Pierre Frei - Berlin - A Novel

The Evangelical Bishop of Berlin had a request. Curtis S. Chalford put his rosy face round the door. He had a proposal for regulating the working hours of German employees of the army. The city commandant saw a group of district council members from Schoneberg. Then it was lunchtime.

Detta could have gone to eat lunch in the Harnack House. She had a special permit, making her the only German woman there. But it went against her deep-rooted Prussian principles to accept favours from the victor. She saw her own dilemma clearly: on the one hand, she was grateful to the liberators who had freed her from the yoke of the oppressor: on the other, she still saw them as the enemy.

There was a stretch of woodland behind Truman Hall. The pine trees here were young, and so far had escaped the attentions of the black-market woodcutters. Soon they would be uprooted and a housing estate would be built on the sandy site; there had been plans before the war to erect one for the growing population of Berlin, and now it was to be built for the Americans. She sat down on the warm ground, which was cushioned with pine needles, and closed her eyes. Ever since Henry Abbot had mentioned the yacht and the Wannsee she had been thinking about David and the motorboat Bertie. It was ten years ago, yet those ten years seemed an eternity. She imagined his freckled face over her, grave and concentrated, concerned rather than passionate, as he tried to penetrate her without hurting her. She couldn't help laughing, and it did her good.

'You're in a cheerful mood, ma'am.' A voice interrupted her memories. The blind man was standing in front of her. 'May I?' He sat down close to her. 'Captain Jurgen Brandenburg, as I said before. Twenty-eight victories in the air, until the rear gunner of a B-17 got me. A blow on the head. Everything suddenly blurred around me. I've no idea how I got my plane down. Everything was black after that. Until today.'

Dislike arose in her. She wanted nothing to do with this man. 'I'm very sorry, but I can't help you.'

Only a year ago I'd have invited you to Horcher's or the Adlon. The waiters bowed there, and all the pretty ladies couldn't say yes quick enough.'

She rose to her feet. 'Please don't try to meet me again.' She forced herself not to run but walk calmly. There was no reason to panic. The OMGUS entrance was barely a hundred metres away. Yet she still had that oppressive feeling, even when she had passed the guard.

Frau Mohr inspected Detta's simple black dress and her blonde hair, smoothed back and worn in a chignon. There were no hairdressers open yet. She pointed to her shoes. 'Those casuals won't do at all. Try my black pumps.' The smoky-grey nylons were a present from Anny Randolph, and set off Detta's long, slender legs to perfection. 'Quite a few gentlemen will be turning to look,' said her landlady happily.

'Thank you, Frau Mohr.' Detta put the pumps in her shoebag and got back into her old casuals. She had a half-hour's walk ahead, but that didn't bother her. It was a warm, dry evening.

The American city commandant's residence was a solid old villa in Pacelliallee, which had once belonged to a member of the Rothschild family. Two curving flights of steps led up to the veranda. A maid in a cap and starched apron let Detta in. An orderly in a white mess jacket appeared and led the visitor to the big salon. Lucy Abbot came to greet her in rustling blue organza. 'Henriette, my dear, how are you? It's almost a month since we saw each other — that mustn't happen again, you must promise me. Harry, introduce our guest.'

General Henry C. Abbot was wearing a claret-coloured dinner jacket and looked very handsome. He introduced them one by one: 'Brigadier and Mrs Anthony Thompson — Baroness Henriette von Aichborn.' Then came a French air force colonel with his wife and daughter; a Russian husband and wife, both in major's uniform; a German orchestral conductor with his wife; several administrative officials with their ladies; and a man in a grey suit. 'This is Andrew Hurst, your neighbour at table. We flew him in from Washington especially for you.' joked the host.

Are you the surprise, Mr Hurst?'

'Well, yes, you could say so.'

The orderly carried in a tray of drinks. Detta took a glass of white wine. And have you come straight from Washington?'

'The Department of Justice has asked me to prepare the case against a number of German war criminals who are to be tried at Nuremberg.'

Detta was about to say something, but Hurst, smiling, raised a hand. 'I know the problems of such an enterprise: many people will see it as the justice of the victors, but Stalin insists on it, and as his allies we have to go along with him. I wouldn't have broached the subject this evening if it wasn't connected with some good news that I have for you. We are calling Lieutenant-General Heinrich von Aichborn, formerly a head of department in the German Army High Command, to give evidence to the Allied tribunal. Our Soviet allies therefore had to release him from their camp and transfer him to us. He is a free man, and will be our guest until the end of the trials.'

Detta could have flung her arms around him, but she controlled herself. 'Oh, thank you, Mr Hurst, that's the best news I've heard in ages. I must go and tell my mother at once.'

After dinner, my dear,' Lucy Abbot intervened. 'Tell her that my husband has arranged a flight to Nuremberg for her. Your parents and the other witnesses will be staying in a comfortable guest house.'

There was game soup and chicken fricassee, cheese and dessert, and white and red wine to drink. Andrew Hurst was an amusing conversationalist with a dry, Anglo-Saxon wit. Detta forced herself to talk cheerfully too, hiding her impatience. After dinner, however, she couldn't bear it any more.

'Off you go, my dear. Give your mother our regards.' Lucy Abbot discreetly saw her out so as not to disturb the party.

The night air had cooled a little. The scent of flowers drifted from the gardens. Detta didn't notice it. She hurried on to the Thielplatz and then down Ihnestrasse. Hedges cast back the echo of her swift footsteps. Less than ten minutes now, and her mother would hear the wonderful news.

On the corner of Garystrasse her feet went on strike. The pumps were too tight. She had entirely forgotten the comfortable casuals in her shoebag. She leaned against a garbage bin on the pavement to change her shoes.

She became aware of her pursuer only when she felt his breath on the back of her neck. 'What's the idea?' she cried, reacting angrily, and tried to turn round. A chain was thrown around her neck. Panting, her attacker pulled at her dress. She fought back with hands and feet, but the metal cut deeper and deeper into her throat, until she was merely flailing her arms helplessly. A burning pain tore her vagina. She retched, struggled in vain for air, had no strength to fight any more, knew that this was the end.

Her last thought was: how banal.

EARLY IN THE evening brakes screeched to a halt in Riemeister Strasse. Surprised, Inge Dietrich opened the front door. A Military Police corporal lifted a large carton off the back seat of his jeep and carried it past her into the living room, where he put it down on the table. 'From Captain Ashburner, with his best regards.' The corporal saluted caually and raced off again. Inge opened the carton and stared, speechless, at the treasures that spilled out.

'Wow, I don't believe it!' Ralf fished out one of the olive-green cans. 'Pineapple in syrup', the label read. 'OK. so I know what an apple is, syrup too,' he mused. The English and German words were similar enough. 'But what about this "pine", then?'

His mother took her father's old encyclopaedia out of the bookcase. 'Pine,' she read, finding the entry on pine trees. Apples on pine trees?'