I don’t dare fall asleep in arms. He lets me go because it matters to him that I love him, out of—what? Pride? Desire? Need for forgiveness? I can’t tell, but this knowledge worms its way deep inside. It possesses me through the long hours sitting in the cold Trabant and keeps me awake when I return to my bed. Those three little words lay like a rich liquor on my tongue and I can feel them waiting to trap me here in his arms, in East Berlin, forever.
In the mornings he lets himself into my room and kisses me awake, warm from the shower and smelling like fresh cologne and shaving cream. My arms wind around his neck and I smile up at him, lost in his blue eyes. We greet each other like continents have come between us in the night.
I don’t know what to do, so I keep doing what I was before. I follow him at night. I watch him covertly as he drinks his morning coffee. As he rides beside me in the car on the way to Stasi HQ. As he works silently in the evening over his reports. I daydream about going to his bed and slipping my arms around his naked body. Murmuring those words against his mouth in the heavy darkness. Reinhardt, I love you. Hearing him whisper them back, fiercely exultant that I’m finally his, rolling me beneath him, pressing me down into the oblivion of the mattress. It would all be over. The heartache, the fear, the sneaking around and spying.
I would be his. I want to be his. I admit it.
But the sight of my city always puts an end to this fantasy. The second I see the Wall I feel the familiar hatred rise up, for this cruel division, for the Party, for the people in power in the West and East who make their citizens suffer for their ideologies. Loving Reinhardt means staying here forever, and doing so would eventually drive such poison into my heart that any shred of happiness I might find in his arms would be destroyed.
I watch him as he shares a cigarette with the border guards at Checkpoint Charlie at one am, feeling like a jealous wife tailing her unfaithful husband, except that what has come between us isn’t another person, but this city and our roles in it. Stasi officer and traitor. I have what I need to get myself out of East Berlin. He gave it to me himself, his confession that he too is a traitor to the Party. But to save myself I have to betray him.
Maybe he was lying about helping Frau Schäfer and others like her escape to the to West. I only have his word.
And then, one night, I see what I’ve been waiting for.
It’s nearly midnight when Reinhardt finally leaves the apartment. I can sense there’s something different about this night almost right away. He walks a little faster, his glance up and down the street is a shade more intense. I start the Trabi engine and follow him.
He goes not to a checkpoint or one of his other haunts, but to an apartment building, and parks in a rear laneway in the shadows. I watch as he goes inside, and comes back a few minutes later with a young woman, a small boy clutching her hand. I don’t get a good look at her as Reinhardt’s large coat is covering her head and body, shielding her from prying eyes. She gets into the trunk of his car with the child and Reinhardt tucks the coat over them. He puts a finger to his lips, a warning for the boy, and closes the trunk quietly but firmly.
He drives to Checkpoint Charlie and the border guards recognize his car, his face, and wave him indifferently through. I hang far back and watch his taillights disappear into the West, and then I drive back to the apartment.
The next morning I wait for him to tell me what he’s done. He’ll want me to know that he’s been merciful, to prove to me what a good person he is. But he says nothing, merely dropping a kiss onto my mouth as I take my seat, and then drinking his coffee and reading his newspaper as if this was any other morning. I watch him through my lashes as I stir cream into my coffee, my stomach roiling. I have what I need, proof with my own eyes that Reinhardt is betraying the Party. Coupled with what I know about Frau Schäfer’s escape I’ve got more than enough to secure my passage to the West and to bring down der Mitternachtsjäger once and for all.
Today, at last, is the day. No more excuses. But I find I can’t look at Reinhardt as we drive to HQ.
Sitting at my desk around eleven I hear whistling. I make myself wait a few minutes before casually reaching for the stack of filing I’ve been saving up and head for the filing cabinets. I don’t have to wait very long. Out of the corner of my eye I see Peter’s freckled hands sorting through the mail.
“Have you found anything?” he asks softly.
I’ve rehearsed the conversation. I’ll tell Peter that Reinhardt has been betraying the State to get citizens out of East Berlin. Peter will pass the information onto his contacts and they’ll see that it reaches the ears of someone high up in the Stasi. Perhaps Reinhardt’s Oberst, or even the Chairman himself. Reinhardt will be arrested and I will be whisked away to the safety of the West. I can feel the consequences of my actions spreading like black ink across wet paper. Unstoppable, inevitable.
I open my mouth and hear my rueful, apologetic voice. “I’ve managed to tail him several times but he hasn’t gone anywhere significant yet. Most nights he just seems to talk to the border guards.” A red flush creeps up my neck and I look away.
Peter thumps the handle of his cart. “He’s clever, setting up innocent reasons for being out at night. But don’t worry, he’ll deviate from this eventually and then we’ll have him. Any luck finding things in his apartment?”
I don’t want to admit that I haven’t been brave enough to search Reinhardt’s room so I shake my head.
Peter looks downcast, but then he gives me a smile. “Not to worry, you will. And then I’ll be able to get you out.”
His quiet assurance drives a nail of guilt through me. Why am I drawing this out? Why not just say it now? Reinhardt needs to go to prison and I need to get to out of East Berlin. But then, I still don’t know where my father is. I take the stack of letters that P
eters proffers and say, “There’s someone I’m looking for. A friend. Could you use your network to find out where he is?”
Peter looks surprised. “I can try. What’s their name?” I give him Dad’s full name and date of birth. “When did he go missing?”
“January.”
“Do you know precisely when?”
I hesitate. I don’t like the idea of everyone in Peter’s network, including possible informants, having information that identifies me. “I’m not sure. We didn’t see each other at all that month.”
“All right. Sometime in January. But you really will have to give me something in return. My people won’t act for nothing and they’re getting impatient with you. But I know you’re doing your best,” he adds hastily.
I remember the sight of Frau Schäfer weeping in the street. It’s all I have. Reinhardt would do whatever it takes to get what he wants. You have to be the same.
I look into Peter’s expectant eyes. “Oberstleutnant Volker…has a lover in the West. His housekeeper told me.” I want to kick myself. This is what I’m telling Peter? I stopped thinking this was possible long ago.
Peter looks doubtful. “Well, we’ll look into it. Thank you, Evony. I know together we’ll be able to get this done, and then we can get you out of here.”