I reach the tunnel face and prepare to dig. I’ve found that lying down on my back and using my legs to push the spade into the earth is the easiest way to dig in this cramped space. In no time at all I’ve filled half a dozen buckets with soil.
Werner arrives with planks of wood and starts shoring up the newly dug stretch of tunnel. I push the spade into the soil and keep digging. Werner hammers in nails. We don’t talk, but I know what he’s thinking. The hard physical labour feels good. It helps put out of our minds the fact that Harry still isn’t back yet. It feels like we’re in control again.
At eleven o’clock we’re joined by Thomas and Andreas. Andreas gives us the thumbs up to indicate that Rolf is securely under lock and key. No one is talking down here for fear of being heard by guards in the street above.
By midday we’ve made such good progress that Werner signals at us to take a break whilst he calculates the distance from the vertical shaft to the tunnel face. Werner has been measuring the tunnel as we’ve gone along, marking off the distances on the wooden planks used to shore up the roof and sides. He takes his tape measure out of his pocket and gives me the end to hold whilst he walks back down the tunnel to the hundred metre marker, unrolling the tape as he goes. When he comes back there’s a huge grin on his face. We’ve dug one hundred and ten metres in a horizontal line. It’s time to start digging upwards towards the surface.
Sabine
I wait for something to happen, but nothing does. I am left in solitary confinement. In the end I eat the bread and drink the water. I need to keep my strength up and it passes the time. Occasionally I hear the clank of a cell door down the corridor opening and closing, the thud of footsteps, the shout of voices. But no one comes to my cell except to bring food – a watery soup at midday and a potato stew in the evening. Only if I lie down to rest does someone bang on the door and tell me to get up. Eventually the lights go out and I take that as a sign that it’s time for sleep. I lie down and close my eyes.
I don’t know how long I sleep but it’s not enough. Before I know it I’m being shaken awake and marched back to the interrogation room. Herr Schulz is already there waiting for me. I’m made to sit down on the stool and we go through the same performance as last night.
He repeats his questions about the Brecht play, about Marion Weber, about false identity papers and, most worryingly of all, about the tunnel.
I can’t work out how much he already knows about the tunnel, whether he knows its location or whether he just has a hunch about it. I deny everything. But the lack of sleep is making me angry and depressed. Only when I fall off the stool and collapse onto the floor do they take me back to the cell and throw me onto the bench. I curl up in the foetal position and cry myself to sleep.
Dieter
I hack away at the earth, showering myself in stones and rubble. We’re digging upwards at a thirty degree angle. If Werner has got the maths right, we should emerge in the cellar of Schönholzer Strasse 17. Even though I haven’t had a break for nearly four hours, I keep working with renewed energy, spurred on by the thought of finally reaching the other side.
Werner and Claudia both return with empty buckets. They crouch at the bottom of the slope as I thrust the spade upwards. The blade cuts through the dry, sandy soil and suddenly the earth above me starts to shift.
“Watch out!” whispers Werner.
I press myself into the side of the chute and shield my face with my arms as a clod of earth breaks free from the surface and tumbles down the slope, spraying me in grit and dust. When the earth has settled I open my eyes and peer upwards. I can’t believe what I’m seeing. There’s a hole, about the size of a man’s hand and, above it, empty space.
I look down to where Werner and Claudia are crouched at the bottom of the chute. No one speaks, but I can see the triumph in their eyes.
Werner scrambles up the slope to join me. With our bare hands we widen the hole until I’m able to poke my head through. We’ve emerged in the corner of a large vaulted cellar with coal bunkers along one wall, a stack of empty wooden crates and a staircase at the far end. There is a row of small barred windows, high up, at street level which let in just enough light to see by. There is no one around.
I lower my head back down and give the thumbs up sign to the others to indicate that all is clear. Then working as quietly as possible, we widen the hole until it is big enough to squeeze through. Werner goes first, then I help Claudia through and I follow last.
It feels strange to have finally made it to the other side, to be standing on enemy territory. We move around silently, taking care to stay away from the windows. We’re not safe here in the East and we need to watch every step.
There’s a sound outside the barred windows. Boots and voices. We creep into the shadows as two pairs of booted feet march past. Border guards are patrolling the street. They stop for a moment outside our building. I feel sure they must know we are here. I’m all ready to dive back down the tunnel, but then the soldiers move on. We each let out a sigh of relief.
Werner indicates by pointing his finger that he’s going to climb the cellar steps and try the door at the top. He leads the way and we tiptoe up behind him. The wooden steps are old and rickety and one of the treads gives a loud warning creak that it’s coming to the end of its life. Thankfully the door at the top isn’t locked but opens into the entrance hall of the building. If we were in any doubt as to our location, the drab décor and linoleum floor are a sure sign that we are in the East.
We stop and listen for any signs of life. Upstairs a door closes, then there’s silence. The building is still inhabited.
“Stay there,” whispers Werner. He moves across the hallway towards the door that leads to the street. It’s an old, heavy wooden double door with peeling paintwork and a wrought-iron handle. Werner presses down on the handle. It creaks loudly, drawing attention to itself. Werner opens the door a fraction, then closes it again. He gives us a thumbs up sign. The door isn’t locked so the escapees will be able to access the building.
Werner hurries back to the cellar door. “We should go now.”
Claudia and I both nod. There’s nothing more we can do today. We return to the cellar and take some of the wooden crates to conceal the hole in the floor. Then we slip back into the chute, pulling the crates behind us as we go.
When we reach the bakery we’re jubilant, even though we haven’t rescued anyone yet. We climb the stairs to the kitchen, laughing and talking. I push open the kitchen door and stop dead.
There’s a figure sitting on one of the chairs, slumped over the table, beer bottle in hand. At the sound of our voices the figure stirs and looks up.
It’s Harry and he’s unrecognisable.
Sabine
The light comes on and two guards pull me into a sitting position. Waves of tiredness wash over me. I screw my eyes shut and try to resist the guards but they drag me to my feet. They are not allowing me to sleep for more than two hours at a time.
“Noooo!” I moan. All I want to do is sleep.
One of the guards hits me across the face and I fall backwards, banging my head against the wall. I cry out in pain.
“That’s what you get for being disobedient,” he shouts at me.
I cower against the wall, covering my head with my arms.
“Get up!” shouts the other guard.
When I don’t move they each grab hold of an arm and pull me back to my feet. My head is spinning and I think I might throw up.
They march me out into the corridor. They’re taking me back to the interrogation room. Even in my befuddled state it occurs to me that I never meet any other prisoners in the corridor. How I long to meet one other individual who is in the same position as me, someone with whom I could exchange a look of sympathy. But we are kept isolated from one another, alone and in a state of fear.
We arrive at the interrogation room and one of the guards tells me to sit down on a chair by the desk. What luxury, I think, a chair instead of a stoo
l in the corner. I wait for Herr Schulz to appear.
I smell the stale nicotine before I see him. He walks into the room and takes his place opposite me. He doesn’t look at me and I can’t read his expression behind those impenetrable glasses.
I expect him to start with the usual round of questions, but instead he pushes a piece of paper towards me across the desk. My eyes are stinging and I can hardly hold my head up, but straightaway I recognise the words on the paper.
Inoffizielle Mitarbeiter.
He wants me to sign up as an unofficial collaborator.
Dieter
Claudia rushes over to Harry and throws her arms around him. He winces in pain and she pulls away.
“Sorry,” she says. “I didn’t mean to hurt you.”
“What the hell happened?” asked Werner. “We’ve been worried sick about you.”
Harry looks at us with haunted eyes. He has a bruise on his left cheekbone and a swollen lip. His jaw is covered in stubble and his hair is matted. There’s a nasty red welt on the back of his right hand. He doesn’t seem to want to talk.
Claudia disappears off to one of the bedrooms and returns with a wad of cotton wool and a bottle of anti-septic lotion. She insists on dabbing it on his cuts and bruises even though he tries to brush her off. I put the kettle on and make us all some extra strong coffee.
The coffee helps loosen Harry’s tongue but he still refuses to go into details. “Let me tell you, those guys have got interrogation facilities Hitler would have been proud of. They know how to drive a man to despair so you tell them anything they want to hear. But I didn’t tell them anything!”
“That’s good,” I say. “But why did they arrest you in the first place?”
He shrugs. “Maybe I went through the checkpoint once too often and they got suspicious. First they accused me of being part of a network of Westerners providing false identity papers to their citizens. Then they tried to tell me they’d found the tunnel. I knew they were bluffing, trying to see if I would reveal anything about the tunnel’s location. But they couldn’t pin anything on me, so in the end they had to let me go. And most importantly I didn’t tell them anything.”
For a moment he looks triumphant. Then his face clouds over again. “But we’ve got a massive problem now.” He leans forward, his forehead in his hand. “I can’t ever go back there. If they catch me there again they’ll lock me up and throw away the key. I can’t go back and deliver the final instructions to Sabine and I can’t act as the courier on the night of the escape. I’ve screwed everything up. I’m sorry.”
We stare at Harry. He’s a broken man, his dream of rescuing lots of people in shreds.
“What are you talking about?” I cry. “You haven’t screwed anything up. Just because there’s no-one who can cross at the checkpoint doesn’t mean the game is up. Harry, look at me, we’ve dug the tunnel! We’ve made it to the other side. The courier will just have to go through the tunnel.”
Harry looks at me with a dazed expression on his face as if he can’t quite take in what I’m saying.
“When you came back,” I tell him slowly, “we weren’t here because we were in Schönholzer Strasse. Harry, we’re going to rescue our friends and family from East Berlin and we’re going to show the East German government that they can’t keep their people imprisoned behind the Wall.”
For the first time a smile crosses his lips. “Yes!” he says. “Yes! We’ll beat those bastards yet.”
Sabine
It would be so easy to sign. All I have to do is pick up a pen and write my signature on the bottom of the form. Herr Schulz speaks more gently than he’s ever done before. If I sign I can go to sleep for as long as I want; I can be released; I can see my family again; don’t I want to see my mother and sister? They must be so worried about me.
He pushes a pen across the desk towards me. It’s a silver fountain pen with a shiny nib. It’s beautiful. I would love to own such a pen. I want to touch it but my arm feels heavy and is slow to move.
Herr Schulz picks the pen up and places it in my right hand. Then he points to the paper and says, “Be a good girl and just sign here, will you? That’s all you have to do.”
I look at the pen in my hand, feeling its weight. It’s a high quality instrument. It probably writes beautifully, the nib gliding across the paper, the ink flowing smoothly. Then I look at the piece of paper on the desk in front of me. I’m too tired to read everything it says. I see the words friends and family and my head starts to spin. I want to see my friends and family again. I want to see Brigitta and Mother and Astrid and…
I try to focus on the words in front of me. I’ve lost the place where it said friends and family. I search the document, looking for those reassuring words. Herr Schulz clears his throat. Where are those words?
“Don’t worry about reading it all now,” says Herr Schulz. “You can do that later. Just sign here.” He points to the bottom of the page.
I keep looking for the words I saw a moment ago. Suddenly I see them. And now I see them in context. If I sign this paper I’m agreeing to Inform on friends and family and report all findings to the Stasi.
Herr Schulz pushes the paper towards me with one nicotine-stained finger. I look up at his black, heavy framed glasses. The lenses are so thick that his eyes appear distorted. I don’t see a human soul behind those glasses. I can feel the pen in my hand. It is no longer a thing of beauty but a thing of evil; an instrument with which I nearly betrayed my friends. I lift my hand, raising it high into the air and throw the pen against the wall. Black ink sprays out splattering Herr Schulz on the top of his head.
A hand hits me from behind so that I fall off the chair and collapse onto the floor.
Dieter
It’s time for me to go to East Berlin. I need to deliver the final instructions to Sabine about the date and time of the escape. Then she can pass the information on to the others. We’ve waited until it’s dark outside, but I’m nervous about this mission. I have a letter from Harry hidden in an inside pocket. I’m waiting in the cellar with Werner and Claudia until Andreas, who is on the roof, gives me the all clear.
There’s a crackle on the radio equipment and then Andreas’ voice comes over the airwaves. “No unusual activity on the other side.”
Great, I think, just the usual border guards with rifles then. Nothing to worry about.
I’m wearing black trousers and Werner hands me a black sweater which I pull on. I feel like a criminal about to break into someone else’s house, but all I’m doing is crossing from one side of the city to the other. It just happens to be illegal and if I’m caught I’ll be locked up, possibly even sentenced to death.
Claudia gives me a hug. “Look after yourself,” she says.
“Don’t worry,” I say. “I intend to do just that.”
It makes sense for me to do this job because I’m so familiar with the streets between Schönholzer Strasse, where the tunnel emerges, and Stargarder Strasse, where I grew up. I know all the back streets and which streets are best to avoid because they are busier. But I haven’t been there for so long now. Not since the Wall went up. I’m apprehensive. Not just because of the border guards, but because of how the city will have changed.
I clamber down the vertical shaft to the mouth of the tunnel.
“Good luck,” calls Werner when I reach the bottom.
I set off down the tunnel.
It takes about five minutes to reach the other end, walking bent over. I wish we could have made the tunnel higher, but we’d still be digging it now if we’d done that. I just hope that all the people who are hoping to come through it have some flexibility in their knees and backs.
I crawl up the slope at the end of the tunnel and push aside the crates that are covering the hole. Then I haul myself up into the cellar and replace the crates, trying not to make any sound.
I dust myself off, then check the street level windows, expecting to see a pair of black boots standing outside. But the street ou
tside the house looks to be deserted. I climb the cellar steps and open the door that leads into the hallway. The building is quiet. I take my chance and slip outside into Schönholzer Strasse. To my left, no more than twenty metres away, is the wide avenue of Brunnenstrasse. As I stand there a truck carrying soldiers drives down Brunnenstrasse on its way to the Wall. I turn and walk quickly in the opposite direction, keeping my head down, and listening all the time for the sound of footsteps behind me.
I keep to the back streets, seeing no one except the occasional old man on his way home from the local Kneipe. A Trabant goes past. At the wide junction with Schönhauser Allee I wait for a Wartburg to pass before crossing. I resist the urge to run and do my best to appear like any normal, young East Berliner on his way home. But if a Stasi official stops me and asks for my identity card then I’m done for. I hurry up Pappelallee and turn onto Stargarder Strasse. Within minutes I’m standing outside the building in which I grew up. My home. But it doesn’t feel like home any more. It feels like a very dangerous place to be because this is where I’m most likely to be recognised.
I go inside and am struck by how quiet the building is. The Mann family, of course, are no longer here. I start up the stairs, knowing I have to get past Frau Lange’s door before she sees me. Herr Schiller, I can trust, but I’ve never trusted Frau Lange. There is no sound at all coming from Herr Schiller’s apartment and I find that strange. He always liked to listen to the radio and fry cabbage, but I haven’t got time to worry about that now. I run up the last few stairs to the top floor and knock on the door. I can’t wait to see their faces when they see who it is.
The door opens and I find I’m looking at a woman I barely recognise.
Mother’s hair has turned almost completely grey and she has dark rings under her eyes. Her mouth is drawn in a tight line and her skin looks pale and haggard.
It takes her a moment to recognise me too.
Then she clasps one hand to her mouth and with the other pulls me into the apartment. She doesn’t give me a chance to speak but holds me to her and cries onto my chest.
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