his hand on the doorknob, beginning to turn it quietly, surprise whoever it was, but it stuck, still locked. No one then, just Erich, but loud enough to be heard by some curious neighbor, loud enough to give himself away.
Alex unlocked the door and switched on the light. Another sound, muffled, talking to himself in the dark. Alex went into the bedroom and sat, trying to wake him gently. A startled cry, eyes still closed, afraid, wherever he was.
“Shh. Erich. It’s all right.” Hand clammy, some night sweat on his forehead. “It’s a dream.”
Eyes open now, staring at Alex but not seeing him, then filling with tears.
“I didn’t know. What they would do to me.”
“Shh. It’s all right.” Quietly, almost a whisper.
“But I couldn’t. At first I couldn’t.”
“Couldn’t what?”
“Shoot. Not after the women. Nobody ran. Why didn’t they run? That would have been—like a hunt. Not like this. Lined up, then in the pit. Then another group. And no one runs.”
“In the pit? In the mines?” Alex said, trying to make sense of it.
“No,” Erich said, his eyes focusing now, grabbing Alex’s sleeve. “Not in the mines. Before. We made them dig the pit and then we shot them. It’s a dirty business, Schultz said. But we had to do it. They gave us vodka before, for our nerves. You know, when you see them fall in like that, over and over, it does things to you. So we tried to help each other—”
“Who did?” Alex said, sitting up, motionless.
“Us. The soldiers. They said somebody had to do it, so we did it. And then I didn’t have the stomach for it, but I thought what will they do to me? Some punishment. So I had to keep going.”
“Shooting,” Alex said.
Erich nodded. “Until it’s done. The whole village.”
“And then what?”
“Then we covered the pit. Not us, other soldiers. The shooters were excused from that. And you know what Schultz said? A good day’s work. They don’t give medals for this, but—” He looked up at Alex. “He said we should be proud.”
Alex froze, hearing the thuds of the bodies falling in. He moved his hand away. What had happened to everybody?
“Now I dream about it sometimes,” Erich said. “The way they looked at us. Before we shot them.”
Alex looked over, dismayed. The man he was risking everything to help. Fritz’s son.
Erich turned his head on the pillow, somewhere else again, back in his waking dream.
“The children stayed with the mothers. It was easier. Sometimes hiding the face in the skirt, so those we didn’t have to see. And once, after they fell in, we saw one of them crawling—we had missed him somehow—so Schultz went over to the edge and did it himself. Two shots, to make sure.” His voice had begun to drift. “And you know that night we had more vodka and what do you think comes? A letter. From Elsbeth. How she knew I must be suffering in the cold, it was always cold in Russia, but everyone in Germany was so grateful, how brave we were. And I thought, how can I tell her? What we were doing. Dirty business, he said. But it was worse than that, wasn’t it? I couldn’t tell her. Anybody. Schultz said we couldn’t tell.” He turned back, facing Alex. “Anybody. You won’t report it? That I told you this?”
“No.”
“We couldn’t tell the Russians. In the camp. They would have killed us. Revenge. It was bad enough, just being there. So we didn’t tell. But you, it’s different. An American.” He stopped, his face wrinkling in confusion. “I thought you were there.”
“I was.”
“They don’t know about such things there. You think you can’t do it. Then someone tells you to do it and you do it.”
Alex looked away, hearing Willy’s voice, his own panicked breathing.
“To help each other. If one stops, what does that say to the others? So you do it. And then it’s everybody shooting, not just you, you know?”
Alex looked at him, saying nothing. How old was he now? Twentysomething. Line after line, everybody shooting so nobody was shooting. He turned away.
“Try to get some sleep.”
“A few minutes. Sometimes when I sleep—” He clutched Alex’s sleeve more tightly. “So what should I have done? Somebody had to do it. They said so.”
Alex stood up. “Go to sleep. I’ll be here.”
“Yes, from America,” Erich said, still a puzzle piece to him, but he did finally close his eyes, his shallow breathing slowing, getting easier. Alex stood for a few minutes, watching him drift off, Fritz again, a boy’s smoothness spreading over his features.
* * *
He was still asleep when Irene got there.
“What did Gustav say?” she said, wiping his brow, barely touching it, not wanting to wake him.
“He needs medicine he can’t get here. He needs to get to the West.”
“The West? How? The border’s—”
“I know.”
“Maybe Sasha will help.”
“He can’t. You know that.”
“But it’s only one man. A boy. And you know Sasha’s—” She stopped, an awkward pause. “He’s very fond of me.”
“He’s not going to help you.”
“But if he dies here— It’s that serious? He might die?”
Alex nodded.
“Then what choice? He stays here, he dies. He goes back to Russia, another death sentence. What choice?”
“None. We have to get him out. You realize, he can’t come back. It’s a one-way trip.”
She put her hand back on Erich’s forehead, her face soft, then looked at Alex. “People come back.”
“Not always. Not this time.”
“What do you mean? Tell me.”
He started back to the other room, waiting for her to follow, then closed the door quietly.
“The only way out is by plane. That would mean military authorization. American. And somebody to take care of him on the other end. So they’d have to want to do this for him. Even break a few rules.”
“And why would they do that? For a German.” She looked up. “You mean they’d do it for you. Some favor. You know someone like that? Who would do this for you?”
“For me?” He shook his head. “I’m practically a fugitive. In contempt of Congress.”
“What does that mean?”
“Nobody in the American zone is going to do anything for me.” Hearing himself, the smoothness of it, not even a hesitation. “Unless I have something to trade, enough to pay Erich’s fare.”
“What are you thinking?” she said, looking at him closely. “You have some idea?”
“I met a man at the party from the radio. Their radio—RIAS. If Erich did an interview with them, I think Ferber would have enough clout to get him out.”
“An interview about what?”
“He hasn’t been in a POW camp. A slave labor detachment. Down in the Erzgebirge.”
“Where Sasha goes,” she said quietly. “Do you think he knew? That Erich was there?”
Alex shook his head. “Erich was just a number. Not even a name. How would he have known? He wasn’t supervising work parties. Not Maltsev’s assistant. They’re not names to him.” He paused. “Just slaves.”
“If I thought that,” Irene said, not picking up on this. “That he knew all along— And now? Does he know now? The men who escaped—”
“They’re probably just numbers too.” He looked over. “It would be something to find out.”
“When I spy on him,” she said, a wry shrug, then looked up. “And Erich would talk about that on the radio? The mines? That’s the idea?”
“A firsthand report about what it’s really like there. From a former war hero.”
“War hero.”
“If he’s alive, he’s a hero.”
She looked at him. “It’s propaganda.”
He nodded. “But in this case, also the truth. He almost died there. He might die here, if we don’t get him out. I think they’d want the interview—eyewitness, not rumors.”
“And get Erich on a plane?”
“That would be the deal. But you understand what it would mean. Right now, he’s a POW on the run. If he does this, he becomes an enemy of the state.”
For a minute she said nothing, then breathed out, a kind of sigh.
“An enemy of the state. What state?”
“Sasha’s state,” Alex said.
She raised her eyes, holding his for a second. “But he would have his life.”
“Yes.”
“The Americans want to put you in prison, but you arrange propaganda for them,” she said, a question.
“They’re Germans in the mines.”
“And if they find out here you arranged this? You’d be an enemy of the state too.”
“Probably.”
“Then you’d go to prison here.”
“Do you have another idea? We can’t just walk away from this.”
“From Erich? No. He’s all that’s left now, from that life.” She lifted her head. “And you’d do this? Hiding him, it’s one thing, but—”
“It’s a lot easier to do it if you don’t think about it. What it could mean.”
She was quiet for a second, then looked away. “Yes. That’s often how it is, isn’t it?” She moved toward the bedroom. “Is it good to sleep so long, do you think?”
They woke him to give him the scheduled medicine, but even after more tea all he wanted to do was sleep.
“Alex has an idea. To get you to the West. Would you like that?” Irene said.
“You’ll come too.”
“Ouf, how could I do that? DEFA doesn’t move for me. But I’ll come visit. They have medicine there. Things you need.”
“I can’t stay here,” Erich said, not really a reply, some conversation he was having in his head. “The ones they catch, they put them in the worst mines. That’s what happens. They put you back, but worse.”
“Nobody’s going to catch you,” Alex said. “You warm enough?” He closed the bedroom curtains. “If you need light, stay in here. They took the blackout curtains down in the other room, so any light shows. Remember what I said about the stairs if there’s any trouble?”