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

Then the doctor falls silent and takes another puff from his exquisite pipe.

I am perplexed by the story. I do not attempting to make sense of it, but I do try to make sense of why the doctor has told me such an intimate story. Maybe he feels like he owed me something, since I had shared something intimate. Maybe he just feels pity for me. Maybe he doesn’t. Maybe it’s something else. Maybe he still thinks I’m hiding something, and this is his way of bargaining for more information. But if there’s something I am good at is keeping silent. So I do. I stare at his pipe and admire the smoke protruding out of it like a ghostly belly dancer.

My mother and I have left Berlin today. I followed her again before we… they left. But my father never showed up again. She waited in the park yesterday, for a whole hour, but he did not return. I was tempted to walk up to her and question her. I deserved some explanations, but I would only scare her away. Besides, I’m not sure I am ready to face whatever it is she’s been hiding all these years.

The doctor says I’m ready to travel again. We’re under the Resurrection Church. The blond, young woman is undressing me. There is nothing erotic about it, so I stop thinking about it before I unintentionally do make it erotic.

The doctor reminds me that I still need to find the rest of the time-booths, locate the wireless energy source and, in general, collect more information so that our great nation may take advantage of this wondrous technology.

Just like the last time, I do not know the destination. All he can assure is that it’ll be at the start of a decade. As the blond woman mentioned earlier (or later), it’s the only seeds that were easy enough to crack.

I am naked in the booth once again. I can tell that the color of my skin is changing. It’s irregular, with some patches slightly darker than others. My body feels nauseous already, as if anticipating the inevitable.

I breathe in hard. The door locks in front of me. I thought I’d be getting used to this, but I’m only getting more anxious with every trip. I look out the porthole. The doctor stares back at me. But only for a moment.

A rush of blood flows into my brain, knocking me out of balance and making me fall on my ass. I should just sit on the floor next time.

I go through the motions, getting up slowly. I try opening the door, but it’s jammed on the other side. Fuck. I push harder. Nothing. I feel extremely weak. I’m not sure I’m even posing that much force upon it. I take a minuscule step back, take a deep breath and barge against it. It opens. Slightly at least. I stick my foot out and feel the ground with my toes. I slip out of the booth and tap the object that’s jamming the door. It’s a wooden table. I can’t see much. I keep touching the table with my hands. I feel a cylindrical object. I grab it. Feels like a flashlight. There’s no way the batteries are still working, but I flick the switch anyway. Inexplicably, it turns on. I use it to light the room. It’s a lab, no surprise there, but at least it looks like it’s a new location. I aim the torch on the table and find a pile of neatly folded clothes. Are they for me? Beside the garments is a note and some sort of ticket. I grab the note and I read it. The stranger tells me they’ll see me after the show. It isn’t signed. I look at the ticket. It’s a movie, or a play. I’m not sure. The title reads ‘Auf der Mauer, auf der Lauer’.

I try the clothes on. They fit me perfectly. It makes me feel a bit more secure knowing that they were purposely my size. Then again, maybe I’m just trying to convince myself that they were left for me, and not someone else with the same size. A moment after, I realize the jeans are a little too tight, and the leather jacket is disproportionately larger. But the boots, the black boots, are definitely my size.

In the jacket’s right pocket I find a bag of peanuts. It’s been filled to the top with salt. I eat half of the bag in less than a second.

I use the flashlight to guide me through the labyrinth of dark corridors and abandoned rooms. I reach a dead end. There’s a steel ladder. I climb up and struggle to open what seems to be a manhole. It finally budges and I push it aside. I begin to hear a loud noise, but I can’t recognize the source. The noise is only getting louder every second. I cautiously stick my head out and a fierce wind current forces me to duck down just on time as a train dangerously propels right above my head. The ground shakes around me for a moment. I close my eyes as dust and debris is flung around under the speeding train.

Once it’s gone, I stick my head out again. This time more cautiously. At a first glance I assume it’s night time. After a moment I realize I’m actually underground. The manhole leads to a dimly-lit tunnel. In one direction, the tracks continue infinitely into the darkness. On the opposite side, the tracks take a gentle corner before they disappear. Unsure of where to go, I walk down the latter. My ears are alert, in the lookout for any sign of oncoming trains.

After only a few minutes, and after dodging two trains, I see a light. I follow it and soon I arrive to Hansaplatz station. I jump on the platform as a group of teenagers stare at me, speechless. I walk past them and they begin to giggle among themselves. I should be the one laughing though. Their hair looks as if they’ve been hit by lightning. I’ve never seen this hairstyle. This is definitely some time in the future.

I was right. It’s nighttime after all. Is it just me, or does the air smell different? I bring out the theater ticket again and read the date on it. 1990. Wow. I also find the name of the theater: “GRIPS”. I look up and there it is, the theater, conveniently placed right outside the metro station. I ask a young passerby for the time. He points at his watch without saying a word, and leaves before I’m able to make any more questions.

The street is shiny and wet. I’m sure it was raining just minutes ago. I love the sound cars make when they pass me by on a damp road. I have about half an hour. Luckily I find some money in my pocket which I can use to buy an extremely expensive bag of chips in a convenience store nearby.

I wait outside the theater, where people have begun to gather. I stand at the edge of the crowd and push my hands into my pockets. I look at the people walking by. They look so different. So happy. It’s strange to see people this happy. It’s a completely different generation. A woman makes eye contact with me. She holds some guy closely by the arm. She laughs at something he just said. That is, until she sees me. She tilts her head and stops walking. The guy is pulled back abruptly by her firm grip. He asks her if she’s ok. She doesn’t take her eyes off me. She slowly makes her way towards me and it is then when I recognize my sister, thirty years older.

I immediately look down and away, hoping she’ll think I’m somebody else, but she doesn’t. She stands right beside me. I can feel her warmth.

She says my name. I ignore her.

The guy she’s with asks if everything is fine. She doesn’t even acknowledge his presence anymore. She repeats my name and speaks to me in Russian. She asks if it’s really me. I answer in German. I lie. I say I do not speak Russian. I turn my face away from her. She holds my cheek with her soft, cold hand and turns my head. I push her arm away and insist that she doesn’t know me. I tell her to stay away if she doesn’t want any trouble. I try to be rude, but it’s impossible to avoid a hint of affection in my words. The guy she’s with stands between us. He apologizes to me and takes her away. She backs off, though still unsure. Maybe she’s just crazy. It’s been a long time. Maybe she still sees her brother’s face in weird-looking bald strangers.