Pierre Frei - Berlin - A Novel

The farmer's wife was listening attentively. 'It's not that we want to put obstacles in Karin's way. But what about the expense?' she said.

'She'll have free board and lodging with me. That just leaves the question of the drama school fees.'

She has a little money of her own that her mother left her. But it's really supposed to be for her trousseau.'

And you want us to cough that up?' Werneisen narrowed his eyes. 'I dare say you think we're stupid peasants, but we're not that stupid.'

A notary of your own choice would hold the money in trust, and make payments on Karin's behalf, having checked their validity. I assure you, Herr Werneisen, that I am not so stupid as to take responsibility for a young girl's money.'

The farmer looked at her in astonishment. 'Well, you're a one! Do we let our Karin go, Mother?' Anna Werneisen nodded. And so it was decided.

It was a long autumn for Karin, and a long winter. She didn't let anyone see her impatience, but worked harder than ever. She was even nice to Hans Gorke, although she kept her distance.

Nadja Horn lived in an apartment on the Siidwestkorso, where many artists had made their homes. From the window of her room, Karin had a view of the green Breitenbachplatz and its U-Bahn entrance, half-hidden by shrubs and spring flowers. She had been in Berlin for three weeks, and was finding her way around the capital with insatiable curiosity. The notary had allowed her a small budget for clothes, and some presents from her patron Nadja completed her wardrobe. The country girl was quickly turning into a chic young Berliner.

The Lore Bruck School of Drama in Kantstrasse was easily reached by the T-line bus. Nadja had registered her protegee in the beginners' class. All we do is breathing exercises until we're right out of puff,' Karin complained.

'You'll be playing Goethe's Gretchen soon enough,' Nadja consoled her.

'With Erik de Winter as Faust,' said Karin dreamily. 'We never hear from him these days.'

'He's making a movie with Josef von Baky on Riigen island.'

'Will he be away long?'

'You'll probably have to possess your soul in patience for a while. They've only just begun the location shots.' Nadja hesitated. 'I think it's time we talked. You're young and beautiful. You're going to meet a great many men, and they'll all try to get you into bed. Including Erik. I assume that as a country girl you know the facts of life?'

'You mean what happens when the cow's taken to the bull? Any child knows that.'

'Yes, but do you know the difference? The cow has no choice. You do. Choose your first man for love. And from then on choose wisely.'

At first Karin didn't understand what Nadja meant. Then she did, and her innermost being rejected the idea. There would be only one man for her, ever. Guessing her thoughts, Nadja smiled.

The beginners' class had fencing that July morning. Lore Bruck cultivated good relations with Heinrich Himmler, the Reichsfiihrer SS, so a sports instructor from the Leibstandarte Adolf Hitler Division taught the aspiring actors. His name was Siegfried, and he was a blond giant who wielded his foil with astonishing ease and elegance. He stood behind Karin and guided her hand. Concentrating hard, she followed his movements. As she did so she pressed her buttocks back against him as if by chance. The other girls giggled. Siegfried blushed.

It was one of the little interludes she introduced into classes. Another was her imitation of Lore Bruck, which was so perfect that everyone fell about laughing. 'Karin, we can see that you have a certain gift for comedy,' her teacher remarked of these flights of fancy. All the same, I'd like you to be a little more serious. You can't fool about the whole time on stage.'

Lore Bruck was an ardent National Socialist. She had been in her prime at the German National Theatre in the 1920s, and in the days of the silent movies. The elegant actress of that period had now become a matronly figure who looked after her pupils like a mother hen. The young people adored her, and took all their troubles to her.

'Now I'll show you a tierce,' the fencing master told them. But no one took any notice. Lore Bruck had just come in with Erik de Winter. He was immediately surrounded by the drama students, who besieged him with questions and requests for autographs. He fended off their demands with great good humour. 'Ladies and gentlemen, you'll be the death of me!'

Karin stayed in the background, waiting for him to notice her. He disentangled himself from the group and came over. 'How are you, Karin?' he asked, his tone formal. 'Frau Bruck says you're making good progress.'

'Thanks, I'm fine,' she said, sounding wooden. Her heart was thudding.

'Karin, I'm told that Herr de Winter is a friend of your family,' said Lore Bruck. 'So just this once I'm giving you the rest of the day off'

'How very kind of you, Lore.' He hugged her and winked at Karin. She relished the envious glances of the others as he took her hand and led her out of the rehearsal room. Down in the street, a cream Wanderer convertible with its hood down was waiting. He helped her into the car. Two passers-by recognized him and stopped. He waved to them, laughing, got behind the wheel and started the engine.

They drove down Kantstrasse to Masurenallee, past the Reich Radio building to Adolf-Hitler-Platz, gathering speed down Heerstrasse, Karin enjoying the warm wind. When they reached the Stossensee bridge they turned left into the Havelchaussee, which wound its way along beside the river.

At the Schildhorn he steered the convertible over to the side of the road and stopped. The resinous scent of pines rose from the Grunewald as it lay in the heat of the sun. White sails glinted on the water. Above them the stout little Odol advertising airship droned away. He leaned over and kissed her. To Karin, it was quite unexpected, and entirely different from the clumsy kisses of the boy next door back in Cuxhaven, or the stage kisses they were learning to exchange in class. Acting on instinct, she opened her lips and met his exploring tongue. Shudders ran through her body, converging on one point. It was like those times she'd touched herself in the field of rye, but much better.

He took her head between his hands. His voice was warm and full of tenderness. 'That's what I wanted to say to you.' Slowly, he drove on. She leaned her head against his shoulder. She was filled with an indescribable sense of happiness. He had put his right arm round her, and let the car cruise on in fourth gear. Only when the Havelchaussee was behind them did he push her gently aside and switch the engine off. 'Do you like Aal Grun?' he asked. Green eel? She had no idea what he meant.

On a restaurant terrace looking over the Wannsee, he ordered the local dish of eel with potatoes and chopped parsley, and a green sauce. They drank Mosel with it. 'Tastes delicious,' she said with her mouth full.

How young she is, he thought.

'What's it like acting in a movie?' she asked.

'Oh, a real test of patience. You sit around for hours in the studio until your moment comes. Then you say a few words to your opposite number — who often isn't even there — and the director makes you repeat it a dozen times until he's satisfied.'

'How do you mean, your opposite number isn't there? You mean away sick?'

He explained. 'You stand there speaking direct to the camera, as if it were your partner. And he or she does the same, answering the camera. Except that by then you're far away in the hairdresser's or somewhere. The director cuts the two takes together.'

'You mean apart,' she corrected him.

'No, together — the cinema has its own language.'

She got the idea. 'You see one actor speaking on screen and another actor answering because the director has stuck the two takes together.'