Alain Xalabarde - The Berlin Paradox - Chronicles of a Soviet Time Traveler

I tell her I’m not sure about travelling again. I point out the loss of my hair, my non-existent eyebrows and the fact that my stomach is still churning. She says it’s fine. She’s seen me in this state before. It’s a natural part of travelling via the booth. What does she mean she’s seen me like this before? I ask her. She sighs, shrugs and says it’s better not to talk about this sort of thing, as it may have unpredictable consequences. I guess that means I’ve seen her before too. Or, rather, that I will see her again. I can’t help but ask when was the first time she saw me. I believe that’s more important. She hesitates for a moment but finally confesses that it was in 1950.

1950? That’s before I even signed up for this! She says the doctor and herself had already seen me, but thought it’d be safer to not influence my decision. After all, it seems as if fate was unavoidable anyhow.

I am eager to visit the new laboratory but she says we should wait for noon. The hospital is too busy in the morning.

She offers getting on the ferris wheel. Sure. Why not.

Our carriage rises up into the cold sky. The wind swivels our flimsy metal box. I thought I’d be ok with this, but I’m not. It’s strange. I remember going through nerve-wrecking tests at the Space Program. I passed them all without fail. Maybe it’s the fact that one was built by scientists, while the other is a dingy money-maker that has little concern for the rider’s safety. Or maybe I’m just exaggerating.

Beside me, the blond woman holds her hair down, protecting it from the wind. She must be almost fifty years old now, but her scent intoxicates me. She turns to me. I turn away, pretending to glance at the landscape. I make out the wall in the distance. It’s about a kilometer away and cuts all the way towards the center of Berlin. From up here life seems to be the same on both sides of the wall. There aren’t any glaring differences, or any reasons to believe that they are two completely different countries.

I take this opportunity to learn more about her. I make sure that my tone is strictly professional. I don’t want her to think I’m hitting on her. I casually ask her if she’s from Berlin. That should be a good conversation starter. She nods her head. I ask her if she was here during when the Red Army arrived. I immediately realize it’s probably not an appropriate question, but she answers nevertheless. She sighs in relief and says her parents left long before that, back in 1934. They saw how Germany was changing, and they didn’t like where it was going. Both of them had communist ideas, and they even taught her some Russian. So they decided it was safer to simply move somewhere more suitable. This place happened to be Vienna. Or as it was known at the time, Red Vienna, for its well-known left-leaning government. Unfortunately, it only took four years later for her parents to return to their home country. Not because they had actually moved, but because Germany had annexed Austria. Her father and mother were lucky to stay under the radar and carry on with their lives as normally as they could. A couple of years later she left school and joined university. At the same time, her father was conscripted into the army, much against his will, only to be killed in a matter of months. Her mother immediately fell into a deep depression and died soon after. She suddenly found herself completely alone and in charge of her own survival. Although her parents had left her some inheritance, it wasn’t enough to support her university studies, so she got a job in a coffee shop and continued going to classes. That is, until the siege of Vienna. With the Soviet forces at the gates, and having heard of the sexual misconduct by many of their soldiers, the owners of the coffee shop offered their pantry as a hiding spot for young girls such as herself. However atrocious, it was during this tumultuous time that she met her husband. At that very same moment, her mouth opens to speak, but no words come out. Instead she turns her head away and looks off into the distance.

I ask her when and how she returned to Berlin. She says she was offered a job during the Soviet occupation of Austria. She knew Berlin well, she spoke Russian, and had the right education. It just made sense.

The wheel comes to a stop and we both get off. After the ride, we walk back to the car and head towards the hospital.

When we arrive, my first impression is that the building is not in great condition, but it functions well enough. I guess that’s the Soviet way. I follow her inside as she salutes the hospital staff. I hear the monotonous moans of the patients and smell the aseptic stench of the halls.

We reach the emergency stairs and walk down to the bottom where a shiny steel door has been precariously installed. She opens it with a set of keys that she has been keeping in her pocket all this time.

We walk down a dimly-lit tunnel to a familiar-looking room. Gadgets have been installed in the same manner as they were in the previous location. She shows me a time booth and explains that they have deciphered the seed for the next trip, but we ideally need the doctor’s authorization before embarking. I ask if she knows what year I’ll be going to next. She says she doesn’t know, but that she supposes it’ll land on the beginning of a decade, as usual.

I observe a map hanging on the wall. It has been marked with pins. From what I gather, they seem to represent the locations of discovered time booths. She walks beside me and I smell her sweet perfume once more. She points at the map and explains that they are trying to find a pattern that may reveal the location of the rest of the time booths. We are currently at the time booth labelled as B-SO. She says the “SO” stands for “south east”. That part they’ve easily cracked. The main question lies in the “B”. Some booths are labelled “A”, others “B”, and there is no clear reasoning. They’ve tried to connect the locations via triangles and rectangles, trying to form some sort of logical pattern, but so far they just seem to be scattered randomly across the city and they have no idea how many there may be in total.

I stare at the map for a little longer. She asks me to remember it, as I will have to communicate the locations when I travel back. I am a little confused though. Didn’t she say we shouldn’t mess with the past? She does, however, admit that I may have told them already, and that in this case, messing with the past would actually mean not telling them about the locations. It’s a little hard to keep track of all this. My brain takes a break for the time being.

She places her hand on my bald head and tells me to take some rest. Dr. Vodnik had planned for me to make my next jump in three days, but there’s no way of knowing what his specific plan was. However, I am secretly determined to find out what happened to the doctor. I don’t tell her this, of course.

The following day, I leave the hospital early in the morning. Early enough that nobody will question it. The blond woman gave me some new clothes, and I found some money inside the jacket. I’m not sure if that was intentional or simply a coincidence. I put on a hat, a scarf, and use the money to make my way back to the center, in search of the apartment Dr. Vodnik had arranged for me. Maybe he’s left a note or some sort of an explanation there.

When I arrive the building entrance, I turn around and find the park just in front. I walk to the stone under which I should find the key. It’s in a remote corner of the park. Away from the benches. When I arrive, I realized that the stone has been slightly moved. I pick it up and look underneath. Nothing. All I find is a patch of dead grass and some insects that have decided to made a home underneath the rock.

I walk back to the apartment building. I stand by the main door patiently. Someone is ought to walk in or out eventually. Only 5 minutes later, an old lady exits the building. I greet her politely and sneak in before the door slams shut behind her.