Oranges for Christmas

by Margarita Morris

  I scan the faces in the West, looking for Dieter. Brigitta and Mother are doing the same.

  Then Brigitta jumps up excitedly. “Da ist er!” There he is!

  She points straight ahead into the crowd on the other side and calls his name. “Dieter!”

  He hears her voice and weaves his way to the Wall. He reaches up and takes hold of our hands. Tomorrow this will again become impossible.

  Mother clings to him, not wanting to let go. “Mein Sohn,” she cries. My son. The tears start to fall down her cheeks. It’s all too much for her. She hasn’t seen Dieter for months and now all she can do is touch his hand over the Wall.

  “It’s so good to see you all,” says Dieter. His voice is choked and there are tears in his eyes.

  I want to ask Dieter about the progress of the tunnel but it’s too dangerous with so many people nearby. There are bound to be Stasi informers mingling amongst the crowd. I give him a questioning look with my eyes, confident that he’ll understand me. He gives the faintest nod and I have to be satisfied with that.

  Eventually we let go of each other’s hands so that more people can come to the Wall in search of their loved ones and make our way back to Stargarder Strasse. When we arrive home the oranges are still in the bowl on the kitchen table, giving off their tangy fragrance.

  To cheer everyone up I fetch three plates from the kitchen cupboard and a sharp knife. Then I pick one of the oranges and cut into it, slicing it around the equator. Juice squirts out and splashes into my eye, making me blink. Brigitta laughs and passes me a handkerchief. I dab my eye, but I’m laughing too.

  “Soon,” she says, “we won’t just have oranges for Christmas. Once we’ve escaped to West Berlin, we’ll be able to have them every day.”

  I do hope so.

  ~~~~

  Chapter 7 - Neues Jahr – New Year

  Sabine

  It’s late on New Year’s Eve when I decide to call on Hans and his mother. We still have two oranges left. They are starting to lose their plumpness and I want to give them to someone before they become inedible.

  I place the two remaining oranges in my shopping bag and head out into the cold night. Flakes of snow swirl in front of my face. I walk quickly along the pavement, keeping my head down.

  The door to the building is ajar so I let myself in without pressing the buzzer and climb the stairs to Hans’ apartment. I knock on the door.

  There’s no answer. It makes me feel uneasy, reminding me of the last time I knocked on the Mann’s door.

  I try again, more loudly.

  The door on the opposite side of the landing clicks open. I turn to see who’s there. A head appears, poking round the door. It’s Hans’ elderly neighbour, Frau Winkler. She’s a tiny woman with white hair tied back in a bun and quick, darting eyes. When she sees it’s me she opens the door more fully. I’ve visited her once or twice with Hans. She is leaning on a walking stick with one hand. With the other hand she crooks a gnarled finger and beckons me over.

  “Guten Abend, Frau Winkler,” I say. Good evening.

  “Come inside,” she says in a hushed voice.

  Confused, I follow her into her apartment and on into the living room. The Kachelofen in the corner is radiating a fierce heat and the room smells of Bratwurst and cabbage.

  Frau Winkler fixes me with her eyes. I can tell something’s wrong. I start to sweat, whether from the heat of the Kachelofen or nerves, I don’t know.

  “They are not at home,” she says, tilting her head in the direction of Hans’ apartment.

  “You mean they’ve gone out for the evening?” I know this is unlikely, but I don’t want to jump to conclusions. The worst explanation for their absence would be that the Stasi have taken them in for questioning.

  Frau Winkler gives me a significant look and shakes her head. Her eyes are twinkling and there’s a smile playing about her lips.

  “Do you mean…they’ve gone west?” I whisper the last word.

  Frau Winkler gives an infinitesimal nod of her head.

  I don’t know whether to feel glad for them, or sad that I didn’t get to say good-bye. And does this mean that Hans managed to obtain false identity papers for himself after all? I wonder how much Frau Winkler knows or how much she’s prepared to tell me.

  “Did they go together?” I ask.

  She shakes her head and invites me to sit down on a chair by the table. It is covered in a cream, embroidered table cloth. She sits down next to me, leaning forward with both hands on her walking stick.

  “Frau Fischer went a week ago.”

  “I see. And Hans?”

  “Just this evening.”

  I can’t believe I’ve only just missed him. “And how did he look? I mean, was he like himself?”

  “Oh, yes,” says Frau Winkler surprised at my question. “I’d recognise that boy anywhere. I’ve known him since he was a tot.”

  This worries me. If Hans looked like himself then maybe he didn’t manage to obtain false identity papers. I hope he’s not planning something reckless. I realise I need to go into Hans’ apartment and try and find out what’s happening.

  “Frau Winkler,” I say, leaning towards her, “do you possibly have a key for Frau Fischer’s apartment? You see, it’s just that I left something there the last time I visited them. A book. And I was really hoping to be able to pick it up tonight.”

  She looks at me with those bright eyes of hers. I try to smile sweetly. I don’t know if she believes me, but she nods her head and, leaning on her stick, rises to her feet. She hobbles over to an antique writing bureau, lifts the lid and takes something from one of the compartments.

  “Here you are,” she says, passing me a key on a blue, velvet ribbon.

  “Thank you so much,” I say, getting to my feet and taking it from her. “I won’t be a minute. I’ll bring the key straight back.”

  “Take as long as you like, dear. And you can keep the key. I won’t be needing it.”

  “Auf Wiedersehen, Frau Winkler,” I say, moving towards the door.

  She waves her hand at me and sits back down. She suddenly looks very tired.

  I leave the warmth of her apartment and tiptoe across the cold landing. I slide the key into the lock, feeling like a criminal. I tell myself that Frau Fischer and Hans wouldn’t mind.

  Inside, the apartment is cold. Frau Winkler said Hans only left this evening, but already there’s an emptiness here. I hover for a while in the hallway, not sure what to do. I decide to start in Hans’ bedroom.

  The room is a mess with dirty clothes flung on the floor and unwashed mugs on the bedside table. The wardrobe doors are hanging open, as if Hans dressed himself in a hurry and didn’t have time to close them again.

  The shoebox that contained the identity papers of Frau Roth, the West German woman from Hamburg, and the dark, curly wig, is lying empty on the floor. But there’s something else on the floor that catches my attention. It’s the map of Berlin that Hans tried to hide from me the last time I was here. The map with the Wall marked in red ink.

  I pick up the map and spread it out on the bed. I gaze at the line of the Wall as it zig-zags around the central district of Mitte, south along the Teltow Canal and north along the S-bahn line. I stare at the map, trying to work out what Hans’ plan might be, willing it to give me a clue.

  The central section of the map is smudged and dirty, as if it has been the subject of more intense scrutiny.

  I follow the red line with my finger, past the Brandenburger Tor and round Potsdamer Platz. There’s a big red cross at the Checkpoint Charlie border crossing on Friedrichstrasse which draws my attention. From there I run my finger east along Zimmerstrasse. One of the houses on Zimmerstrasse is marked with a tiny red dot. It’s not much to go on, but it’s all I have. I leave the map on the bed, then I head out into the night.

  Dieter

  “Tonight is a golden opportunity to press ahead,” says Werner. “Whilst the East German guards are distracted by fireworks goi
ng off in the West, they are less likely to notice the digging that is going on right under their feet.”

  I agree. I would normally spend New Year’s Eve out in Kreuzberg, celebrating with Bernd. We’d go round the bars, drinking beer, and watching the fireworks being let off over the city, at least in West Berlin. But this year no one on the team wants to go out partying. We just want to keep digging. The horizontal tunnel is now sixty metres long and the sandy soil is easy to dig.

  “But we still need to be careful,” says Claudia, pulling on a woolly hat and wrapping a scarf around her neck in readiness for lookout duty. “They do regular patrols of the empty houses on Bernauer Strasse. They’re more likely to hear us from one of the houses than from the street.”

  “Good point,” says Werner.

  I grab a pick-axe and spade and start to climb down the tunnel shaft. It’s started snowing and I’m glad to be in the relative warmth of the tunnel. I’ll take over from Claudia on the roof later in the evening.

  Sabine

  I don’t return home but head straight for the S-bahn. There are no New Year’s Eve celebrations on this side of the Wall and it’s so cold the streets are quiet.

  I take the train to Friedrichstrasse station and then walk south down Friedrichstrasse itself. Ahead of me, at the junction with Zimmerstrasse, is Checkpoint Charlie, the border crossing for foreigners. That will be how Harry gets into and out of East Berlin. Even from this distance I can see the guards standing outside the squat, pre-fabricated building, stamping their feet to keep warm. I don’t want to get too close to them so I turn left into Leipziger Strasse and head down the back streets towards Zimmerstrasse.

  Zimmerstrasse is a ghost street. On the north side the houses lie dark and abandoned, a result of the recent enforced evacuations. On the south side is the Wall, a metre and a half high and topped with three rows of barbed wire supported on metal struts. On the other side of the Wall is the trendy West Berlin district of Kreuzberg. People in Kreuzberg really know how to party. I can hear the beat of rock’n roll from a café or nightclub. The West Berliners are out to celebrate the New Year and will no doubt want to show the East German border guards that the Wall isn’t going to stop them having a good time.

  I walk slowly along Zimmerstrasse keeping close to the houses. There is no sign of any life and I wonder if I’ve come to the wrong place. Snow is settling on the ground like a fine blanket.

  I’m about one hundred metres from Checkpoint Charlie now. I don’t want to get any closer. If Hans is here, I’m sure he wouldn’t position himself so close to the checkpoint. I can see the guards standing in front of the barriers, clearly visible in the strong floodlights that illuminate the area.

  A car appears from Friedrichstrasse. It’s a western model, sleek and sporty, not a patched up old Trabi. The guards flag it down and the driver has to get out whilst they open the bonnet and boot, hunting for an East Berliner being smuggled out of the country. But their search reveals nothing and reluctantly they are forced to lift the barrier and let the driver through. The guards look frustrated. Finding an illegal escapee would have made their day. One of them has a dog on a lead. He starts to walk in my direction. I draw back into the shadow of a doorway, willing myself to become invisible.

  The guard’s boots crunch in the frozen snow. The dog’s breath comes in short, sharp pants. I can hear them getting closer. Then they come into view. The guard is a thick-set man who walks with his legs wide apart. The dog is a fierce-looking Alsatian, ears pricked at the ready, sniffing the air with its nose and pulling on its lead. I pray it doesn’t pick up my scent.

  They walk past me and continue down the street for about fifty metres. Then they turn around and head back again. I hold my breath once more. The dog turns its head in my direction. But the guard tugs on the lead and threatens to kick the animal. It obeys its master immediately.

  “Come on, there’s nothing there.” The dog doesn’t look convinced, but it has no choice but to accompany the guard back to the checkpoint.

  I slip out of my hiding place and head back down Zimmerstrasse. There’s no point staying here any longer. I’m about to turn into one of the side streets when a figure emerges from one of the buildings about twenty metres ahead of me. A firework explodes in West Berlin and in the shower of red and green light I recognise Hans.

  Dieter

  A shower of red and green light bursts into the sky.

  I’ve been on the roof for the last half hour, keeping an eye on the border guards in Brunnenstrasse, but also watching the fireworks that are illuminating the sky above West Berlin. Sparkling silvers, greens, blues and reds. East Berlin, on the other hand, remains shrouded in darkness.

  There’s a noise behind me and I turn to see Claudia crawling through the hatch in the roof, two bottles of beer in her hand. She nestles down beside me and passes me one of the bottles.

  We sit in companionable silence, sipping the beer and watching rockets exploding in the sky.

  Claudia looks at her watch. “Two minutes to go.”

  “You should make a wish.”

  “There’s only one thing I want,” she says.

  There’s an explosion of red in the sky towards the south.

  “Happy New Year,” she says leaning forwards and giving me a kiss.

  I take hold of her hand. “Claudia,” I say, “when this is all over…”

  “Yes,” she says, putting a finger to my lips. “When this is all over. But not now. I have to go back and help with the digging.”

  I watch as she disappears down the hatch.

  Snowflakes fall on my face, but I don’t feel the cold.

  Sabine

  “Hans!” I whisper his name but the sound carries in the deserted street. He turns to look in my direction, sees me, then shrinks back inside the doorway of the building. I run to him. He kicks open the door and pulls me inside the entrance hall. It smells stale and dusty.

  “What the hell are you doing here?” He stares at me in astonishment.

  “I called on you earlier. Your neighbour, Frau Winkler, told me you’d gone. She gave me the key to your apartment. I’m sorry, I know I shouldn’t have gone snooping, but I was worried about you.”

  He runs a hand through his hair. “Sabine, I don’t know what to say…I…”

  “What happened to your mother?” I ask. “Did she get to West Berlin?”

  He nods. “A week ago. She just walked straight through Checkpoint Charlie wearing that curly wig. It was so easy.”

  “That’s good,” I say. “But what about you? Couldn’t you get false identity papers too?”

  He looks down at the floor and shakes his head. “I tried, but the border guards got suspicious of the students coming over from West Germany. Maybe a Stasi spy pretended to be an escapee and infiltrated their ranks or something, I don’t know, anyway they were found out and arrested. On the very day they were supposed to be bringing me a false identity! I would have been caught myself if I hadn’t turned back from the meeting place. There was a Trabi parked nearby with two men in it and I just knew the game was up. I’m sure they spotted me though. I’m on their books already and they’ll tighten the noose even more, particularly when they find out Mother has gone.” He looks me straight in the eye. “That’s why I can’t stay here a moment longer. I’m going over that Wall tonight.”

  “Are you crazy? There are armed guards out there. I saw one of them walking up and down with a dog.”

  “I know. I’m not stupid. Look, I’ve been watching them for the last hour. One of them walks up and down every ten minutes. The last one went a couple of minutes ago so there won’t be another for at least six or seven minutes. I can get over the Wall in that time. Plus, they’re distracted by the fireworks. Why do you think I chose tonight?”

  “Hans, this is madness, I don’t want you to…”

  “Shut up,” he says, pulling me towards him. He wraps his arms around me and kisses me hard on the lips. It’s as if a firework explodes inside me
and suddenly I’m kissing him back, tasting him, inhaling the familiar smell of him and forgetting where we are and the fact that there are armed guards outside. I want this moment to last forever, but Hans pulls away from me and holds me at arm’s length. “I’ll go and find Dieter and help him build this damn tunnel if you like. Then you’ll be able to get out quicker.”

  I just stare at him, like a dumb animal.

  He checks his watch. “I have to go. Before the guard returns. And Sabine…”

  “Ja?”

  “Ich liebe dich!” I love you!

  I nod, speechless. I never knew how he felt about me until now. I don’t think I knew how I felt about him either.

  He opens the door and peers into the street.

  He looks back one more time. “Auf Wiedersehen, Sabine!” Then he runs.

  There’s nothing I can do to stop him. I stand by the doorway, watching, urging him on.

  He’s across the street in no time, then he launches himself into the air and grabs the top of the Wall with both hands. His feet scrabble at the concrete blocks as he tries to haul himself over the top. His shoes make a scraping noise against the rough surface. I pray the guard dog won’t hear. He’s going to have to squeeze himself between the lines of barbed wire on top of the Wall.

  Go on! I shout silently, mouthing the words at him. Go on! You can do it!

  He manages to get his elbows onto the top of the Wall and then he swings his right foot up so that he’s almost horizontal. If he can just flatten the lowest strip of barbed wire with his foot then he might be able to squeeze through. Do it! I yell at him, but of course no sound comes from my mouth.

  Suddenly there’s frenzied barking. Then a shout. The wretched dog I saw earlier runs down the street, barking like a mad thing, all sharp teeth and drooling saliva. Running behind the dog, struggling to keep up with it, is its handler. More guards are leaving their post at the checkpoint to follow.

  “Stop!” The guard’s voice rasps through the night air. He is still about fifty metres away, but he has a clear view of what Hans is doing.