Oranges for Christmas

by Margarita Morris

  When school finishes my only thought is to go and see Hans. I make an excuse to Astrid about needing to get home quickly for Brigitta and then I rush off.

  Frau Fischer answers the door to me. She looks older than the last time I saw her, greyer and more tired. But she smiles and invites me inside.

  “Sabine, it’s good to see you.” She takes my hand in both of hers. She looks unbearably sad.

  “I heard what happened to Hans,” I say as we walk into the living room.

  She shakes her head at me. “The Stasi questioned us both, you know.”

  “Whatever for?”

  “They wanted me to admit that I have failed to bring him up as a true socialist. Apparently I have failed in my son’s political education.” Her voice is serious but there’s a twinkle of defiance in her eyes as if she thinks this assessment of her maternal qualities is a load of Scheisse.

  “What utter nonsense,” I say.

  She shrugs. “That is the way they see things. Hans is in his room. Go and talk to him. He is spending far too much time in there.”

  I knock on his door.

  “Who is it?”

  “It’s me, Sabine.”

  He opens the door and lets me in. He looks terrible. His hair is a mess and there are dark rings under his eyes as if he hasn’t slept properly. He sits down on the bed without saying a word. I sit down next to him.

  “I’m sorry you got expelled,” I say. “Astrid told me this morning.”

  He laughs bitterly. “She’ll enjoy having something to gossip about.”

  I think this is a bit unfair on Astrid, but Hans is clearly upset about his own situation so I let it go.

  He turns to look at me properly for the first time since I arrived. “You weren’t at school yesterday. What happened to you?”

  I tell him about my arrest and interrogation and he listens with a growing look of anger.

  “Die Arschlöcher!” he says when I’ve finished telling him about my ordeal. He looks as if he’d like to punch someone. I lay a hand on his arm to calm him down.

  “It’s all over now,” I say. “Forget about it. Anyway listen, I didn’t come here to tell you about my arrest. I came to tell you that I’ve heard from Dieter.”

  “Oh?” There’s a look of genuine surprise on his face.

  “He’s joined a group of people in West Berlin who are digging a tunnel into the East so they can rescue their friends and family.”

  I feel very proud of Dieter and I wait for Hans to say something positive. But his face falls and he looks away from me.

  “Didn’t you hear what I just said?” I ask, frustrated by his lack of response.

  He stands up and walks to the window, pressing his forehead against the glass. “Sure. Dieter’s digging a tunnel. That’s great, but how long will it take?”

  I shrug. “A few months I suppose.”

  He turns to face me. “That’s way too long. They’ll be discovered before they’ve finished it. Then they’ll all be arrested. And meanwhile we’re stuck here wasting our lives.”

  “You don’t know they’ll be discovered! I’m sure they’re being careful.” I’m cross with him for pouring cold water on Dieter’s plan before they’ve even given it a chance. “At least Dieter’s doing something productive instead of just wearing black which hasn’t achieved anything except get you into trouble with the Stasi.”

  He flinches at my words and I regret them as soon as they’re out of my mouth.

  “Is that what you think of my actions?” he asks.

  “I’m sorry,” I say. “I didn’t mean to offend you, but Dieter’s doing what he can and you shouldn’t write him off. I thought you’d be pleased to hear about the tunnel.”

  He hangs his head, looking defeated. After a few moments he looks up at me. “Look, I’m pleased Dieter is doing something, of course I am, but the problem with this tunnel idea is that it’s just going to take too long. I can’t wait months.”

  “Well, what about your plan to get false identities?” I ask.

  He nods his head. “That still might work. I have my contacts. But I can’t wait forever. Don’t you see? I’ve been expelled from school which means I’ll never get my Abitur and never be able to go to university. As soon as I step outside the Stasi will be watching me. If I can’t get the false identities sorted out soon, then I have other ideas.”

  “To do what?”

  He drops his voice to a whisper. “I could go to Czechoslovakia and from there try and cross the border into Austria.”

  I think this idea is absurd. “Are you crazy? You’ll be shot trying a stunt like that. At least Dieter and his friends will be hidden from view underground. Trying to cross the border in Czechoslovakia is way too obvious. Astrid thinks…”

  He turns on me and cuts me off. “I don’t give a fig what Astrid thinks.”

  I’m stunned. “Why not?”

  He shrugs his shoulders and looks away.

  “Why not?” I insist. “What have you got against her?”

  “I don’t trust her.”

  “Why ever not?”

  He sighs. “Oh, I don’t know. She’s probably harmless. She just gets on my nerves with her endless gossiping. Be careful what you tell her.”

  I’m furious at this insult to the only person at school who has shown me any kindness today. “You’re telling me to be careful, when you’re planning on running across national borders?”

  He looks like I’ve just slapped him in the face.

  I stand up to leave, wishing I’d never come. “If you’re still here when the tunnel is ready, then you’re welcome to come with us.”

  He doesn’t answer.

  I walk home in a foul temper. Astrid was right. Wearing black as a protest hasn’t achieved anything except get the participants into trouble. And if Hans isn’t prepared to wait for the tunnel to be built, well he can go and take his chances at the Czechoslovak border and see if I care!

  I’m walking with my arms folded and head down so I don’t notice the group of young people walking towards me until I almost collide with them.

  “Vorsicht!” snaps a voice in my ear. Watch out!

  I look up to see a group of three teenagers, two boys and a girl. They are all wearing the unmistakable bright blue shirts, with the yellow rising sun motif on the sleeve, of the Freie Deutsche Jugend. It was the girl who spoke. She frowns at me and flicks her head, tossing two long braids of blond hair over her shoulders. For some reason she is clutching a compass in her right hand. I suppose I almost made her drop it when I nearly walked into her. The boys are each carrying clipboards and pencils.

  “Entschuldigung!” I mutter. Sorry! I’m not in the mood for a confrontation with these young enthusiasts of the socialist system. I just want to go home.

  They let me pass and I continue on my way. But at the entrance to my building I turn round to look at them. They are standing where I left them, the girl holding the compass in her outstretched palm, the boys looking up at the roofs of the buildings and then writing something on their clipboards. What on earth are they doing?

  Just then Frau Lange appears in the doorway. She is on her way out.

  She greets me with her usual formality and lack of friendliness. “Guten Tag, Fräulein Neumann.”

  “Guten Tag, Frau Lange.”

  She notices the group a little way off and gives a nod of approval. Then she turns back to me. “I see you are not out with your comrades.”

  “Er, no,” I say. I don’t add that I’m not actually a member of the Freie Deutsche Jugend.

  “A fine job they are doing,” she says looking in the direction of the two boys and girl who have now moved down the street and are repeating their performance with the compass and clipboards.

  “And what are they doing?” I ask.

  She looks incredulous at my stupidity. “They are checking the television aerials of course.”

  “What about them?” There aren’t that many television aerials in this street
but I can see now they are standing by a building which does happen to possess a couple of these rare but prized pieces of technology.

  Frau Lange makes a tutting noise with her tongue and then answers my question as if I was five years old. “They’re checking to see whose aerial is pointing to the West. That’s why they’re using a compass. People shouldn’t be watching western television. It’s corrupting and immoral.” Then she turns on her heel and marches down the street.

  Despite the terrible day I’ve had, I laugh out loud. She can probably hear me but I don’t care. We don’t have a television but I’ve seen a bit of Western television when I’ve visited Dieter and I thought it looked much more interesting than the dreary rubbish we get over here. I think of Astrid’s brother, Frank, watching that ridiculous Meister Nadeloehr and how he’d really enjoy a decent cartoon.

  I climb the stairs to our apartment feeling unbearably sad about life here in the East. If we wear black as a sign of protest we get expelled from school. If we say what we think we are liable to be arrested. If we watch western television we are traitors to the state.

  Two days later the Freie Deutsche Jugend are back but this time they are on the roofs of houses and apartment blocks, repointing western facing television aerials back towards the East. It is the end of American movies and western news coverage for East Berliners. From now on there will be nothing but the State news channel and Meister Nadeloehr.

  ~~~~

  Chapter 5 - Mother Courage

  Sabine

  October arrives and brings with it a blustery wind that shakes the leaves from the trees. I haven’t seen Hans for a couple of weeks now. I’ve been hoping that he would call round and tell me he’s changed his mind about the tunnel; that he’s happy to wait for it to be finished. But there’s been no sign of him. And deep down I’ve still been cross with him for being so mean about Astrid. So I’ve gone to school each day and tried to carry on as normal. For a while the white Trabant followed me everywhere, but I haven’t noticed it in the last few days. Maybe the Stasi think I’ve learned my lesson.

  By the end of the week I realise that I’m missing seeing Hans at school and decide to pay him a visit. I want to try and patch things up between us. I call round after school on Friday. Frau Fischer answers the door to me.

  “I’m sorry, Sabine,” she says, drying her hands on a tea towel, “but he went out a couple of hours ago. I don’t know when he’ll be back.”

  She’s going about her daily chores and doesn’t sound at all worried, but a knot tightens in my stomach. I was so sure of finding him at home that I can’t help thinking the worst when I find he’s not here. What if he has decided to flee to Czechoslovakia without telling her? He could be on a train right this moment. I don’t know if she knows anything about his plans. Presumably not, otherwise she wouldn’t be so relaxed at the idea of him going out.

  “Can I give him a message?” she asks, smiling at me. She really isn’t at all worried so I try to relax a little.

  I shake my head. “No. No message. Just tell him I called, please.”

  “Of course, dear.”

  I return home and try to put Hans out of my mind by fetching Harry’s last letter from its hiding place inside the pages of my notebook. It’s the letter Brigitta gave me the day I was released from Stasi Headquarters. I haven’t acted on it yet because I was worried about being followed by the Stasi. I take it into the kitchen and re-read it carefully.

  It contains a set of instructions, a list of three names and a couple of photographs. Harry wants me to contact the people on this list and they in turn will contact other people who want to escape from East Berlin and who can be trusted to keep the tunnel project secret. That way we’ll be able to spread the word about the tunnel without the need for Harry to get in touch with everyone individually. If he tried to do that he could put himself under suspicion and the whole project would be in jeopardy.

  Re-reading the letter now, I notice with some alarm that Harry has appointed me the primary contact in the East. If I don’t pass this information on, then no one will know what the plans are. I suspect Dieter volunteered me for this role, thinking that I’ve never been in any sort of trouble with the Stasi. If only that were still the case. Just because I haven’t seen the white Trabant for a few days doesn’t mean I can afford to relax my guard. I have a Stasi file which means they’ll watch me from a distance and will be on the lookout for any unusual behaviour.

  I study the names, addresses and photographs of the people I’m supposed to contact. The two pictures are holiday snaps taken in happier times, before the Wall went up, and must have been supplied by the tunnelers in the West. I try to commit the names, faces and addresses to memory in case I need to destroy this letter at a later date.

  The first person on the list is a woman called Marion Weber. She’s the girlfriend of Werner, the tunnel engineer. The photograph shows a blond haired woman on the arm of a young man with wire-rimmed glasses. They are standing outside the Palace of Charlottenburg in West Berlin looking happy and relaxed. But her real address is very far from this leafy district. She actually lives southeast of Prenzlauer Berg in the East Berlin district of Biesdorf. As well as her home address I have the name of the Trabant factory where she works on the production line. Visiting her will mean a long journey on the U-bahn. I put her picture to one side and pick up the next photograph.

  It is a holiday snap of Ingrid Huber who, the letter explains, is Claudia’s aunt. The photograph shows a picnic on the beach. It must be somewhere on the North Sea. She is sitting beside a checked cloth next to two young children who must be Claudia’s brother and sister. They live in Pankow which is immediately north of Prenzlauer Berg. Ingrid works at the local hospital, but I have her home address.

  The final names on the list are those of Manfred Heilmann, his wife Gisela, their young son Peter and baby daughter Karin. There is no photograph of them but the letter tells me that Manfred is a friend of Harry’s and an actor with the Berliner Ensemble theatre group. He’s about to appear in a production of Brecht’s play, Mother Courage and Her Children, which is opening at the Theater am Schiffbauerdamm in a week’s time. Hitler banned Brecht’s work in the 1930s but the Communists are enthusiastic in reviving the plays because of their socialist themes. It occurs to me that it might help my own reputation with the Stasi if I go to a performance of Brecht so I call Brigitta over from the living room where she is reading a book.

  “How would you like to go to the theatre?”

  Her eyes light up at once. “What are we going to see?”

  If she’s hoping for a production of Schneewittchen or Hänsel und Gretel she’s going to be disappointed but I can’t help that.

  “Mutter Courage und ihre Kinder,” I inform her.

  “Ja, gut,” she says brightly.

  “Right then,” I say. “Let’s go and buy the tickets.”

  Dieter

  Progress in the past week has been good. By having teams working round the clock we’ve managed to dig a deep, vertical shaft. I climb down to the bottom using the hand and footholds which Claudia and I made from the remains of the old furniture that was lying around in the cellar.

  “Here it comes,” says Werner leaning over the edge of the hole. He lowers a rope knotted at one metre intervals and weighted at the end with a hammer. I grab hold of the hammer and pull the rope tight. The hammer just reaches the floor of the shaft.

  “We’ve done it,” I call back up. There’s a shout of joy from Claudia and the other students.

  After weeks of back-breaking work the vertical shaft is now four metres deep. We’ve installed a pulley system to lift the buckets of earth up to the surface. Werner pulls the rope up and I scramble back to the surface. Claudia runs over and hugs me then runs to Werner and hugs him. He takes off his glasses and rubs his eyes. Despite the sense of achievement, we know this is only the beginning. We now have the gargantuan task of digging a horizontal tunnel one hundred and twenty metres long. The fir
st section will run under Bernauer Strasse and then we will cross the border into the German Democratic Republic. We will be invading an enemy land.

  Harry steps forward from the shadows. I didn’t even know he was in the cellar. “Well done guys. Good work. Any chance of speeding things up a bit now? We’ve still got a hell of a long way to go.”

  I think, how dare he! We’ve been slogging away at that vertical shaft and it’s not as if Harry has so much as lifted a finger to help.

  “Look,” I say, but Werner steps forward, cutting me off.

  “We’re making good progress and we’re on track with the plan. Things are speeding up now we’re developing some muscle,” he glances at me, “but digging the horizontal tunnel is going to take longer than the vertical shaft because we’ll need to shore up the sides and roof with wood as we go.”

  Harry sighs. “How long will that take?”

  “Not as long as it will take if the tunnel collapses,” says Werner looking Harry straight in the eye. There’s an uncomfortable silence for a few seconds as Harry and Werner continue to stare each other out.

  Claudia intervenes. “Werner’s right. We can’t afford to take that risk.”

  “And,” says Werner, “we will need to be extra quiet. The guards are patrolling all the time and they have dogs that might sense something going on under their noses.”

  “Okay, okay,” says Harry throwing his hands in the air. “You’re the technical expert, so we have to do what you say.”

  “Come on,” I say. “Let’s get back to work. We’re wasting time here.” I’m keen to get going again. Werner’s right about us all getting stronger. I’ve noticed that my arms don’t hurt as much after digging and I can keep going for longer.

  “Yes,” says Claudia. “Vorwärts!” Onwards!

  Sabine

  After another strained week at school where everyone is on the lookout for suspicious behaviour and people have lost the confidence to say what they really think of the Wall, it’s finally the opening night of Mother Courage and Her Children. But as always when there’s something you’ve been waiting for, time slows to a crawl and the day drags even more than usual. The final straw is in Marxism-Leninism where Herr Schmidt is particularly vehement in his defence of Marxist theory, arguing that class struggle is a necessary prerequisite of progress in a society. Apparently the Wall dividing East and West Berlin is an essential element in the progress of our country. The only progress I’m interested in is the progress Dieter and his friends are making with the tunnel.