Joseph Kanon - Leaving Berlin

“Which are?”

“Depends where they set you up. Writers, people like that, they’ve been mostly putting in Prenzlauer Berg. Not a lot of bomb damage, so the buildings are in fairly good shape. So we’re assuming there. Close to Volkspark Friedrichshain, where you’ll like to walk.”

“And bump into somebody?”

“Near the fountains with the fairy tale characters. Know it?”

Alex shook his head. “Never been there.”

Hauck grinned. “A real West Ender, huh? Berlin stops at the Romanisches.”

“We never had any reason to go there, that’s all.”

“And now it’s home.”

“I go every day?”

“When you can. We’ll set up a time. It would make more sense with a dog, but with the rationing- But you still like to get out, get some exercise, clear the cobwebs.”

“I do, actually.”

“See? So you establish a routine. If they put you further out, we’ll have to change the place. Weissensee, you walk the lake. But that’s bigger houses. They keep those for the elite.”

“Not the help.”

“I didn’t mean it that way. The Party elite. Officials. Don’t worry, they like writers. You’re at the Adlon, right?”

“In the lap of luxury.”

Willy looked at him from the side. “They’ll want you to do things. Public appearances. They had Anna Seghers at a factory. Cutting a ribbon. Major Dymshits loves writers.”

“Who?”

“I thought they briefed you. Chief Cultural Officer. Or whatever the title is. Anyway, he calls the shots for the Soviets. He’s a big fan of yours. He’s the one told them to make the offer. To bring you over. He loves German writers.”

Alex gazed out the window, blocks of ruins, as bad as in the East.

“What am I supposed to find out about him? Whether he reads Thomas Mann?”

Willy turned. “What are you asking?”

“I don’t know. Cultural Officer. Why? How is that useful?”

“Let me explain something to you. We got a couple of wars going on here right now. Not just the airlift. Dymshits runs the propaganda one and he’s doing all right. The Soviets think they’ve got the moral high ground. Don’t ask me how. They come in here and rape everything in sight and they’re supposed to be the heroes. The first victims. The ones the Nazis hated before they hated anybody else. But they won. Not us, them. We’re just passing out candy bars in France. And now we’re the ones getting into bed with old Nazis. On the radio anyway. And anywhere else they can twist a knife in. Old Nazis-is that the future you want? Or the Soviet model? A fresh Socialist start. Of course the Soviets used the Nazis too-who the fuck else was there? — but somehow that never comes out, just ours.”

“That’s what you want me to do? Find out if they’ve got Nazis in the Kulturbund?”

“Sure. If they do,” Willy said, looking away.

“What else?”

“What did Campbell tell you?”

“Whatever I could pick up. I still don’t see the point, but never mind. I’m here.”

Willy headed the car back toward the Tiergarten, then slowed to a stop, idling by the curb.

“Look, Campbell told me about it. Those fucks on the committee. Reds under every bed. If they knew what the Soviets were really up to- So we got you by the short and curlies. Sometimes that’s the way it happens. But, like you say, you’re here. You’re going to meet a lot of people. I want to know who might be-open to a little business.”

“This business.”

Willy nodded. “Maybe the future doesn’t look as bright as it used to. Maybe somebody’s beginning to wonder, maybe he needs a little money. I want to know. That’s the point.”

“All right,” Alex said quietly.

“Next, don’t get yourself killed.”

Alex looked at him. “I thought I was just collecting a little gossip.”

“The Russians don’t see it that way. It’s Dodge City here. You want to watch your back. Everywhere. The sectors don’t mean anything. They think it’s all theirs. People disappear-broad daylight, they just grab them-and we complain and they say they don’t know what we’re talking about. People get killed too. It’s a dangerous place for amateurs. I didn’t ask for this, you know? Civilian, first time out. But Campbell said you’d be okay. Said you were motivated.” Holding onto the word.

“That’s one way of putting it. If you’re a shit like Campbell.”

Willy leaned back, surprised, then smiled. “Yeah. Well. It’s a shitty business.”

Alex looked over. “What else? You didn’t get me out my first morning to tell me to keep my ears open. Something came up, you said.”

Willy stared back for a second. “Good. You listen. That’s something you can’t-”

“What came up?”

“Pay dirt. For you. You’ve been promoted.”

“To what?”

“You’re a protected source now. Not just an information source.”

“Protected.”

“It means nobody at BOB knows about you.”

“Except you.”

“Except me. So there’s less risk if there’s a leak. BOB knows I’ve got a protected source in the East, but not who.”

“Why?”

“Remember you asked us to run a trace on some friends of yours?”

“And nothing came up.”

“That’s because they got married. New names. Then one of them popped up in a CROWCASS file, with a cross-ref to the maiden name. Elsbeth von Bernuth. Now Frau Mutter. Frau Doctor Mutter.”

“Why was she in a CROWCASS file?”

“He was. Doctor in the Wehrmacht. That automatically gets you a file.”

“What’s he supposed to have done?”

“Nothing. For the Wehrmacht. Just patch up the troops, what you’d expect. Before the Wehrmacht’s a little different. He was knocking off people in mental homes. The euthanasia program, to keep the Aryan bloodlines pure. No more cripples or idiots. Just the ones in brown shirts.”

“He was tried for this?”

“No. If we put every Nazi doctor on trial- Eugenics was a big deal here. Lots of doctors signed on. Not nice, bumping people off, but all legal. Anyway, that was before. CROWCASS was only interested in war crimes and there they came up empty.”

“She’s alive?”

Willy nodded. “Both. In the British sector. Practicing.”

“And you want me to contact her?”

“That’s up to you. Campbell said you were kissing cousins.”

“My aunt married her uncle,” Alex said, distracted. How had he done it? Injections? A pill before bedtime? Gas? Purifying the race. Had Elsbeth known? Or just waited at home, pretending not to. In exile you imagine people as you left them, not what they become. What had it been like here, day to day?

Willy was watching him.

“Why is this pay dirt?”

“This one isn’t. But then I got the bright idea maybe the other one married too.”

Alex looked up. “Irene?”

“Now Frau-”

“Engel,” Alex said flatly.

“No, Gerhardt. Frau Engelbert Gerhardt. Enka to his friends. Funny thing is, he was supposed to be a little light in the loafers. Makeup artist, for chrissake.”

“What?”

“Out at Ufa. Pictures.”

“So why-?”

“Keep him out of trouble probably. They were putting them in camps. So, a happily married man. Goebbels didn’t care as long as things looked okay. And he could screw the actresses.” He raised his head. “Who’s Engel?”

“An old boyfriend,” he said, seeing her cradling his head.

Willy was peering at him. “What’s wrong?”

“Nothing. She’s alive?”

“And kicking. So we thought you’d like to see her.”

Alex looked at him.

“Be friends again. Closer than ever.”

A small jump in his stomach, wary. “Why?”

“It would be the most natural thing in the world. You were practically family.” Willy took out a cigarette.