The Helsinki Pact (6 page)

“She’s back! I saw her walking
down that side corridor across from the other room. A few seconds
earlier and I'd have bumped into her. Jesus! Or she might have seen
me going in there with the dirt. Shit! We left it unlocked, didn’t
we? What if she notices that? Opens the door? We’re
finished!”

“That corridor’s where her own
basement room is.” Kai said. “She’s just putting something away or
collecting something. I’ll sneak out and if she’s not about I’ll
fix the padlock And if she is, well, she knows me anyway, knows I
do stuff down here, maybe I can ask her about something, get her
upstairs again and one of you guys can lock it.”

He slid back the bolt but just as
he was about to ease open the door he heard soft footsteps
approaching so he tapped the bolt silently back into place instead.
Scarcely breathing the three men stood in the intense silence as
the footsteps halted outside. The door handle turned and the door
flexed slightly and gave a creak before the handle moved back
again. After another period of silence the footsteps moved away and
became fainter. In a moment there was the familiar creak of the
door at the foot of the basement stairs opening and then closing
again. They looked at each other and Kai shook his head slightly
and put his finger to his mouth. Five minutes later the stair door
creaked again, this time with a longer pause before the closing
creak and the slight noise of footsteps followed.

“That’s what she does, opens the
door and then closes it again and if you go out you’ll find her
still snooping around." He shivered. "But I think she’s really gone
up now. I’d better go and check.” He put his finger to his lips.
"Not a sound."

In a few moments he returned.
“She’s gone. I put the other padlock back on. Let’s hope she didn’t
notice anything. There’s a fair bit of dirt in the corridor,
though. She’ll wonder about that so I’d better think up some story
in case she says anything. Best get digging!stop for today.” He
turned on the music.

“Look, guys. I can’t take this
any more.” Klaus looked at Kai and then at Bernhard. “I’m sorry, I
just can’t. You know I’ve been leery about it for the past week or
so. And then I keep thinking of Ingrid and how I’ll feel if she’s
still here and I’m over there. I want to get out. Of course I do.
But I want it to be with her. I want to be with her and with all
this stuff going on we’re going to get caught, I’m sure of it. If
that happens I’ll be dead or in jail and I’ll never see her again.
I’m sorry to let you down, guys, but I’m out of here.” He looked
warily at Bernhard. “And I promise, I’m going to forget everything
we’ve done or you’re doing. Don’t worry about that. I promise you.
I wish I could come with you - but I just can’t.” He held out his
hand and after a moment’s hesitation Bernhard took it and they
embraced, Kai following.

Chapter 4

Thursday September 14
1989

ON the next Thursday Thomas
crossed early and got to the German History Museum well before it
closed for the day. He’d no intention of looking round - he’d
visited it once, shortly after arriving in Berlin, and once was
more than enough for these sorts of turgid fairytales, he thought -
but he wanted to make sure that Bettina didn’t leave early before
he arrived. He sat on a low wall across the street where he could
keep both the main entrance, and more particularly the side
entrance, in view.

The weather had changed and an
icy cold wind blew in from the east. A dense blanket of cloud
covered the sky. In a nearby garden someone had lit a bonfire and
the smell of apple wood and leaves reminded him of his parents’
house in Frankfurt in autumn weekends when his father was alive.
Although he was well wrapped up in a thick coat and scarf the wind
still got to him and periodically he rose to stamp his feet and
walk about a little on the pavement. Since they’d met nearly a week
earlier he hadn’t been able to get Bettina out of his mind. He'd
spent the wait till he could see her again in thinking about her
and rehearsing clever things to say when they met, things he knew
he would nevertheless probably never say. He felt almost as edgy
and apprehensive as when he’d crossed the previous week although
then the penalties for failing would have been far more severe. He
pictured her lying next to him, smiling up at him as he leant on
his elbow, pulling him down to kiss him.

Then suddenly she was there. The
museum had not long closed and staff were streaming out of the side
door and there she was, on her own and among the stragglers. She
looked beautiful and stylish, wearing a well fitting black leather
jacket which set off her figure and complemented her blonde hair,
her appearance bringing him to an ache of longing. He got up and
moved towards her, waving a little self-consciously when he got
closer.

“Oh, you. Thomas isn’t it?,
Thomas something or other. Can’t you afford phones in the West
now?”

“Wundart.” He was pleased she’d
recognised and remembered him.

“I tried calling ... ” he said,
embarrassed. “Well, actually, no, I didn’t. I was afraid you might
tell me not to show up, that you were busy or something. Shall we
get some hot chocolate or coffee somewhere? It’s freezing, total
brass monkey weather.”

They walked down a nearby side
street and entered a small, nondescript shop with a sawdust strewn
floor. The walls were plain and bare. A large black dog was dozing
in a corner, close to the single tiny radiator. Wafts of aromatic
steam, rich and chocolaty, came from behind a door to the left. The
old woman behind the counter greeted Bettina with evident pleasure
and broke into a flood of comment in a broad Sachsen accent which
Thomas had difficulty in following. He thought he picked up a query
about Bettina’s ‘new young man, handsome, eh?' and then something
like 'But what about where it matters?’ with the lascivious cackle
which followed drowning Bettina’s reply. They sat at one of the two
tables in the back room.

“I used to spend a lot of time
here” Bettina said “reading, but also just talking, discussing
things with other students, arguing. Setting the world to rights.”
She smiled and looked round the room.

“So how was your visit to the
museum?” she asked. “What did you think of the new exhibit? I mean
the space given over to the history of our glorious leader. Right
there in the entrance hall. How remarkable that he joined the
Spartacus League when he was ten, the full Party at 17 and that he
was one of the first members of the SED when it was formed? What
commitment! What deep understanding of the proletarian
struggle!”

There was a long silence while
Thomas thought frantically of what comment he might make. Was she
serious? Should he praise the exhibition, laugh at it, say he’d
missed it? But how he could he miss something apparently so
obvious? He caught her eye and that decided him.

“An exhibition devoted to
Honecker’s history could put the story of the DDR into proper
perspective.” he said, leaning back in his chair,
waiting.

She laughed. “So you didn’t visit
the museum! Well, in your position I don’t suppose I would have
done either.” She laughed again and then, suddenly, was serious.
“But if you’d pretended, said what a fine exhibition it was
perhaps, we’d have had our chocolate but we would never have met
again.” She looked down at the table and then looked levelly at
him. “I’m glad that’s not the case.”

“Are you from Berlin?”

“Dresden. Have you been
there?”

“Never. You’d need a special
permit and I’ve never arranged one. I hear it’s very
beautiful.”

“It was. Still is in parts. It
was a wonderful, beautiful, old city, with narrow streets and some
marvellous Baroque and Renaissance architecture. But you need to
look at paintings and old photographs to get a proper understanding
of what it was like, how wonderful it was.”

Her tone was bitter and Thomas
nodded silently. Almost the entire historic centre of what had been
known as the Florence of Germany had vanished in February 1945,
destroyed in the firestorm which the Allied bombing had
intentionally created, a raid which aroused strong emotions on all
sides.

“Is your family still there? How
many are you?”

“My mother moved to Leipzig and
there’s now only her and Paul, that’s my younger brother. He’s 22,
lives about half way between Dresden and Berlin. He’s had some
troubles and life isn’t easy for him right now. But what about you?
Tell me ... ”

She was interrupted by the
arrival of two steaming cups of hot chocolate, ‘molten lava’ as
they were popularly named in the shop. Bettina insisted on
paying.

“Thank you. But that means
dinner’s on me. I hope that’s OK, that you’re free. I know of a
place not far from here. It’s maybe not as, umm, distinctive, as
this one but the food’s very good and I’ve got to know them a bit
there, business reasons, and, well, I’d like ... ” He trailed off
and they drank their chocolate in silence.

Thirty minutes later they were at
the Ephraim Palais, its entrance decorated with stucco angels and
gilded leaves lit by the ornate chandeliers and reflected in the
huge Baroque mirrors framed in red and gold gesso which lined the
hallway. The dominant dull red of the large oriental carpet subtly
complemented the dark green marble which it partially
hid.

“Good evening Madame. It’s a
pleasure to see you again Mr Wundart. The table in the alcove is
ready for you.”

As the waiter took their coats,
led the way and helped them to their seats Thomas sensed Bettina’s
resistance and mounting anger. He looked warily at her over the
spotless linen tablecloth as the waiter, having signalled someone
across the room, turned back to them.

“Something to drink before you
eat? We’ve been fortunate to get a few more cases of that Elbthal
Weissburgunder you liked so much, Mr Wundart. Perhaps a bottle of
that?”

Bettina’s chair crashed to the
floor she stood up in fury. Ignoring the startled glances from
other diners she dashed the contents of her water glass in Thomas’s
face and would have upended everything from the table in his lap
had he not managed to stop her fierce movements.

“Student? Student! You bastard!
Your favourite wine! Your favourite table at East Berlin’s most
expensive restaurant! Is that how you try to impress the girls you
pick up? Booking this before you even turned up at the Museum is so
fucking sordid. How do you think that makes me feel? I’d begun to
think you were different but you’re just the same as the others –
think all you need do is flash your money and the knickers fall
off. Well, fuck you!”

As she stormed past Thomas
grabbed her arm.

“Bettina, please. Please sit
down. I swear you’re the only girl I’ve ever brought into this
place.” He lowered his voice. “They know me because of the
tours.”

Bettina glared at him and shook
her arm furiously in his grip. “Let me go! You're hurting me!
Tours? What are you talking about? What tours?”

“I show people round East Berlin,
show them the sights. I get them seats at the opera with dinner
beforehand – that’s usually here and that’s why they know me. I’m
not rich. I need money and this helps me pay for my studies and my
singing lessons. They treat me well here because I bring them
customers. That’s all. Believe me, it’s the first time I’ve ever
come privately. And I wasn’t trying to be smart or show off or
anything like that. I just thought, well, I suppose I thought we’d
both like it, the food and the atmosphere. And I wanted to be here
with you." There was a pause. "And, yes, well, yes, I guess maybe a
little bit I did want to impress you.”

Thomas had released his grip and
during this disjointed appeal Bettina had righted her chair and
slowly sunk down on it, movements which gave Thomas some hope.
“God, let me not screw it up again, don’t let me say the wrong
thing now.” he thought. He took off his jacket, pushed back into
the side pocket a handkerchief and packet of cigarettes which had
fallen out during the struggle, and hung the garment over his
chair. He sat down again and looked warily at her.

“I can’t stand rich Wessies
looking down on us, trying to buy their way into everything and
everyone.”

He looked at her again, trying to
work out if there was something more behind her violent reaction.
Her otherwise perfectly straight nose curled slightly at the tip
and her clear, smooth skin had acquired a healthy pink tinge,
slightly flushed with red. He thought how beautiful she looked and
how desirable her anger had made her to him. If he’d dared he might
have told her so but her reaction just then had awed him with its
vehemence. She was clearly still prickly and suspicious and he was
afraid that an incautious remark would sent her storming off into
the night, out of his reach for ever.

She rearranged the cutlery in
front of her, lining up the bases of the knives and forks in a
straight line, adjusting them minutely. “So what do you show these
people in your tours? How we survive despite our bad choice in
being here in the first place?" She pulled a face and spoke in a
pantomime voice. "Look, Commies can be almost human! Just
fancy!”

“It depends. They’re mainly
interested in seeing places connected to escapes from East Berlin.
Checkpoint Charlie, Spy’s bridge, the Wall, obviously – those kinds
of placesthat kind of thing. But I hardly do any general tours now,
it’s nearly all opera or opera and dinner, maybe sometimes a
gallery or a museum. This way I not only get to hear opera most
weeks, twice a week often, but I get paid for it.”