Pierre Frei - Berlin - A Novel

'Don't you mind it when I sleep with other men?'

'No, why should I?' was his surprised answer.

Erwin Kastner made coffee in a kind of double glass balloon over a spirit flame. Marlene watched, fascinated, as the water rose in the device and the dark-brown brew flowed down again. A bachelor needs these little household gadgets,' her host told her, rather apologetically.

She pointed to the book-lined walls around them. Have you read all those?'

'Most of them. Do you take sugar?'

'Yes please. And how many books have you written?'

'Just under a dozen.'

'Is writing fun?'

'Hellish hard work. I avoid it as soon as I come up with a good excuse.

Sharpening pencils, for instance. I can spend a whole morning sharpening pencils and never get a line down on paper. Wonderful!'

She scrutinized him, not sure whether he was being serious. 'What are you writing at the moment?'

A children's book. I'm forbidden to write for adults now. I could always go to Austria. I'm told there are some very fine coffee houses in Vienna. But I'm attached to the Romanesque and this apartment of mine.'

A real children's book?'

'It's called Lucie the Snake, about an anaconda who escapes from the zoo. A class of schoolchildren protect her from the keepers' search parties.'

'The way you're protecting your friend?'

What friend?' he asked warily.

'Eddie Talberg the Communist leader. The Geheime Staatspolizei want to know where he's hiding.'

'You are either very clever or very stupid, my dear.'

Neither. I just don't want to send anyone to his doom, least of all myself.'

'Well, you can tell your masters that Talberg has been in Warsaw for a week, on his way to Moscow.'

'Spoilsport!' she complained, smiling.

How do you mean?'

'I wasn't supposed to worm that information out of you over a cup of coffee, I was meant to do it in bed:

He kissed her hand. 'Then you've been spared a disappointment, and I have acquired a charming fan. May I ask why you are working for our new masters?'

'No, you may not!' she said firmly. Anyway, I must go now.'

Dr Noack praised her. He had come to supper. 'Good work, even if Talberg has eluded us. You ought to give your wife her reward for that, Hauptsturmfiihrer.'

Fredie took Marlene on the carpet. Then he forced her between Noack's knees. She did what was expected of her.

It was a June morning, and Fredie was getting dressed: pale-grey worsted trousers, white shirt, blue cotton tie. Marlene handed him his lightweight, cream linen jacket. No one would have suspected that this elegant apparition in his mid-twenties was a member of the Gestapo.

'Would you like scrambled eggs or fried?'

'Scrambled, please. And a buttered roll.'

'The coffee's ready. Eggs coming in a minute. I'll just fetch the papers in.' All was well with the world today. The property beside the water, the pretty, roomy house, breakfast with her husband — it was sunny pictures like these that made her think there could be such a thing as good fortune and happiness.

The newspapers were sticking out of the letterbox on the garden fence: the Volkischer Beobachter, the official and thus unreadable organ of the Party, and the Morgenpost, which so far had retained its comfortable everyday character, apart from a few dutiful political pieces.

Fredie was on the phone. 'Yes, Obersturmbannfiihrer. The Hotel Bristol, room 221. I can guarantee that the operation will be conducted swiftly and smoothly. I'll report back to you personally. Over.'

'Would you like to have breakfast in the garden?'

'My uniform. Come along, get a move on.' He flung off his jacket, tore the tie from his neck, took off his trousers. She helped him into the black breeches made by Benedict, and put the hooks into the tongues of the smart riding boots from Mahlmeister's so that he could pull them on over his calves. Fredie hated uniform, but as it couldn't always be avoided it might at least be tailor-made.

'Fredie, what's up?'

He put on his belt and shoulder strap, took the 7.65 Mauser out of the desk drawer and put it in its holster. 'Get that black dress and white apron on,' he ordered. 'Don't forget the lace cap. And hurry.' She had last worn that costume for a guest who liked to have a housemaid tickle him with a feather duster. Was Fredie taking her to a client with similar tastes? But why the uniform and the pistols? Anxiety took hold of her.

As she straightened the seams of her stockings, he was getting the Ford out of the garage. The car had belonged to a Communist Reichstag deputy who had been beaten to death while in 'protective custody'.

They entered the Bristol through a side door. Fredie raced to the back stairs. He knew every corner of this building from his days as a hotel pageboy. A room-service waiter was wheeling his trolley past on the second floor. Fredie stopped him. 'I'll take that.'

'It's the breakfast for Room 230.'

'It's the breakfast for Room 221 now.'

'But you can't just…'

Fredie took out his pistol and loaded it. 'Give me your key to Room 221.' White as a sheet, the man took the key off his bunch. And now get out.' The waiter rushed away, panic-stricken.

Fredie wheeled the trolley over to Marlene. He lowered his voice. 'Knock on the door of 221, open it and say: "Chambermaid with your breakfast, sir."' He gave her the key. 'Then you push the trolley in and get over to one side straight away. Go on.' She obeyed, although she guessed that something terrible was going to happen.

'Chambermaid with your breakfast, sir.' She heard her own voice as if from far away. She pushed the trolley into the room. Brown uniform garments lay strewn around the floor. There were two men in the bed, a pretty, fair boy and an older, dark-haired man. The older man put on his glasses. 'You haven't forgotten the orange juice, I hope?'

Suddenly Fredie was standing at the foot of the bed. 'Get out of there!' he snarled at the boy, who obeyed, trembling. Fredie raised the pistol. He saw the terrified face of the man in the bed. To him, it was the smooth, self-satisfied countenance of Trevelyan the pederast. The shots echoed agonizingly in Marlene's ears. The man jerked this way and that, as Fredie emptied the magazine into him in cold blood. The bed was drenched and red.

The naked boy stood in a corner, weeping. 'Put your clothes on and get out,' said Fredie, in a gentle voice. 'Come on, Lene.'

'SA Chief of Staff Rohm personally arrested by the Fiihrer. Seven more treacherous SA leaders arrested at perverted orgies in Bad Wiesensee and Berlin and summarily shot,' announced the evening edition of the paper. Fredie let it fall to the floor and reached for the cognac bottle, in high good humour. 'They'll promote Noack, and he'll be grateful.'

Standartenfiihrer Dr Noack took his time to demonstrate his gratitude. He had many new jobs to be done. When summoned, Fredie would put his 7.65 Mauser in his toilet bag, often staying away for days. Marlene asked no questions, because she didn't want to hear the answers.

Instead she took refuge in her dream. She was floating weightlessly through a truly beautiful cinema, showing members of the audience to their seats. She wore a scarlet uniform with gold braid. Ahead of her she carried a tray of vanilla ices on sticks, and she could lick as many as she wanted. All the people around her were really nice.

She would wake to find herself back in the cold light of reality. Reality meant strangers, to whom Fredie handed her over for his and his boss's purposes whenever it suited. Reality meant Fredie's sexual attacks on her. Her body was greedy for them, while her mind despised them.

The only bright spots were her carefree hours with Frank Saunders. But even he would remind her of reality by unthinkingly handing her the fee in public instead of discreetly putting it in her bag.