by Fox J Wilde
“And you can guarantee my safety if I step away?”
“Now you know I can’t promise that.” Grandfather answered plainly, but with a note of concern. “So long as you are my agent, and you are doing what you need to be doing, you are bulletproof. But once you are out of my sphere of influence, I can’t protect you. You might fare just fine, since the State has benefited from your nearly spotless record. But you know as well as I do that you know far too much. The State may wish to move you laterally; but it will never let you leave entirely. Certainly not over the Wall.”
“I’m not scared of the State!” Patrick spat.
“Then you are an idiot. As intolerable as some of the thugs you work with can be, they are intelligent, and they do have your back when it counts. So long as you say the right things and do the same things they are doing, at least. And not all of them are as despicable as the others. I’ve made sure to keep a variety of personalities in place to balance out the rougher edges. But the State isn’t intelligent, and it doesn’t have your back. It knows nothing of you—of your desires, of your abilities, of your opinions on the matter—it only cares about your usefulness, and about how much of a liability you are. It’s a huge unthinking system and there are hundreds of men in this system whose only job is to balance your current usefulness against your future liability. The second you lose a point in the wrong column, or gain one in the other, you will have a heart attack. Or you will be ran over by a train…or worse.”
“Perhaps that’s better than this.” Patrick said, ruefully.
“You aren’t thinking.” Grandfather chastised him. “You are having a hard time. I understand that, and I care, but kindly remember that I’m the only one who cares. Don’t abuse that privilege with weak statements like that. Luckily for you, I care enough to completely ignore your momentary lapse, and tell you this: You will have the life you desire, or one very close to it. I will put you in that position, and I will do it as soon as I can, because I understand and care about you. But you aren’t the only one I care about, and I have to take care of the others too. If you resist me, it will only make my job harder. And so help me god, if you make it harder for me to help the others because you want to whine…there will be consequences.”
“B-but...” Patrick began to argue, before thinking better of it.
“You, Patrick, are not currently ready. You have growing to do. I have to trust you to not only do the job, but to do it the way I need it done.” With this, Grandfather gave Patrick a knowing glare. “Until you can do that, you will have to learn and to grow.”
“I dealt with them.” Patrick seethed. “I made the problems disappear.”
“Problems don’t disappear if they make the news, Patrick!” Grandfather snapped. “Two musicians of an up-and-coming band from East Germany found dead…shot in the head. Both in separate alleyway dumpsters. What in the world were you thinking?!”
“What was I supposed to do?! Let them run off?!”
“Yes! That’s what you were told to make happen!”
“They were liabilities!”
“They were my assets, not yours!” Grandfather was yelling now, red-faced, and Patrick recoiled against it. Grandfather never yelled, which made it all the more a fearsome thing when witnessed.“They may have been bastards, but they were my bastards! I entrusted my charges to you, and you killed them, you little ingrate!”
“I...I...”
“Yes they were liabilities; but they were my liabilities to accept!” Grandfather barely controlled his temper. “I had my reasons, and those reasons do not require your approval! Especially when you have such a small view of the big picture! So, don’t you presume to educate me. Especially when you can’t follow simple instructions, because now your incompetence has made more work for me.”
“Then show me the big picture. Help me understand!”
“It’s not your job to understand these things, you brat! It’s my job to see the big picture, not yours. Your job is to do what I tell you to do. One day, when you are my age, you will have your own big picture to paint. And you will be painting it with kids like you who can’t follow directions. Then you will get mad at them, like I am at you, and realize that you don’t have time to explain it all to them. Because then you would have to justify it in the same manner as you imparted it, and you won’t be able to do that, because each individual plot point in that picture is based off of thousands of hours of personal experience you have garnered on the subject.
“Simply put, Patrick, I’m not going to share any part of the big picture with you because I don’t want to. And I don’t want to because I’m old. This isn’t the only thing in my life. I have a marriage to enjoy, grandchildren to watch, a yard to weed, and old-people sex to attempt, along with all the other rewards and hernias that come from a life spent learning to not explain things to you punks. So just trust me and do as your told.”
“But…but...”
“Patrick,” Grandfather said plainly, “Say you are sorry for failing me.”
“...I’m sorry for failing you.”
“Thank you. Now, we move on.”
Grandfather walked over to a desk where a flagon of spirits sat, and poured each of them a drink. Patrick was still quite upset, but he knew better than to show it. If Grandfather was willing to let such a mistake go, well, Patrick would do well to take him up on it. Still, he wasn’t satisfied. He had asked for the meeting with every intention of walking out on the project. The only thing keeping him honest right now was the fact that he had so wronged his beloved Case Officer. How could he go about pushing the issue, without risking his ire once more?
“It was Dragon Lady’s idea,” Patrick attempted.
“I know it. That doesn’t excuse you.” he responded as he handed over a glass.
“She’s a cancer…she’s a liability to the unit.”
I know who and what she is.” Grandfather said, calmly. “She is many things that I like even less than you do, but she isn’t a liability. I can trust her to do exactly as I say. She only suggests bad ideas to you because she knows you will follow through on them—so she doesn’t have to.”
“But…isn’t that...” Patrick stuttered. He knew it was true. Still, there was more to it. “I just…I really don’t want to work with her anymore.”
Grandfather sipped his drink idly, staring off into the distance. He was considering something complicated. Something that had many implications on varying levels. It was something Patrick respected about the man—he took everything into account, no matter how small. He was the one who had orchestrated the operation against the fat French dignitary. He was the one who had figured the top-secret documents Lord Piggy possessed as counter-intelligence forgeries, figuring that even the French refused to trust him. He was the one who had noticed The Dead Weights and their potential to the GDR, and he was the one who devised the plan to use Lena to bring him over the Wall, both physically and politically. And he was the one who had factored in Dragon Lady’s part to play in the near future.
“Let me give you some advice,” he finally began. “And I say this knowing that you aren’t going to take this advice until long after its usefulness has past. When an apple falls from a tree unpicked, most of the time, it will just sit there on the ground rotting. There, it becomes food for rodents, maggots and perhaps worse. It’s a disgusting, unhealthy thing that spreads disease and ill health—not at all something you would think to profit from. Yet that rotten apple contains seeds that might very well go on to create an entire tree.
“Remember though: it’s not the fact that the tree sprouts from the rot that matters; it’s where the seed sits when it takes roots. If your tree has room to blossom, it will bear fruit, no matter how rotten its origins. But if it grows in the same space as its parent tree, it will grow stunted and malnourished, stealing nutrients from the tree it spawned from and destroying both.” Looking Patrick square in the ey
es with a knowing look, he finished, “Don’t be dismayed by how disgusting the rotten apple is. You don’t need to eat it…you just need to make the best use of it.”
“I don’t think you understand,” Patrick started.
“Oh, I very much do,” Grandfather interrupted him. “You have your rotten apples, Patrick, but I own the orchard. Trust me, and give me the time I need to nurture it, and you will watch that rotten apple create a fruit-bearing tree.”
Patrick began to fume. Grandfather just didn’t understand. He didn’t grasp the suffering that Patrick experienced at the hands of that vile creature and her despicable desires. But his internal rage was interrupted by Grandfather, who now wore a particularly evil look.
“And never forget...” Grandfather smiled with a dire note of foreboding, “Sometimes you grow trees for their fruit. And sometimes you grow them for their firewood.”
Übertragungen
“Hrmmph”
It seemed to be the only sound that decrepit little Kraut was capable of making. It was a mix of snoring, grunting, and wet snuffles, and it was a sound he made loudly and often during their journey. At first, Lena had watched him intently. Yet, as she began to realize her efforts were better spent helping the elderly Mrs. Schroeder down the steep steps, Lena simply set Kraut here or there, and the rotund, furry old dog would sit without complaint or opinion. She helped Mrs. Schroeder climb down the fire escape, and then helped her through the window, each time setting Kraut on the ground somewhere. And every time she returned to scoop him up, he seemed oblivious to the world.
She wasn’t entirely sure the dog had registered the direction of gravity, let alone the passage of time. Perhaps he didn’t even register basic senses like hunger. Their certainly weren’t any reasonable signs of life that required meaningful nourishment…perhaps he only required enough energy to make those ridiculous snoring noises. Lena was quite sure that she could place this poor little beast in the middle of the woods, and come back a year later to find him stuck in the very same spot, contentedly oblivious. Only, he would likely be covered in ivy and grass, with the topsoil having found its way into his many rolls and lumps to sprout shoots and leaves.
“I sure do thank you for your help,” Mrs. Schroeder said, as the two made it to her front door, “Kraut does tend to get away.”
“Oh, yes,” Lena agreed sarcastically. “Take your eye off of him for one moment, and he’ll practically escape over the Wall himself.”
“You would be surprised! Introduce a vacuum cleaner into his life, and he’ll move.”
“What does that look like?” Lena boggled.
“It’s not pretty. I don’t think he quite realizes that his hind legs are attached to him anymore.”
“Really?”
“Oh yes…he’ll take off walking straight enough, I suppose, but once those back legs start moving, the best he can manage is flouncing sideways.”
“My god.” Lena laughed. “Well, it was wonderful seeing you all tonight, but I best be getting back to my home.”
“Oh nonsense! Come in for just a moment. It’s been so long since I’ve seen you. It’d do my heart some good to hear how you are actually doing, free from the ramblings of those idiots.”
It wasn’t that Lena didn’t want to…well, perhaps that’s exactly what it was. Nevertheless, she didn’t have a particularly good reason to refuse. Vivika was likely enjoying the brief solitude, and Mrs. Schroeder could certainly use a little winding down. Thus, Mrs. Schroeder unlocked the door, and the two entered.
Her house was almost exactly what Lena figured an old person’s apartment would look like. It had couches that didn’t match precisely, but were tasteful enough. Old wooden chairs sat collecting an amount of dust that suggested a cleaning habit not well maintained. A disgustingly multicolored rug sat in the middle of the floor with fraying edges, clashing with the carpeting which seemed…hairier? Pictures were absolutely everywhere, and the room was littered with strange knick-knacks and trinkets, large jewelry beads, gaudy bracelets, and pincushions filled with many-colored bobbins and whatnot. And everything had a brownish tinge.
“Ah, the scent of old people,” Mrs. Schroeder volunteered with a laugh, and indeed, the place did have a certain…bouquet.
“It’s lovely,” Lena grimaced.
“Oh, shut your mouth.” she laughed. “Kraut and I don’t need all that much. But we can’t very well move or maintain any of this on our own, now can we? Besides, I like being surrounded by pictures of family and things we collected over the years. And what need do I have for redecorating? Kraut and I absolutely hate people.”
“You what? You hate people?”
“When you get to be my age, dear, you hate almost everything. I love the Lord, and the Lord tells me to love people. But I’ve found that pretending to love them suffices, where he’s concerned. Jesus only made it to 35 before he was put to death. I’ve made it to 65—that makes me older than God, so I’m allowed certain luxuries.”
“I suppose I don’t have much to say on the subject,” Lena laughed.
“On God or aging?”
“Either, I guess.”
“Take it from me.” Mrs. Schroeder said as she walked over and fumbled around on a nearby desk. “It’ll all make more sense when you’re older. Young people are dumb and impetuous by design. So, until it dawns on you, just try not to be too much of a twit.”
“And if it never does?” Lena raised an eyebrow.
“Oh, it will,” she said, as she grabbed at a piece of paper and looked it over. “Don’t assume it won’t, and don’t try to anticipate it until it does. Maybe your God will look different than mine; maybe ‘he’ will be a ‘she’; maybe she won’t care so much about this rule or that; maybe he’ll have a strict purpose for you; or maybe she’ll just want you to be happy. Whatever ‘dawning’ occurs—if it truly feels like a dawning—just embrace it. Because no matter which form enlightenment takes, if it’s based off of love it’ll lead to the right place…because all love comes from the same place.”
“Jesus?”
“Or Buddha, or Allah or whatever.” Mrs. Schroeder dismissed her nonchalantly. “Just as long as it isn’t tapping into something of this world, that’s what matters. I found Jesus because that’s the face of God that wanted me, so that’s who I follow. But Jesus was Jewish because his parents were. The God part of Jesus was bigger than one man, it was bigger than the Jews, and it is bigger than one single book. That means God isn’t a Christian…which means I don’t think too much about it. He’s all the same God, regardless of the book or the face. Maybe you will get one of the spikey-haired lesbian faces that wants you to write more music about stabbing children.”
“I’m not a lesbian, damn it!” Lena yelled, giggling.
“Sure you aren’t.” Mrs. Schroeder teased. “Now, before you head home, Jesus has a message for you.”
With this, Mrs. Schroeder took a final look at the piece of paper she had fumbled for, and then placed it in front of Lena. As she read it, it said, “SUNSHINE—Currywurst—Gustavo’s—Tues - 9am”.
“I…” Lena stuttered, “I don’t understand.”
“I think I got it all…” she said, “sometimes they play an ABBA song where they are supposed to play a Beatles song, and then it all gets jumbled up. I keep telling them that the New Testament book of James only has five chapters in it. So every ‘James’ or ‘Philemon’ month, things get twisted up because of that damn DJ. He’ll end up playing AC/DC song after AC/DC song and…well, I’m so sick of hearing ‘Dirty Deeds’ I could kill Brian Johnson myself. But never mind. Gustavo’s is relatively busy at nine in the morning anyway.
“So, here’s the part that won’t come through in the messages. We have crypto keys that are switched out every few months, and they are only known by the radio operators. When you get to Gustavo’s, you have to ask for the specials. Ignore those and or
der the currywurst. When he brings you the wrong food—it doesn’t matter what it is—inform him that he forgot the salmon.”
“You…you...” Lena stuttered some more.
“You have to remember the salmon, alright?”
“I’m confused.”
“I figure The Boss likely didn’t explain it all to you,” Mrs. Schindler laughed. “He had to make sure that you wouldn’t squawk to your HVA handler before you received sensitive information. That’s why you’ve been followed since you got back across the Wall. But now that we are sure you aren’t going to run off and tattle the first chance you get, here’s what you need to know.”
Lena shivered at the thought that she had been followed once again. “Dammit! Why can’t I see these stupid people!” From that point on, she promised to never trust someone wearing a brown jacket again.
“I’m the radio operator, and it’s my job to receive drop locations for agents.” Mrs. Schroeder continued, “When I get them, I pass them on to the agent—you’re agent Sunshine, if you hadn’t figured that out—then that agent goes to the designated place and waits around for the information. It’s the best way we have to ensure multiple degrees of separation, just in case.”
“But...” Lena stammered “...why you? Why the…and why ‘Sunshine’, of all things?”
“It seemed the best thing to name you, apparently,” Mrs. Schroeder laughed. “The Boss has a sense of humor about his agents.”
“That’s bullshit! What a stupid code-name.”
“And that is precisely why he chose ‘Sunshine.” Mrs. Schroeder teased, “He probably figured you would hate that. In any case, I know it all seems inefficient. But after they captured Grips, it became necessary to crack down on security.”
“Grips?”
“Oh you know precisely who Grips is. That’s one of two reasons you and I are talking. That and bringing over your little punk rocker friend so he can do whatever he’s supposed to do here.”
“Okay, wait. I’ve got a few questions about all of this.”