Pierre Frei - Berlin - A Novel

Frank Saunders lived in Tiergartenstrasse. On her way to him this Tuesday Marlene went through the park as usual. She heard shouting and laughing behind the bushes. A boy of about ten was tied to a tree, weeping, with a crowd of adolescents prancing around him. They had pulled his trousers and underpants down. 'Jew-boy, Jew-boy!' they sang in time to their prancing, and spat on his circumcised penis.

At the Neuer See she had passed a policeman on his beat, and now she ran back to fetch him. He didn't seem to be in a hurry. 'Do something!' she cried, with the terrible scene fresh in her mind.

'But he wouldn't lift a finger,' Marlene told Saunders indignantly. 'Luckily a young park keeper came along. He grabbed the ringleader and gave him a good shaking. And what do you think the young lout shouted? "We'll get all you Jew-lovers!" I untied the little boy and comforted him as best I could. You ought to write about that sort of thing in your American newspaper. No one's allowed to in ours.'

Saunders was not much impressed. 'No one at home would be interested. And we don't want to harm good relations with our German hosts by writing up some story about silly boys.'

'How bad does it have to get before you all wake up out there?'

`The world is wide awake, sweetheart. It admires your wonderful economic upturn. There is anti-Semitism everywhere, always has been. At least the Nazis admit it.' He drew her close. And right now I can think of something much nicer to occupy our minds.'

'That's what you're paying for,' she said dryly.

'Ton francais nest pas mal,' Fredie remarked one evening. He had come home late from a meeting at the office.

'Remember how you drummed it into me? I could polish it up a bit, don't you think?'

'You'll soon have an opportunity to do just that. The opportunity is called Andre Favarel and he speaks hardly any German. He's taking up his post as French military attache next month. Dr Noack thinks we ought to get him on our side in good time.'

'You want me to go to bed with him.'

'Not exactly. You'll meet Favarel at the Five O'Clock in Eden. He fancies young blonde women with a certain touch.'

'What kind of certain touch?'

According to our information, Colonel Favarel has a liking for stern treatment. We've hired the Blue Salon at Kitty's. It's wired for hidden cameras. Think something up.'

'You want to blackmail him with photographs.'

'Reichsfiihrer Himmler would like us to stay just ahead of the Wehrmacht's intelligence service.'

'So I'm to play the dominatrix in Kitty Schmidt's whorehouse.'

'You said it.'

She felt hurt and humiliated, and summoned up the very last of her selfrespect. 'Well, I won't, understand? And you can tell your friend Noack so too.'

He undid his fly. 'Then we'll have to make the lady a little more willing.' She did not defend herself: it would have been no use. He took her as ruthlessly as ever. The dreaded orgasm came. Afterwards she lay there breathing hard, the victim of her own addiction. He casually did up his trousers. 'Well, darling, have we thought better of it?'

She called on all her strength. 'Not if you stand on your head. I just won't go along with a thing like that.'

Then he beat her, cold as ice, systematically, until she was a whimpering heap. She dragged herself into the bathroom. A swollen, bloodstained horror mask looked back at her from the mirror. 'You'll be as good as new by the time Favarel arrives,' he told her.

The swelling went down, the wounds healed. Her black eye lasted longer, and her injuries gave her time to think, not that she needed it. The will to survive that she had developed in Riibenstrasse told her it was time. Time to go, she thought, just as she had when she set out from Moabit to the smarter area of Berlin.

She packed her things one Monday, folding her most precious possession, Grandmother Mine's white lace scarf, and putting it at the top of her suitcase. Fredie wouldn't be home before seven. That gave her the advance on him she needed. She got a Reich Railways timetable, and put a cross beside a connection from Berlin to Hanover and on to Essen, laying a false trail to be on the safe side. She didn't think Fredie would weep many tears over her, though. He'd just train some other girl. On the other hand, she mustn't underestimate his possessive instincts. He had spent a good deal on her, and he might not be ready simply to wave goodbye to his investment.

She had kept the old passport that gave her name as Marlene Kaschke, a memento of a short trip to Austria. Fredie had found some old Archduke in Baden near Vienna, totally gaga, but he paid well. She'd had to dress up as a schoolgirl and sit on His Royal-and-Imperial Highness's lap.

She had long ago found out where Fredie kept a supply of cash: in the lavatory cistern, packed in oilskin. She took far less than the considerable amount due to her after all these years.

She was briefly tempted to turn to Frank Saunders for help, but quickly rejected the idea. Frank was a paying customer. Paying customers, however nice they might be, wanted a short-term playmate with no strings attached, not someone's runaway wife.

There was a note stuck in the passport. She took it out and read the firm, slightly clumsy handwriting. It was the address that Franz Giese had written down for her back in the past. She had entirely forgotten it, but now it was like a sign from Fate. Of course, Giese would help her. She was about to put the note back where she had found it when the telephone rang. It was Anita, an acquaintance: would she like to go to the movies? 'Sorry, I can't today. See you soon!' Marlene hung up and put the passport in her handbag. The note dropped to the floor.

She took the S-Bahn to Schoneberg. It wasn't far from the station. The entrance hall of the building still smelled of soft soap. She pressed the doorbell on the second floor. It was a little while before he opened the door. 'Fraulein Lene?' he asked, surprised. 'Come in.' He was wearing braces and a collarless, striped, blue wool shirt. His friendly, boyish face had grown thinner, but it was as calm and full of good sense as ever. A man you could rely on, Marlene's instincts told her.

He spoke slowly and deliberately. That hadn't changed either. 'It's pure chance you found me in. I'm just getting the papers ready for my next trip with the truck. They check up on me quite often, my rival Meier sees to that. He's a fanatical Party member, grudges a former Socialist like me the least little thing. Well, never mind that. I'm not interested in politics these days. How are you, Fraulein Lene?'

'Frau Marlene Neubert. I married Fredie. He still makes me go with other men, and he beats me. Herr Giese, I have to get away.'

'Franz to you, Fraulein Lene. Let me make us a coffee. The truck can wait.'

Everything in the living room was as it had been on her first visit: the round dining table, the chairs with their dark-red, velour upholstery, the rutting stag in his gilt frame, the lace covers on the plush sofa, the pot plant in the window.

He had put on a collar and tie, and now carried a tray with the coffee pot, cups, and a tin of biscuits to the table. 'So you've started up your haulage business.'

'With a three-wheeled Tempo. As a one-man outfit I couldn't afford more. You want to get away from him?'

Can I stay here? I mean just for the time being, until I find somewhere else. I'm sure we'd get on all right. And I owe you a hundred and fifty marks,' she said boldly.

He lowered his gaze. 'I don't like to hear you say such things. And I don't want you to stay either. Not the way you mean. I want everything to be right and proper between us. If you want me at all, then I'll wait, if you don't mind.'