The Last Letter
By Alex McStevens - bronze member
Submitted on May 21, 2025
Prologue:April 1961
“Please!” the woman cried, her voice raw with terror.
I stood there, frozen in shock, watching the horrifying scene unfold in front of me. The woman’s thick hat pulled down so that only her eyes, the same color as mine, were left exposed. Her scarves muffled the sound of her desperate voice.
The police officer’s tone was brutal, slicing through the cold spring air like a knife. “You must cooperate, or I will have to use force against you.” He slammed her roughly against the wall, holding a folded-up paper just out of arm’s reach. “Tell me where you got this from,” he snarled.
“I don’t know. I found it on the street. Please!” Her voice died away as he twisted her collar in a choking motion.
“Don’t tell lies.”
“I haven’t done anything wrong! I swear I haven’t done anything!” Her voice had risen shrilly, hysterical, full of sheer terror. She struggled, shouting for help, but it was useless—the man had an iron grip. “Let me go!” she cried, pushing her scarf away from her face. “Let me go!”
The cruelty in the officer’s eyes flashed as he swung his baton hard. I closed my eyes for a second. There was a sharp crack of her head against the cobblestones when she fell. Dark blood splashed on his uniform and boots.
He stood there in shock. Like he hadn’t meant to kill her. I cringed, my hand pressed over my mouth to hold back a scream.
He turned his head slowly, perhaps hearing my faint gasp, barely perceptible above the sound of cars rushing through puddles. Maybe he had felt my wide eyes on him.
I shrank back, trying to disappear into the black shadows of the alleyway. The jagged edges of bricks scratched through my gloves as I pressed my hands against the wall of the nearest building. I couldn’t tear my eyes away from the gruesome scene in front of me.
I knew I should run, but my legs wouldn’t move. The officer kept turning, turning.
And then, for one awful second, he caught my eye.
That was the beginning of the end.
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Chapter One:August 1961
“Ministry of State Security.”
The second knock that quickly followed was a sound that I’d learned to hate and fear. It was a knock that everyone in eastern Germany dreaded—never a polite rap, but a heavy fist pounding on the door.
My heart plummeted like a stone into my shoes. With both my parents at work in the family bakery until several hours later that afternoon, and my brothers still in school, I was alone in the house.
The only sound in the fleeting moments of silence between the knocks was the drip of the leaky faucet. A door creaked from somewhere on the second floor, like a ghost was shutting itself into my bedroom, keeping itself away from prying eyes. That had to be a pretty smart ghost. I, too, wanted to be swallowed up by the earth.
I hesitated, hardly daring to breathe. It was unlikely that the Stasi had come for me; after all, what terrible actions could a ten-year-old girl commit against the State, even if she was particularly rebellious?
The voice came again from behind the door, low and gravelly, like grating metal. “We know you’re in there. Open the door.”
They must have seen me through the window. I bent down to look through the keyhole; the grey-green cloth of their uniforms was a color that was too familiar. My hands were slick with sweat as I twisted the handle, and my legs shook as I opened the door, squinting against the light from outside. Two men in heavily decorated uniforms, rifles gleaming by their sides, stood at the threshold. One was small and stocky, and the other had a thick, bristling mustache above his upper lip.
“Where is Ernst Muller?” the shorter man demanded, none too kindly, but considering who they were, I had expected nothing better.
“He’s not here.” My voice shook slightly.
They brushed past me. They had the same small black eyes, sharpened to perfection by years of training to uncover the slightest hint of treason. Those eyes scoured the entrance, leading to the living room on one side and the kitchen on the other.
The short man held out a slip of paper. “Do you recognize this?”
I shook my head, wishing they would just leave. Or that Papa would show up to box their ears.
“This,” he said, waving it in front of me without giving me a chance to finish reading the lengthy title, “is a search warrant. This house will be searched.”
I straightened slightly, trying to appear more confident than I was. I was tall and athletic, just like my brothers, but it was obvious that I was scared. My face felt cold and numb. I felt sweat on my forehead, and I kept nervously brushing my hair out of my eyes, just for something else to do with my hands.
“Do what you have to,” I replied shortly. The words came out surprisingly calmly, even boldly. Not the effect I’d been going for.
The man with the mustache placed a hand on his rifle. “Listen, girl. You had better mind your manners before this search warrant turns into an arrest warrant.”
I nodded, closing the door behind them with a soft click, my eyes following them as they began their search. I leaned against the doorframe for a second, focusing on steadying my breathing. My parents had nothing to hide. I would know, as I’d been in every cranny in the house.
But I did.Banned items. Items from the black market. Things none of us would want the Stasi to find.
If the Stasi discovered what my brothers and I were keeping hidden, we could be just another family who disappeared and never returned, deported to Siberia to dig beets, or some other awful place. A shudder passed down my spine. I wasn’t exaggerating the truth—this was happening at every moment. There was no reason why it should not happen to us.
I could hear their footsteps pounding through the bottom floor, then start up the stairs. I kept my eyes on them, my fists clenching until my nails bit into my palms. I hated every inch of them, from the tops of their heads to the soles of their shiny black boots.
I followed them up the stairs at a distance, leaning against the railing, holding my breath as they searched through Mama and Papa’s bedroom. I could only see a small portion of the room and was a little pleased to see the repulsed look on their faces as they went through Mama’s dresser drawers. However, that pleasure didn’t last, especially as they turned around. I realized that I’d moved closer, too close.
“Watching us?” The man with the mustache looked almost amused. “You’d better get downstairs before this gets ugly.”
I dared myself to tell him that I was not afraid, but I could not bring myself to, especially because that would have been a lie. Instead, I dropped my gaze to the floor.
The shorter man thrust his face towards mine, a sneer playing on his lips. I could smell his foul breath and even count the hairs sticking out of his badly shaven face.
“Get. Downstairs.”
I crept back down, sitting on the worn living room sofa and putting my head in my hands, my palms pressed against my forehead. Their footsteps grew louder, then quieter, then finally they came down the stairs again.
I peeked through my fingers. They were carrying nothing out. Their expressions were unreadable. But they didn’t look angry with me.
The shorter man paused to turn towards me, his eyes studying me like I was an interesting specimen. So did the other man, his gaze condescending, dripping with loathing for me. I had done nothing wrong. Nothing that they knew of. And yet, in their eyes, I wasn’t an innocent girl; I was a monster, an enemy of the State. Somebody they’d like to hurt.
“When your father comes back,” the short man said in a dangerously soft voice, “you will tell him nothing. You will tell no one that we were here.”
“Yes,” I whispered.
“We will be back,” he continued. “Until then, watch out for yourself.”
Only when they had left the front door swinging open behind them did I allow myself to breathe properly again. A warm draft of air blew inside, so I tiptoed over to close the door, like I was afraid there was someone in the house I didn’t want to know I was there.
I stood there for a while, listening carefully for the slightest unusual creak, but the men were gone for good. I was safe—for now.
After some time, I went back upstairs. They hadn’t spent much time in my room, but they had definitely made a mess. My wardrobe had been flung open, dresses and school uniforms pulled to the ground. My sheets were tangled around the mattress and my textbooks lay open on the ground. Dust had settled on my desk from the chandelier above.
I opened the broom closet, pushing heavy blankets and junk aside until I cleared a space to see the safe in the very back corner. I hurried back to my wardrobe, took the key from the pocket of one of my dresses, and unlocked it. All the record disks were still inside it.
Relief washed over me like a wave, threatening to pull me to the ground under its weight. They hadn’t found the secrets I was keeping from them. Not this time.
I closed and locked the safe again, hiding it behind the blankets again, and then made sure the closet was closed too before I put the key away. I straightened up, brushing lint off my dress.
None of it made sense to me—why had they searched the house? Why had they asked for Papa? There had to be a reason; there always was a reason, but not one I could ever easily find out. The government kept secrets. So did my father.
A few minutes later, the door creaked open again. My heart lurched in my chest, and I froze, before realizing that it was only Mama and Papa who’d returned from work at the bakery. There was no danger. I could hear them speaking in low murmurs from downstairs.
“Klara?” Mama’s voice was soft as it floated up the stairs, but with a commanding edge.
“Up here,” I called back.
Mama came up the stairs and opened the door to my bedroom, her eyes kind, but her face creased in a frown. “What happened? What’s this mess?”
“Sorry,” I mumbled. I couldn’t help but relax as I sank onto the edge of my bed. I’d been warned not to tell them about the Stasi’s visit, and I’d have to do it at a different time. That could wait a few hours. At least they were here now, at least the men were gone, and at least I was safe.
But I knew all that was temporary.
Mama pursed her lips. “Clean up and help me finish dinner. We’re inviting Herr Willems over tonight. He’ll be here in a few minutes.”
“Really? Why?”
Inviting neighbors over to dinner was a rare occurrence now that the government was keeping such a close eye on everybody. We didn’t want to appear too friendly, and Herr Willems knew things better kept secret.
Mama didn’t answer, instead reminding me to clean up and leaving me alone to think everything over.
Herr Willems lived alone in the small house next door. He was an odd man who collected bits and scraps of things, like dead flowers, ugly paintings, and various types of screws. When he spoke, he’d lean forward, his voice a hoarse, grating half-whisper, his words sending a shiver up my spine.
When his wife had died last year after a long sickness, we had brought him meals and other small comforts, but this was the first time since then that we had had him over. I thought it all over as I cleaned up. Maybe he had some important news he wanted to give us.
The door opened again. That meant Karl and Gunter were back. If I told anyone about what had happened, it would be them, but not now.
I finished tidying up, then hurried downstairs. Papa was in his office, poring over a newspaper, and didn’t look up when I came in.
“How was school?” he asked me, pushing his reading glasses higher on his nose.
I took a deep breath before answering. “It was okay,” I said after a moment. School wasn’t really what I had in mind.
I wanted to ask him why the Stasi had asked where he was, but I knew better. I’d been warned once not to tell anybody. I was already breaking enough rules as it was. Anyway, Papa knew everything. He probably knew they’d been to our house already, and why.
The newspaper rustled as he turned a page. I hesitated, but before I could ask him, there was a knock on the door.
“That must be him.” Mama’s voice was hurried, flustered. Her footsteps clattered across the floor as she answered the door. Her voice became higher-pitched, falsely cheerful like it always was around guests she didn’t like, as she ushered Herr Willems in.
Papa stood up, folding his newspaper, and went to greet our guest. I trailed after him, wishing no one had been invited over. I had wanted to spend the rest of the evening replaying everything the Stasi had said to me, trying to make sense of it, but now I was supposed to look pretty for a few hours while the adults talked.
While Mama prepared dinner, I sat in the living room, fidgeting nervously and listening to the adults talk. I mostly sat there to avoid cooking, because I was terrible at it, but also because I might learn something political here.
My brothers, Karl and Gunter, sat there too. They were twins, best friends, inseparable, able to finish each other’s sentences—but it was inevitable that I always had a favorite. At the moment, mine was Gunter, because he was teaching me how to drive.
It wasn’t very comfortable to sit wedged between them—they were fifteen, nearly as tall as Papa was, athletic; they won almost every local sports championship. They were smart, too, often discussing literature and politics as well as my father did. Many people admired them. I admired them too, even though I’d never admit it to their faces.
Both of them kept trying to convince me to take over the bakery when I was older, so that they could be professional tennis players. I always said no. I wanted to be a teacher in a faraway land overflowing with opportunity. They’d just have to get scholarships, a first for our family, or resign themselves to taking over the family business once they graduated.
I nudged Gunter and he reluctantly scooted a few inches to the left. We became quiet then, hanging onto every word Herr Willem was saying, because it sounded important. His round, red face was covered in stubble and the bald patch on the top of his head had grown bigger and paler. Although I couldn’t remember him any other way, my brothers said that after his wife got sick, he’d become stranger, more reclusive, neglecting things like personal hygiene. I believed them. His trash always smelled like a dead animal.
“There are things happening,” Herr Willems murmured, his eyes darting towards the kitchen, then back to meet Papa’s steady gaze. “Strange and terrible things.” His gaze rested on us. “Things they don’t want you to know about.”
Karl was leaning forward, his elbows resting on his knees. “What kind of things, Herr Willems?”
“People have been disappearing every day. Even ordinary people like us have been taken in for questioning and never returned. It’s no longer safe here.” He addressed my father again: “You need to take your family west, Ernst. Before it’s too late.”
“Too late for what?” I asked without meaning to. I often did that—let words slip from my tongue before I could stop them. It often got me into unnecessary trouble.
“Too late to save yourselves.”
What did he mean? The Stasi might try (and succeed) to scare us with their fancy search warrants, but the disappearances could easily be attributed to other causes, like the thugs that roamed the streets, or a clumsy fall into the Spree River. Surely they weren’t killing and imprisoning ordinary people who had done nothing wrong. Sending traitors to labor camps was one thing, but this . . .
“They’re keeping files on some of us.” Papa’s voice was a low murmur. “They’re watching us, from the moment we step outside to the second we go back in. And even when . . .” He stopped, glancing quickly at the window.
I was certain I’d just seen a shadow move beyond it and was glad when we changed the subject to the blisteringly hot summer weather.
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Chapter Two:
The familiar roar of the car pulling into the driveway was like music to my ears. Gunter and Karl were back. Wiping my floury hands off on my apron, I rushed to unlock the door before they tried to open it and started teasing me for being paranoid.
The brakes squealed in the driveway. I put my fists over my ears and immediately regretted it as my hair, too, became covered in flour. I glanced back at the white, powdery trail I had made leading from the kitchen and had to laugh at myself. I could never stay clean.
Two entire days had passed since the Stasi had searched the house. I had told nobody. I could get in trouble with the government, and anyway, Mama and Papa already had enough on their plate. I had heard them talking late the night after the men came, about how business hadn’t picked up as it usually did in the summer. We weren’t poor, but didn’t exactly own a fortune. If the bakery didn’t do well, we would have to start going without certain things. As my birthday was next November, I hoped more than ever that we would have enough money to buy gifts.
Besides, after a lot of thinking, I was pretty sure I’d figured out the reason they had come. Papa had mentioned that they were keeping files on some of us. I wondered if they had a file on me. A file kept all the information the government might ever want to know about a person—so that one day they could put that person in jail if they wanted to. Obviously, the thought that there might be a file on me wasn’t very comforting, but even less comforting was the fact that they could have a file on my parents—if they were arrested, my brothers and I would go to some horrible orphanage.
I hurried back to the kitchen to put the cinnamon rolls in the oven because I would prefer that my brothers did not see them. The fact that they looked more like deformed slugs than cinnamon rolls was usually made up for by the amount of sugar I used in the recipe.
The door opened just as I closed the oven, fanning the hot air away from my face. I could hear Gunter and Karl talking and laughing together. They sounded happy, free from worries.
I felt a pang of guilt as they came into the kitchen and said hello to me. If I didn’t tell our parents, at least I should tell them about the Stasi. They wouldn’t take it in the wrong way. It had been their idea to smuggle illegal records from the black market, their idea to put up posters of supposedly famous American actresses in their rooms, their idea to yell profanities in the middle of afternoon assembly at school. It wasn’t as if they’d spill my secret. I never spilt theirs. They were five years older than me, and although I looked up to them, I followed their examples with my conscience pricking me.
Gunter ruffled my hair, something which I hated, so I pulled away from him. “Just finishing up?” he asked. His voice was always casual, as light as a summer breeze.
“Almost done here.” Again, my mind turned to the Stasi. Their visit was all that I could think about, but maybe the gruesome thought of the upcoming school year, starting in just a week, would take my mind off of it.
Karl sniffed deeply. “It smells good already.”
I didn’t answer that. I was praying that he wouldn’t open the oven to look at the cinnamon rolls, which I was sure had completely lost what little shape I’d been able to force them to take. I was baking them for my only real friend, Elke, who didn’t mind how pastries looked.
He didn’t open the oven. Instead, we went upstairs together, so that we could listen to Elvis Presley, and of course to The Beatles, which were my favorite. Since we weren’t allowed to listen to that by order of the government, we only did it on Saturday or Sunday nights when the city was loud, playing the fingerprint-smudged records at low volume.
Gunter put the needle in place and we crowded around the record player. The needle was brand new, still sharp. If Mama and Papa knew what we were doing, they didn’t say anything about it. Maybe they liked us being rebellious in our own quiet way.
We listened in silence for a while. I just barely understood the lyrics, but both my brothers did almost perfectly, because they’d taken an English course in school. Still, the messages of freedom—freedom to do what you wanted, freedom to live, freedom to love—were clear to me.
“Did you hear what happened to Peter Handschuh?” Karl asked softly, glancing around like he was afraid a soldier would pop out from nowhere.
We both shook our heads. He was talking about a boy in their grade who was infamous at the school for his daring escapades.
“He was accused of anti-government activities.” His voice was not much more than a whisper. “They . . . they took him away.”
Gunter’s eyes widened in shock. “Where did they—”
Karl held a finger to her lips, the motion urgent, and waited until Gunter had fallen silent, his face pale. “They took him—”
The front door opened. We quickly switched the music off, shoving the records hastily into the safe in the closet and locking it. I could hear Mama’s soft, gentle voice from downstairs, followed by Papa’s low, steady one, and felt relieved.
“Karl!” Mama’s voice had become sharp.
Karl sighed and stood up, stretching easily, then left the room. Gunter and I shared a look and shrugged our shoulders before following him downstairs.
The small, cramped kitchen looked even smaller with Mama bustling around in it. It also smelled strongly of burning cinnamon rolls. Not good. I pulled them out of the oven and, before Mama could notice what I was doing, hastily tossed them into a cheap brown paper box I’d swiped from the bakery the other day.
She seemed in a rush, throwing a few essentials into a bag. “Karl, you and your father are going to Klaus and Helga’s place immediately.”
After a moment’s pause, I voiced everyone’s obvious question: “Why?”
Mama shot me a silencing look, but I remained confused. Clearly, so were my brothers. We barely saw Uncle Klaus or Aunt Helga anymore, even though they lived just an hour away by train, even though their daughter, Anna, was between our ages. And when we did see them, they usually came to visit us. That was just as well, because their house smelled like cats, and talking to Anna gave me the distinct feeling that I’d just thrown myself off a boat with a hundred pounds tied to me.
Papa entered the kitchen, still in his coat and boots, carrying a heavy backpack over one shoulder. Mama gave him a meaningful look. He cleared his throat and explained: “Klaus and Helga have gone missing. We’re going to bring Anna back with us.”
Missing. The word hung in the air like a death sentence. Missing meant being interrogated and maybe even tortured by the Stasi. People went missing all the time, some for days. Some forever.
“What do you mean, missing?” Karl demanded.
“How long have they been missing for?” I asked at the same time.
Mama sighed, shaking her head. “We don’t have answers right now. I’m sure they’ll be fine. We just need to make sure that Anna has someone to take care of her. Once they’re found safe, they’ll surely write to us.”
“Can I come?” Gunter’s eyes were brighter than usual.
Mama shook her head. “We’ve already discussed this. You have to stay behind and help out at the bakery.”
Gunter looked disappointed. When Mama wasn’t looking, Karl gave him a teasing look that only soured Gunter’s expression further.
I bit my lip hard, tasting blood. “What if they aren’t found safe?”
“They will be.” Karl’s confidence surprised me. He was already at the door, pulling on his shoes.
I nodded, taking a deep breath. I had to believe that they would. Poor Anna—she must be terrified, at home all by herself, wondering if she’d be next.
“We’ll be back before you know it,” Papa assured me. To Karl, he said: “Hurry, son. We don’t have any time to waste.”
I hugged Papa goodbye. He smelled like bread and spices and freshly cut grass after the rain, but although his old, tattered grey coat smelled a bit like an old sheet, I didn’t mind.
Before he left, Karl pulled me into a close hug, too, something he rarely did. I inhaled his warm, sweet scent—the good-quality leather of his coat, the lingering smell from the jasmine flower crowns the girls who had a crush on him liked to put in his hair.
“Be careful,” I said, knowing only too well the dangers of travelling without proper identification, something which cost money we didn’t have.
“I will. Goodbye, Klara.”
The sound of the door slamming shut against the wind outside echoed in a house that suddenly seemed too empty. Mama sighed, her shoulders sagging under the weight of the responsibility she now had.
“Will they be okay?” I whispered.
Mama nodded, unable to speak. I saw her throat working against a sob. I wanted to cry, too. Gunter stood nearby, watching us uncertainly, a disbelievingly blank look in his eyes.
Eventually, Mama pulled me into a warm hug, so tight that I felt like my ribs were going to crack. When she let go of me, she was forcing herself to smile.
“Of course they’ll be okay,” she said in a falsely cheerful tone. “Don’t be silly, Klara.”
I nodded, swallowing the lump in my throat and forcing myself to smile back, because I wanted to appear brave too. Gunter looked away.
It’s no longer safe here, Herr Willems had said two days ago. I shuddered. His words still echoed in my head. I tried to push those thoughts out of my mind. I had to help with dinner, force myself to eat some, and then sleep; I had school the next day.
I locked the safe, tucked the key into the pocket of my fanciest party dress as usual, and went back downstairs to help with dinner. The thought of what might happen tomorrow never really crossed my mind. Papa and Karl would be back by that evening with Anna, and I’d have to share a room with her, but beyond that, I concentrated on falling asleep properly.
In retrospect, it was good that I didn’t consider tomorrow to deeply, because I would have disappointed myself. None of us had any idea what was going to take place.
When I woke up, everything had changed.
It was a clear, bright August morning. My bedroom window was open, letting in the warm air and the sound of birds cheeping, but also the sound of soldiers shouting. I looked out the window and gasped.
A long, barbed-wire fence stretched in both directions. It seemed to run endlessly. Although it wasn’t tall, it was heavily guarded by none other than members of the Stasi. Clearly, the fence wasn’t meant to be crossed if they had brought out the German police force for this. But it was so much more than a fence. My heart stopped beating for a second.
They had built a prison around us while we slept.
“Mama!” I cried, rushing out of the room, still in my pajamas.
She threw open the bedroom door, her eyes heavy-lidded from lack of sleep and red from crying, but when she saw the panic on my face, then the fence outside, she instantly became more alert.
Together, we ran downstairs and stood outside, shielding our eyes against the sun. The soldiers standing on either side of the fence didn’t so much as glance at us, their gaze fixed on nowhere.
It wasn’t a tall fence—Karl, always the reckless one, might be able to vault over it if he tried—but it meant something much bigger than its size. It meant power, control, and government. Things we couldn’t touch.
A horrible chill shot down my spine as I realized exactly what this meant for us: They had divided the city in half.
Papa and Karl were on the other side.
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October 1964Chapter Three:
Three years—more than that—had passed since that awful day. I hadn’t seen, heard from, or spoken to Papa, Karl, or Anna since then. The telephone lines going to the west side had been cut long ago, and sending a letter across was too dangerous.
We had to believe that they were still alive. Western Berlin belonged to France and Germany. They were safer there than we were here. But they were from the eastern side. And that meant trouble. West Berlin and East Berlin hated each other.
The Wall scared me, even though I’d never admit it to anyone, much less to myself. It didn’t stop me from doing what I wanted, though. I was twelve, almost thirteen, more capable than ever of getting myself into trouble with the government, although nothing bad had happened to me yet. I still listened to the music I wanted to and read the books I wanted too.
And Ilona’s letters were in the safe, untouched.
Ilona had sent me six letters in total and had written in the final one that she’d planned to send me a seventh. I couldn’t understand the meaning behind most of what she said, but it was important. It was something to do with her death.
I didn’t like to think about Ilona. It made me wonder and worry too much. Her death wasn’t my fault. None of this was my fault.
I’d watched as the barbed wire transformed from a fence into a short wall with barbed wire on the top, then into a taller wall, and then into the Wall itself, made of drab grey concrete sprinkled here and there with graffiti and anti-Soviet messages, heavily guarded by soldiers in Russian uniforms. Now, it was so tall that only if I climbed onto the roof and stood on a chair, only then could I catch a tiny glimpse of the Spree River.
Some things hadn’t changed since the wall had been built, and they never would, which brought me a form of relief. I still was terrible at baking, Gunter still played tennis, and my friend Elke still had a crush on a certain boy whom I considered incredibly annoying.
Other things had changed. Things that I didn’t know about. Things that ran deeper than I could see.
Probably one of the worst things that had befallen me since the Wall had been built were the Pioneers meetings. They were mandatory, which meant that I had no excuse to get out of them. But I’d grown to hate them more than anything else, more than the Stasi, more than the people who’d decided to build the wall. Twice a week I had to put on a stupid white shirt and stupid blue scarf and listen to some brainwashed idiot of a woman lecture us on why freedom was overrated. They didn’t even use the school we attended—they made us go to another building, even in the dead of winter, like they were trying to give us frostbite. It wasn’t just what they said in there, it was how they said it. We were taught to believe that the Westerners were nothing less than monsters, terrorists, Nazis, enemies of the State, and enemies of us, the Citizens. We were taught to believe that anything that was not Stalinist, Khrushchev, Soviet, and Communist was an evil thing.
Which meant that my father and brother were all of that.
Which meant that I was evil too.
I glared at the wall for a moment before dropping my gaze to the ground. Caught staring at it, or over it, and a guard would be upon you in a second. I’d learned to read their faces, to know when they were looking at me and when they were dozing off.
Although I could see the wall from my house, I walked only two blocks over on the way to and from school, so it was easy to catch glimpses of it between houses, to wonder at what was beyond. And if it was better than here.
Over the past few weeks, I’d been daring myself to touch it, something I never was courageous enough to do. There was an open border that I couldn’t see, only instinctively sense. The Death Strip. The guards would kill me before I even got close enough to think about touching it. They usually left kids alone, especially in the summer when we liked to play marbles or something in the heavy shade the wall cast, but people said I looked more like a woman than a twelve-year-old girl. Schoolchildren rarely thought about something as perilous as touching the wall. They usually knew to do what they were told.
I shoved my hands deep into the pockets of my coat. It was frigid for October. Exactly what we needed. Mama insisted we weren’t poor, but with Papa gone, I could tell that we were struggling. There were always shortages, and I knew that it was going to be a hard winter, just like last year. Life had gotten worse, not better, since the wall had been built, though the Stasi were now kind enough to let me walk to school without stopping me and demanding where I was going.
My thirteenth birthday was just four short weeks away, but I wasn’t looking forward to it. I knew we wouldn’t be able to afford gifts. We didn’t have much money as things were. Gunter had graduated and was, as I’d expected, helping Mama in the bakery, doing the accounting and serving customers. Mama hadn’t gotten an education past third grade, so she wasn’t good with numbers. That had been Papa’s job. And now it was Gunter’s. I had to admire how much he’d grown up over those two years.
I spotted a girl I’d seen at school and waved a mittened hand at her. She waved back. We were careful not to attract too much attention to ourselves, though, because the guards had their eyes on us.
Even though I was wearing a coat, the cloth of my skirt was thin and tattered. I hadn’t been given new school uniforms at the start of that year, because there was not enough for everyone.
But maybe I had been selected not to receive one because I had skipped several Pioneers meetings and been accused of criticizing the government. Word had gotten out that my father was in the West, supposedly planning to overthrow Khrushchev.
Stupid Pioneers meeting. Stupid Frau Vogel. I hated that woman.
I pulled my coat tighter around myself, wishing I’d brought a scarf. As always, every other girl had made the better decision and brought warm enough clothes. I’d been in a rush, like I always was, having woken up much too late.
I realized, with a sinking feeling, that I’d forgotten to pack my lunch, a fact made worse because I hadn’t had time to eat breakfast. I just hoped I hadn’t forgotten any of my textbooks. Which was unlikely. I was forgetful when I hadn’t slept well, when my mind was on a hundred other things at once.
At school, I found Elke waiting for me by the gate. Her long brown hair was tied back in a neat braid, and she wore her usual frayed blue coat over her uniform and bright smile. But there was worry in her eyes.
“Hi, Klara,” she said, giving me a quick hug. “Are you okay? You look tired.”
Tired? If anything, I’d overslept. No, I was just exhausted. I was sick of the government always hovering over me, done with watching my back. I wanted to be free.
“I’m fine,” I replied, forcing a convincing smile.
We walked to the classroom together, chatting about homework and boys. I felt a little better when we sat down side-by-side at the desk we shared and laid out our opened history textbooks. Our teacher, Frau Becker, was already at the blackboard, writing out names and dates.
The class settled down and fell silent. As Frau Becker began the day’s lecture, I saw Elke reach into her bag again, pulling out a paper and pencil. On it, she scrawled a note, which she pushed into my hand.
Did you hear what happened to that woman?
I nodded in her direction, continuing to fix a glassy-eyed stare at the blackboard so that I’d appear to be paying attention. The woman had been found dead and bleeding from bullet wounds by the Wall just a five-minute walk from our school.
Another person was killed almost every month. The government was always waiting with a ridiculous excuse, then a good commercial or a stream of nonsensical propaganda. How did a heart attack cause ghastly wounds that ripped a person open at their midsection until they were practically in two pieces?
Elke turned the paper over, and before she tore it up into tiny pieces which she scattered under our desk, she wrote:
We have to get out of here.
That sentence was all I could think about for the rest of the day. She meant that we had to escape. But how? It was a grand dream, one that many surely must have had before. Those who had attempted to make it to the west side had all surely failed.
Although some of them may have succeeded. We couldn’t know for sure. They would not exactly brag about it if they were still alive, at least not to people like us.
Those that got across never got reported. It was all covered up. But I was certain that some had made it over. I just wanted to know how.
During lunch, we sat under our favorite tree. We talked about everything except the things that truly mattered. We weren’t really listening to each other, but we kept talking because it felt like the right thing to do. Because people might look at us if we didn’t do it.
“Let’s go downtown,” Elke suggested, her eyes lighting up. “There’s something I really want to show you.”
That caught my attention. “Today?”
She glanced around, dropping her voice to a whisper. “Right now.”
I hesitated. I’d get in a lot of trouble with the principal, teachers, and of course Mama. But I had the feeling that it was important. Elke wasn’t the type to break rules without a good reason. She was the more responsible of the pair of us.
We snuck out, our schoolbags bouncing painfully against our shoulders as we clambered, unnoticed, over the fence. We walked quickly in the direction of the downtown area, afraid of being noticed by one of our classmates, but no one followed us.
The streets were alive with activity. People were talking and laughing, although they seemed on edge at the same time. Guards were prowling around the square, but none of them stopped us. A couple of girls skipping school was not their concern.
Elke and I kept our heads down as we passed them. We chatted a little about her crush, just to distract ourselves and make us appear less suspicious. She became quiet then, her eyes narrowed slightly in concentration.
“It’s here,” she said softly, leading me down a back alley to a small wooden building tucked away between towering grey concrete structures.
It was a shabby, run-down place. The windows were boarded up. There was a rotting sign swinging above the door which read, “Janitor.”
“Really?” I wrinkled my nose.
Elke shushed me with a finger against her lips. “Don’t be stupid. It’s not really a janitor.” She leaned closer. “It’s a record shop.”
My heart did a somersault in my stomach. I’d told her once how much I liked listening to The Beatles, even though I’d heard our forbidden records far too many times. Had she remembered? Or was she taking me here for another reason?
She turned the handle and pushed the creaking door open. I glanced around cautiously before following her in. It was dark inside, the air warm and stuffy. So dark. There was no one there.
“We should go back,” I started to say.
Suddenly, there was a hand around my throat.
“Don’t move.”
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Chapter Four:
Elke was smiling, calmly and confidently, seemingly unfazed as I struggled. “Hello, Uncle Friedrich,” she said, taking a step forward.
The man let go immediately, squinting at us as if in disbelief. “What brings you here, Elke?” His voice was warm, and he had kind blue eyes which gazed upon me in a curious, almost disbelieving way. Suddenly, he didn’t look very threatening.
She gestured towards me, shutting the door behind her at the same time. “This is my friend, Klara. I’m just going to show her around.”
My hand moved towards my throat where his hand had been choking me just moments before. Looking at him closer, I realized he had hands just like my father.
“Ah. Klara.” There was recognition in his voice even though I’d never seen him in my life. “Of course. I’m sorry to scare you.”
I backed away, shaking in my shoes, as he extended a bony, withered arm, then realized he wanted me to shake hands with him, so I did just that. “P-pleasure to meet you.” I looked at Elke, silently conveying the message, What on earth are you doing? She continued smiling innocently.
“Can’t ever be too careful.” He went around the counter in the corner and sat down in the comfy-looking chair behind it, and leaned back to turn on the lights. To me, he said in a kinder way: “You can call me Uncle Friedrich if you’d like—Elke and I aren’t actually related. Have a look around.” Even so, he continued to look at me in that odd way, like he’d seen or heard of me before.
I nodded gratefully, still trembling a little. Elke looked at me with a tiny nod like she was telling me I was safe. It didn’t seem like this man, Friedrich, wanted to hurt me after all. But how had he recognized me?
The store was small and cozy, filled with shelves stacked high with hundreds upon hundreds of records. Posters of actors were propped up against the walls. I didn’t bother to even begin to wonder where he had gotten all these forbidden items from. Elke trusted him, and I wanted some of these, so I couldn’t judge him for anti-government activities, especially because I committed some of those myself.
I picked up records at random, fondling the ones by The Beatles, even though I already had every album they’d released to date. They were just starting to become popular, even amongst people like us, and I was proud to have been one of their first fans.
Then I looked through the posters. Ann-Margret. Doris Day. Elvis Presley. The names were unfamiliar. I whispered them aloud to myself. The foreign English syllables hurt my tongue, but they were also strangely comforting, a glimmer of hope.
Maybe one day I would be as free as the people on these posters. I realized some were actors and others musicians. Could I be one of those, too? Was that ever going to be possible here/
“Klara, look over here!” Elke was only a few feet away, but she was hidden by the shelves of records. I squeezed my way towards her. She was holding up a record and smiling widely. It was still in its packaging, which read The Rolling Stones.
I smiled. “That one’s perfect. We can keep it at my house with all the other ones.”
“It’s the newest album. Let’s get it.”
We pooled our pocket money. It didn’t come to enough, but Uncle Friedrich gave us a small discount on it.
“Be careful,” he urged us. “And don’t tell anyone about this.”
Elke tucked it deep into her backpack, partially concealing it inside a textbook and burying it beneath her extra sweater. The guards would have to look hard to find it now, and she had never been searched before. As long as she acted normal and kept a straight face, we would be okay.
The cold air hit me like a slap when we pushed the creaking door open and stepped outside into the cold air. I waved at Uncle Friedrich before he turned out the lights again. He didn’t want just anyone to know about his shop, as I’d realized, so I decided not to tell anyone, not even Gunter. His birthday was around the same time as mine. Maybe I’d get him a record from here as a present.
We went straight to my house. Once we were inside, Elke handed me the record, and I hid it beneath the folds of my coat before we said goodbye to each other.
“I’ll play it this weekend and tell you how it sounds, if I can,” I promised. “And we’ll play it next time you come over.”
She smiled for the tenth time that day, hugging me goodbye. I was glad that we had something to smile about, even though this might turn out very badly.
Once she was gone, I went back upstairs to lock the record properly in the safe. I hesitated before I did so, reaching behind to pull out one of Ilona’s letters. I was alone in the house; Mama and Gunter would still be working at the bakery. No one would know about this.
It was her first letter. I took it out of the envelope carefully, making sure not to damage the envelope further, because I wanted to keep her letters with me, always. It was my way of reminding myself that she was still here and still fighting for our freedom.
I unfolded it and spread it out on the ground, then began to read it again.
Date: May 17, 1962
Dear Klara,
I hope this letter finds you well and that you are enjoying the summer as much as you can. The flowers are especially beautiful, like the ones we planted last year, but across the water they are even more beautiful.
Things here have become quite strange lately. There’s a feeling in the air, almost like a storm is brewing, even though the sky looks clear. You know how my mother used to say, “A stitch in time saves nine”? Well, it’s become more important than ever to keep our stitches neat and precise.
I’ve been thinking a lot about the stories we used to read together, especially the ones where the heroes go on grand adventures and find a way to escape their troubles. Sometimes, it feels like I’m living in one of those stories.
Always trust your instincts. When the prince shows you how to sneak past your dragons, listen to what he’s saying, though I know you’d much rather save yourself.
Tell no one of this letter.
All my love,
Ilona W.
Although I read it through fully twice, I could make little sense of it. It had something to do with how she had died—all the letters did. But how were flowers and sewing related to that? Reading a letter would not explain how and why she had been found dead, presumably brutally murdered by the government, after having gone missing for three whole days.
There’s a feeling in the air. That much made sense. We had all known that sooner or later, the government would take action. People had been leaving Eastern Berlin by the dozens every day. The propaganda posters supporting the Soviet Union hadn’t been generating the results they were supposed to. That was why they had built the Wall. Either it was a third world war or it was what we had today. They had chosen the better option.
A stitch in time saves nine. I was good at sewing, although I didn’t like it, but didn’t remember hearing this saying before. Why was she letting me know that it was important to sew properly? Obviously she was hinting at something else, but what?
I knew—we all knew—that the Stasi had taken her away. She had known something no one else did. That was why they’d killed her, probably after forcefully interrogating her.
I sighed, tucking the letter back into its envelope. She had been my brothers’ best friend since they were babies, and her death had affected them deeply. None of us knew how she’d died, and Gunter wanted to know the answer badly. If Karl knew that she was dead, I was sure he’d also want to know the answer.
When I figure it out, Gunter had exploded bitterly just a few weeks after learning the awful news, I’ll get revenge, I swear I will.
Mama had shushed him, her eyes wide with fear, cautioning him not to say those things out loud. But I still remembered the way my face had burned with anger. How much I, too, had wanted my revenge.
Did her letters contain some kind of explanation? I wished I could ask Gunter about it, she’d asked me to tell no one about her letter—that much was clear. So I hadn’t told anyone.
Not even her best friend. Not even my own brother.
Eventually, I put the letter away, but not after giving the envelope a long, hard stare. I lay on my bed and looked at the ceiling. The thought of all my missed classes flitted through my mind. I knew Mama wouldn’t be pleased with my behavior when she found out, but buying the record with Elke had been much more important than any one day of school.
I remembered Ilona as if I’d seen her yesterday. She had been beautiful, with long, curly auburn hair, dark brown eyes, and a slender body. Many boys had been jealous because my brothers were friends with her, just like many girls were jealous because she was friends with them.
Although she was older than me, she had always been kind, and I had sometimes thought of her as more of an older sister than anything. Some of my best memories were with her, baking our favorite chocolate chip cookies or planting a rose garden or painting together.
I missed her as much as Gunter did, even though I had never told him that. It wasn’t fair that she had died so young; she deserved a better life than she had been given. She must have done something really bad to get such treatment.
Something to do with betrayal, and with government.
My memory of seeing the woman murdered on the street still haunted me, and I shuddered. The Stasi weren’t forgiving, but killing someone was—well. It was different than searching a house or doing routine questioning (that was what they called it—they meant interrogation). And Ilona? I couldn’t imagine she’d done to deserve death. She’d always seemed supportive of the government, if anything, even though Gunter and Karl had put ideas in her head.
There’s a feeling in the air, she’d written. It had been just a few months after the Wall had been built. Was it something to do with that? What had happened during the spring of 1962? I couldn’t remember.
One thing was clear to me. She hadn’t sent me those letters for no reason. She’d been up to something. Something big.
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Chapter Five:
Gunter was paler than usual when he returned, fatigue lines etched deeply into his face. I knew something was wrong when he brushed past me without saying a word. It wasn’t like him at all to retreat to his room without even a simple hello. I wondered if something had happened at work, or if he had been arguing with Mama again.
They fought almost every day, about his life, his choices, and his future. I hated it, but what could I do about it? They were adults, and I was just a kid. Even so, I half-agreed with Gunter. I knew he didn’t want to stay trapped in Berlin as much as I didn’t want to, but where else was there to go?
His bedroom door slammed shut. I hesitated and decided not to follow him upstairs immediately. Maybe he needed a moment.
“What’s going on with him?” I asked Mama, who walked in with equal exhaustion etched into her face.
She shrugged, brushing loose hairs behind her ears where they’d come out of her bun. “He’s been like this since the morning. Maybe he didn’t sleep well. Boys throw tantrums too sometimes, you know.”
I nodded, pretending to be convinced, although I wasn’t so sure. Gunter was the strongest person I knew. Something must have happened. A feeling of dread wormed its way into my chest and settled there like a leaden weight.
I decided to call Elke, but she didn’t answer. Not unusual. She might be eating dinner or doing her homework. Still, the fear in my chest tightened.
Even though it was a Thursday, I was pretty sure I heard the record player on in a moment of silence while I helped Mama prepare dinner, so I crept upstairs as soon as I was able. Gunter was sitting on the edge of my bed with his head in his hands.
I turned the volume down before sitting next to him. I wondered if he was crying, and I hoped he wasn’t, because he never cried.
He took a deep breath, letting his hands fall to his lap. To my relief, his face was dry.
“Hey,” he said, his voice hoarse. “How was school?”
“It was okay.” That was what I almost always said to him. “How was your day?”
He shrugged, his eyes dull and tired. “The same as always. A lot of numbers, and not enough customers.”
“What’s wrong?” I asked. “Something to do with work?”
“Nothing much. I’m just tired.”
We sat in silence for a while. She Loves You, his favorite song ever since it came out, was playing. I sang along softly with the lyrics I could pronounce, but Gunter was quiet. He usually sang, too.
There was static as we waited for the next song, back at the beginning of the album. The needle was getting dull, and it would be a long time before he could find one to replace it. Shortages had become a part of life now, but they were still an inconvenience.
Eventually, Gunter stood up and left the room, right in the middle of the song. I watched him go, then switched the record player off and dug around in the broom closet to expose the safe, before locking up and hiding the record. Listening to illegal music without him wasn’t the same. Maybe he had suddenly grown out of it. Maybe buying the record earlier that day had been a bad idea after all.
I sneezed as I pushed the last blanket back into place, blinking to clear my eyes as dust settled again. It smelled like mothballs.
My eyes fell on a family photograph hanging crookedly on the wall. I blinked again, this time fighting back tears. I missed Papa and Karl so much. We looked so happy in the picture, all five of us—Mama and Papa smiling, my brothers standing on my either side, all of us laughing at the camera. The photo had been taken not long before the wall had been built, but it felt like forever ago.
Tearing my gaze away from the photograph, I lay down on my bed, my eyes closed, my arms forming a pillow on my head. The coolness of the sheets was comforting. I pulled the blanket up halfway, letting out a long breath. I wanted to think about the letter more, but it had been a long day, and I knew my subconscious would do its work.
“Klara! Gunter!” Mama called from downstairs, her voice faint and muffled behind the closed door.
I rolled onto my side, letting out a sigh. I wasn’t hungry to eat dinner, and felt too drained to tell her that I didn’t want to come down, so I just let myself fall asleep.
Later, it might have been five minutes or an hour, I heard Gunter moving around the room. I opened my eyes just a bit to watch him. He tucked the blanket around me and smoothed my hair out of my face, something Papa had done every night when I was little. Gunter’s hands were rough and callused, not like I remembered them.
He stood there for a while like he was watching me breathe or something. I pretended to be fast asleep, although my mind was spinning. Something was definitely wrong.
Eventually, he bent down and shook me by the shoulder. I opened my eyes all the way, blinking to clear my head, and sat up.
“What’s wrong?” I whispered.
“Felix Weber.” He hesitated, his gaze moving to the closed door and windows, then back to me.
My breath caught in my throat. Felix was Ilona’s older brother, and he still spoke to Gunter. He was attending university now, but they sometimes passed each other on the street or called each other in the rare event that there was something the other needed to know.
“What happened to him?” I asked, fearing the worst.
Gunter hesitated. “He’s going to escape,” he said after a moment.
I held back a gasp. “What?”
He nodded, his expression darkening. “He told me yesterday; he’s been planning it for a while. He’s going to do it tomorrow. I wanted to tell you because—because I can’t carry this alone.”
I wanted to do something comforting, so I reached out and patted his hand a little. “It’s okay. I’m listening.”
He nodded gratefully. “Thanks, Klara.”
“How is he going to do it?” I asked, barely able to contain my excitement.
He lowered his voice to a near-whisper. “One of his friends works for a freight company, managing lots of the operations that cross the border. A trainload of hay is crossing to the West tomorrow, and he’ll hide in one of the freight cars when the train stops at the nearest station. His friend gave him the time. Brilliant, isn’t it?”
“Yes, it is,” I whispered. “It really is.” Maybe we could find a way to get out of here too.
“Klara—” He stood up. “Don’t. Tell. Anyone.”
“Of course I won’t,” I replied quickly.
Gunter nodded and offered me a small smile before he left, closing the door gently behind him. His footsteps padded softly back to his room. I wondered if he ever felt lonely, now that he didn’t share a bedroom with Karl anymore. I knew that I sometimes felt lonely. And scared. Even though I was twelve, I was still scared of the dark—not of being alone in the dark; I was used to that; but of not being alone.
I was about to lay back down and try to sleep some more when a strange noise from outside caught my attention. My heart leapt to my throat and pounded furiously, so loud I was sure whoever was beyond the half-open window could hear it.
I sat up quickly. It was a faint sound, a little bit like rustling or—or like static. I held my breath, waiting for it to come again, but it didn’t. I tiptoed over and closed the window, then locked it, then stood with my ear pressed against the cold glass, listening. No sound came. It was too dark to see the ground, but I was sure I saw something moving.
Eventually, I sank back onto the pillows, dismissing it as nothing. Maybe it was just a bird or rabbit moving through the dead shrubbery in the backyard.
Except there were hardly any birds or rabbits anymore. Even they were finding a way to escape.
Maybe it was just my imagination.
Even so, I couldn’t sleep. I checked every inch of my room. Nothing. No one. I thought I heard the noise again, but it was just Gunter turning over in his sleep, the sound unnaturally loud through the thin wall separating our rooms, everything amplified.
I tried to relax, but I couldn’t. I was tense all over, squinting as my eyes continued to adjust to the semi-darkness. I could feel my senses sharpening. An owl hooted from somewhere far away, and I jumped.
I slipped out of my room, closing the door behind me, and went into his bedroom without knocking first. He appeared to be asleep. When I was little, I’d always come into this room after I had a nightmare, because my parents’ bedroom door was usually locked.
Careful not to wake him, I took a seat on the edge of his bed, watching his chest rise and fall evenly as he breathed. He looked so calm. So peaceful. I was hesitant to move, afraid that the fragile silence would shatter like glass.
At some point, I fell asleep with my head resting on my folded arms, my knees drawn up to my chest. When I awoke again, it was the dead of night, the clock ticking past three. Since I was feeling better now and didn’t want Gunter to know that I was still enough of a baby to get scared like this, I went back to my room and pulled the covers over my head.
It was quiet, almost too quiet. Nothing was moving outside. There was a curfew since the wall had been built, so I didn’t hear the distant hum of downtown, but usually I could hear the heavy footsteps when the changing-of-the-guards happened at around this time, or a lone bird calling from a tree.
My mind returned to Ilona’s first letter.
It’s become more important than ever to keep our stitches neat and precise.
The more I thought about it, the more that bit made sense. She was trying to caution me. Maybe she knew, or guessed at what I’d been getting up to. She was reminding me that I had to be careful.
The flowers are especially beautiful, like the ones we planted last year, but across the water they are even more beautiful.
Across the River Spree. A man had been killed trying to swim across that river to make it to the West, one of the first to die, which was why I remembered him specifically. We’d talked about that man in quiet voices—rather, she’d talked about it to Gunter, and I had eavesdropped on them.
No one swam in that river for fun, but the government had, of course, said he’d drowned in a boating accident. I knew the truth only too well. He’d made it halfway across, then he’d been shot. They’d put a picture of it in a newspaper that was later banned—he was floating on his back, dark streaks of blood spreading from his body.
A boating accident didn’t tear people open.
It feels like I’m living in one of those stories.
I remembered those stories, too, the ones where a mistreated orphan ran away from her miserable life and ended up saving the king, or where a lowly peasant defied his destiny and seized the throne.
Then it hit me.
Ilona had wanted to get across the water in order to change her destiny, too.
She had wanted to escape.
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Chapter Six:
The next Tuesday morning began like any other. I awoke to the shrill sound of Mama’s voice from several floors below, calling me downstairs.
I groaned and rolled over. My body felt like it was made of lead. I wished I could turn the clocks backwards two or three hours so that I could sleep a little more.
“Klara!”
Rubbing the sleep from my eyes, I sat up. Mama was more on edge than ever these days, and I would do better not to cross her. She had her moods, and was especially eager to get me in trouble in the early morning, when she, too, didn’t want to have to get up early.
As October faded towards November, business at the bakery was slower than ever. The week had brought with it a cold snap which was more like a deep freeze, plunging Berlin into icy despair. The weatherman on the radio had predicted it to last until Saturday at least. Almost no one was out and about unless absolutely necessary.
I brushed my hair until it stood up like a firework had gone off at the base of my skull. Why didn’t I have pretty hair like Mama’s, which was curly and black and smelled like bread? Or like Elke’s, long and red-brown and oh so pretty? My hair was always a tangled mess of mousy brown that refused to stay long in any kind of hairdo.
I made a simple braid out of it, cursing the gods who hadn’t made me beautiful, like Ilona. My face might have been pretty, because my eyes sparkled attractively beneath my delicately arched eyebrows, except it was all spoiled by my nose, which looked like a yam. Mama said I’d grow out of it—she had—but in the dusty photographs we had on the piano, Mama as a little girl had been as beautiful as she was now.
“Klara, come down here immediately!”
I washed my hands and face in a basin full of murky white water that needed to be changed, because the sink in my bathroom was broken and leaking. We could afford to repair it, but the Stasi had stopped my mother just a week before and asked her some questions on the street, so having strangers in the house was more dangerous than ever before.
After I’d wiped my face with the washcloth that smelled like old cheese and needed to be changed too, I pulled on my school uniform, a simple grey skirt and white blouse, and went downstairs before I could be called again.
I found Mama in the kitchen, making me two sandwiches, tomato for breakfast and bologna for lunch. It was always the same two sandwiches, although they were soggier than usual when she was in a rush. Today, they were practically inedible. Wincing at the sight, I crammed the bologna sandwich into my lunch tin, hoping that it would dry a little.
“Finally, you’re awake,” she said, her voice carrying an all-too-familiar sharpness of worry. “You’ll need to help me at the bakery straight after school.”
My heart sank. I usually helped there when I was being punished. Had she finally found out that I’d skipped school to buy banned music?
“Gunter’s not feeling well,” she continued. “So you’ll need to do the accounting for me today.”
“Is he okay?” Gunter rarely got sick, and when he did, he usually didn’t complain.
“He’s fine,” she replied tersely. “He’ll be back on his feet tomorrow, I hope. But I can’t manage the accounting alone.”
I suppressed a heavy sigh. “What about my homework? And shopping? I usually do the shopping on Wednesdays.”
“You can do those things afterwards.” She wiped the cutting board clean with a wet rag and put it away, then turned to me. I saw every line on her face and it broke my heart.
“You’ve grown up, Klara,” she said softly.
I nodded wordlessly, beginning to eat my tasteless tomato sandwich over the sink to avoid washing a plate afterwards.
After I finished eating, I went upstairs to get my schoolbag from my bedroom. But before I did, I peeked into Gunter’s room. He was still asleep, but he looked okay. Maybe he wasn’t sick, only pretending to be. I had not been smart enough to do the same thing. My insides were twisted with anxiety—Felix was supposed to escape in just a few hours.
I shoved my lunch tin deep into my schoolbag, where it could be shielded from the cold by my textbooks, and adjusted my collar in front of the mirror.
When had Felix told Gunter that he was going to escape? It couldn’t have been over the telephone—that was far too dangerous; calls were often recorded “for safety purposes” (like I believed that). I knew that Gunter was often out late, leaving after dinner and not returning until I was nearly asleep. But was talking to Felix the only thing he was doing?
What if Felix knew something about Ilona, and about the way she’d died?
I opened the safe, where I could re-read Ilona’s second letter. I’d nearly figured the first one out, and school was so boring that thinking about the second one might allow me to last the day without falling asleep. I also wanted to see if she’d mentioned Felix in any way. Maybe he could help me understand what she was saying.
She’d wanted to escape, but had never had the chance to—maybe she had formed a plan, which had been discovered before it could take effect. Maybe her letters contained clues or information detailing how to make it across the wall.
Date: August 29, 1962
Dear Klara,
Although things have become difficult as a result of the recent food shortages that I am sure are affecting you as well, I have found time to hope and to imagine.
I’ve been thinking of you often. I saw you the other day at a Pioneers meeting, but you appeared so invigorated by the speech that I knew better than to disturb you. I hope we can see each other again soon.
It’s still hard to believe that our city has been divided, although it was all for the better. I’m sorry that your father and brother were left on the other side, but I am sure that they will find their way back here someday.
I have actually been forming a sort of plan to reunite your family, as well as other families which have been separated, of course unintentionally, when the wall was built. Although I cannot share the details here, as this letter may fall into the wrong hands, I will do so when we see each other again. Not just any Westerners should have the right of passage to our side of this beautiful city!
Don’t write back to me.
All my love,
Ilona W.
I read it through several times, but before I could begin to make much sense of it, Mama was calling me again. I could hear her footsteps coming up the stairs this time. Hastily, I shoved the letter back into the safe, my hands shaking as I locked it. I hid the key in my dress pocket again, stuffing it deep inside.
I had barely closed my wardrobe door when Mama burst into the room, looking angry. Not good. She was angry more and more often these days, and she was no kinder when she dealt out punishments as easily as a deck of playing cards.
“You’re going to be late.”
Her face softened slightly as she looked at me. Probably she was just tired. Everyone was tired.
I pretended to be ashamed of myself, dropping my gaze respectfully to the floor. “I’m leaving now.” I swung my schoolbag over my shoulder and ran downstairs before she could ask me what I’d been doing.
My coat was still wet from yesterday’s heavy snowfall. Fortunately, it was brand-new and much thicker than my old one, so I hardly minded the uncomfortable dampness. I caught my reflection in the front window as I stepped outside. I looked uncommonly beautiful, my eyes accentuated by the navy-blue color of the coat.
I pulled the fake fur hood up and started walking. I knew I was being vain, but sometimes I couldn’t help it.
As I made my way through the thick snow, I couldn’t help but glance at the Wall again, at the city beyond. Although we were supposed to believe that the Westerners had long since resorted to vile practices mostly known to rural Africa or other strange countries I knew little about, I was sure that this wasn’t true. In my heart, I knew that Papa and Karl were still there. And, if things on the West side were as bad as the propaganda posters here claimed them to be, they would have found a way to leave. Although I didn’t believe that any European country could harbor cannibals.
Suddenly, something caught my eye.
Maybe it was a miracle. I went to a Catholic school when I was younger, and for a time we had attended church, but I had never been particularly religious. However, whatever gods there were read my mind in that moment, because I saw—I was sure of it—I saw someone waving from the platform across the water.
That was very unusual. We weren’t allowed to look over the Wall, much less wave at each other. And they were waving at me.
I stopped, squinting against the harsh winter light that colored the sky a strange yellow. The figure did not move or change. I started walking towards the wall, conscious of the open border as always. Once I was as close as I dared get, I stopped again.
The guards were not paying attention to me, or to the figure on the other side of the wall. There was a distance between the two of us, but I would know my brother’s face anywhere.
Karl.
My eyes filled with tears. Slowly, I raised my hand and waved back.
I could barely see him, but I knew that it was him. It was really him. I wiped my eyes hastily, even though I knew he wouldn’t be able to see me crying, but so that I could see him better.
My knees felt weak. I couldn’t believe what I was seeing. Was it just my desperate longing to see him again making me hallucinate? No. It was him.
I hadn’t seen him in over three years, but he looked exactly like Gunter did, just like I had always imagined him. The same blond hair. The same shining eyes. The same smile.
The guards were turning in my direction. I let my hand fall limp by my side, choking back the lump that had risen in my throat. I had thought of Papa and Karl every day, wondering if they were okay.
And they were. They were alive and safe.
Even though I was still trapped on the wrong side of the Wall, knowing that was enough to make me happy.
I turned away from the Wall. I wasn’t sure whether I wanted to cry or not. Whether I wanted to keep walking to school or not. Everything was so confusing, so mixed-up, so complicated. I still could barely believe what had just happened.
I glanced over the Wall again. Karl had turned around again and was walking away, stepping off the platform and lost to view across the water. But he had seen me. I had seen him.
It had to be a coincidence, or else it was just a miracle. Three years had passed, and we’d finally seen each other again.
There was a small park that I’d played at often when I was younger. It wasn’t much, just a set of swings and monkey bars. I made my way towards it, sinking onto the bench under a tree that I’d spent hours under. Now, it was all frozen over, the iced-up grass covered with a thick layer of snow crunchy beneath my feet. I knew I’d be late for school, but I needed to think. Alone.
Unfortunately, my thoughts were interrupted when I heard Elke shouting in my direction from what felt like a world and a half away: “Klara! There you are!”
Before I could even try to hide, she was there, beaming from ear to ear. “Did you hear the news?” she asked. “No Pioneers meetings all next week!”
I tried to smile back, but my feeble effort turned into a strained grimace instead. “That’s—that’s great,” I replied weakly.
You were there, I thought. I saw you. I saw you.
“You don’t actually like them, do you?” Elke teased, laughing as she grabbed me by the wrist, pulling me along. Again, I was startled back into the present moment. “Come on! We’re going to be so late!”
Once I’d expressed my joy about ten times, she grew quiet again, and I grew serious.
“What’s up with you today?” she asked, glancing over at me in concern. She linked her arm with mine like she often did. “You’re acting . . . different.”
“Elke,” I began, in a slow and carefully controlled voice. “I saw my brother today.”
Her eyes widened. “Karl? Where? What? How? Wait, Karl?” She dropped her voice to a whisper. “Are you sure?”
“Across the water.”
“On the—on the other side?” she stammered. “Across the River Spree? What?”
“Yes.” Saying these words felt wrong, the syllables foreign to my tongue, like I was speaking another language, like it wasn’t really me who was saying this. “He was standing on one of the platforms and waving at me,” I explained. “He must have known that I was going to pass that way. He must have been waiting for me.”
Elke’s mouth opened and closed. “He didn’t say anything, did he?” she blurted out.
“No, he just waved. I didn’t want to get too close.” I hesitated, swallowing back a sob. “It—it made me happy to see him,” I said finally. I looked at my shoes, adjusting the strap on my bag just to do something except break down like a toddler. Elke didn’t have any siblings, so she wouldn’t understand why I wanted to cry. I let out my breath. “It made me so happy.” They were still there, still fighting.
Elke’s fingers closed around mine and gave them a brief squeeze, a small gesture that meant a lot to me. “You’ll see them again,” she whispered. “I promise.”
Maybe I really would get to see them again.
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Chapter Seven:
The school day was a blur. I passed notes with nearby girls, flirted with boys in the halls, coughed in the chalk dust because it was my turn to clap the erasers that day, and was mostly cold and miserable, but also warm and happy inside—I had seen Karl. It was all I thought about. The way he’d looked when he was waving, so vibrant and strong, the brother I’d always admired. Something special that stood out amongst the grey I had grown accustomed to.
Elke knew that I was preoccupied, so she kept quiet, which was a first. She was usually very talkative. But we were silent as we sat beneath our usual tree at recess, our knees drawn against our chests to keep the cold away, hands clenching and unclenching beneath our thin gloves.
“Are you sure it was him?” Elke asked softly, like she too couldn’t believe it.
I nodded thoughtfully. “I’m sure, but I just . . .” I trailed off.
“Exactly,” she said simply. “I know exactly what you mean.”
Some boys started teasing us and, annoyed that we weren’t running away crying, one even poked me with a stick, making a small tear in my new coat. Ordinarily, I would have knocked no less than ten teeth out of his mouth or at least made his lip bleed, but that day, I sat silently and let them do it.
“Want to come over?” Elke asked me as the final bell rang.
I shook my head. “I have to help my mom out at the bakery today. Maybe tomorrow?”
Elke’s eyebrows shot up, but she didn’t ask questions as she hugged me goodbye, and we went our separate ways.
The bakery was in a quiet corner of the city, the windows glowing golden. I leaned against the wall of a nearby building, taking deep, sucking breaths, the aromas of bread and pastries and apple cake filling my nostrils, before I went in.
A blast of warm air and the jingling of bells greeted me as I stepped inside, closing the door behind me. It smelled even better here. My mouth was watering just looking at the baked goods being displayed on shelves behind glass.
Mama looked up from where she was kneading dough from behind the counter, her eyes softening for a second before her expression hardened into its usual business-like severity.
“It smells nice,” I said, feeling responsible for the silence. “I forgot how good it smells in here.”
She smiled a little. “Thank you, Klara. I’m glad you’re here.”
How could I explain what had happened? Was there even any clear way to go about it?
I went into the small, dark back room and took my seat on the hard chair, feeling a little sorry for myself, even though I’d made Mama happy. She had scribbled down the orders of the day on a small notepad. There were only six of them. Everyone was struggling.
“Mama,” I started, as I added up the total.
She didn’t turn around. “Yes?”
“I—I saw Karl today,” I blurted out in a rush.
Her hands stilled on the counter. “No,” she whispered. “No, that’s impossible.”
“I know I saw him,” I insisted. “He was waving from the other side of the Wall. I was walking to school and—and he was just there.”
“You—you saw him,” she repeated numbly. “And he saw you too?”
“Yes, he did. I think he was waiting for me.”
The bell jingled. I hurried to serve the customer. Mama quickly left for the back room, wiping her hands on her apron before wiping her eyes.
“What can I get you?” I asked the man who had just entered.
He yanked his coat zipper down, revealing a grey-green uniform which I dreaded. “Your identification papers.”
“Um . . . right away, sir.”
My hands trembled as I unlocked the small drawer in the filing cabinet beneath the counter and handed over a bent-up copy of Mama’s identification card. She was still crying softly in the back room, seemingly unaware of the situation which was unfolding.
He examined it for several agonizing moments, then looked up at me. “Hannah Ernst Muller. This is . . .”
“My mother, sir.”
He glanced over my shoulder, his lip curling in distaste. For a moment, he seemed to be about to make a comment, then stopped himself. “Well. This seems to be in order.”
“Thank you,” I whispered, letting out a relieved sigh. As he turned to go, I called out in a shaking voice: “Wait. Won’t you buy something?”
He turned back around. I gripped the edge of the counter so hard that my knuckles turned white, waiting for him to say something, anything. But he just turned away again, the door closing hard behind him, the bells jingling too loudly and too cheerfully for the somber mood that had settled over us.
Mama was still sniffling from behind me. “Oh, Klara,” she whispered as I tried to brush past her to finish up. Suddenly, she pulled me into a hug. “Are you sure? Are you—”
“Yes, I’m sure,” I said. I’d lost count of how many times I’d said those words that day. I ordinarily would have asked her to not squeeze the life out of me, but I didn’t.
Once she finally let me go, I continued adding up the totals. We had made some money that day, but it was not enough. Things had to get better.
There were no more customers that day. I helped Mama knead bread and mix spices until my wrists were sore. She was quiet the whole time, except to ask me over and over again, “Are you sure it was him? Not someone else?” Each time I’d reply that I was very sure.
“We have to find a way to see him again,” she said softly, her gaze fixed on a distant place I couldn’t touch.
My heart lurched in my chest. Was she suggesting that we had to find a way to escape? As far as I knew, that thought had never even crossed her mind.
Eventually, the clock struck six. I begged Mama to let me do the shopping first thing tomorrow morning before school, because I was too tired to do it that day. To my surprise, she said yes, but maybe it was because she wasn’t paying attention to me.
We walked home together, our hands stuffed deep into our coat pockets. She complimented me on how nice I looked in my coat, and told me that I’d done a good job at the bakery that day, things which made me proud and happy, but our minds were constantly on Karl.
I dropped my schoolbag by the front door and went straight upstairs to check on Gunter. I hoped he was feeling better, because I hated staying up late to finish my homework, like I would probably have to do that night unless Frau Becker had made history homework easy.
I pushed Gunter’s door open slowly, but it creaked on its hinges anyway. He was sitting up in bed, a bit pale but looking otherwise normal.
“Hey,” I said quietly, slipping into the room. “Mama said you weren’t feeling well.”
He managed a small smile. “She always worries. I’m fine. Just a bit tired.”
“What happened?”
He hesitated, a flicker of something—something like sadness—crossing his face. “Maybe just stress catching up with me.”
I wanted to tell him about Karl, but not yet. There were other things first—small talk, things that didn’t matter, before the big moment.
“Felix?” I asked.
“I don’t know.”
“I think he got away,” I said. “Actually, I know he got away. He’s strong. He’s Ilona’s brother.”
Gunter smiled again, although I thought I saw tears glinting in his eyes too. “I think so too.”
I started to tell him about Karl, but stopped.
“What’s bothering you?” he asked curiously.
Why did he always know when I wasn’t telling him something? “I saw Karl today,” I said after another moment’s hesitation.
“You did?” His response was almost immediate, his voice full of life. “Where?”
“Across the Wall. He was waving at me.”
“What did he look like?”
“He looked okay. He—he looked like you.”
“Of course he did. We’re identical twins.”
“I know. I just mean that he was . . . healthy and smiling. And . . . and I was thinking, maybe we could get a message to them.”
“What do you mean, a message? All the telephone lines have been cut, and we can’t send a letter.”
I shook my head. “I don’t know.” I wanted to cry again. “I’m going to get the record player,” I said suddenly.
“Right now?”
“Yes. Right now.”
We hadn’t listened to The Rolling Stones yet, but now was as good a time as any other. It was a quiet night, but the snow was falling heavily, and the Stasi probably would not be prowling around under our bedroom window.
I brought the record player to Gunter’s room and put the album we’d bought on it, then put the needle in place and started the music up.
Gunter smiled a little when we heard the first few beats. “Where did you get this one from?”
“It would be better if you didn’t know. You might buy enough records to fill the entire house. And that wouldn’t be good.”
He leaned back against the pillow. We played the album through twice. Mama came upstairs after a while. Her eyes fell on the record player, but she didn’t say anything.
“She told you?” was the first thing she said to Gunter.
He nodded.
Mama sank onto the edge of his bed with a soft sigh, reaching out to stroke his hair, then to stroke mine. “I love you two so much.”
I pulled away, blushing with embarrassment, even though it was only Gunter there to tease me.
“I’ll be back at work tomorrow,” Gunter said after a second, because Mama looked like she was going to have an emotional meltdown, something that neither of us wanted to see.
“Good,” I said without meaning to.
Mama glared at me, her eyes still shining with tears. “Klara, you need to help out more often. Soon you’ll be running the place.”
If I was still on the East side by the time that I graduated high school, then I would run the bakery. But I would most likely not be here by this time. None of us would be here. I was going to make a plan to escape. I didn’t know how soon I would make a plan but that didn’t matter very much. The important thing was that I was going to make one.
Mama’s eyes fell on the record player again, and when she spoke her voice had its usual briskness. “Put that away immediately. What are you even listening to?”
I shrugged meekly. “Music.”
Gunter stepped in to defend our position. “You should hear some of it. It’s really good.”
Mama didn’t answer immediately. I turned the volume up so that she could hear it more easily.
We sat in silence for some time, listening to “Not Fade Away”. No one said anything. I wanted to talk about Karl, but I didn’t.
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Chapter Eight:
Shopping wasn’t my favorite part of the week, but now that I was old enough to walk downtown alone, I always had to do it. I hummed quietly to myself as I ran my finger down the list of groceries, trying to distract myself from Karl, even though he was at the top of my mind.
The government kept the price of food very low for us, so we always had enough to eat. Even if the supposedly fresh produce was in reality so stale that it tasted like cardboard, and everything else tasted like ash, at least we could eat well enough.
The store often didn’t carry everything I needed to buy, though. Today, there wasn’t the usual choice between red and white cabbage. As if I cared which one ended up in next week’s leftovers. I grabbed the biggest head I could find and tossed it into my basket.
Although life was difficult, the monotonous cycle of every day made it a little easier, in a way I couldn’t explain. Everyone looked and acted the same, something that was strangely comforting as long as I conformed. No one could succeed here, but most people were okay with that. It meant they couldn’t fail either.
I glanced at the radishes. They were pale pink, some of them eaten away by the mice that likely prowled the store after it had closed up for the night. I tried to imagine where they’d been before they had landed in wooden boxes on a large square counter in the middle of a supermarket at six-thirty in the morning.
Maybe a woman had dug them out of the frosty ground in a labor camp in Siberia. Maybe they’d been shipped in huge crates on a freight train to Moscow, to Warsaw, and finally to Berlin. An aged man, his face brown and weatherbeaten, had carefully separated the good radishes from the bad ones and taken them in a van from the warehouse to the supermarket. And now I was eating them.
I shook my head to clear my silly, imaginative thoughts. Radishes that grew in Siberia? In late October? That was a first.
I strolled through the aisles, glancing at the selection of cans—canned soup, canned beans, canned tomatoes. None of them particularly interested me, so I moved on to buy a carton of milk, noticing that the price had dropped, leaving me with enough money to buy an apple afterwards.
After I’d bought two dozen eggs, which would become our breakfast for the next week, I went to pick out my apple. There wasn’t a wide selection, but every fruit was different, and I wanted a perfect one. I let my fingers run over the smooth skin of a luscious red one, then hastily took my grubby hand away when I saw someone looking at me in confusion.
“Klara! Fancy seeing you here.”
I looked around, startled. It was Frau Becker from history class, sorting through her own groceries.
I blinked at her for a moment, then smiled back. “It’s nice to see you as well, Frau Becker.”
“Are you doing all the shopping?” she asked, her eyes crinkling at the corners beneath her glasses, something that never occurred in the classroom. “Your mother must be proud.”
I nodded, feeling a swell of pride in my chest. It was strange seeing a teacher outside of school. I wished I had something more interesting to talk about than groceries.
She moved closer, her hands hovering over the apples as I tried to find the biggest, juiciest one there was. I had the feeling that she wanted to say something important to me, but the store was crowded, and people were casting glances in our direction, so she didn’t.
Out of the corner of my eye, I saw the door swing open, revealing two guards from outside. A hush fell over everyone. People looked away and chewed their lips. I didn’t want to stay long, either.
I grabbed the first apple I saw and dropped it into my basket, which was growing heavy. Mama had asked me to buy carrots, but as I couldn’t see any, I hurried to the counter without saying goodbye to Frau Becker.
I waited anxiously as the cashier rang the items up, my foot tapping nervously against the ground. The customers appeared anxious, too, none of them speaking much, ensuring that they weren’t in the way of the guards. They passed just a few feet from me, and I couldn’t prevent myself from shuddering. Their faces were hardened with cruelty, their rifles glinting by their sides. They looked born to kill.
Finally, the cashier finished, reaching under the counter to press a piece of candy into my hand before I left.
“Thank you,” I whispered. I liked to think that she saved me that piece every week. It was always a small caramel that stuck to my teeth but was nonetheless delicious.
I popped it into my mouth as I left the store, pulling my hood up against the freezing winter wind threatening to knock me flat on my face. I had to work hard to keep moving forward as snow flew into my face, peppering my cheeks like a thousand tiny knives. In a few hours, it would be hard to walk, because the sidewalks would have at least a foot of snow on them.
My basket felt even heavier, laden with the weight of everything I didn’t know. How Ilona had died. If I’d see Karl again. If we’d find a way to escape, like Felix.
I had to get home quickly so that I’d have time to eat breakfast before school, but as I trudged onward, I felt more and more like sitting down someplace warm to rest. Still, I forced myself to keep going.
It was just past seven. The sky was getting light. The sun peeked cautiously over the edge of the city, casting wide yellow rays that stretched across the entire horizon, slowly reaching upwards.
“Halt!”
I stopped, my heart pounding a frantic rhythm in my chest, like a caged bird trying to escape. The soldier was not more than a few feet in front of me, his rifle raised.
“Hands in the air.”
I dropped my basket and slowly lifted my hands to shoulder height. My breath was coming in short gasps, forming small white steam clouds in the frosty morning air.
He approached me slowly. I closed my eyes for a long second, concentrating on steadying my breathing. The last thing I wanted to do was to appear scared. The Stasi commanded respect, which I would gladly pretend to give them, but when I was as terrified as I was now, I often couldn’t think straight. I might say or do something wrong. They needed one slip-up to take me away.
“Identification papers.” His nose was just a few inches from mine. I could feel his breath, warm and moist, against my face.
He was young, not much older than Gunter was, but already, I could see what his work as a Stasi had done to him. His face was a mask of malevolence, his lip twisted sourly, cruelly, but his eyes were the same blue as mine, and I saw a touch of innocent youth shining through.
None of that mattered. He was a soldier, someone of status. I was just a little girl who didn’t have any identification papers. I’d been stupid not to bring my card along with me. It had gotten me out of a couple nasty situations before.
“Sir,” I started to say.
He cut me off with a raised hand. “Identification papers,” he repeated.
I looked down at myself. I was trembling in my old, worn-out black rain boots. My hands were numb from gripping the basket so hard, so I couldn’t feel them shaking, but I knew they were. I clasped them together tightly at my waist.
“I don’t have them with me.”
His rifle didn’t drop. I saw his eyes move, landing on the basket. He bent to pick it up, his rifle moving back to its usual position by his side, and I let out a long, slow breath. He wasn’t going to shoot me, not yet. I counted every breath, every second I had left . . .
He rummaged through its contents, holding it in one hand as easily as if it was only filled with feathers. Finally, he appeared satisfied. He pulled out the apple I’d bought for myself and took a bite. My insides clenched when I heard the sweet crunch. It had been a perfect apple.
“Where did you get this from?” he demanded.
“The supermarket down the street,” I replied, pointing in the direction I’d come from.
He took another bite and wiped the juice dribbling down his chin, sneering as I watched him in envy.
“This isn’t like the apples we have. This is . . .” He hesitated. “This is like an apple from the East side.”
I tried not to let him see how much that had scared me. I knew he didn’t believe that, and he knew that I knew, but he could say anything he liked. If he punished me, the authorities would listen to his story. Still. He was young, inexperienced. Maybe he hadn’t yet learned how to talk.
You don’t scare me, I thought defiantly.
I straightened up so that I could look into his eyes. “That is a very serious accusation, sir.”
The cold metal of his rifle slid against my cheek. It was a feeling that sent a shiver down my spine, paralyzing me. I stared straight ahead off me. Every part of my body was screaming for me to run, but my feet were anchored to the ground.
“Do not contradict me.”
I tried to say “I’m sorry” but the words wouldn’t come out of my mouth.
His finger tested the trigger. I was paralyzed by fear. He would kill me now, over seven words that I hadn’t considered enough before saying.
“Is that clear?” he murmured, his voice silky-sweet.
“Yes sir. I won’t do it again.” I wanted to scream or to beg him to leave me alone, but I remembered hearing that woman scream and plead so many years before, and I also remembered how it had turned out.
How horrible it had been to watch her die.
“I’ll be taking this with me.” He lifted my basket over one shoulder easily and gnawed a little at the apple core, before tossing it onto the roadside, where it bounced into the gutter. He must have seen the relief on my face, the way my shoulders sagged, because he added:
“Next time, I won’t let you go so easily.”
With one final side-eye in my direction, he turned and walked briskly away, his hand still on his rifle.
The snow was falling harder, and he soon was swallowed up by it, but I didn’t allow myself to breathe very deeply until I couldn’t hear his footsteps echoing on the narrow street anymore.
I felt like crying, but my tears froze before they touched my cheeks as a cold, brutal wind blew against my face, forcing me to squeeze my eyes shut. I slumped lower in my coat and continued my solitary trek homeward.
Mama was waiting anxiously for me at the door. To my relief, she didn’t ask questions until she had helped me out of my coat. Once I was a little warmer, she asked for an explanation.
“The Stasi,” I said, my teeth chattering. “They stopped me and took everything. I didn’t do anything.”
Her eyes softened. “My poor girl. You did the right thing by not arguing with them.”
Remembering the cold feeling of the man’s rifle against my cheek, I shuddered again. It hadn’t been the kind of cold I was used to, one that could be shaken off or kept away with an extra layer. It was a cold that penetrated my soul.
Mama wrapped her arms around me, holding me close. “Things will get better,” she whispered. “They’ll find a way to bring the wall down.”
I wasn’t sure who they were, but I hoped they would show up soon.
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Chapter Nine:
Our tiny kitchen was freezing cold, because the heating system had broken. Mama had already called the electrician to fix it, but it would be a few hours before he came. Everything was slower now, including service. Such was one of the failings of the government.
I huddled next to the oven, wrapped in my coat and trying to stay warm while I waited for Mama to finish breakfast for us. She’d already gone shopping again a couple of days ago, while I’d stayed mostly cooped up at home, terrified at the risk of having another confrontation with the Stasi.
I stared at the peeling wallpaper. Countless soldiers on horses marched impossibly slowly across the walls, silhouetted by yellow. I tried to distract myself, but I had the feeling that something was terribly wrong.
“Where’s Gunter?” I asked finally, trying to break the heavy silence.
Mama’s face was tight, her lips forming a thin grey line. “I don’t know. I’ve called him down, but he isn’t coming.”
“Maybe he’s still sleeping.” I was surprised by how small my voice was. What if he wasn’t even in his room? What if the Stasi had come in the night to take him away? The very thought sent a chill down my spine. Although a few days had passed since I had been stopped on the way home from doing the shopping, I knew I had to be careful, more so now than ever.
That man hadn’t picked me out by chance. He knew something. He’d known that I would have groceries with me that day and was just waiting for an excuse to steal them. Otherwise, why would he have let me go so easily?
And another guard had been at the bakery, making me wonder if Mama had done something worthy of their attention. Even though it was a Saturday, I knew we wouldn’t be listening to The Beatles that night.
Mama set three plates of food on the table. The portions were smaller than ever. I sat down and pushed my scrambled eggs and leftover apple cake around with my fork for a while, letting it get cold, but I wasn’t hungry.
Finally, I heard heavy footsteps on the creaky wooden stairs. Gunter entered the kitchen, his face pale and haunted. There were dark circles under his eyes. I knew he’d been out late last night, without apparent reason, at least not one he’d readily share with me. He hadn’t been sleeping much, either.
“There you are,” Mama said tersely. I’d heard them arguing again the night before, after he’d come home. Which explained why she was mad at him, but it wasn’t like Gunter to be so tired and upset. Something else had happened.
We ate in silence, the only sound the clink of silverware against our plates, unnaturally loud in the stillness of the room. Everything tasted like ash in my mouth. I pushed my plate away unfinished, earning me a nasty look from Mama as she scraped my cold, watery eggs into the sink.
I waited until she was busy with the laundry, then turned to Gunter, who wasn’t eating either. “What happened?” I whispered.
“Felix,” he whispered back. His voice was trembling, something I’d never heard before. “He was killed.”
I gasped. “They found him?”
He nodded, his eyes glistening with unshed tears. “His friend from the freight company was there . . . he saw everything. The Stasi knew Felix was hiding on the train, down to exactly which freight car. They . . .” He closed his eyes. A tear ran down his cheek, but he didn’t bother to wipe it away. “They set the hay on fire.” His voice broke.
I couldn’t stop my own tears. They flowed freely, like rain, hot and bitter, salty on my tongue.
“It’s okay,” he said, reaching across the table to give my shoulder a squeeze. “It’s over. It’s okay.”
I didn’t want Mama to know that I was crying, so I pressed my hand to my mouth, crying into it. For a while, I couldn’t speak, but anger or resentment or both at once burned within me. How could Gunter say, with a straight face, that things were okay? How could he say that when nothing was okay?
I hadn’t spoken to Felix much, because he had been so much older than me, but I’d always looked up to him in the same way I looked up to Gunter and Karl. He had been the first in his family to attend university, something that made his father very proud.
And now he was gone, another victim of the evil actions which the government exacted with such morbidly precise skill.
“It was very quick,” Gunter was saying, though I hardly heard him. “Less than a minute. I don’t think he felt much pain. And nobody else was hurt.”
At last, I gained control of my emotions for the moment and wiped my eyes. “He was so close. So close to getting his freedom. And they killed him,” I whispered. “How did they know what he was going to do?”
“I don’t know. Maybe someone talked. But we were the only ones who knew. You didn’t say anything about it, did you?”
My mind frantically replayed the last few days’ events. “No, I never mentioned it to anybody. I swear I didn’t.”
He nodded. “I knew you wouldn’t have.”
We sat together in silence for a long time. I wiped my eyes again. “We have to leave.”
“Not yet. It’s too dangerous. And Mama . . .” He glanced behind him, but she was still in the next room. “She’ll never agree.”
“Maybe she will,” I insisted. “Maybe we can find a way to get out of here.”
He offered a small, sad smile. “Maybe.”
I hesitated, the final few pieces falling into place. “Gunter, the night you told me what Felix was going to do, I heard noises outside.”
His eyes widened. “Did you see anyone?”
“No, but I think—I think they were listening through the window. And they stopped me a few days ago, that’s why I didn’t bring the groceries.”
“The Stasi.” His voice was barely more than a breath.
“They’ve been following us,” I said. “Watching us. Maybe they . . . maybe they know about the music, and about—” I stopped abruptly. I had told no one about the letters Ilona had sent me, not even Gunter, and he’d never looked in the very back of the safe, behind all my junk. As far as I knew, he had no idea about them. Otherwise, he would have figured out how Ilona had died, and maybe deciphered whatever plans she’d made to escape.
His eyes were full of regret. “I know. I heard them outside, too, talking. I didn’t tell you because I didn’t want to scare you, but they’re keeping a file on me.”
“They’re going to take you away?”
“I don’t know. But if they do, I—I’ll be okay. I’ll come back. Promise me you’ll take care of Mama and everything until I do.”
“I promise,” I said. “What would they do to you, if they came?”
He shook his head, his lips pressed tightly together. “I don’t know,” he said after a second. “But I know how to keep my mouth shut. I hope they’ll just question me, nothing worse. Still . . .”
“But they aren’t going to come take you away, are they?” I interjected, steadying my trembling hands on the table.
He shook his head slowly. “I don’t know,” he repeated. “It’s worse than you think, Klara. They’re keeping a file on you too.”
My breath caught in my throat. “Why?”
“Because you saw that woman killed three years ago. And because they know exactly how much you saw. Knowing things like that is . . . dangerous. They don’t want anyone to see that side of the government. You could easily prove that they killed an innocent person. They’re afraid you’ll expose them.”
“I didn’t mean to,” I whispered, as if I was afraid the Stasi themselves would hear me.
“I know. But you did see her. That’s all they care about. You have to be careful, Klara. After this . . .” His expression hardened. “We can’t trust anyone.”
I nodded solemnly.
“They may have bugged the house,” he continued, more softly this time. “There could be recording devices anywhere. We can’t . . .”
That meant no more banned music, no more late-night discussions, no more whispered conversations about escaping. I didn’t reply. I’d heard of homes being bugged before, family members only finding the tiny devices long after it was too late and they had been shut off. They were nearly undetectable, often planted in the last place anyone would ever look, like under a windowsill.
I suddenly remembered the static-like noise which I had heard. I experienced an awful, chilly feeling, like icy water was being poured down my spine, causing me to shiver. They had put a recording device in my room.
They had listened to everything that had gone on in there. The Beatles. Felix’s plan.
My heart sank like a stone. It had been our fault that he’d died. We should have been more careful, known better than to reveal something as important as that when we didn’t know who exactly was listening to us.
What else had they heard? And how much time did we have before they came for us?
“Gunter,” I started to say, but he wasn’t listening.
I decided that he felt bad enough about Felix’s death as it was. Letting him know that it was his fault for telling me would only make things worse.
Instead, I leaned over and hugged him, something I rarely ever did, cautiously at first, then so tightly that we could hardly breathe. When I finally pulled away, he looked surprised and confused, but I didn’t really mind, as long as it had made him feel a little better.
“Do you think I might see Papa or Karl again?” I asked him, hoping to change the subject to a lighter topic.
“Yes,” he replied confidently, a hint of a genuine smile crossing his face. “I think you will. Let’s go for a walk, Klara.”
“Why? We never go for a walk.”
“Because,” he replied mysteriously, “it’s going to be a good day.”
Although the sun cast very little warmth over Berlin, my heart was light, and that made up for the constant cold. The sky was a perfect baby blue, the small, fluffy clouds lost to the southern horizon. It reminded me of my last good summer, the summer before the Wall.
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Chapter Ten:
Days passed slowly, the hours bleeding into each other. Before I knew it, November was closing in, October dying away with a faint sigh of the wind and regular snowfall. Strangely enough, it had warmed up some. Maybe the weather was tired of tormenting us and had decided to give us a little bit of spring before that season was due.
Walking to school was easier now that I didn’t have to lift my feet high through the snow, because there was only a couple inches over a layer of ice. Workers had sprinkled salt on the streets during the night to melt the snow, and cars rushed past, spraying me with dirty water. I wiped flecks of mud and road grit from my cheek, humming to myself as I walked.
I found Elke lounging against the gate, her face turned towards the sun. She was squinting against the harsh light, her face an unnatural grey as the rays poking through the thick clouds hit her. She seemed oblivious to the rest of the world.
“Hi, Elke,” I said hesitantly, afraid to break the perfect silence. Most everyone else had gone into the schoolhouse, which was heated to some extent, but she had most likely been waiting for me.
“Hello, Klara.” She didn’t look at me, her gaze still fixed intently on the sky. “It’s a pretty day, isn’t it?”
I nodded, suddenly seized by an inexplicable impulse. “Want to go downtown after school?”
She nodded, smiling with her upper lip. I could see that some of her teeth wanted straightening. “Definitely.”
I meant that I wanted to visit Uncle Friedrich’s store that afternoon. I finally had enough money to buy another album, perhaps the newest one by The Beatles, which Gunter had been talking avidly about for the past few weeks ever since he had heard about it. (I had forgotten its name, but that didn’t matter; I wouldn’t have been able to pronounce it correctly anyway).
“I listened to the . . . other one,” I said. I was not the best at speaking in code.
Fortunately, there was no one else within earshot. Elke nodded seriously. “Was it good?” she asked.
“Very.”
She hesitated. “Did something else happen, Klara?”
The one thing I disliked about Elke was that she knew me too well. I had already made the mistake of talking about Felix and could not let anything else slip. She knew about the banned music; that was enough. She didn’t need to know about the books I read—my favorite being “Animal Farm” by George Orwell—or the letters I read, for that matter.
I decided that it was a good time to change the subject to something which would steer her mind away from whatever problems I may or may not have admitted to be facing.
“Look over there,” I whispered, pointing to a group of older boys loitering outside the school building.
She nodded, her smile growing wider, and flicked her red-brown bangs out of her eyes. “Let’s go.”
She linked her arm with mine and we flounced through the gate. Elke giggled in the way girls tend to do around boys, catching her crush’s eye. He smiled back, a faint flush creeping up his cheeks, something that made me happy for her. She had stopped talking about her crush every second of the day; maybe she was finally growing out of that phase. Or maybe she’d learned there were more important things than boys who pretended not to be interested in you.
Like being rebellious. Like thinking about escape.
We got into the classroom just in time. The first bell rang, shattering the stillness that had settled over the room, which was odd; Frau Becker usually tolerated noise until she began her lecture. All the students had their eyes down, so Elke and I copied them as we laid out our textbooks with a clatter, then straightened up.
At that moment, we realized that it wasn’t Frau Becker at the blackboard, but the principal. His face was a shade pale, but otherwise it looked like it was made of stone. My heart sank. He didn’t have a great reputation among the students. I usually disliked school, but when he was teaching one of the classes as a substitute, I loathed it.
“Miss Muller, Miss Meyer.” His voice was cold and monotonous.
“We aren’t late,” Elke contradicted breathlessly before he could continue. “Sir. We made it through the door before the bell rang.”
His eyebrows shot up so far that they disappeared into his thinning hair. “I’ll see you two after class,” he said after a long moment.
Someone giggled from the back of the room. The principal’s steely eyes fixed themselves on the unlucky student, and another heavy silence fell, nearly crushing us beneath its weight. I slumped forward in my seat until my chin was resting on my elbows, concentrating on opening my history textbook to the correct page.
What had happened to Frau Becker? The question appeared to be on the top of everyone’s mind. She had been our teacher last year too, for sixth grade, and she had never missed a class before.
I remembered seeing her in the grocery store a little more than a week before, and how she had looked like she wanted to tell me something, lingering a little longer next to me while we had sorted through the apples. Then disappeared the moment the Stasi showed up.
Could it be something to do with Ilona? It was a wild idea, but it might be the answer. She had taught Ilona too, and probably still remembered her. Ilona hadn’t been an average student—she had earned some of the best grades, and had been able to charm anyone, even the nastiest teachers.
Her letters were all I could think about for the rest of the day at school. The lecture, Frau Becker, and the notes I was supposed to be taking all drifted into the background. I turned the words she’d written over and over in my mind, but could make no more sense of them than I had before.
The day passed too quickly for my liking—I only wished it could last longer, because I had promised Elke dozens of times that we’d go downtown together, and would prefer to go home and sleep a little. All of a sudden, the final bell was ringing, and Elke was pulling me down the street, her eyes bright with excitement.
“Come on!” she cried, her laughter ringing against the small houses lining either side of the narrow but pretty street. Red, white with sharply contrasting black shutters, and olive green blurred against the dead gardens as we ran.
As we approached the crowded downtown area, we slowed to a walk, gasping for breath in the cold air, our schoolbags bouncing against our shoulders. We walked faster. There were no guards around, so we talked in normal voices, not caring that people were giving us looks for raising our voices.
We’d taken a different way than we were used to, and could see the Death Strip, the open border. The guards in the watchtowers were looking straight at us. For some reason, I didn’t mind. My eyes were fixed on the platforms on the other side of the Wall.
I was hoping against hope that I would see Karl again, which made little sense—unless he was psychopathic, he would have no idea that I had picked this day to go this way at this time. Anyway, my wishes were always very irrational.
I couldn’t help it. I wanted to see him again.
Even though I was expecting it, I felt a little more disappointed than I cared to admit to myself when we began to walk in the opposite direction of the wall.
Soon, we’d arrived at the back alley. After a quick glance around to make sure no one was watching us, we hurried down it and opened the door to Uncle Friedrich’s shop without knocking.
I was expecting him to appear out of nowhere with his hand around my throat again, but instead, I was greeted by darkness. Elke and I looked at each other uncertainly.
“Hello?” Elke called out after several seconds.
There was no answer.
After several more seconds, she turned on the light, flooding the single room with a golden glow. We had to glance at each other again when we realized Uncle Friedrich wasn’t there.
We carefully checked the entire store. My concern grew with each inch that my eyes swept over. Things were overturned, shelves pushed out of place, posters crumpled against the floor. Someone had clearly been in here. Someone who’d been looking for something.
The Stasi.
My heart stopped beating for a moment. They’d taken him away. Which meant they had found out about him. Which meant they would probably torture him, maybe even kill him.
Would he give them my name? Or Elke’s name? Would we be arrested too?
I picked up one of the records, still in its torn-up packaging. It was stained with blood. So was one of the records near it. There was an entire trail of blood, dark crimson droplets of it. I wiped my hand on my dress. The blood was still wet and smeared across my palm.
It was fresh.
Too fresh.
I turned around a few times, swallowing back a scream. Elke was moving around a few feet away, her back turned to me, packaging rustling under her feet, records squeaking against the floor. Other than that, everything was so very quiet. I didn’t even let myself breathe. Were we truly alone in the store? We would face similar brutal treatment if we were found in here without a convincing excuse. And good excuses were hard to come by—the Stasi saw and knew everything.
I tiptoed to each corner of the store, examining the nooks and crannies with a practiced eye, but there was no one there except me and Elke, a fact that brought me little relief.
“Klara, over here.” Elke sounded genuinely scared.
I concentrated on breathing steadily. She was a strong person who didn’t take fright easily. It took a lot to make her sound like she did.
I braced myself for a dead body, but when I reached her, there was nothing, just more smashed records and half a poster featuring Marilyn Monroe. Elke was standing in the middle of the floor, staring at the wall.
Slowly, I allowed my gaze to travel upwards. There was something scrawled near the ceiling. Looking closer, I saw that it had been written with a marker, still wet.
My stomach flipped. I stared at the message, mesmerized by it.
We got the Prinzenkreis. We’ll be back.
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Chapter Eleven:
Date: November 12, 1962
Dear Klara,
I’ve been very busy lately, and apologize for not writing to you sooner. I meant to give you this letter on my last visit, but forgot about it; so here it is.
Enclosed in this envelope is a gift to celebrate your eleventh birthday, which I’m sorry that I missed. I hope you will keep with you always to remember me by, should something happen to me. The ring was made in a famous smithy in Romania, a country I visited during my summer vacation, and I thought to bring it back as a souvenir for you. The earrings are my mother’s.
Do you remember the story about the woodcutter and his three sons? My mother used to tell me that story often, as I’m sure your mother did; it’s quite famous.
As I recall, there was once a woodcutter who wanted to teach his sons not to bicker amongst themselves anymore. He handed the youngest a single stick, telling him to break it. The boy easily snapped it in half. Then, the woodcutter handed him a bundle of sticks. Try as he might, he could not break them. Each of the three sons tried, but none succeeded. From then on, they stuck together and overcame many great obstacles, not as three, but as one.
The lesson is that many are stronger than one. I’ve been working with others in hopes of achieving something great. Although our plans have not yet begun to take effect, they soon will.
You have to find the prince. He will not save you unless you let him know that you need saving.
All my love,
Ilona W.
I slipped the ring she’d given me onto my finger and had to smile as I did so. It was very pretty, made of sterling silver with a small amber jewel in the middle.
My last visit had happened a few days before my eleventh birthday. I could still picture her perfectly. She’d been wearing an elegant green dress that matched her eyes perfectly, her white teeth glinting in the midday sunlight when she’d laughed or smiled, which was often. She had been the kind of person who could find joy in anything. I had always envied her beauty, but that day, she’d looked like an angel, sitting between my brothers with her head resting on Karl’s shoulder.
I would never have guessed that such a playful and innocent-looking girl could harbor so many dark secrets on the inside. I often wondered why she had sent these letters to me, not to Karl and Gunter, or to somebody else she trusted. I wasn’t as smart as my brothers were, nor as practical as many of her friends.
I sighed, feeling helpless. Her third letter was the strangest one yet and I had no idea how to even begin to go about deciphering it. She had reminded me of a story, just like she had in the first letter, but this story had been in detail; was that significant in some way?
The lesson is that many are stronger than one. She wanted me to cooperate, to work together. It was as if she saw into my soul, even long after she was dead, and knew that I was not a notable team player at school. I preferred to do things alone, or sometimes work on projects with Elke if I felt up to it.
But she couldn’t see into my soul. Obviously. She was hinting at something else.
You have to find the prince. Another mystery. She had talked about a prince a lot in her letters, but the only princes I could think of were in faraway lands, unreachable, especially by a person like me. What would I do—send the prince of Monaco a telegram asking them to save me like I was Cinderella or something?
I unfolded her fourth letter.
Date: March 19, 1963
Dear Klara,
A lion will not last long in a desert, but a pride of lions will. Remember, there are others who will help you. If anything happens, you can trust them, but by no means trust everyone. There are bad influences amongst us, people who believe we would be better off without the wall, people from the West, even people who would go so far as to defy the government and our leader Khrushchev.
I remember a story we used to read together when we were young. It was about a girl who was locked in a tower by a cruel witch. Although her life seemed pointless, a prince climbed up her hair and saved her.
When you need him most, the prince will help you, but as I mentioned before, you must seek him out. He will not abandon his kingdom easily. You will have to convince him to help you. We knew each other, in a way; you would do well to mention my name.
My time is running out. I will give you the details on how to find him if I can, but I’m afraid I don’t have very long left. Expect my next letters soon.
All my love,
Ilona W.
This letter was similar to the third one. There are others who will help you. Help me with what? And, more importantly, who were the others—and how would they be able to help me?
Mama was calling me from downstairs, but I hardly heard her. The prince. It was all I could think about now. I needed to find him, whoever he was. But first, I had to answer my mother.
I slid down the banister and ran into the kitchen, where she was busy putting the finishing touches on dinner. When I arrived, she didn’t even turn around. Her entire body was tense, sinewy muscles straining beneath her thin work dress and oily apron.
“Good, there you are,” she said, her eyes narrowed in concentration over the Brezel she was making. It smelled good enough to make my mouth water. “Can you help me set the table?”
I nodded, but for some reason I hesitated, my fingers tracing absentminded patterns on the greasy kitchen counter. “Mama, do you know anything about a prince?” I asked.
She turned to me with a smile. “What do you mean?”
“I mean . . . a prince. Someone who’s a really good person. Someone who would help people who need it.”
She paused in her work, her gaze fixed upwards, something she always did when she was deep in thought. “Well, when someone is noble and kind, we sometimes refer to them as a prince. Herr Willems, for example.”
I involuntarily wrinkled my nose. Herr Willems wasn’t exactly the savior I had had in mind. “What do you mean?”
“I mean that he’s always willing to help us when we’re in a fix. Like last winter, when the car broke down, and he lent us his for a week and a half. And he’s helped us around the house ever since the Wall—ever since we were separated.”
I could see that thinking about that awful day hurt her as much as it hurt me, and steered the conversation in the direction I wanted it to go. “I don’t mean someone like Herr Willems,” I said, wondering how much I could give away. If she knew about Ilona’s letters, she would only worry about me more.
“What do you mean, then?” she asked, not unkindly, turning back to dinner.
“Someone who could help us if we ask them,” I explained meekly, trying to be as vague as possible.
She frowned, then looked at me in an odd way. “Who have you been talking to?”
“No one,” I replied quickly, almost too quickly. “It’s just something I read about in a book that I didn’t understand.”
Her gaze softened. “Alright, Klara. But if there’s anything you want to talk to me about, I’m here, okay?”
“I know,” I replied, my voice barely above a whisper.
Why had I thought she would know any more about a prince than I did, when she hadn’t even read Ilona’s letters? Blushing at my stupidity, I busied myself with setting the table, the plates and forks clattering unceremoniously against each other.
I fingered a blue-and-white checkered napkin, folding it into a lopsided object distantly resembling a swan, then unfolding it. My mind returned to the writing on the wall. It wasn’t just coincidence. Someone knew that I’d been in there. Someone was trying to give me a message.
We’ll be back.
Did those words, so few yet so effective at instilling fear deep inside my chest, mean they—the Stasi—were coming back to the record shop? They had gotten Ilona and Felix. It would be her parents or a close friend next. I couldn’t exactly be considered a close friend of Ilona’s, especially since she was dead. But my brothers had adored her. Although Karl was safe enough, Gunter wasn’t.
Something else was troubling me. Besides taking Uncle Friedrich away, the Stasi had rampaged the entire store like starving wolves looking for a morsel of fresh meat. There were hundreds, maybe thousands, of items to confiscate right in front of their noses.
Looking for a . . .
I gasped without meaning too. Uncle Friedrich had been hiding something. Maybe it was something to do with whatever Ilona was trying to tell me in her letters.
What if the Stasi hadn’t found it? What if I could get there first?
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Chapter Twelve:
Unfortunately, my plans to revisit Uncle Friedrich’s store were dashed before I even got near it. I’d woken up too early and had decided to use the opportunity to take a short walk downtown. However, I knew something was wrong as soon as I approached the square I passed through on my way to the store.
I squeezed my way through the gathering crowd to get a better look. I was smaller than everyone else, which carried its advantages too—soon, I was standing right in front of the temporary fence that had been erected to keep the people out of the way.
There was a commotion in the center of the square, where a huge metal statue of a man riding a horse, his sword raised triumphantly in the air, had been erected about a century before. But instead of a sculpture, all I could see was the concrete block it had once rested on, and shattered fragments of metal everywhere.
The entire police force of Germany appeared to have been called out for this occasion. There were at least a hundred uniformed officers holding back the crowd, while countless more worked to clean up what had once been a much-admired statue.
“What happened?” I shouted above the noise, tugging the sleeve of the nearest woman.
“They destroyed it,” she called back, her eyes transfixed on the scene unfolding. “They said they would no longer live under Khrushchev.”
“Who did?”
“I don’t know. They wore masks, and didn’t say who they were. They came with bombs.”
I watched for a few more minutes, then decided that I had better get going if I wanted to make it in time for history class. Frau Becker would give me detention if I missed even the first few minutes—she’d done that before.
I wriggled back through the crowd, finally breaking free of the mess of moving bodies and entranced faces. Some people were cheering and were quickly silenced by policemen who clapped their hands roughly over their mouths and dragged them away. I wanted to cheer too, knowing that my lone little voice would not be noticed, but my lips remained tightly pressed together. It was too risky, especially because one of the policemen was giving me the side-eye as I hurried past him with my head down.
I glanced at my watch. It was battered and dented, and I hoped to get a new one on my birthday, which was in just two weeks.
The hands were moving slowly past seven forty-five. The first bell was due to ring at eight. I had to go faster.
I broke into a run, my feet pounding heavily over the chipped sidewalk. Long cracks ran down the concrete, the street was full of potholes, and littering was trending on Fifth Avenue, but did the government care? No. They apparently had better things to do than keep the roads in good condition, and the city clean.
We were taught to believe that the Stasi kept us safe. Thieves ran wild, looting shops and breaking into houses. Regular people, even people in our neighborhood, had been beaten badly by thugs, or been forced to turn over every penny they had in the house at gunpoint.
I knew better than to believe the government. The Stasi were not here to keep us in check. They were here to weed out those who did not conform or give them enough respect. Not those who did things that were morally wrong.
Rebelling against a government that was cheating us out of our rights was certainly not morally wrong.
After the excitement at the square, the school day seemed even more monotonous than usual, everything blurring into a grey fog that had nothing to do with the dismissal weather. Elke caught up with me as I turned the last corner to the school building at seven fifty-eight sharp. She was talking very fast, which meant that something was up, as we hurried into the building.
“Klara, did you hear what happened?” she asked, twisting her fingers anxiously together in front of her. “About Khruschev?”
“No—what?”
“He’s been . . . replaced,” she said, her brow furrowed in confusion. “Like, I knew he wasn’t popular, but I never expected—”
“By whom?” I interrupted. I’d been secretly hoping that she would say that he was assassinated, or not say anything about him at all, because I wanted to tell her about the statue.
“This guy called Brezhnev,” she replied. I could see the effort it took for her to make the syllables in the correct Russian pronunciation. The world Khrushchev had been hard enough. She reached into her pocket and handed me a small black-and-white photo cut out of a newspaper. “That’s what he looks like.”
I snorted in disgust. He looked like a thousand-year-old man with a face made of sandpaper, somebody who could have played the giant lizards in that one movie, Journey to the Center of the Earth.
“Isn’t he . . . handsome?” Elke giggled, seeing the look on my face as we pushed our way through the crowded halls. “He looks better than Khrushchev, right?”
I squinted at the photograph. “Unlike Khruschev, he has hair.”
She giggled again. “That’s true. They just sent the news this morning over the TV, but evidently it happened yesterday, the fourteenth. Crazy, isn’t it? The way things change so fast . . .” She trailed off.
“I never liked Khrushchev much anyway,” I admitted. “Maybe it isn’t always bad when things change. Maybe this Bre—Brezhnev will be better.”
The first bell rang. I allowed myself to forget, if only just a moment, about Brezhnev, about the statue, about Ilona’s letters, about the prince. About everything.
Apparently, Anna had been caught passing notes to Hans, which was a pretty big deal to kids like us, since she was the most popular girl in our class. I told Elke about it as we hurried into the classroom.
Elke found this absolutely shocking. “Her? And him?”
“I know. I would never have imagined.”
“He’s not even that cute.”
I caught Hans’s eye; he was sitting near the back of the room with an empty spot next to him, and Anna’s bag on the floor, smiling to himself. When he saw me staring at him, he blushed, but kept on smiling. Elke was right, I realized, as I continued to look at him. He wasn’t cute, as far as boys went. Why did a beauty like Anna want him?
I stopped wondering about Anna’s personal life when my crush walked right past me, forcing me to dip my eyes automatically. His hand brushed against mine as he passed, his fingers lingering there a second too long. He was tall, blond; exactly how I imagined the prince in Ilona’s letters.
Elke nudged me playfully in the arm. My face grew hot with embarrassment, and I was glad when Frau Becker swept into the room.
There was a hush. Someone clapped. Then everyone else was clapping. She offered a rare smile as she picked up the chalk, but stopped when, on her desk, she saw the notes we had written for her, letting her know how much we’d missed her the past week.
“Settle down, children,” she said finally, her voice unusually soft and gentle. “I promise I’ll try to make today’s class more exciting.”
Elke told me afterwards that it was the best history class she had ever given us, but I barely listened as Frau Becker lectured about the Holy Roman Empire. I had stuffed Ilona’s fifth letter deep into my bag, hoping that it would be easier to understand than her third and fourth letters, but a lengthy trip to the girl’s bathroom seemed less and less likely as the day wore on.
The letter felt like a ten-ton weight as I hoisted my bag over my shoulders. I began to regret having brought it along after all. What if something happened to it? It was highly unlikely that anyone would understand what Ilona was telling me. And if they did, they might be able to help me.
“Did you hear about the statue they destroyed?” I asked Elke during lunch break, taking a big bite out of my bologna sandwich.
She hadn’t, so I told her all about it, repeating the woman’s words.
“Why would they do that?” she asked. “It’s a historical monument that has nothing to do with the Soviets.”
“I know.” I glanced around cautiously before continuing: “I think it’s their way of showing the government that we’re not all under their thumb.”
She nodded slowly, pensively. “Maybe there will be a war,” she said finally.
“Maybe that would be better.” Maybe a war would help bring down the wall dividing the city. Part of the reason I half-hoped there would be a war was purely selfish—our family would be brought back together.
But when they had built the wall, they had purposely avoided another war. The country—in fact, the entire world—was still recovering from the destruction brought on by the second world war, only twenty years before.
Elke raised her eyebrows. “You don’t mean that.”
I hesitated. “No, I don’t,” I confessed.
These were dangerous times. Johnson was just as unpredictable as Khruschev. The Kennedy-Khrushchev feud that had kept everyone on the edge of their seats had yet to cool down. Nuclear war was always a very real threat, and Berlin was a valuable target.
Elke’s voice broke my reverie. “The writing we saw,” she began, then stopped as the lunch lady swept past us. “What do you think it means?”
We got the Prinzenkreis. I could still see the words as clearly as if they were written on the other side of the lunchroom, above the heads of the dozens of students who had nothing more to worry about than trivial seventh-grade classroom issues like boys and girls or clothes or exams.
“I don’t know,” I confessed. “It’s all so confusing. In the—” I caught myself just in time. I had almost mentioned Ilona’s letters. I had told nobody about them, and although Elke might be able to help me, something held me back. Ilona had not been a secretive person. She had definitely had a good reason to ask me not to tell anybody about her letters.
“In the what?” Elke asked innocently.
“In the . . . um, in the place we saw the writing,” I improvised. “You know. The store.” I dropped my voice to a whisper. “It seemed like they were looking for something.”
“Oh!” Understanding dawned on her face. “That’s why you were—”
“In the square. Yes. But it was blocked off.”
“Let’s go tomorrow,” she offered. “Assuming that they’re letting people through, that is.”
“Good plan. But what do you think the Prinzenkreis is?”
“I’ve never heard of it. I think it’s somebody’s last name.” She leaned forward intently. “Let’s go to the school library during reading time. They might have something about them there.”
I thoughtfully chewed my lip. “I don’t think he’s the kind of person that would appear in a children’s book.” The writing had been so ominous. It seemed unlikely that Prinzenkreis was a famous bridge builder or ancient Egyptian god.
“It could be a location. Or a symbol. Either way, it’s important. And what makes you think it’s a boy? It could just as easily be a girl.”
I opened my mouth to respond, but a shrill voice cut across the lunchroom, a voice that undoubtedly belonged to Frau Becker:
“Miss Klara Muller! Over here, please.”
With a sinking feeling in my chest, I dragged myself to my feet, shutting my lunch tin over my half-eaten sandwich with a snap, and made my way through the crowd of suddenly silent students.
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Chapter Thirteen:
Frau Becker was waiting for me at the doorway, her thin grey lips pursed and her bony hands placed on her hips. She was a small and scrawny woman, her prematurely wrinkled skin lined with small scars and bulging blue-green veins, wispy strands of brown hair forever tied back in a severe bun. But even though I was a head taller than her, she seemed overbearing, holding herself with authority.
“In my office, please.”
I followed her down one of the corridors, my heart pounding. Was it possible that—but no. There was no way that she could have discovered the letters, the banned music, or the fact that I had been to a forbidden record shop exactly twice. I could just picture the Stasi waiting behind her closed office door.
She couldn’t know about that. Then what did she want to see me for?
“Frau Becker?” I said in a tiny voice as we approached the door.
She didn’t answer. Her face was expressionless.
She turned the handle, the door swinging open with a click. Her office was small and neat and . . . empty. There was no one else in there. It was a plain room, one that I took in at a glance. The walls were white, her desk was covered in papers, and there were three chairs, hers the comfortable kind that spun, the other two made of uninviting oak wood.
“Sit,” she instructed, guiding me to one of the chairs.
I sat.
She moved around the room with practiced ease, pulling a jar down from the shelf with her long fingers and offering me a cookie. Usually I loved cookies, especially the brown and sticky ginger molasses ones, but it was flat and looked stale, so I said no thank you.
She replaced the jar on its shelf. I heard the cookie snap as she took a bite out of it and winced, glad that I hadn’t taken one. I kept my eyes fixed on the big window on my left side. Papers rustled behind me but I didn’t turn around.
Finally, she took a seat across the desk, leaning forward with her elbows resting on the table.
“Klara,” she said, very seriously, “earlier today, there was a man in my office. He claimed to be your father. Do you know anything about this?”
My heart lurched in my chest.
“I—”
Could it really be Papa? Was it possible that he had somehow found a way to the East?
But if he had, why hadn’t he waited here? Why hadn’t she come to get me sooner? Something was definitely wrong.
Instead of an enthusiastic response, I said: “No ma’am. My father is . . .” Here, I hesitated. She might take it the wrong way if I told her that he was on the west side. Better be safe.
“Yes?” she implored, her eyebrows arching higher.
“He’s dead,” I replied, my voice carefully controlled, even though it wavered slightly. I had seen Karl, but not Papa, and had no idea if what I was saying was actually a lie. I missed them beyond words. I would give almost anything to have just one moment in which we were all together again.
“Since how long?” she asked, her tone more gentle.
“Three years ago,” I blurted out, thinking fast. “He was riding the tram back from Moscow and it fell off the rails. No one survived.”
She nodded, a flicker of empathy in her watery grey-green eyes. “I’m sorry to hear that. I thought I remember reading something about that in the newspapers.” I got the impression she was lying to my face but didn’t want to get me in trouble for lying to hers.
“But let’s get back to the present day,” she continued. “You wouldn’t happen to know who this man was, would you?”
The obvious question formed on my lips: “Did he mention my name?”
“Yes, your first and last name. Klara Muller. He seemed to know you.”
“Could you describe him to me, ma’am?”
She frowned slightly, as if struggling to remember him exactly. “He was tall,” she said finally, “very tall, with hair like your brothers’ hair, blond. He was wearing a green coat.”
I frantically pictured everyone I knew or might have ever known, someone who might call themselves my father, because this description certainly did not match Papa. My father was on the shorter side, hated the color green with passion, and his hair was the same brown as mine was.
I bit my lip. Had I seen this man somewhere before? The far reaches of my mind were telling me I had, but it was so hazy that I couldn’t make it out. Had we passed each other on the street at some point? Did he work in a café I’d been to before? No, it was something different, something deeper. I felt that I knew him in some vague way.
“He mentioned my name?” I repeated after several agonizingly long seconds.
“Yes, he was asking for you,” she replied patiently. “I thought it best not to tell him who you were, for safety reasons. When he said he was your father, I asked him to wait for you to finish your class, but he said he couldn’t stay long.”
“Do you know where he went?” Maybe seeing him would allow me to recognize him.
“No, he left almost immediately. But before he did, he gave me this.” She reached into her desk drawer and pulled out a battered, crumpled note, just a dirty piece of paper folded into quarters. She came around the desk and held it out to me. “For you,” she explained when I hesitated before taking it.
Sure enough, written on the outside was my name. The handwriting was unfamiliar, a long scrawl that was at the same time elegant in a way I couldn’t quite place.
I fingered the paper for a while. It wasn’t new and crisp. The man, whoever he was, had had this note with him for a while.
And it was addressed to me.
Something stopped me from unfolding it. Maybe it was the fact that Frau Becker’s pointy chin was resting on my shoulder in an uncomfortable way that made me shift in my seat. I tucked the note into the pocket of my skirt.
“Thank you,” I said politely, getting to my feet. “I’d better finish my lunch.” I tried to leave as fast as I could, eager to open the note in private, but she called me back.
“Wait.”
I turned around slowly. She appeared to be examining me, like I was a model or a luscious piece of Swiss cheese.
“If there’s anything you need to tell me,” she said after a moment, “anything at all—you can always tell me. I will understand.”
I nodded, unable to find the right words. Mama had said the same thing. There were a lot of things I needed to talk about, but not to either of them.
“You may go now,” she said gently.
I still couldn’t think of anything to say, so I just nodded again and left quickly, the door closing a little too hard behind me.
Everyone was leaving the lunchroom by the time I got back, so I headed to my next class. I settled into my usual spot beside Elke, but I wasn’t paying attention to what she was saying.
“Did you see what he did?” she was fuming. “He just knocked her books over and ran away! And no one tried to stop him! When will boys ever learn to grow up?”
“Shocking. Sure.”
Almost immediately after the teacher had taken attendance, I raised my hand, requesting a bathroom pass, which I was reluctantly given. Patting my pocket to make sure the note was still there, I grabbed the pass, written on a disgustingly bright pink slip of paper, and hurried out of the classroom as the usual drone of the hour started up.
I shut myself into the cleanest cubicle and pulled out the note, my hands trembling with excitement. A girl was crying next to the mirror while her friend comforted her and someone had left pee on the ground, but all I could think about was the note.
Taking a deep breath, I unfolded it, steeling myself against whatever was ahead.
Klara,
You are our last hope. You must seek us out before it is too late.
—The Prinzenkreis (P. W.)
For a moment, I just stood there. My head was spinning. I leaned against the door, trying to catch my breath.
I was on to something. Something big. Something important. I just didn’t know what it was yet. I quickly tucked the note back into my pocket, not wanting anyone to see it.
Who was Prinzenkreis? And what was “P. W.”? A location? Prinzenkreis was an odd last name, sure, but why was it signed the Prinzenkreis?
I stumbled blankly back to the classroom, my thoughts consumed by what I had just read as I sat down at my desk. I had to find that man, Prinzenkreis.
Whoever he was, he had found me first. That was why the note was addressed to me—not Elke, not Frau Becker, not my mother. So why had he left me a note? Why hadn’t he waited there for me? He knew where I went to school—possibly he knew where I lived, in which case I would have expected him to show up at the front door.
You must seek us out before it is too late. I wondered if he was in danger. If he was, then I would have no business getting myself involved in it. But the use of us confused me further. Was this one person, or more than one?
“Klara!”
I snapped my attention back to the blackboard. “I’m listening!” I blurted out before I could stop myself. “I promise I’m listening.”
The teacher looked like he wanted to throw me into the River Spree but turned away, looking murderous. I let out a slow breath. That crisis averted, I immediately began wondering about the note again.
It sat there heavy in my pocket for the rest of school. Several times I almost told Elke about it, but each time I didn’t. There were too many people around—too many ears listening.
“Downtown?” Elke asked me after school.
I shook my head. “Maybe tomorrow. I’m exhausted.”
She shot me a sympathetic look. “You’re pale. You should lie down.”
I nodded. “Maybe I will.”
We walked together in silence. Elke sensed something was up, so she kept quiet, offering silent support, something I was grateful for.
Halfway through the walk, I could barely hold my backpack anymore, so I put it on the ground and we stopped so that I could catch my breath. The letters I’d put in it that morning now felt like twenty-ton weights. They looked like they were wriggling, even though the bag remained still. Like they were trying to escape.
“Are you okay?” Elke’s eyes were wide with concern. “You look really sick.”
I was about to—I was about to tell her about the letters, maybe even ask her for help on them. I started to say her name, but then I stopped.
By no means trust everyone.
Ilona’s words sent a chill down my spine. She needed me to do something, something that was clearly very important, probably the most important thing I’d ever do in my life. And I was too slow to figure out what it was.
“I’m fine,” I replied, but the words sounded meek and hollow even to my own ears. I shouldered my bag again with effort. “Just . . . a lot on my mind.”
I thought about her first letter, drifting off even as Elke looked at me curiously, oblivious to the rest of the world.
Things here have become quite strange lately, Ilona had written. There’s a feeling in the air, almost like a storm is brewing, even though the sky looks clear.
It was not long after the Wall had been built, one year before her death. What had happened at that time? Maybe the Stasi had come to search her house. Maybe her father had been taken away but brought back.
You know how my mother used to say, “A stitch in time saves nine”?
Suddenly, the words were much more than an old wives’ saying to me. There was something I needed to save.
And I didn’t have much longer to do it.
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Chapter Fourteen:
“Can you believe it?” Elke groaned as we walked to school together the next day.
I sighed. Tuesday evening had arrived much too early for my liking. I hadn’t made much progress on the letters, but they’d been pushed to the back of my mind. We had things to do.
We were dressed in our Pioneers uniforms, navy blue long skirts and thick sweaters. I hated everything to do with Pioneers—everything from the stupid ribbons we pinned over our hearts down to our instructor’s stupid face—but the meetings we had to attend twice a week were definitely the worst part of it.
I usually zoned out and came home feeling like I’d been through a war with no memory of the battles I’d fought. It had become a part of life, something we’d resigned ourselves to more than anything, so I didn’t think much about it anymore, except when we were walking up to the building. Already, I was readying my troops, forming a shield around my mind so that I wouldn’t remember anything that was said.
“When are we going to grow out of this?” Elke could never stop complaining about the meetings and had gotten in trouble for it before. I, on the other hand, was better at keeping my mouth shut, even though I dreaded everything that had to do with Pioneers no less than she did.
“I don’t know,” I grumbled, kicking a mushy pile of dirty snow. “We just have to wait it out, I guess.”
She sighed loudly, shoving her hands into her pockets. “Let’s just hope we can get away with falling asleep this time.”
I suppressed a giggle behind my palm. We had made a point of snoring during the past few sessions. This had attracted nasty looks from the teacher and a note to my mother, but other students were starting to catch on. Maybe the government would abandon the idea of mandatory Pioneers meetings if they could only notice how hopelessly bored we became.
“We should hold a public protest,” Elke suggested, her eyes bright with wild idea after wild idea. “Just you, me, and pretty much every school-aged child in Berlin.”
“You mean Eastern Berlin.”
“Well, yes.” She cast a longing look over the wall. “Do you ever wonder what it’s like . . . over there?”
“Sometimes,” I admitted. “I hope it’s better than is here. And that Papa and Karl and Anna are happy there.”
“Your cousin Anna?” she asked.
“Yes, that one.” I’d lost track of how many Annas we knew.
“I wish—” She stopped and chose not to go on.
I thought I understood. She wished, too, that the wall would be torn down. That everything would be normal again.
“Karl,” I begged silently, but he wasn’t there on the platform he’d stood on last time. He might never be there.
Still, I had to hope, and I had to believe. And I had a Pioneers meeting to attend.
The very thought of what I would be facing made me feel sick. Two hours of sheer boredom awaited me. We approached the small yet imposing brick building cautiously, as one would approach a hungry lion, going slower and slower until we were hardly moving at all.
“Ready for another riveting meeting?” Elke asked, her voice dripping with sarcasm.
I rolled my eyes. “Can’t wait.”
We used our combined weight to force the heavy oak door open. The warmth inside wrapped around me like a blanket. A blanket that was suffocating me.
There was a single room much like a classroom or a church—a podium equipped with a microphone overlooking rows and rows of benches, and a large blackboard behind it. The interior of the building was made of red brick too, made even redder by the flickering glow of the lights hanging from the ceiling. There were about fifty kids in our class, more than I was used to in school, but since no one talked unless absolutely necessary, they were all pretty much invisible to me.
Our instructor, Frau Vogel, was at the podium. Her eyes were already narrowed into her signature perpetual scrutinizing frown. She was wearing a frayed black dress that contrasted sharply with her pale face, making her look like a skeleton in clothes or maybe a banshee, judging by how bad her voice sounded. But who was I to judge? I couldn’t sing either, except to The Beatles (which wasn’t exactly Italian opera).
Frau Vogel’s assistant, Herr Kruger, was passing out pamphlets to the kids. Elke and I hurried to take our seats before we could be noticed. The pamphlet I was given was dog-eared and smelled like feet, in contrast to the crisp, clean pamphlets every other student had received. Frau Vogel had it in for me. That wasn’t exactly my fault—no one in their right mind could enjoy this. Although I could put some work into not complaining in such a loud voice, or rolling my eyes when she could see me.
“Silence,” she commanded unnecessarily.
I sat up a little straighter in my seat. Elke nudged me. Prepare for torture.
“Today,” she said in her usual loud, authoritative voice, “we will be discussing the rise of Communism.”
I groaned inwardly. We had discussed this for the past ten sessions at least, beginning with Karl Marx; now we were finally nearing the end of this unit with a discussion on Lenin’s early life. Did anyone really care how many dogs Lenin had had? In which grade he’d won the so-and-so award?
Frau Vogel was already writing things on the blackboard. “First,” she declared, “we’ll start with some review questions from what we learned last Thursday.” As if any learning had actually happened. “Let’s see . . . Miss Klara Muller, can you tell me when the Bolshevik Revolution took place?”
My mind scrambled to remember anything from a discussion that had been mostly background noise to me. “The Bolshevik Revolution,” I started hesitantly. “It took place in . . . 1917?”
“Correct. Do you recall who the leader of the revolution was?”
“Uh . . . Engel?”
Her lips pressed together in a line of disapproval. “Incorrect. The leader of the Bolshevik Revolution was Vladimir Lenin,” she replied, sounding like she’d swallowed a textbook as usual, scribbling something—undoubtedly my name—on a slip of paper.
“Oh, right. Lenin.”
My casual, careless answer did not please her in the least. “Next time, Miss Muller, pay closer attention to the class. Is this understood?”
“Yes, Frau Vogel.”
“Good,” she said softly, her eyes never leaving my face. My cheeks flushed with embarrassment, I shrank under her gaze.
Eventually, she looked away and moved on to her next victim. I twisted my fingers in my lap, ignoring a snicker in my direction.
After the ten minutes of preliminary review questions, Frau Vogel began the usual mini-lecture. She would usually talk for an hour and a half, and then we would have twenty minutes of discussion, followed by ten more minutes of review. Discussion meant repeating exactly what she had said in class and pretending to agree with each other. The government wanted us to learn how to “think constructively” (to repeat someone).
A few minutes later, one of the girls in front of me raised her hand, asking to use the bathroom. To my surprise, Frau Vogel said yes. She usually would rather that we wet our pants than miss five minutes of her lecture. The girl hurried off, looking immensely relieved.
“Only an hour and forty-two more minutes left,” Elke whispered to me, her eyes fixed on the clock with a glassy stare.
I nodded. I was considering raising my hand too.
We endured fully eighty more minutes of Frau Vogel’s lecture before the liberating words came: “That concludes today’s lesson. You are free to engage in class-relative discussion with your peers.”
Elke and I paired up, like we usually did, and started talking about boys at school until Frau Vogel passed by us, whereupon we pretended to be in deep conversation about Marx’s surplus values.
“I’m glad to see that you’re making an effort, Miss Muller,” Frau Vogel said, a rare hint of satisfaction on her face.
“I try my best, Frau Vogel,” I replied humbly, although it was far from the truth. I was barely trying at all. My conscience pricked me a little, but I pushed my guilt aside.
Once she was gone, Elke started gossiping about Peter and Lisolette again. “And then I saw them kissing in the locker room,” she said, her voice dropping to a whisper. “The girls locker room.”
“What was he doing in there?”
“I have no idea, but Lisolette is way too pretty for him. I think we should fake a love letter.”
I giggled, then caught myself. Laughing was not allowed—and Frau Vogel was clearly upholding that unwritten rule as she fixed her hawk-like stare upon me.
“Back to the discussion,” I whispered as she came over.
Elke nodded. “So, as I was saying, Lenin clearly made some significant changes to . . . what Karl Marx wanted.”
Before I could agree, Frau Vogel was upon us again, her eyes narrowed in a frown.
“Miss Muller, Miss Meyer, do you mind sharing what was so funny?”
I took a deep breath, opened my mouth and closed it again, and finally thought of something to say. “We were just discussing the events leading up to the construction of the Berlin Wall,” I said, a little too loudly in a now quiet room.
“Well,” she said, “you have interrupted several members of this class.” She meant the rich kids whose parents had influence, kids could get away with not paying any attention, then complain to the teacher about something as trivial as a dirty bench seat.
“I’m sorry,” I mumbled to my toes.
“This is most interesting,” she continued, ignoring me. “I wasn’t aware that two young ladies such as yourselves could be so opinionated about such an event.”
Opinionated? Our view on this subject may differ from hers, but if there was one thing that Elke and I agreed upon wholeheartedly, it was this.
But as I looked around the silent room, I realized exactly what she wanted us to do. The words were dripping with false sweetness when she spoke: “Would you mind sharing your views with the class?”
My heart sank. She knew that I disagreed with whatever I pretended to believe while I was acting like a loyal and diligent Pioneer. I had to think fast. Everyone was looking at me.
“The Berlin Wall was built to keep skilled workers and intellectuals within the boundaries of the Soviet Union,” I said, standing up where I could be heard better. My fists clenched with anger at the lies coming out of my mouth.
So I didn’t lie. I told them the truth.
“While the Wall does a great job of keeping them in,” I continued, “they are prisoners. We are all prisoners. And the Wall does much more than that. It cripples our minds. It tears families apart. It is destroying us, one little bit at a time.”
Frau Vogel was looking murderous, her lips moving, her throat working, but she was unable to speak.
“Get out,” she hissed at me, her voice contorted in rage.
My legs were shaking beneath me but I didn’t move.
Elke stood up too, her voice strong and confident, ringing throughout the room. “What Klara said is right. You’re all drinking poison by standing here, listening to lies on Tuesdays and Thursdays. The meetings might be mandatory, but you ultimately have a choice. You will always have a choice. And I—” She swallowed hard. “I choose not to attend another Pioneers meeting. Ever.”
“Get out!” Frau Vogel shouted, echoed by Herr Krugel, who looked like if he had a weapon he would beat us with it.
There was a short silence as our words sank in. There was a smattering of applause and a few cheers. But many students were not able to accept that what had been implanted into their heads for three years was a lie, and silence fell again.
At last, Frau Vogel spoke, her voice impossibly calm. “Class, take your seats.”
No one sat down. Elke and I exchanged a glance.
“I asked you to take your seats!” she thundered.
A few students looked like they were going to obey, but we all remained standing, silently protesting.
“Very well,” she said after a second. She drew herself taller, her lips parted in a deathly smile. “You all are dismissed.”
We sprinted for the exit.
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Chapter Fifteen:
The cold wind hit me like a slap in the face, but it was a welcome relief from the stifling air inside. I let out a long breath, making a small grey steam cloud, feeling some of the tension leave my body.
Kids were rushing past us, their expressions ranging from shock to confusion to admiration. Some of them kept looking at us over their shoulders and a few gave us a thumbs-up sign. I knew that it would take a while for everything to sink in, even for me.
The last few students hurried out of the building, not even having bothered to put on their coats before leaving. A few kids hung back like they wanted to say something to us, but I didn’t meet their eyes.
Elke and I lingered behind the crowd, where we could talk more privately.
“Can you believe that?” Elke asked, her voice about an octave higher than usual, her eyes glowing with excitement.
“I know. Incredible, isn’t it?” Before I could stop myself, a broad smile was spreading over my face.
I had longed to say all those things for ages. Finally, I had let them out. Finally, we were doing something real. It wasn’t much, but it was a start.
But as it turned out, hanging back had been a mistake. Although Frau Vogel didn’t emerge from the depths of a building I’d silently vowed never to go back to, we were confronted by a group of bigger boys. We were outnumbered two to one; besides, they were probably in tenth or eleventh grade. It would take both of us to have a chance at beating just one of them in a fight.
I held my breath, my heart beginning to pound furiously in my throat as they approached, their footsteps echoing against the pavement. They looked even tougher and meaner up close. One of them had a dark scar running across his cheek, his eyes burning. He was clearly the leader.
“Well, well, well,” he sneered, swaggering up to us. “What do we have here?”
“A couple of troublemakers,” a boy with a crew cut and a ripped blue jacket snarled.
I stood my ground, my jaw clenching with determination. “We’re not looking for trouble,” I said firmly. “Let us pass. We just want to go home.”
“Oh, you want to go home to your mommy, don’t you?” He was mimicking my voice in a horrible, babyish way.
I tried to push past them. No luck. The boy with the crew cut grabbed my arm. “Don’t think you’re going to get out of this one easily. There are consequences for lies, you know.”
I twisted and broke free of his grip with some difficulty. “We were just saying the truth.”
“Saying the truth?” He grinned, showing all of his yellow teeth. “Big words for little girls.”
We were shaking inside, but we didn’t show it as we continued to stare them down. “Say that again and you’ll regret it,” I snapped.
Another boy pushed his way between the first two, while the fourth continued to hang back. “Let’s teach this one a lesson, shall we?” he asked, looking to his accomplices for approval.
Run, I mouthed to Elke, but she remained rooted to the spot.
“Let the other one go,” the boy with the scar said when the fourth boy tried to grab her. “She knows how to keep her mouth shut.”
Elke stepped forward boldly, shoving her face into his until their chins were about three inches apart. “Really? If you’re looking for a fight, you’ve found one.”
I squared up, clenching my fists, and rushed the leader, shoving him so hard that he staggered backwards in surprise, then slipped on black ice and fell over. But he was back on his feet too quickly. Elke dealt another boy a swift uppercut.
At first, they were too surprised to do much, but then they fought back. It wasn’t even a contest. I darted left and right, barely managing to avoid their blows, punching and kicking with all my might, but it was no use. Within the minute, they’d pinned my arms behind my back, and the fourth boy had his knee pressed against Elke’s chest so hard that it was difficult for her to breathe.
“Get off of her!” I shouted, lunging, but it was no use—the boy with the crew cut held me back.
The leader just laughed. “You think you can beat us?” he demanded, stepping over Elke and grabbing my face with his cold, grimy hands so that I would be forced to look into his eyes. “I have half a mind to beat you to pulp.”
I glared at him with every bit of hatred I possessed. “Then go ahead,” I said calmly. “Beat me to pulp.”
“She’s really asking for it,” the third boy growled, but the leader hesitated.
My eyes moved past him, past his scar, and landed on a dark figure hurrying towards us. Maybe it was a ghost, or maybe a dream, or maybe it was just because everything was grey and strange in the half-evening light, but for a moment I saw my father.
The boy clenched his fists, but before he could deliver a crushing blow to the side of my head, he was being dragged away. The figure had seized him by the shoulders and flung him with impossible strength onto the ground. The boy with the crew cut was next, battered brutally into the pavement. The fourth boy was knocked aside. Elke scrambled out of the way just in time as the third one fell right where she’d just been.
I just stood there, watching in awe as each boy got what he deserved. The one with the scar tried to get up, but the figure was on him in a second, pounding him mercilessly into the ground.
He screamed, the sound tearing from his throat and making me gasp, but the punches didn’t stop. My savior was relentless, breathing fast and hard.
Elke grabbed my arm, dragging me a safe distance away. There was someone else’s blood on her face and she, too, was staring. The other three boys were trying to get up, moving away from their leader.
“Klara,” she whispered, her voice cracking. “Klara, he’s going to be killed!”
Neither of us moved. Neither of us even dared to breathe. All we could do was stand there pointlessly, stupidly, and watch.
“Never,” the figure was saying, his words like thunder, accentuating each syllable with a punch, “touch my sister again!”
The boy was blubbering like a baby. “I promise! Please, let me go! I promise I won’t hurt her!”
“Your brother,” Elke whispered.
Gunter.
“Don’t beg me, you drooling idiot. You’re going to get what you asked for.” His eyes were wild, his face like a monster’s face. He no longer looked fully human.
“Gunter!” I screamed, rushing over and attempting to separated them. “Gunter, stop it!” I grabbed his shirt and, with all my strength, dragged him back. It was only a few inches, but it was enough to make him stop. I put my arm around his neck, holding him there while he lunged and strained like a wild animal. “Gunter,” I sobbed, burying my face in his hair. “Please, don’t hurt him anymore.”
He pulled away, his breathing slowly steadying, the vicious light in his eyes slowly fading. I saw a shadow of the brother I knew. He pulled me into a close hug, his strong arms shielding me from the rest of the world, allowing me to cry into his sleeve for a while.
“It’s okay,” he said. I really hoped he wasn’t crying too but his voice was shaking. “Klara. You’re okay.”
“No, it’s not. I’m not.” I shook my head, slowly regaining control of my emotions, watching out of the corner of my eye as the boy half-dragged himself in the opposite direction. “You would have killed him.”
“He was hurting you. I have to protect you.”
“But not like this.”
“I know.” His voice was soft, almost like a plea for me to understand.
“You don’t.” I couldn’t bring myself to pull away from him, but I wanted to. “You don’t know.”
“Klara, I had to do something.”
I wiped my face on my sleeve. “You shouldn’t have done that,” I whispered.
“I’m sorry,” he said.
Elke had come over and was sitting on the curb beside us, her body close to Gunter’s, like she wanted his protection, even though the boys were long gone, leaving nothing but faint blood stains already seeping into the concrete and snow.
“Thank you,” she whispered.
I wiped my eyes. “Yes, thank you, Gunter.”
We stayed like that for a while, right there on the dirty side of the street, just breathing, just being. Eventually, we got up. Elke and I linked arms, like we always did, and I felt better. All three of us walked home slowly, Gunter trailing behind.
“I didn’t know you could fight like that,” Elke said, turning back to him admiringly.
Gunter must have nodded then, like he usually did after receiving a compliment, even though I didn’t turn around to see if he did. “When I was little, I took a martial arts class, so I—”
“Is that your brother?” she interrupted, pointing across the Wall, across the water.
We stopped walking, squinting to see him better. Sure enough, there was a figure standing on one of the platforms.
Just like last time.
“That’s Karl,” Gunter breathed, his voice heavy with surprise and relief. “But how did he know—”
It didn’t matter for now. All that mattered was that we were looking each other in the eye. Karl was wearing the same rich brown leather coat I had always remembered him in. He was small in the distance, but it was definitely him.
As we watched, Karl did something strange. He raised his left hand into the air, fingers splayed out like he was making a handprint in the sky. With the other hand, he pointed to his ring finger. Then, slowly, he lowered both hands.
Something to do with a ring, maybe a wedding ring. That much was obvious. But what? I looked down at my own hands.
And then I thought I understood.
My birthday ring was still on my right index finger, the amber gemstone glinting in the last light of the sun.
He needed me to figure out how Ilona had died.
And I needed to figure out what clues she had left behind.
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Chapter Sixteen:
The next day was especially quiet, as if the world was holding its breath. Even the animals seemed to be waiting for something. Maybe they knew about my conversation with Mama last night. I’d told her what had happened, of course. She would have figured it out anyway.
I concentrated on fixing her expression in my mind—I wanted to remember it forever. At first, she’d been upset with me, saying that the Stasi would be out to get us, would force her to shut down the bakery, make it impossible for Gunter to have a future, throw me in prison. But when she’d gotten over that, there had been something else in her eyes—a sort of quiet admiration. Wish I could be like you.
I saw a rabbit running across the street, as white as the snow, its ears laid back. It paused on the other side, rigid, listening intently to the distant sounds of the city and my quiet breathing. Waiting.
It was moving towards the Wall, probably towards one of the small holes at its base that the government never had enough time or money to fix. Even the animals were finding a way to escape.
As I approached the school gate, a shot rang out. I ducked instinctively before realizing it was much too far away to hit me. Some of the students were laughing at me for being so scared. (Who wouldn’t be scared?) But otherwise, there was silence. Once they’d stopped, it again felt like I was the only person in the world.
After a few minutes, I decided to investigate. The Wall was just a few short blocks away. I hurried down the snowy, deserted streets until I was as close as I dared. I could see the Death Strip, in all its invisible glory, just gritty snow on the ground.
Lying several hundred feet away was a rabbit, still bleeding.
At the sight of it, something inside of me clenched hard. The Stasi were cruel and heartless, maybe even more so than Adolf Hitler, who was probably the worst human being who had ever lived. I glared up and up into the nearest watchtower.
The guard’s rifle was still trained on the spot where the rabbit was. Slowly, it moved down, away.
“Klara!” Elke’s voice was a welcome distraction. “Hurry up!”
I barely made it through the gate before the first bell rang. After the recent incident with Frau Vogel, I was constantly on edge, doing my best to keep out of trouble. It was harder than I’d expected. Most of my classmates had attended that disastrous Pioneers meeting. Although some of them looked at me with new respect, many avoided me, giving my nasty looks.
I was glad that I’d done it, and glad that I had made the choice not to show up for the next session taking place the following evening. I hoped the rest of the students would follow my example. We were not even close to overthrowing the system, but we had defied it. That was a start.
My mind returned to the rabbit that had been so ruthlessly killed. We could be killed just as quickly. I felt a sharp pain in my chest at the thought—if something happened to me, what would Mama think?
Elke caught up with me as we lined up in front of the school building, waiting for the door to be opened. There was a haunted look in her eyes. Clearly, she was still thinking about last night, too.
“You’re all banged up,” she remarked, pointing to a dark bruise on my cheek. “But it would have been so much worse if your brother hadn’t showed up.”
In return, I gestured to a scab across her knuckles. “So are you. About Gunter . . .”
“I know how he is,” she said. “I’d just never seen him like that. It surprised me.”
“What I mean is—”
She raised her hand, interrupting me gently. “He was only trying to protect you. He loves you. In his own way, though. You should be grateful to have him as your brother.”
Before I could respond, there was an explosion so massive that it felt like the ground was being ripped out beneath my feet. I was knocked to the ground by the force of it as easily as if I’d been a paper doll. There was a low rumbling, then a ghastly stillness.
I raised my head from the ground. I wasn’t the only one who had toppled over. There was smoke belching out of the far side of our school; half the building had collapsed.
Someone asked in a shaky voice what on earth had just taken place. Someone else started crying hysterically. Most of us just lay there in shock. The snow was cold and wet beneath my face, but strangely comforting at the same time—I wasn’t hurt. Or dead, for that matter. If I’d been on the other side of the school, things would have been very different.
I got to my feet, looking around in bewilderment. Slowly, the other kids got up too, sticking close together, even clinging to each other for support. Elke and I stood only a few inches apart, waiting for something to happen. But nothing did.
One of the teachers came hurrying out of the building, looking shaken but not visibly harmed. “Get behind the fence!” he shouted. “Everyone, behind the fence!”
We complied, but none of us could take our eyes off the collapsed building. With a sound that was both a squeal and a roar, a giant piece of concrete slid into place, supported by what was left of a wall.
“They blew up the school,” somebody pointed out hollowly.
Now most of the girls were crying, but all I could do was stand there numbly, my hands gripping the freezing cold iron bars of the fence so tightly that my knuckles were past white.
We stood there for five or ten more minutes. I stared at the school, wondering if another bomb was going to blow down the standing half. And why there had been a bomb in the first place.
“Let’s go home,” Elke whispered in my ear.
I shook my head. “We need to see what happens.”
“Clear the way!” someone shouted roughly from behind us.
I turned to see two dozen guards in Russian military uniform marching past us like they were in a parade, not investigating a bombing. Although the Stasi was a form of German secret police, Eastern Germany was controlled by the Soviets, and the soldiers stationed along the Wall wore Red Army uniforms.
They split into two halves and circled around the school, soon lost to our view. I could only hear their heavy footsteps and the occasional shout.
“Do you think it was intentional?” was all I could say.
Those who had heard me nodded slightly, the movement barely noticeable, but it was definitely a nod. A sinking feeling grew inside of me until it was so strong it threatened to pull me to my knees. Who would have tried to kill a bunch of kids?
But what really was troubling me was that the bomb had gone off just seconds before we’d been allowed inside. It was as if they, whoever they were, had targeted somebody else.
I had answers much sooner than I’d expected. Ten or fifteen minutes later, two guards emerged from behind the building. Frau Becker was between them, her arms and legs bound with thick rope, her face a picture of sheer terror.
The three of them were followed by others. The man with the most elaborately decorated uniform, probably a commander of some sorts, stood at the head of the small group.
“What happened?” somebody called out, their voice wavering with uncertainty.
The man’s hard black eyes swept over us, making me tremble even worse in my boots. But he didn’t say anything.
“I didn’t do anything wrong!” Frau Becker cried desperately.
“Silence!” the commander roared. Immediately, gloved hand covered Frau Becker’s nose and mouth.
Something had happened. Suddenly it all made sense, and I gasped without meaning to. The note she’d given me. The way she’d looked over the past few weeks, like she wanted to tell me something.
She knew something. Something that could help me.
The reality of the situation sank in, leaving me with an awful feeling of dread. I wasn’t even interested in what she had to say. She might say anything under torture, something that could be traced back to Ilona. To me.
“If anyone has any information about this woman that might help us,” the commander snapped coldly at our confused, scared faces, “we strongly encourage them to say it out loud right now.”
I had a lot of information that would help them, but did not intend to give any of it away.
“If any student here is found to possess such information and does not bring it to our attention immediately, they will face severe punishment. The consequences of such an action would be equivalent to those faced by traitors of the State.”
Well. That scared me. I focused on keeping a straight face until his eyes moved away from where I was standing. I could not tell him anything. Ilona, her letters, and Prinzenkreis were more important than punishment. I had to be able to keep her secret.
“Nobody?”
I pressed my lips together. A few more painful moments passed, before the man nodded to the two who were holding Frau Becker.
“You may take her away now.”
I wanted to scream at them to let her go, but before the thought properly crossed my mind, they were gone.
It had all been too set up. They had planned this moment too carefully. And they knew more than they were letting on.
Elke grabbed my hand. “Let’s go, Klara.” She broke into a run, pulling me along.
I don’t know how long we ran for, but it must have been a long time. Five minutes? Fifteen? A century? People gave us looks, but I didn’t mind. My chest hurt and my backpack bounced painfully on my shoulders, the straps digging into my skin, but it didn’t matter. It helped to run; when I was running, I didn’t have to think about anything anymore.
By the time we finally slowed to a walk, gasping for breath, it was almost nine, an hour after school had been supposed to start. But it was clear that there would be no more going to school for us.
Elke released my hand, which was numb from how hard she had been gripping it. I struggled to catch my breath, the cold, dry air tearing at my lungs. We walked slowly, not speaking.
“What are we going to do now?” Elke had begun to cry.
We were back at the park we’d used to play in sometimes when we were kids, so I led her to the bench under the big tree. I had spent countless hours sitting here, and it somehow felt warmer, safer.
“We can’t do anything right now,” I replied, my shoulders slumping. I had never felt so defeated in my life. First Uncle Friedrich. Now Frau Becker. Who would be next? It felt like everyone was being snatched away. Worse, I was powerless to stop it.
“It just . . . happened so fast. Our school . . . Frau Becker . . .” She was crying hard, so I hugged her briefly before letting her go.
“It’s okay,” I said, even though nothing was okay. “We’re going to be okay. We’ll find a new school, I promise.”
“I don’t want to find a new school.” Elke sniffed loudly, brushing the frosted-over tears on her cheeks away. “Never mind.”
“There’s something I need to tell you,” I said suddenly, digging into my pocket and retrieving the note. “I got this a couple days ago,” I explained, handing it to her.
She blinked, unfolding it and examining the note carefully. “The Prinzenkreis,” she said quietly, wiping her eyes again. “Who gave this to you?”
“Frau Becker. She got it from someone else. A tall man with a green coat, she said.”
“That’s why she was arrested?”
“Probably. But it’s deeper than that, Elke. I don’t think the man’s name is Prinzenkreis. He would have signed it with his first initial, but look here—it says the Prinzenkreis.”
“Maybe it’s some sort of symbol, like I said.”
“That’s what I think it is,” I replied. “Did you ever see it . . . written somewhere in the school?”
She shook her head. “I never saw or heard of it before that time in the shop.”
“We need to find the man who gave me the note,” I said after a moment’s pause.
“But where do we start?” she asked.
“That’s what I don’t know. Seeing as we have to start somewhere, though, why don’t we go back to Uncle Friedrich’s shop? Maybe we can find something there.”
She nodded. “Let’s go there tomorrow, after things have cooled down a little.”
“Brilliant,” I replied, smiling. “See you in the square at eight?”
“Definitely.”
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Chapter Seventeen:
The rest of the afternoon passed in a haze. I went straight to my room, even though I was alone in the house, with Mama and Gunter still at work. I could think better when I was shut in a small but familiar place.
I changed out of my school uniform into a more comfortable dress. It was short and simple, as blue as the sky, my favorite dress even though it was getting small on me. Mama had bought it for me two years ago as a gift for my eleventh birthday, which hadn’t felt like much a birthday. Neither had my twelfth. I hoped that this year’s birthday would be somewhat better, though it looked like it was just going to be another bleak November day. I wondered what else would have happened by the time I had my birthday. Even now, I was a tiny bit excited about it, on top of all the worry and sorrow and every other thing.
The one good thing was that I wouldn’t have to go to school anymore. I stretched out on my bed and closed my eyes. I was still shaken up by the events of earlier that day, and they would never truly fade from my memory. But what surprised me most was Frau Becker’s arrest. I had had the feeling she was up to something, but treason?
Was I committing treason by keeping Ilona’s letters a secret?
In her third letter, she had started off by talking about my birthday gift. There was no hidden message in there; it all made sense. Then, she’d told me the story of the woodcutter and his three sons. The lesson is that many are stronger than one. I had heard that story countless times before, and the moral had been instilled into me until my head hurt just thinking of it again.
I’ve been working with others in hopes of achieving something great. Although our plans have not yet begun to take effect, they soon will.
I thought of her fourth letter.
A lion will not last long in a desert, but a pride of lions will. Remember, there are others who will help you.
After retelling the story of Rapunzel—Ilona loved her fairy tales—came another cryptic sentence:
When you need him most, the prince will help you.
That was all well and good, but where was this prince? And when was he going to show himself? Was this all something to do with the Prinzenkreis?
I opened the safe and re-read her first four letters. No strange symbols had been written, in the margins or otherwise. I pictured the writing on the wall again. Was there a symbol there? Was the Prinzenkreis a symbol at all? There were so many questions that I hadn’t even begun to answer.
Maybe Ilona had never heard about the Prinzenkreis, whatever or whoever that was. I was trying to draw too many lines between too many things.
I will give you the details on how to find him if I can. Expect my next letters soon.
Maybe her fifth letter would help me understand the third and fourth letters. But before I could pull it out of its battered envelope, I understood.
I’ve been working with others.
She’d been part of some sort of organization. Maybe it had been a resistance group. She’d never liked the idea of the Wall. Maybe she was . . .
Maybe she’d been trying to escape when she was found and killed.
I gasped. She was trying to give me the details on how to find the resistance group she must have been part of. But if she really had been part of such a group, and had really had the opportunity to escape, why had she not run away when she had the chance? She had been killed months after she’d sent me this letter. There must have been time for her.
I yanked her fifth letter out of the envelope and unfolded it with shaking, sweaty fingers.
Date: March 27, 1963
Dear Klara,
A long time ago, there was a collection of princes. They came from different kingdoms, and although their fathers were constantly embroiled in arguments, the princes decided to unite in order to spread peace. They traveled far and wide, giving speeches, lending money to the poor, and lifting the hearts of many people. They called themselves the Prinzenkreis, the Circle of Princes.
Despite their best efforts, their fathers continued to argue. Eventually, the decision to divide the kingdoms into two was made. An invisible magical barrier was erected. As a result, the Prinzenkreis was separated.
Many angered people tried to run through or fly over this barrier, but it was impassable. War, fueled by resentment and hatred, broke out and ravaged the land. But the princes were not discouraged. Their collective strength kept them from giving up.
Instead of trying to break the barrier between them, they decided to go under it. Working together, they tunneled under the barrier and, using this tunnel, they helped many good and innocent people lead better lives in kingdoms where there was peace.
The Prinzenkreis were joined by others, people of all ages and from all walks of life. Their force grew and grew until it was stronger than any magic. Together, they brought the barrier down, leaving it in ruins, and the kingdoms were joined together into one thriving nation where peace reigned.
All my love,
Ilona W.
I had to read the letter three times before I fully understood it. Everything seemed so obvious. How could I have missed this? I had read these letters before, just never made the connection.
The barrier she was talking about was the Berlin Wall. Prinzenkreis wasn’t a last name or a symbol.
The Prinzenkreis, the Circle of Princes, was the name of the resistance group she’d been part of.
And they had dug a tunnel to the West.
Carefully, I folded the letter up and replaced it in the safe, my mind spinning. She was telling me the story of the resistance group—its formation, its quest, and then its eventual victory over evil.
But the last part of the story was all wrong. The Prinzenkreis may have been joined by others, some of them who had ultimately met their end, but they had not brought the wall down.
I pulled out the sixth letter:
Date: April 14, 1963
Dear Klara,
It has been almost a year since I sent you my first letter. Summer, autumn, and winter have all passed, fading into each other like smoke disappearing into the sky, but I fear I may not witness all of the coming spring.
They are coming. Every day, they grow stronger. They might find me. But so be it. I have done many good things in the few short years I have been given to live. When the Prinzenkreis falls, I intend to fall with them.
But even though we might fall, we will get up again. By the time you understand this, they will still be out there, somewhere, growing stronger. I have told them about you before. When the time is right, they may come looking for you before you find them.
You may not receive my last letter, but know that I will write you seven, not six, even if you never get the chance to read all of them. If I can’t send you all of them, you must find this last letter when I’m gone. I will do my best to explain everything.
I intended these letters for your eyes only, but in the event that they should fall into the wrong hands, do not be afraid. Find the prince. Find my last letter.
And then run.
All my love,
Ilona W.
I frowned at the letter. It seemed so clear to me now, too clear. Like she had been able to know exactly when and how I would discover her secret.
Did “P. W.”, the letters I’d seen on the note I had been given, have anything to do with this? If it was a location, could I find the next few clues by going there? I closed my eyes, trying to think. Maybe it wasn’t a location after all.
What if Ilona had been killed while working for the Prinzenkreis? It seemed more than likely. If the Stasi had found out about it. . . . At least I had a guess as to the truth about the mysteries surrounding her death.
And now I knew exactly what I had to do.
Her last letter.
I had to find it.
A stitch in time saves nine, she’d written in her very first letter, and all at once, I understood why she hadn’t chosen to save herself. She had stayed behind to help others escape. And now she was helping me escape, or trying to.
“Ilona,” I whispered, hoping her spirit could hear me, “you are the most noble person in the world.”
I wondered why she had risked so much to help me this far. She had always been almost like a sister to me, but this was different. Because Gunter had been one of her best friends, and she wanted him to escape too? Because she trusted me to continue what she had started?
Because she truly cared about me?
The door burst open and I heard angry voices from downstairs. I shoved the letters into the safe, locked it, and hid the key, all automatic movements that had been practiced countless times before. But it was only Mama and Gunter, back from work, and arguing again.
“You have to let me live my own life, Mama!” Gunter was shouting, his voice echoing off the downstairs walls. “I can’t stay under your thumb forever!”
“Where will you go, Gunter?” Her voice was shrill with emotion. “You have no plan, nothing!”
His voice dropped, and I couldn’t hear what he said, only Mama’s voice afterwards: “Don’t even think about it. You’ll be killed before you can say that out loud again.”
“But there’s a chance. Maybe we could do it.”
“Enough of your stupid ideas.” The fridge door opened and closed. “We’re out of groceries. Good thing Klara is doing the shopping this evening.”
“You’re changing the subject!” Gunter’s voice had risen again in anger. “You can’t keep avoiding this forever. We need to talk about the future. My future.”
“There is no future!” Mama snapped. “Not here, not anywhere!”
“So I’m going to stay here for the rest of my life?” His fist slammed on the table, making the windows rattle. “Like you?”
I slid down the banister and hurried into the kitchen. Mama froze with her mouth open. Both of them fell silent and pretended to be friends again, which was a relief—I hated hearing them argue.
“Back from school already?” Mama asked, looking surprised and relieved that I’d come in to break up the escalating disagreement.
It seemed odd that no one had told them what had happened earlier that day, but maybe none of the customers who’d come in that day had known about it yet. If she had known about it, she would have come straight home, or gone looking for me.
After a moment’s hesitation, the entire story poured from my lips. I told them everything that had happened at school that day, starting with the bomb and ending with Frau Becker.
Mama’s face grew paler and paler as I spoke. “Oh dear god,” she whispered behind her hand when I was finished. “Was anybody hurt?”
“No, Mama.”
“That’s awful, Klara.” She looked like she wanted to hug me but took a tiny step away. “Nothing happened after that?”
“They did arrest Frau Becker.” I exchanged a meaningful look with Gunter.
Mama pursed her lips. “Well, I never liked that woman much. She was always very shady. But the entire school? There must have been another way . . .”
“Maybe it was just a show of power,” Gunter suggested. “They wanted to scare you.”
“They did a good job, then,” I admitted, leaning against the counter because my legs were trembling a little.
“This is it,” Mama declared with her arms folded sternly across her chest. “You’re not going back to any sort of school. Not until I say so. Maybe never. No walking downtown alone either.”
“I’m supposed to stay inside all the time?” I demanded, shocked.
“Only leave the house when it’s necessary,” she replied firmly.
“And what am I—how am I supposed to do anything with my life if I don’t have a proper education?” Tears were starting in my eyes. Mama hadn’t had a proper education either and I didn’t want to end up like she was, stuck here with no place to go, ever.
“I’ll teach you. Gunter will teach you. And you’ll be able to help out more often.”
I blinked furiously to clear the tears from my eyes. “Okay,” I said, my voice barely more than a whisper. “But—can’t I at least walk around in the yard?”
She shook her head. “Bad things happen, Klara, to people who saw something like that, even if they didn’t mean to see it.”
I recalled seeing the woman killed, and how everything had gone downhill after that. The Stasi already were keeping a file on me. If I tried anything, anything at all, they would be on me before I could even blink. There would be no more looking over the wall, hoping to see Papa or Karl again. No more walking past guards without keeping my head down. And definitely no more sneaking around downtown.
I promised myself that I would not visit Uncle Friedrich’s shop the next day, but it turned out that I couldn’t keep that promise.
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Chapter Eighteen:
The next morning, I was up early, almost too early. I pulled on a simple grey dress, one that would not attract attention. It was more of a smock than anything, the kind I might use for painting or cooking, and it hung to my ankles. The Soviets didn’t like us to wear revealing outfits, or clothes in bright colors.
I felt very plain in my smock, but it was necessary. I didn’t even look like myself. I left my hair down, where it could hang in long, bunchy curls down my back, instead of braiding it tightly, like I usually did.
By the time I’d washed my face and hands, Mama and Gunter were already in the kitchen. Mama hadn’t prepared me my bologna sandwich, but I had tomato for breakfast, like usual. She was evidently still upset with Gunter, because she hadn’t put enough tomatoes in it, and because they seemed to be purposefully avoiding each other.
I took the seat next to Gunter’s. He was tracing patterns on the table with his finger, but he looked up with a small, weary smile when he saw me. “Good morning, Klara.”
“Morning,” I mumbled.
I forced myself to eat a few more bites of my sandwich, even though I wasn’t hungry. There were too many things to do, so many things that remained unsolved. Besides finding the Prinzenkreis, or what remained of them, I had to find Ilona’s last letter too. Clearly, it was important. Maybe it would give me details on how to find the organization.
Eventually, I gave up and set my half-eaten sandwich on my plate, breathing a long sigh.
“Are you all right, Klara?” Mama asked, looking concerned as she cracked eggs into a bowl. Of course she was worried; I loved tomato sandwiches.
I nodded, but there was a lump in my throat that I couldn’t swallow. I was scared—scared of what Elke and I might find in Uncle Friedrich’s shop. And even more frightened of the consequences if we didn’t find it in time.
She didn’t appear convinced. “We can talk about what happened yesterday if you want to. Always.”
I shook my head. “I’m fine. Really. Just not hungry.”
“Alright, but if you ever want to talk about something—”
“I know,” I interrupted. “I have to do the shopping today, right?”
“Yes, but remember what I said yesterday. Shopping only. No dawdling. Just get the groceries and come home, okay?”
“Okay.”
She poured the eggs into the hot pan, where they sizzled satisfyingly in the oil. Wisps of steam swirled around her face, making her look a little like a witch watching over her cauldron.
Gunter leaned over to touch my shoulder lightly, just enough to make me turn around. “Sure you’re okay?” he whispered.
I nodded, flashing him a small smile, even though it felt forced.
Mama dished out scrambled eggs and a little bit of stale toast. The two of them ate quickly. Gunter remained silent, but Mama was full of instructions. “Don’t forget to do the shopping. Stay out of the way of the guards. Don’t go anywhere else. And don’t talk to anyone, not even people you know. We can’t trust them.”
I had been thinking of listening to The Beatles later that afternoon to take my mind off of things, but there was still the possibility of a recording device in my room. I hadn’t found anything suspicious and couldn’t be sure if that was what had ultimately led to Felix’s demise. Maybe someone had been listening through the window. But if that was the case, the static-like sound I had heard was inexplicable.
After a while, she and Gunter finished their breakfast, leaving the plates in the sink for me to wash because they were running late. Didn’t they know that I was running late too? I scrubbed their plates anyway without complaint, waiting until they’d long since disappeared down the street, in case they returned unexpectedly.
I dried the dishes carefully and stacked them back into their cupboards. Finally, I was ready to leave. Exhilaration surged through me as I stepped outside, closing the door behind me and pulling my coat closer around my body.
I kept my eyes fixed on the snow-dusted pavement as I hurried through the quiet streets, the wind biting at my cheeks. An anxious feeling gnawed at my stomach, but I pushed it away. I couldn’t afford to doubt myself. Not now. Not ever.
The sky was thick with grey fog that blocked out the sun. The city had fallen into a shadow. Even the Wall looked more foreboding than usual. Small flecks of snow drifted from the clouds, settling gently on me. The wind whispered ominously through the dead trees. In fact, the entire setting was ominous.
But I was determined, and I was on a mission from which I hoped to emerge a heroine. A bad feeling in the air would not stop me.
As expected, Elke was waiting for me at the edge of the square, a mischievous glint in her eyes. We linked arms, doing our best to act confident as we strode through the square. A small section of it was still fenced off, and they hadn’t fully cleared the now-cooled lead from its center yet. It was a reminder of everything we stood for—everything the government didn’t want.
“Excited?” I murmured, speaking out of the side of my mouth.
“Yes, and also a little scared,” she admitted.
“So am I.”
“So, the Prinzenkreis,” she said, her voice barely more than a whisper. “Did you figure out anything new yesterday?”
I realized I hadn’t told her that I had pretty much solved that mystery, so I quickly filled her in as we walked half the length of the square, leaving out the part about the letters, instead saying that I’d gotten it from a book.
Her eyes widened in surprise when I was finished. “So it’s not a symbol—it’s a resistance group!”
“Yes, and don’t talk so loudly please; I think we’re being watched.”
“Sorry. That’s great, Klara. That is really amazing. At least now we know what it is. Now all we have to do is—”
A shout caught my attention. I whipped around, expecting to see the Stasi striding towards us with their guns out, but the commotion was taking place on the opposite side of the square.
“Look over there,” Elke gasped.
We hurried over, squinting through the hazy morning air to see better. A stage had been set up, if it could be called a stage; it was closer to a podium. The structure was made of damp, dark brown wood. Ten or eleven steps led up to the top. The wood was badly hewn and full of knotholes, held together by rusted nails. The platform had clearly not been used in a while.
A man was standing on the platform, giving a speech in a loud, commanding voice, but we were too far away to hear what we was saying. We pushed our way through the growing crowd. Everyone was silent. No one even seemed to be breathing. It felt like we were walking among the dead.
Another man was hauled onto the platform. But this man wasn’t an official; he was a prisoner. He was chained to two guards, his neck hanging down and his bare white feet barely able to support his weight. He raised his head feebly to look over the crowd. My hand flew to cover my mouth—his face was a mess of black and purple bruises, fresh blood still running from a cut near his eye. He had clearly been badly beaten.
“What are they going to do to him?” Elke’s voice was barely a breath, but somehow, it was as loud as thunder.
I shook my head, silently pleading with the guards to let the man go. No, I begged whatever gods might be listening. Please, don’t.
“. . . and will now face punishment equal to his actions. We sincerely hope this will discourage all good citizens from betraying their state, government, and leader.”
“That’s . . .”
“Uncle Friedrich,” I whispered.
And there he was. He was barely recognizable; he was much thinner than I’d remembered, his cheeks gaunt, his eyes yellow, the skin hanging in hollow folds over his bones, ghastly pale. He looked like a skeleton, like a shadow, no longer like a man.
“Three,” the man who was speaking said, stepping down from the platform and allowing two more men to flank him on either side, their rifles raised.
“Two.”
I realized that they were going to shoot him, right here in front of all these people. I’d heard of that happening before, but had assumed it was all just myths and rumors. They were really going to shoot him? Here? Now? At all?
“No!” I screamed. Only after the word was out of my mouth did I realize I had spoken, and immediately regretted it.
Everyone was looking at me. I wished I had the power to be swallowed up by the ground and never appear again on the face of the earth.
The man who was giving the orders had not seen me, so after a second he turned back around.
Tears blurred my vision. I shielded my eyes with my hand, unable to look away, waiting and waiting for the next command to come, to shatter my world.
No, no, no.
But the voice I heard next was none other than the voice of Uncle Friedrich.
“Prinzenkreis!”
I uncovered my eyes. To my horror, he was looking directly at me. His blue, blue eyes, once so full of life but now dull and vague, bored into me, suddenly struck with a new light that pierced into my soul.
He knew something. He knew me. Somehow, he knew about me.
“Silence!” The man’s voice cracked like a whip through the still, tense air.
“Find the prince!” he shouted. “Find the map!”
“One.”
“Ilona’s—”
The gunshot snapped the sky into a million pieces. I didn’t have time to cover my ears. Uncle Friedrich fell silently, first to his knees, his hand pressed against the blood seeping from his chest, then he lay stretched flat, his face turned sideways, his cheek catching the sun. His eyes were closed, his lips parted slightly.
He looked like he was, maybe, still breathing, or sleeping. I would have believed he was, had the odd angle of his limps and the blood staining the platform not given it away.
I fell to my knees, too, screaming silently, screaming with all the hatred and bitter resentment I felt for the men who killed people like flies—soulless men who had no feelings, no mercy—but I never made a sound.
I couldn’t tell exactly what happened next. The body was covered and taken away on a stretcher. The shocked crowd slowly dissipated like smoke on the breeze. Elke, ever the practical one, pulled me to my feet. She was trembling from head to toe, and her voice sounded like it was coming from underwater, but it was surprisingly steady:
“Klara. Let’s go. We have to finish this.”
The square was empty. The platform was being taken away. The only sound was the distant toll of a church bell. And then there was the sound of our footsteps as, blind and stunned by what we had just seen, we disappeared into the back alley.
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Chapter Nineteen:
Find the prince. Find the map.
We pushed open the creaking wooden door. I turned on the light, illuminating the shop in a ghostly glow. It was just as we’d left it the other day—the items in disarray, the graffiti now dry on the wall.
“What are we looking for?” Elke asked. Her voice wavered, and I was shaking, but we had to be strong for each other.
“A map,” I replied after a moment’s pause. “And something to do with the Prinzenkreis.” Or with a prince, for that matter.
Finally, I drew the line between those two things. Understanding dawned on me, the obvious truth which had been staring me in the face finally managing to penetrate my thick skull. The man who had given me the note was the prince. Maybe not exactly the kind of prince I’d envisioned, but he was definitely who Ilona had been talking about.
Yet another reason to find him.
We’d have to deal with that later, and I would have to find a way to tell Elke about “the prince” without giving away too much information; she couldn’t know about Ilona’s letters. For now, we had a shop to search. Elke was busy overturning the records, pushing posters aside, and doing everything else in her power to check for small items, so I copied her, for lack of a better thing to do.
We hunted for almost an hour, but could find nothing. My back grew stiff from being hunched over for so long, and my legs ached, my arms dragging along the ground. I kept going by simply willing myself to find something, anything, of value.
We’d taken opposite sides of the shop, and only when we met in the middle, feeling defeated, did we take a break. Elke sat down on one of the overturned shelves, and I sat next to her. The lights flickered, startling us both.
“It’s hopeless, isn’t it?” she mumbled into her fingers, her head resting in her hands.
“We’ll find something,” I replied, trying to make myself believe that it was true.
She sighed heavily. “We really have no idea what we’re doing.”
“That’s okay,” I said. “We’re getting somewhere. We might not find all our answers here, but it’s a start.”
She nodded, moving her foot back and forth absentmindedly, empty record cases scraping against each other. I scoured the ceiling like I expected the map to be floating in midair.
“Isn’t it strange?” she said with a humorous little laugh. “Our school was bombed yesterday and we saw a man killed just an hour ago, but here we are anyway.”
“It’s better not to dwell on those things,” I responded—wisely, I thought. That could be a quote. “The map, whatever he was talking about, is definitely important,” I continued. “It might lead us to the Prinzenkreis.”
Or if not the Prinzenkreis, maybe the tunnel that had been dug. Either way, it might allow us to escape.
“Let’s keep looking,” Elke suggested after a little while. “We’re bound to find something sooner or later.”
Our hopes only sank with every empty overturned box, every carefully checked dusty shelf, all revealing nothing of significance. I had the awful feeling that we were running out of time.
As minutes turned into another hour, it became clear that it was hopeless. There was absolutely nothing there. I pulled open the drawers of the filing cabinet, carelessly left unlocked, which sat behind the counter. Nothing. An old, torn-up photograph, scraps of papers with nearly unreadable writing scrawled on them, but nothing that could help us.
“Shall we call it off?” Elke asked. “My parents will be worried.”
I sank onto an old stool, resting my chin on my palm. “Yeah, let’s go home.”
A soft, rustling sound caught our attention. I stilled, records shifting between Elke’s feet as her eyes grew to about twice their regular size on her face, her mouth half-open in a scream she couldn’t form. I could only watch in sheer terror as the color drained from her face.
We were not alone.
Neither of us moved. I held my breath. Footsteps moved towards the back side of the shop, where we crouched, praying for a miracle which didn’t come.
Through the shelves, I could see the distinct grey-green uniform of a Stasi guard. Low, gruff voices resonated. There were at least two of them.
Run, I mouthed to Elke, grabbing the nearest record and hurling it with all my might. It bounced off the shelf and crashed onto the ground with a loud clatter. The two men moved towards it, towards me. That was all Elke needed to escape. She moved with one shoulder pressed against the wall, tiptoeing carefully around the merchandise strewn on the floor. I watched her progress out of the corner of one eye. Within a few moments, she had made it out, undetected by the Stasi.
Before she left, she turned back and our eyes met. But even though I knew she was going to get someone who would help, maybe Gunter, and even though I knew she was out of danger, it brought me little relief.
The Stasi came nearer and nearer. I shrank back, but it was no use. They edged around the last shelf separating us, their eyes glowing in the darkness, their faces twisted in sneers.
In a quick, fluid motion, the nearest one seized me. Before I could cry out, or even plan my next move, I was on the ground. There was a hand over my mouth, the fabric suffocating me. I was gagged, then bound with a length of rope.
It all happened so fast. There was no time to react. One of the men grabbed me around the middle so that my legs nearly dragged across the ground and the blood rushed to my head. I kicked and struggled, but it was useless; he was too strong.
They carried me out of the back alley, leading into another alley instead of the square. There was a black car waiting there. I barely saw what was happening, pouring all my strength into breaking free, my muscles straining against the rope, my throat fighting to scream, to do anything.
“Check the area.”
I was thrown into the back of the car—thrown like I was a carelessly handled cardboard box or an old mannequin. My head struck the seat hard, and I tumbled to the floor. I thrashed around until the guard who’d been carrying me climbed in after me, putting his foot on my chest, cutting off my breath.
“Don’t move.”
The other man got into the driver’s seat. The doors slammed closed. Almost before I knew what was happening, we were roaring down the otherwise quiet alleyway. I couldn’t do anything except try to breathe; slowly, the pressure was released, but I’d learned my lesson, and stayed still.
My head was spinning, my brain desperately trying to comprehend what had just happened. The guard wasn’t looking at me, his eyes fixed on the road ahead, but I could feel him watching me anyway.
I’d been kidnapped by the very government that was supposed to protect me. They had tracked me down, perhaps for months or even years, and had finally struck when they felt the time was right.
In other words, I had been taken away.
And maybe, I was never coming back.
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Chapter Twenty:
The drive wasn’t long, but it felt endless. My head throbbed, but that was the least of my worries. The guards moved rapidly as soon as we stopped. I was blindfolded and carried around again. When they finally took the blindfold off, I found myself in a dark room, my hands still tied behind my back and the rope around my ankles cutting into my flesh.
I blinked, my eyes slowly adjusting to the darkness. Was I in prison? The room wasn’t large, and I was sure I could hear someone breathing from the corner. Would they try to hurt me? I couldn’t speak, because the gag was still in my mouth, but if I had been able to, I would have screamed until my voice was gone.
Danger! Every instinct, every inch of my body screamed that word, but I was powerless.
The figure remained in the shadows. I couldn’t see their face. They made a small sound, muffled, and I realized they were gagged too. Were we going to be tortured now, or questioned first? Maybe this was a waiting room of sorts.
A few minutes later, the door burst open. The rush of light that greeted me was so bright it hurt my eyes. Rough hands seized me, blindfolding me again. This time, I was ready, bracing myself as I was carried through somewhere bright, then dark, then there was half-light. I was forced into a chair and a rope was tied around my waist, binding me to it. The blindfold and gag were both removed.
I looked around, taking in my surroundings. This room was even smaller than the other one. A man in uniform, one of the Stasi, sat on another chair in front of me. The only difference between me in him was that I was not evil and he was. And there was another difference—I was tied up and he wasn’t.
“Well, then,” he said softly, “I thought we could introduce ourselves.”
So. He was going to question me. I couldn’t give anything away even under torture—nothing about Mama, Gunter, Elke, the prince, the Prinzenkreis, and especially Ilona. I took a deep breath, since I could indeed breathe freely without the gag in my mouth, steeling myself against whatever lay beyond.
“What is your name?”
That was easy enough. They already knew my name; they had a file on me. It would be better to start out with the truth.
“Klara Muller.”
“Very good, Klara. You may address me as sir.” He was leaning forward, his gaze intense. “Now, you’re going to be a good girl and cooperate with me today. If you tell me what I need to know, I might let you go. If you don’t, let me assure you that the consequences will be severe.”
“Yes sir.”
“Good. Where are the others?”
“I don’t know what you’re talking about. Sir.”
The Stasi officer leaned back in his chair, his expression hardening. “Let’s try an easier question. Where is the map?”
“I don’t know, sir. I don’t have any maps.”
“Is that so?” His elbows were resting on his knees. His brown eyes looked almost black in the darkness, narrowed in a scrutinizing gaze that felt like it was seeing right through me.
“I’m just a kid.” My voice was barely a whisper.
“Do you think I care? You are more than capable of committing actions against the State. Tell the truth, and I might put in a good word for you when they sentence you to the labor camps.”
A horrible chill ran down my spine, like icy water being poured down my back. I shuddered involuntarily, feeling every hair on my body stand up. Labor camps. Many people who went there did not survive a full year. Those who did awaited a fate worse than death.
“You’re not as clever as you think, Klara,” he continued, his voice cold. “We know about the notes you’ve been given. What you said in that Pioneers meeting is enough to land you in prison. That’s just the beginning, isn’t it? What else have you done?”
“There’s been a mistake,” I replied, putting as much confidence into my voice as I could without sounding bold. “I don’t have any notes from anybody, and I never said anything I wouldn’t repeat now. You’ve got the wrong person.”
“Let me assure you that I have the right person.” His hand pressed against my cheek, turning my face so that I stared directly into his cold, distant eyes. His hand was clammy and almost wet. “Where are the others?” he repeated.
“I don’t know what you’re talking about.” The lies were getting harder to maintain, but simply saying I don’t know might be enough.
“Where is the resistance group you’re working with?”
“I’m not working with anybody.”
“Your friend. Ilona. I presume you know of any secrets she may have left behind?”
“I want a lawyer.” I fought to keep my tone steady, never bordering on pleading. “I’m not going to say anything else until I get a lawyer.”
His face twisted into a pitying smile. “There are no lawyers here. Just me and you. I will stay here for as long as it takes for you to start talking.”
“I have rights,” I insisted, tears pricking the corners of my eyes, because I knew that wasn’t true. I had nothing. He was right—it was just the two of us. And I was losing this battle.
“You think this is a game?” He stood up. He was tall and thin, towering over me like a monster. “Tell me where they are hiding. Now.”
“I don’t know,” I repeated for the fourth time.
“All right, have it your way. But believe me, you will regret not telling me what I need to know.”
Leaving me tied to the chair, he strode out of the room. Only once the door was shut, leaving me alone, did I let out a long, shaking breath. I tried to stay calm, though it was nearly impossible. He definitely wasn’t leaving me here to starve or rot; he was going to get something.
Something that would hurt me.
My mind spun, trying to form some sort of plan, but I couldn’t think of anything else to do except maintain my innocence and wait for him to give up—as if that was ever going to happen. I couldn’t let anything slip. It would be putting so many lives in danger. And no matter what I said or didn’t say, lied about or told the truth, he wasn’t going to let me go.
He soon returned, bringing a second man with him. He took his seat across from me again while the other man, who was larger with a more robust build, set down a tray on the small table nearby.
“Water?” he offered, his lips curving into a smile.
I shook my head. Whichever way I looked at it, it was a trap. The water might be drugged or poisoned. Or maybe he was just trying to trick me into spilling my secrets with a small kindness.
The officer who was questioning me adjusted his uniform neatly, smoothing imaginary folds and pulling the collar closer around his long, thin, snake-like neck. I met his gaze evenly, trying to appear unafraid, like I had nothing to hide from him.
My eyes drifted to the tray. There was a long and pointy thing glinting in the light. It looked suspiciously like a needle. The other man was attaching it to a syringe filled with a strangely colored red liquid. There was also a block of iron he picked up using thick metal tongs, glowing with heat as it sat on a bed of smoldering coals.
They were going to torture me.
“Ready to talk?” the officer asked, his voice calculated.
I pressed my lips together, then finally gave into the mounting pressure. The tension in the air threatened to snap when I spoke. “Yes sir.”
“Very good. What do you know of the Prinzenkreis?”
My eyes strayed back to the needle. The point looked even sharper.
“I’ve never heard of that,” I replied steadily.
“Where is the prince?”
“What prince?” I asked, forgetting that I shouldn’t ask him a question back, even though it did help my position slightly. If I ever got out of here alive, the first thing I’d do was find the prince and let him know that the Stasi were after him.
A thought popped into my head. They had a recording device in my room. What if they also had a camera?
What if they knew about Ilona’s letters?
I barely heard what the man said next: “I’m not playing here. Where is the prince?”
“I don’t know!” I wanted to kick my seat but my ankles were still bound together.
He made a hand motion and the man with the hot iron approached me, holding it near my arm. I flinched.
“Last chance.”
I closed my eyes, held my breath, and waited for a miracle.
“I don’t know.”
At first, I didn’t feel any pain. It was only pressure. And then it began to burn through me, searing my flesh, my bones, my soul; pain exploded through my body. I screamed, twisting violently to get away, but it was no use.
I screamed as loudly as I could. My voice echoed throughout the room, somehow like the pleas of the woman I’d seen killed just seconds before her death. I couldn’t let myself go that way too. I couldn’t die like this. I couldn’t concentrate on that thought, couldn’t even think.
I never felt the hot iron being pulled away. All I felt was the burning flames of hell consuming me. The man’s voice was a distant shriek. My surroundings warped and blurred, bitter hot tears streaming down my face.
I fell forward, held back by the rope around my waist, feeling like a rag doll that had been in the wash too many times. I looked at my arm and recoiled in horror. The skin was blackened, some of it burned completely away, allowing blood to run down in huge red streaks, staining my dress.
The officer was standing over me, his eyes blazing. “Where is the prince?”
It took me several moments to get my breath back. I was shaking all over and crying hard.
“I don’t know,” I whispered.
He made another hand motion, one that I barely saw out of the corner of my eye. The other man approached, this time carrying the syringe, which he pressed against my forearm, not quite hard enough to break the blood-soaked skin. I cried out.
“We’re just getting started here.” He knelt in front of me so that we were at eye level. “You have ten seconds.”
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Chapter Twenty-One:
I squeezed my eyes shut, more tears running down my cheeks. “Please,” I gasped. “Please, please stop. I’ll tell you anything.”
“Good, very good. Now we’re getting somewhere.” He sat back on his heels, looking a little pleased, if that was possible for somebody like him. He was always moving, always shifting shape, snake-like, wicked.
“Anything,” I repeated, my voice barely stronger than a whisper. My arm throbbed, each heartbeat sending a fresh wave of pain through my body bad enough to make me double over and gasp. “Just please, don’t hurt me.”
“As long as you tell the truth, you won’t be harmed.” He patted my hand reassuringly. I flinched. His skin was so cold and wet. “Where is the prince?”
“Sir, please . . . I don’t know who that is.” The needle pressed harder, almost penetrating. I dreaded to think how much it would hurt when whatever that liquid was entered my bloodstream. “I—there was a man,” I continued, my voice shaking, my breath coming in short gasps. “He didn’t say who he was and I didn’t see him, but my teacher . . . she described him to me.”
“Go on.”
“She said he was tall, with blond hair. And a green coat.”
But his face remained cold and cruel. “Lies,” he hissed through his teeth. “All lies.”
“Please! I swear I’m telling you the truth!” I was crying again, crying until I had no more tears left in my body, intent on getting out every bit of sadness I had so that I could be happy in the afterlife (if there was one) or heaven (which was everywhere but here).
“This is not a joke, Klara.”
The needle still didn’t penetrate my skin, but I knew that I was running out of time. Collecting myself again, I continued breathlessly: “He gave me a note.”
“Yes?”
“It said . . .” I hesitated. “It said that—” I had to buy myself more time.
“Very well,” he said softly. “If you won’t talk, then are of no use to us anymore. We will arrange for you to be sent—”
There was a commotion from beyond the heavily bolted metal door separating us from the outside world. Both men got up quickly. The door swung open, letting in a rush of light. I twisted around as far as I could, trying to see out, but it was impossible to get more than a glimpse of a plain and empty corridor before the door slammed shut again.
I heard voices from beyond the door, the officer who’d been questioning me saying angrily, “She was given a note! Is that not enough?” Other voices, softer but no less forceful, followed.
The door opened, revealing an angry-looking high-ranking officer who swaggered into the room, followed by the two men from before, both who were looking sheepish.
“What is the meaning of this?” he demanded, jabbing a finger at me.
The door shut and the man who’d tortured me muttered through gritted teeth: “We were questioning her.”
“Hmm.” He took me in, his eyes traveling the length of me. I lowered my head respectfully. “She’s just a girl. What has she done wrong?”
The man who’d questioned me replied in a tone of voice too soft for me to understand. I clenched my teeth as fresh pain surged through me, accompanied by a small feeling of relief—I hadn’t done anything wrong, not that they could prove.
The soldier’s eyes flickered towards him for a moment, then back to me. “Contact her mother to pick her up,” he said finally. “We don’t want to make a scene out of this.”
“Understood, sir.”
I let out my breath. They were going to let me go.
His gaze lingered a second too long on the burn wound on my arm. “Clean her up.”
“But, sir—” the man who’d carried in the tray started to say.
“No arguments,” he replied with a raised hand. “If her mother sees her like this, then . . .”
Once they’d bandaged my upper arm, which took several agonizing minutes, one of them forced me against the back of the chair, his eyes blazing. “You think this is over?” he hissed, his mustache bristling. “You’re just lucky someone else showed up.”
I couldn’t quite meet his gaze, least of all with confidence, so I just looked away, prompting him to slap me in the face, hard. My vision blurred at the force of the dull impact that struck me.
“Look at me when I’m talking to you,” he snapped.
“Yes sir.”
“We may have not been able to prove anything this time, but we will. Try anything—anything—and we will make sure you die. Slowly and painfully.”
“Yes sir.”
“All I need is one reason, one slip-up, one excuse, and I’ll kill you. We don’t make exceptions here.”
The words rang in the air, sending another shudder through my entire body.
The higher-ranking official entered the room a few moments later. I held his harsh gaze steadily, refusing to look away from him. He murmured an order to another soldier, which I couldn’t hear.
“I’ll have a private talk with her,” he said abruptly, prompting the two other men to leave.
Once they were gone, he knelt down to my level, his eyes narrowed suspiciously. “You’ve learned your lesson,” he said simply. “If you’re caught under mysterious circumstances one more time, you will be taken straight to a labor camp. Your mother will be informed.”
“Yes,” I whispered. My arm was throbbing, making it hard to think. They’d injected me with numbing medicine, which was making it even harder to think.
“You will tell your mother that you were attacked by thieves. We got there just in time to save your life. We will know if you tell her anything else. You wouldn’t want that, now would you?”
I shook my head. “No, I wouldn’t.”
“Sir . . .” A man I hadn’t seen yet was waiting hesitantly at the door. “Her mother’s here now.”
The soldier straightened, his lip curled. “Get her up.”
I was swiftly untied and dragged out of the room, back into the light. The door opened to a long corridor, the floor grey, the walls white. Mama stood at the other end in conversation with a soldier, but when she saw me, she cried out in horror. I knew I must look like a mess, but winced at the sound of her gasp.
“Klara, my poor girl, what have they done to you?”
She struggled against two soldiers who tried desperately to restrain her. The high-ranking officer stepped between us, his voice calm and authoritative.
“Ma’am, your daughter was attacked,” he said seriously. “We got there just in time. She was injured, but it’s not serious.”
Attacked? I’d promised to tell Mama this story too, but it seemed ridiculous, even to me.
Mama enveloped me in a tight hug, careful of my wounded arm. “You poor thing. What did they do to you?”
I didn’t say anything, too relieved to speak. The worst was over. I’d get to go home now. They had let me go.
Whatever had been in the needle had made me sleepy, so I hardly realized what was happening. Mama half-carried me the last several steps to the car waiting outside and helped me into the passenger seat. I had never sat up in the front seat before but barely noticed it.
“Are you in pain?” she asked, climbing into the driver’s seat beside me.
“Not much,” I mumbled, my words slurring together.
“Good,” she said softly, brushing my hair out of my eyes. “You’ve been through so much, and you can sleep now. We’ll talk about everything when you wake up.”
My head rested against the window, my fingers moving shakily to scratch patterns in the fog my breath made on the glass, something I always did when we’d gone on a long journey and were finally coming home.
“I wasn’t attacked,” I whispered.
“I know you weren’t.” Her hand was resting on my arm, my only anchor to reality as I slipped into deep sleep.
When I woke up, I was lying in my own bed. The late afternoon sun streamed through my bedroom window, casting a soft glow over me. Mama had tucked an extra fleece blanket around me. I lay there for a while, comfortably warm. My arm still ached, but the pain was better now. The bandages had been re-wrapped too.
Mama bustled into the room. “Good to see you awake,” she said, adjusting the curtains.
“How long was I asleep for?” I asked, my voice still hoarse and raspy.
“Only a few hours.” She sat on the edge of my bed, smoothing my hair back. “You don’t have to tell me what happened,” she added.
I nodded. I didn’t want to talk about it right now, anyway. It was much too dangerous to talk about it especially if there was a recording device in my room. She was supposed to believe their story, not mine.
“I’m sorry,” I whispered.
She pursed her lips. “You don’t have to be sorry. I know that from now on, you’ll listen to what I tell you. You can’t go out anymore. You have to be careful.”
I nodded, guilt washing over me like a wave. She must have been so worried when she’d gotten home and hadn’t found me waiting there as I’d promised. Not to mention how she’d felt when she had seen me bruised and bloodied. Not to mention how she must feel right now.
“No more adventures,” she continued. “Let the government do their work. They know what’s best for us.”
“Mama—”
“We can’t do anything.”
Tears welled up in my eyes as soon as she was gone. I hated feeling helpless, but she was right—I couldn’t do anything except rest. Eventually, I’d resign myself to my fate.
It was just my imagination, but I was sure that the safe was rattling inside the closet, like Ilona’s letters were reminding me that they were still there, or like they were trying to escape.
That evening, while all three of us, Mama, Gunter, and me, sat around the fire in the living room, warming our cold hands and eating some crunchy brownies Mama had brought home since they were going bad, I thought about the letters again. While Mama and Gunter were occupied with thick Russian romance novels, I snuck upstairs and unlocked the safe, pulling all six of the letters out.
The paper crinkled in my hands, then crackled when I threw them into the fire, one by one. I sat on one of the cushions, watching them burn. The flames ate away at the paper, turning it to ashes and embers which smoldered red-gold like the belly of a dragon. The same dragon Ilona had mentioned in her first letter.
When was the prince going to come?
Maybe it was time to stop waiting around for him to come to me, like I was some kind of royalty from a fairy tale. Maybe it was time to forget everything else, even what had happened to me that morning, even the map and the Prinzenkreis, and go look for him myself.
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November 1964 Chapter Twenty-Two:
The next few days passed slowly. Since I couldn’t go to school, I spent a lot of time in bed, my mind turning the past few days’ events over and over again until I was tired of thinking anymore.
My arm was slow in healing, but Mama took me to the nearby clinic every day, and it didn’t hurt as much as I’d expected. Whenever they changed the bandages, I’d get a glimpse of the injury. The new flesh, raw and red and tender to the touch, crept a little further each day.
Medical care wasn’t good here, but it was very affordable, and with money getting tighter every day, none of us complained. Everybody was struggling as more and more people left the city in search of a better life and a better future. Of course, I didn’t wonder how they were leaving out loud.
My thirteenth birthday arrived much sooner than I was expecting it. I’d been counting down the days, or at least my subconscious had, because I woke up much earlier than usual. I was officially a teenager now, but it didn’t feel like much of anything. I’d expected some sort of change to have occurred overnight. But I was just the same as I’d been yesterday, which was a little disappointing.
I got up, too excited to fall back asleep, even though nothing special had been planned. It’s hard not to feel excited on your own birthday. I wriggled into my fanciest dress, my special birthday dress that I’d worn last year too. It was slim and red, simple but rebelliously fashionable. Something that models might wear in our sad versions of American fashion magazines. I examined myself in the mirror, tilting my head critically to one side, then the other, and brushed my hair until I didn’t look like the town lunatic.
I heard footsteps approaching my room. Probably Gunter. I hadn’t seen much of him over the past few days. He usually came home just long enough to eat dinner before disappearing outside again, despite Mama’s warnings that he was going to get himself caught or hurt. Sometimes, he’d stay out past midnight. I would always lay awake until he returned, listening hard for the sound of the front door opening and shutting behind him.
The door creaked open, revealing Gunter, just as I’d predicted. He was silhouetted by the yellow light beyond, a small smile on his face and a wrapped package tucked under his arm.
“Hey,” I said quietly when he came in.
“Hey yourself,” he replied, turning on the lights. “Happy birthday.” He pressed the package into my outstretched hands.
I unwrapped it carefully. At first I thought it was a notebook, but it turned out to be a journal, and a beautiful one at that. The cover was made of glossy leather, intricately carved with trees and birds and flowers. I traced the designs carefully with my fingertip like they were glass and I was afraid I might shatter them.
“Like it?” he asked, looking nervous, as if unsure how I would receive his gift. He always gave me a birthday present, and I always liked it, so I had no idea why he thought this year would be any different, but sometimes my brother didn’t make any sense.
“It’s beautiful,” I breathed. There was a bow tied from the soft leather strands to hold it closed, so I undid it, opening it gently. “Where did you get this from?” I asked, flipping to a random page where I could examine the cream-colored paper.
He shrugged. “An old bookstore near the river. Thought you might like it. For drawing or writing.”
“It’s wonderful. Thank you, Gunter.”
He smiled a little again, something that made me feel warm inside. His smiles didn’t come easily these days. He took a seat next to me on the edge of my bed, watching as I stroked the thick yet somehow delicate pages with my hand. The journal had definitely been handmade, not come out of some factory.
Then his expression grew serious. “How are you feeling?”
I shrugged one shoulder, the one that didn’t hurt to move. “So-so. Mama took me to the clinic again. Yesterday. You were out somewhere.” I wanted him to explain, but he didn’t.
“Let me see,” he said gently, unwrapping the bandages. He winced when he saw the wound and carefully wrapped the bandages again. “Does it hurt?”
“Not much. The doctor said I’ll be healed up in two weeks.”
“I’m glad. And I’m glad you like the present.”
I nodded, but something was bothering me. “Why are you being so nice to me, Gunter?”
“I’m not being nice,” he replied defensively, tackling me lightly, like he’d used to do when we were kids.
I rolled out of the way, laughing. We were too old to wrestle anymore, so we went easy on each other, stopping without determining a clear winner.
We caught our breath, and Gunter’s smile faded again. “Seriously though, Klara. You haven’t been yourself lately. What’s going on?”
I hesitated. We’d used to share everything with each other, but things were different now. Even if the Stasi weren’t tracking our every move, our every whisper, I still wouldn’t have been able to tell him about the note, the letters, the record shop, or the prince.
“Just . . . stuff,” I replied vaguely. “Things that have been happening.”
His face softened. He seemed to understand, or to think he understood.
“What about you?” I asked.
“What do you mean?”
“You know what I mean, Gunter,” I replied, frustration creeping into my voice. “What are you up to every evening?”
He looked away. “It’s nice to get away from everything,” he said after a moment. “I don’t want to stay here forever, working in the bakery, but I guess we will. I guess I won’t really have a future. Which is why I like to go out sometimes.”
“And do what?” I persisted.
“Nothing, really. Walking, or seeing my friends.”
I raised an eyebrow. “No one randomly goes walking here. You know that.”
“You know something else?” Gunter asked, giving me a small nudge just to annoy me. “You ask way too many questions. Would you kindly shut up?”
“Fine,” I said. “But you know you can always talk to me.”
“I know,” he said, getting up. “See you, birthday girl. I’ll get Mama to make you a special breakfast.” Then he left.
Sure enough, Mama did make me a special birthday breakfast—buttermilk biscuit sandwiches with melted cheese, fresh fruit still glistening with water droplets, apple cake that smelled like cinnamon and syrup, and a pot of strong tea. There was no tomato sandwich or bologna sandwich but I barely missed those.
“Happy birthday,” she whispered, kissing me on the cheek. “You look beautiful today.”
“Thank you,” I replied dutifully, taking my seat at the table. The cake looked even better up close. I wished that we could eat like this every single day.
“When are we going to have the cake?” Gunter asked. He had already eaten half the food on the table, so I ate faster, the good flavors melting in my mouth.
“Gunter!” Mama said sharply. “You’re going to ruin every surprise today, aren’t you?”
I swallowed the rest of my biscuit sandwich in one gulp. “I already knew there was going to be a cake,” I interjected, defending Gunter.
Mama sighed, wiping her hands on her apron. “Well, I still have to make it at work today.” She glanced at the clock. “Hurry up, Gunter. We’re going to be late. Klara, I’ll drive you to Elke’s house?”
“We get to have a playdate?”
She smiled. “I know what I told you about not going out of the house, but I wouldn’t let you sit cooped up at home for your birthday. And we’ll finish work earlier today, after we take care of some orders.”
She’d recently had a telephone installed in the bakery, so that she could take calls and get more customers. It was working, but almost too well—she was becoming almost overwhelmed. At least we could finally pay Herr Willems back.
After we’d finished breakfast, I helped Mama with the dishes, and we got in the car, bound for Elke’s house. She lived high up on the fifth floor of an apartment building. Her building looked like a huge white dollhouse with scuffed edges, wearing time like a second coat of paint.
Mama dropped me off in the front, watching as I hurried up the stairs, my feet clattering against the rickety metal steps, until I finally reached the landing and stopped at apartment 5B. Only then did the car engine rev up and I heard her drive off in a spray of dirty slush. I raised my hand and knocked on the door.
I’d only talked to Elke on the phone since our encounter with the Stasi, and although she’d gotten home safely, we were both still shaken up by the incident and no closer to achieving our goal than we’d been before. I sighed, shoving my hand into my coat pocket as I waited for her to answer.
The door burst open, revealing her excited face. She pulled me into a hug, dragging me inside and slamming the door behind her. “I’ve missed you so much!” she squealed happily. “How are you, birthday girl?”
“As good as ever,” I replied, beaming.
“What about your arm?” she asked, touching the bandages carefully.
“Healing fine.”
She pulled me by the wrist into the kitchen, where a cake was spread out, a small pile of neatly wrapped gifts next to it. I felt a little bad then, because Mama had promised me a cake, but when did two cakes do anyone harm on their birthday?
“Open them,” she said eagerly.
I nodded, taking my seat by the table and pulling the biggest gift over. Since I’d started kindergarten, I’d never invited anyone from school over except for Elke on my birthdays—not counting the time Mama had invited the entire second grade class over to our house, which had turned into a chaos involving a significant amount of juice.
My fingers hesitated before I ripped the wrapping paper open. The cover was well-worn, warm and smooth. I traced the letters on the front: Grimm’s Fairy Tales. It was the original edition, one I’d always hoped to add to my bookshelf.
“Open it,” she insisted, grinning from ear to ear. “The pictures are all in color.”
I flipped through it eagerly. Rapunzel. Hansel and Gretel. Snow White. Six Swans. The pictures were all in beautiful watercolor, the pages smooth and glossy.
I turned back to the inside front cover. On the right side was the first fairy tale, The Frog King. My eyes moved to the left side and I gasped. Inked into the top corner with a thick dark pen:
This book is the property of Ilona W.
“Where did you get this from?” I asked Elke, trying to keep my voice steady while covering the name with my hands.
“It used to be my parents’ friend’s book. Or he was our friend—he disappeared some time ago, and we haven’t heard from him since. He gave it to me when his daughter grew too old for it.” She traced the front cover lovingly. “How can anyone grow too old for a fairy tale?”
“What’s his name?” I asked.
“Oh, I don’t know . . . Peter something or other.”
“You have to remember.” The words came out sharper than I’d intended and I flinched when I heard them. “It’s very important,” I said in a nicer way.
“Let me think.” She squeezed her eyes shut, then popped them open. “Wait, why do you want to know?”
“Remember first,” I insisted. “And I’ll tell you after.”
It took her several minutes and many silent lip movements for her to come up with it. The two words came out in a burst: “Peter Weber!”
The note I’d been given had been signed by The Prinzenkreis (P. W.). I’d always wondered what those last two initials were for. Now it all made sense to me—they were Peter Weber’s initials. He was certainly a part of the Prinzenkreis, the leader of the resistance group Ilona had told me so much (yet so little) about in her letters.
Now I knew why I thought I’d seen the man Frau Becker had described to me. Because I had seen him before. It had been years ago, and only a few times, but I’d seen him.
“That,” I said hollowly, “was Ilona’s last name. Her name was Ilona Weber. Peter Weber is her father. Those were his initials on the note he gave me. He’s part of the Prinzenkreis.” I stood up, my body trembling. “Elke, he’s the prince.”
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Chapter Twenty-Three:
Her eyes widened in shock. “Him? But how? Why? Wait—him?”
I nodded, my mind reeling. I clutched the edge of the table, stunned into silence for a moment. When the words came out, they were all mixed up. “Of course. That’s why he was trying to help us. He remembered us.”
“He—Ilona’s father? Ilona’s father is the prince?” Elke never repeated things unless she could make no sense of a situation, which wasn’t very often.
Numbly, I replied: “We have to find him. And we have to do it now.”
“Right now? In the middle of your birthday?” Recovering her senses, she pointed to the cake. “We picked that one out specially for you.”
I dropped into my chair. “Right, the cake. Yes. Let’s eat.”
She cut it slowly, dishing out thick slices onto our plates and handing me way too many paper towels, but I barely tasted it. I could always ask Gunter for Ilona’s address, assuming he didn’t ask me too many questions back. But Elke had said Peter Weber had “disappeared some time ago”. There was no guarantee he would still be living there.
Elke, too, was barely eating. The same thoughts seemed to be going through our heads, because as soon as we’d finished what was on our plates, we got up, leaving the unwashed dishes on the table, and grabbed our boots.
“Ready?” I asked.
She nodded, her jaw set in determination.
We stuck close together as we hurried to the bakery, fearful of the eyes that were constantly watching us, but nobody stopped us, no one so much as glanced at us twice. But only once we were there did we feel a little safer. I pushed the door open; it creaked and swung on its hinges, but it was a familiar sound, comforting.
A rush of warmth hit our faces as we stepped inside. We clenched and unclenched our stiff, sore fingers, the feeling slowly returning to them. We’d been in such a rush that both of us had forgotten to put on our gloves. I pulled them out of my coat pocket and slipped them on. They were a little wet, but that was fine.
Mama was standing behind the counter, busy putting the finishing touches on a huge cake, but she looked up and smiled when she saw us come in. “Klara, Elke! I didn’t expect to see you here. Welcome in.”
“Thank you,” Elke replied politely, the bells jingling behind us as I closed the door. “That looks delicious.”
Mama nodded appreciatively, her head bent over the cake again as she turned it around to spread the icing more evenly. “You aren’t looking to buy something, are you?”
“Actually, no,” I replied, pushing open the small gate set into one side of the counter, letting us into the same space as Mama was. “We wanted to talk to Gunter.”
“He stepped out for a moment,” she said. “But he’ll be back any minute now.” I noticed how anxiously her eyes flicked towards the door.
Elke and I went into the back room. It was a dimly lit space that smelled stale, but something about it was comforting. I sat on the chair, flipping through the little notebook he used to keep track of the money. His neat, small handwriting covered the pages in perfect rows, like a typewriter had done them.
“Do you think he knows something?” Elke whispered, turning over a heavy book and setting it down, then flipping through the pages a little before closing it again.
“Maybe,” I replied hopefully, although I knew he probably wasn’t going to let us in on everything he knew. I kept secrets; why shouldn’t Gunter keep them too? It seemed only natural. I disregarded the fact that since I wanted to know what he was hiding from me, probably he wanted to know everything I was hiding. I deserved to know his secrets, not the other way around, right?
The door swung open and closed, the bells jingling merrily. I could hear Gunter’s footsteps across the floor. We stood up quickly, acting like we’d touched nothing.
Mama’s voice: “Klara and her friend are here. They want to talk to you.”
“Okay, but it had better be quick. I have a lot to do today.”
We exchanged a glance. If Gunter was in one of his moods, talking to him was probably not the best idea. But we had to at least try.
Gunter came in, blinking as his eyes adjusted to the darkness. “Hey,” he said, ruffling my hair. “What brings you here?”
Before I could say anything, Elke blurted out the truth: “Well, we wanted to know Ilona’s address.”
His eyebrows went up, then his expression darkened. “Why?”
“Because something important to us is in there,” Elke continued without hesitation. “We need to go find it.”
Him. We needed to find him.
He paused, then pulled a piece of scrap paper and a pen bleeding ink towards him, scribbled something down, and folded the paper into quarters. “Here. Take it.”
I couldn’t help but smile. I hadn’t expected to win him over so easily. I held my hand out for the paper, but Gunter stopped me, hiding it behind his back. “What exactly are you doing?”
We struggled for the words. Eventually Elke said in a small voice, “We’re just doing . . . stuff.”
Gunter’s eyebrows shot up. “Really?”
Elke crossed her arms in a pout. “Seriously, Gunter. If I had a brother, I bet he’d give us whatever we wanted.”
Gunter tried not to smile. “That’s why I’m glad you don’t have a brother. How do you expect me to believe you’re running around Berlin for ‘stuff’?”
“Think of it as a scavenger hunt,” I said.
He sighed deeply, handing me the paper. “Fine, fine. Don’t make me regret this.”
“We won’t,” we said together.
“Be careful,” he called after us, but we barely heard him as we raced out of the shop.
Once outside, we walked at a brisk pace, unfolding the note, our fingers slick with the sweat brought on by excitement. 17 Blumenstrasse. I knew where Blumenstrasse was—just a ten minute walk away.
We walked faster and faster, almost running by the time we’d reached Ilona’s house, then slowed to a complete stop in front of her gate.
The house didn’t look like I remembered it. It was a cozy two-story building with a big balcony and a porch, a nice house, but the paint was peeling, the garden dead, the crooked front steps in need of repair. It looked like it, too, was mourning the loss of the children who had lived in it.
We hesitated. I made the first move, reaching over and unlocking the low gate with some difficulty, the metal stiff and cold even through my gloves. The gate squeaked badly when it swung open and I had the urge to cover my ears. The hinges were in need of greasing.
I glanced again at Elke, who nodded determinedly. We hurried up the short gravel path, the snow and rocks crunching under our shoes. She knocked on the fragile-looking wooden door.
And then we waited.
There was no answer.
We knocked again, ringing the bell, and finally heard footsteps from inside the house. The door opened, just a crack, revealing a single blue eye.
“Hello,” I said, trying to keep my voice steady.
The door opened a tiny bit wider, and I saw the face a woman, but she was certainly not Ilona’s mother. Her back was stooped with age and I could have counted the deeply etched lines on her face.
“Who are you?” Her voice was withered and reedy, with a note of paranoia I’d grown accustomed to hearing.
“Our names are Klara and Elke,” I replied, pointing to each of us in turn. “We were wondering if a man by the name of Peter Weber still lives here?”
She shook her head vehemently. “No. He doesn’t. You must leave now.”
I looked back the way we’d come; the street was deserted. No one was chasing us. “Do you know where he might have gone?”
“He doesn’t live here anymore,” she repeated. “Go now.”
“Could you please—”
“Go, before I call the police,” she interrupted, and slammed the door in our face.
We retreated, our shoulders slumped in defeat, but Elke stopped at the gate. I tried to get around her and open it, but she stubbornly blocked my way.
“Let’s go,” I insisted. “She sounded serious about the police.”
Elke shook her head. “Ilona might have left something here. A clue, maybe. And we don’t know that that woman has no idea where Peter Weber went. We have to try again.”
“Maybe tomorrow,” I said, almost pleading now.
“No,” she replied, shaking her head. “Today.”
I sighed. “Just please, let me through. We can discuss this later. You heard what she said. She told us to go.”
“We don’t have to listen,” Elke insisted. “Let’s go in.”
“And how do you propose we do that?”
She pointed to a spreading oak tree. A worn-out rope ladder led to a treehouse that looked miserable, huge black icicles hanging off it, some of the planks so rotten that they were nearly falling through. A long branch led all the way to a second-story window that appeared to be just the slightest bit open.
None of it looked very safe, but I found myself nodding. Before I could reconsider, we were scrambling up the rope ladder and were soon nestled high up in the tree, both of us wondering what on earth we were getting into, and if we would get out of here in one piece.
The drop to the ground was significant. Fortunately, unless I fell on my head I could probably survive. But that wasn’t what worried me most of all. The branch could barely support our weight even at the thickest part. How would we be able to cross it without it snapping in half?
“One at a time,” I whispered.
Elke, who was behind me, nodded and stayed put by the trunk of the tree as I cautiously inched along the branch. I’d never liked heights much. This was not helping me like them any better.
Almost there. I concentrated on breathing evenly, creeping a couple more feet along the branch. A sudden breeze blew into my face and I felt it shaking beneath me. Nausea rose in my throat but I fought it back, forcing myself not to look down. The window was almost within reach.
Elke said something, but her voice was distant and echoed in my ears. Just a few more inches. I extended my hand and grasped the windowsill. The window was open just a crack, so I pushed it all the way open, then grabbed the sill on the inside, pulling myself through with all my strength. When I hit the ground as gracefully as someone could hit the ground, all I could do for some time was just lay there feeling relieved.
A few moments later, Elke joined me there on the floor, but she was quicker to get to her feet. We were in a grey and narrow bedroom. There were long shadows on the baseboards that made the walls look like they were curving to meet the floor. A bed was pushed against one wall, and there was a desk crowded with unfinished letters against another wall.
But what made me stop and stare was the fine dust on absolutely everything.
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Chapter Twenty-Four:
The bed was clumsily made, like whoever had slept in it last had been in a rush. I padded softly across the floor. The dust was everywhere, at least a quarter inch thick. It looked like no one had been in this room for years. I glanced around, looking for clues, for anything.
“Maybe this was Ilona’s room,” Elke suggested, voicing our guesses aloud.
Maybe no one had been in here since she’d died. I knelt, inspecting the floor. Nothing. Not even footprints except for our own.
There was something decidedly wrong with this room. Maybe it was just the wind outside, but I thought I heard a whispery voice that didn’t seem to be coming from anywhere. It felt like Ilona’s spirit was watching us, intent on cursing us for being in this forbidden place.
I paused at the desk, glancing over the letters there. The ink was very dry on all of them, the pen placed at an angle, like it had been dropped hastily. It was definitely Ilona’s handwriting, the familiar loopy characters that looked a little like cursive, the s’s elegant, the r’s narrow and small.
And one of those letters was addressed to me.
Date: April 19, 1963
Dear Klara,
If
Footsteps pounded up the stairs. I covered my mouth with my hand to hide whatever sound I’d felt appropriate to make. (The real answer? No sound at all.) The footsteps were there before we could do much of anything. Elke shot beneath the bed, while I hid behind the door.
The door swung open, crushing me and shutting off my breath, but I forced myself to stay calm, even though my nose hurt and I couldn’t breathe. It stayed open for several seconds while whoever was beyond, probably the old woman from earlier, scrutinized the room. Finally, it shut again with a resounding bang, and a few moments later I heard the front door swing open and close.
Elke grabbed my arm. “Let’s get out of here!” she hissed. We couldn’t get out the window again—it would be too dangerous, and the woman would be able to see us when we reached the yard—so we ran down the stairs, our feet light and fleeting against the steps. The letter was forgotten on the desk before I could snatch it up.
The staircase leads to an entrance with a kitchen behind it, a little bit like in my house. We darted out the kitchen door, not caring that it didn’t swing closed properly behind us. There was a fence at the edge of the property that had lost most of its white paint. We cleared it easily, landing in a bed of scrubby yellow bushes that scratched our ankles. We didn’t stop running until we were several blocks away from that house.
We found a low stone wall and sank onto it, breathing heavily. My eyes kept moving nervously, wondering if the woman really had called the police, if the Stasi were going to be after us. They’d specifically warned me not to break the law again. And almost the first thing I’d done was go and break it. I would (probably) die if they caught me now. And I was not intending on that happening. Not while we were so close.
“What are we going to do now?” Elke asked, finally managing to get her breath back.
I let out a long, deep sigh that drained what little energy I had left. “I don’t know. Peter Weber is definitely not in that house. But there was a letter, addressed to me.”
“Why didn’t you take it?” she asked accusingly.
“There was no time!”
Elke glared at me. “We found the letter—and you didn’t bother to take it?”
“That woman was coming,” I replied defensively. “I would’ve been seen. We have to go back there as soon as we can.”
Elke nodded slowly. “It’s definitely important, otherwise she wouldn’t have asked you to get it. And there was blood on the floor. Maybe . . .”
It all made sense to me; they’d come into her bedroom while she’d been writing that last letter to me, and the rest of her story might as well write itself. That last letter. She’d asked me specifically to find her last letter. A thought flashed through my mind—now that we had found it, would it be written in code, or would it contain information we’d understand without a second thought?
“Let’s go home,” Elke suggested after a while.
I nodded, getting up and stretching my sore arms and legs out. “Shouldn’t we finish the birthday party first?” I asked. I’d completely forgotten that it was even my birthday, in the excitement of everything.
“Oh, right! Your birthday!”
We went back to her house, where we ate another slice of cake and I unwrapped my other two birthday gifts—besides Grimm’s Fairy Tales, I received a beautiful hand-knitted scarf that she had made for me, and a silver locket. I wrapped the scarf around my neck and held the locket up to the light of the false chandelier above us, turning it around and around and admiring it. I opened it carefully. There was a tiny picture of me and Elke when we’d been in second or third grade, holding hands with wildflower crowns on our heads, laughing at the camera.
“It’s so beautiful,” I said breathlessly. “All of them. Thank you.”
“You’re welcome,” she replied, smiling. “I knew you’d like them.”
I clipped the locket around my neck. Her birthday was in March, so I had to think about equally nice presents to give her. But there was something else. I chewed my lip. “There’s something I should have told you. Before she died, Ilona wrote me letters—six of them. She asked me to find the seventh one. And I think it’s in her bedroom.”
Her eyes widened in surprise. “Letters? Saying what?”
“It was complicated, but she’s telling us to find the prince and the Prinzenkreis. Which we already have. And to find her last letter. Which we need to get.”
We spent the rest of the afternoon speculating about the letter and eating cake. By the time we were done, we’d finished the entire cake, a real task for us because it was the size of my head, and it was double chocolate. But we were no closer to determining what Ilona had written (or tried to write, seeing as she may not have finished that letter).
Since Mama and Gunter were probably back from work already, I said goodbye to Elke, who gave me an extra-big birthday hug, and left, clutching my presents tightly against my chest. The locket swung slightly so that it caught the light, the scarf was warm, and the book was comfortingly heavy.
“Thank you,” I whispered to the cold air, feeling happier than I had in a long time.
Mama and Gunter were waiting for me in the living room when I got back. They were both engrossed in the same books they’d been reading before. Mama looked up when I came in.
“Did you have a nice time with Elke?” she asked, smiling.
“Yeah, it was exciting. Very.” No need to go into the details, I thought. They were better off not knowing.
I decided to show off my presents later. I tucked Grimm’s Fairy Tales away on the shelf, next to the journal Gunter had given me, and played with the locket a little, snapping it open and closed.
And then there was a knock on the door.
This was not unusual. However, I recognized that knock. It had been years since it had sounded at our front door, but that did not erase my memories of the last time they’d come to search the house. I was no less frightened when I heard it now.
I slid silently down the banister and hurried to the entrance. Gunter was already turning the handle. I couldn’t make a sound, or else I would have shouted at him to stop, to hide himself, or to run out the back door.
The door creaked open slowly, slowly. I held my breath and waited.
Sure enough, none other than two Stasi guards were standing at the threshold, their rifles gleaming.
Gunter’s tone was calm and cool as he addressed them, looking them up and down, assessing them. “Can I help you?”
The men didn’t waste any time. One of them kicked the door open all the way, while the second grabbed Gunter by the arm. In a quick motion, he twisted Gunter’s arm until I thought it was going to snap off. The first man seized him by the other arm.
“No!” I screamed, bolting forward and trying to pull them away. “No, let them go!”
I was slammed brutally against the doorframe. “Stay away, girl,” one of the men barked.
Gunter twisted and nearly managed to break free, but they were too strong for him, not making a sound as they dragged him out of the house and along the driveway. I collected myself, straightening up. My vision was swimming, and I stumbled forward a few steps.
“Let him go!” I repeated, my voice rising louder and higher with every word, the syllables tearing at my throat. “He hasn’t done anything wrong! Let him go!”
Mama was there in a second, but she just stood there, her eyes wide with horror.
“Klara, stop!” Gunter shouted as I lunged forward.
“Let him go!”
The men didn’t answer. One of them used the butt of his rifle to knock Gunter cold, sending him sprawling on the walkway like a carelessly tossed aside rag doll, his limbs bent at an unnatural angle, his head hanging back, blood trickling from the corner of his mouth.
“Stop! Let him go! Stop!”
“Klara, leave him be—you can’t do anything. You can’t do anything!”
“Mama. Do something!”
One of the men grabbed me as I rushed forward and flung me backwards. “Stay out of this, girl.”
“Klara,” my mother whispered, her voice broken.
She couldn’t fight—she knew that if she did, they would arrest her, too.
In seconds, they were at the gate. One of them lifted Gunter easily over his shoulder. I ran after then, but the other one kicked me, hard, the blow knocking the breath out of me.
I fell to the ground, tears stinging my vision. The pain was terrible, but my fighting spirit wasn’t yet broken. Mama grabbed me from behind, dragging me towards the house. I could hear her shouting at me, but I didn’t understand her words.
I waited for him to shoot me, or handcuff me, but their focus wasn’t on me at all—it was on my brother. And that was the worst part. Because it was him who would get hurt now.
The first man had thrown Gunter in the back seat of the car waiting outside, just like they’d done to me. They swung into their seats, the doors closing with a snap. The engine roared.
Before I could chase them, the car had disappeared around the corner in a dizzying blur of mud and exhaust.
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Chapter Twenty-Five:
The rest of the evening passed very, very quietly. Mama cried into a handkerchief when she thought I wasn’t looking. I stared into the embers of the dying fire, feeling like my insides had melted.
I found a note under the doormat later that night: This is what happens when you cross the line.
A sour taste formed in my mouth. The note wasn’t addressed to anyone, but it was clear that it was for me. They knew. Somehow, they knew.
And they were going to make Gunter pay for it.
Blankly, I crumpled the note in my hand and tossed it into the nearest wastebasket. Mama was bent over her knitting on the sofa, the needles clacking rhythmically together, something she always did after a long day at work. She was knitting a half-finished sweater, green with metallic green threads woven into it. Probably a Christmas present for one of us.
Mama stood up abruptly. “I’m going to visit Herr Willems,” she declared.
“Right now?” I asked, my heart sinking.
She nodded, her knitting falling to the ground in a heap. “I’ll be back soon,” she promised. “Keep an eye on dinner.”
Why was she cooking dinner if she knew neither of us was hungry? And she never visited Herr Willems—unless she was very worried, which she obviously was.
“Can I come with you?” I asked suddenly, not wanting to be left alone in an empty house.
She shook her head. “You need to make sure dinner doesn’t burn and keep things running smoothly. Lock the door behind me and don’t answer it if anyone knocks.”
“I will,” I promised.
“I’m not taking the key, unless—unless someone takes it from me,” she continued carefully.
She meant that the Stasi might grab her when she was outside, steal the key, and come into the house before I had a chance to hide somewhere. My heart pounded in my throat.
She gave me a small smile and a quick kiss on the forehead before leaving, the whirling snow swallowing her up in an instant. She’d forgotten her coat, so she looked even smaller for the half-second in which I could see her through the fogged-up glass of the windowpane.
My eyes filled with tears as soon as she was gone. I hadn’t been able to cry while she was there, but now I curled up on the sofa and wept into the cushions. It was all my fault. The Stasi knew everything—what I’d been up to, and what I would do. It was my fault that Gunter had been taken away. He would be questioned and tortured, all because of me.
And there was no guarantee he was ever going to come back.
The telephone rang twice, but both times, I didn’t answer it. It was probably Elke or Mama or someone else we knew, but what if it was the Stasi? The phone stopped ringing, leaving a heavy silence. I fell asleep after a while, the tears still wet on my cheeks.
After what felt like a long, long time, there was a knock on the door. I got up and tiptoed over, squinting through the keyhole. There was Mama’s skinny, bare arm, white and red at the same time with the cold. I unlocked the door quickly to let her in.
She looked exhausted, but her eyes were glowing with the faintest touch of hope, like gold flecks in the dark brown irises that matched mine.
“Come on,” she said, putting her arm around me and pulling me into a close, protective hug. “Let’s go to bed. You’ve been up far too long.”
I nodded, too tired to say much of anything. When I did speak, it was a faint whisper, barely audible and muffled by her shoulder: “Mama, is he going to be okay?”
“Of course he’s going to be okay. He’s strong, and he hasn’t done anything wrong, not that they can prove. He’ll come home soon, you’ll see.”
“I know,” I whispered, wishing that I could believe it. I clung to her soft, thick work dress for a moment. I hated feeling so dependent, but it was all I could do to keep from crying.
At last, we let go of each other. Mama led me upstairs. I settled into my warm, comfortable bed, the cozy blanket hugging around my body, its weight pulling me into sleep again. Mama tucked me in and smoothed my hair down.
“Mama,” I whispered before she left.
She turned back at the doorway and tried to smile. “Yes, Klara?”
“I’m sorry,” I said, my voice breaking for a moment before I managed to regain control. “I didn’t mean for any of this to happen.”
“It’s not your fault,” she replied comfortingly. “He’ll come back.” Her eyes lingered on the bandages on my arm. “I’ll take you to the clinic again tomorrow morning to have those changed,” she said, changing the subject.
I nodded, the thank you choked up in my throat. “’Night.”
“Goodnight, Klara.”
The door clicked softly shut. I closed my eyes, rolling onto my side and curling up into a position where I’d be warmer, my knees pressed tight against my chest, protecting myself from reality, the world.
Morning came in the blink of an eye. I opened my eyes slowly, feeling like I hadn’t slept at all. The hands of the clock on the wall jerked past ten, the ticking sound unusually loud in the silence. I couldn’t hear the familiar clang of pots and pans downstairs. Mama must have already eaten without me.
I got dressed, hoping that Gunter would be back, but there was only Mama in the living room, her eyes red from crying, her face drawn with worry.
“He’s not back yet?” I asked, my heart sinking as I took my place on the other end of the couch.
“Not yet. We just have to wait,” she replied, trying to disguise her own fear.
The rest of the morning passed mechanically. After I’d forced myself to eat a little bit, Mama took me to the clinic and back home again, whereupon I brought the record player down. We played music, but not the kind I was used to. The kind the government accepted. The dull pulse matched the beat of my heart as we sat next to the record player.
“I wish we could play The Beatles,” I said quietly after a minute, though I knew it wouldn’t be the same without Gunter.
Mama shook her head, a tiny smile playing on her lips. “When your brother gets back, then maybe.” If he got back. “I did enjoy that other album you played—what was it?”
“The one by The Rolling Stones?”
Softly, she began to hum “Not Fade Away”. I hummed too, then sang. It was almost like we had the actual music playing. We sang all the songs together, then looked at each other and laughed like we were both little kids, friends, shyly at first, then all at once, like a pile of dishes breaking. I clutched my sides, the carpet rough beneath me as I laid my head down on it, laughing until I was in stitches.
Mama built a fire, her hands moving with practiced efficiency. We sat in front of it, our faces turning red with the heat but the rest of our bodies cold as the air outside seeped through the cracks in the windows.
I was reading Grimm’s Fairy Tales and had become happily absorbed in the stories I hadn’t heard in years, but I’d glance around ever so often, like I was expecting someone to be standing in the corner of the room.
“I’m going outside,” I said finally. I needed some air to clear my head, to forget about everything that had happened.
Mama looked up, a shadow of something crossing her face. “It’s cold out there. Are you sure?”
I nodded, getting to my feet. “I just need some fresh air. I’ll be back within an hour. Just want to take a walk.”
Mama still looked hesitant. “Well, I’ll come with you.”
“No!” I replied, more forcefully than I’d intended. “I mean . . . um, can I just go alone? Please? I want some space to think. Alone.”
She sighed, looking too exhausted to argue further. “Be careful, Klara.”
“I will be,” I promised. “I always am careful.”
And that was a promise that I was going to keep. My reckless actions had hurt Gunter. It had taken me until now to learn that the Stasi wouldn’t stop until they killed us both. Unless I kept my head and didn’t try anything illegal or dangerous, we were all going to end up dead.
I yanked my coat on and zipped it up all the way, pulling the hood up before stepping outside. It was cold, just as Mama had warmed me, but the shock helped to clear my head.
I needed to think. About Ilona’s letters. About Peter Weber, the prince. About everything. Time seemed to come to a standstill as I walked, my footsteps making a soft crunch in the settling snow. That and my breathing and the swish of my coat as my legs moved seemed to be the only sounds in the world.
“Klara!” someone hissed.
I snapped around, but there was nobody there. I shivered. It was probably just my imagination. The cold was getting to me; I decided to turn back.
Before I could move more than an inch, someone grabbed me from behind. I bit back a scream when I recognized the tall figure, the blond hair, the green coat.
He looked so much older than I remembered, the lines leading from the top of his nose carved so deeply he looked like a wooden figure, his pale pink lips straight across his sallow face, his eyes narrower than before. But it was him.
“Klara Muller.” His voice was gentle. He turned me around to look at him. He, Peter Weber, and I was looking at him. “I’ve been looking everywhere for you.”
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Chapter Twenty-Six:
“Come on.” He ushered me through an alleyway and into a small building nestled between huge concrete structures which were probably housing apartments for rent. It wasn’t warm, but I felt better when we were inside.
He handed me a cup of tea, and I thanked him as I wrapped my hands around the hot mug, steam curling around my face.
“So you’ve figured it out,” he said simply, seating himself in the rickety wooden chair, leaning it back easily on two legs, his hands folded tightly in his lap. His voice was deep and grating, but kind at the same time.
I nodded, my teeth still chattering a little. I took a tentative sip of my tea before answering. It burned my mouth, and I licked it away from my lips. “I have, Herr Weber. Or, I almost have.”
“Very good, Klara. I trust you’ve told nobody?”
“No one, sir.”
“Not even your brothers?”
“Ilona asked me not to tell anybody,” I reminded him, but it looked like this was news to him.
His expression changed instantly. “It was my daughter who told you?” he asked suspiciously.
“Yes,” I replied cautiously.
“When did she tell you this?”
He might be her father, but they appeared to have kept secrets from each other. Maybe it would be better not to tell him about the letters. As I’d just said, Ilona had asked me to tell no one. She wasn’t the kind of person to ask me that unless it was necessary.
I thought of a convincing story as fast as I could. She’d died in mid-April of 1964. The same date I’d seen on her last letter. I brushed the thought away; I would have time to think of that later. Right now, I had to talk to Peter.
“Only a few months before she died,” I replied. Then, realizing I hadn’t seen him after her death except at the funeral, I added quickly: “I’m sorry for your loss.”
He waved it away dismissively. “It’s been a long time. These things happen to those who don’t take care.”
Those who cross the line.
“I’m sorry anyway,” I insisted. “It wasn’t fair.”
His eyes darkened and I saw a touch of hatred—hatred for the government, for the people who had killed her—cruelty, for all the things he wanted to do to them. I knew those feelings. They were too familiar to me for comfort. His voice was quieter when he spoke. “Of course it wasn’t fair. But I can’t bring her back, and neither can you. We have to work with what we have here. I trust that you want to escape?”
Finally we were getting somewhere. I glanced around cautiously before replying: “Yes.”
“Exactly what I thought you’d say. And don’t look so paranoid, Klara. There’s no one else here, just me and you.”
I nodded, though it was still hard to feel completely safe when the Stasi could jump out at any moment and accuse me of anti-government activities. I wasn’t exactly eager to be tortured again.
“Now, then,” he continued, his foot tapping slowly against the ground. He appeared deep in thought. “One cannot escape without making a plan.”
“And you have a plan, don’t you, sir?”
“Of course. I’ve helped many people in my time, just like my wonderful Ilona did. She was always too headstrong for her own good, but . . . the important thing is that we are here now.”
“How did you find me?” I asked. The question had been on the back of my mind ever since I’d seen his face.
“I’ve been watching you for a while now.”
For some reason, those words, or maybe the way the light caught his eyes, reminded me of the Stasi. I suppressed a shudder at the mere memory of the guards who’d taken me away, then questioned and tortured me.
“It’s taken me six months, but I finally got you alone,” he continued. “It took me many failed attempts. Like that note I had to hand to your teacher. She read it, didn’t she?”
“I don’t know, but it was good that you didn’t mention anything that might expose us, sir. She was later arrested. She could say anything.”
“Hm. She knew too much about my work, about Ilona’s work.” He was leaning forward, his eyes bright with excitement. “So you want to escape. I will help you. But it will be difficult.”
“I’m ready,” I said firmly. “For anything.”
He laughed, a low, harsh sound. It sounded like he’d forgotten to do much laughing over the past few years. He got up and moved to a shadowy corner of the room. I heard the smooth sound of a desk drawer being opened, almost like a good car accelerating gently on a quiet street. The drawer slammed closed.
He emerged from the shadows with nothing more than a large, crumpled piece of paper folded in half. He spread this out on the table, and I realized that it was a map. My heart lifted so fast that I was sure I’d start floating.
Find the prince. Find the map.
And I’d managed to find both at the same time.
His rough and work-worn hands were careful as he smoothed the map out. It was a map of Berlin, and a recently made one. The Wall ran through the center of the city, a straight line.
I leaned closer. The paper was sturdy and well-made, a strange and flickering yellow by the tallow glow of the candlelight illuminating it, but what really caught my attention was the tiny details, penciled in and almost too small to read.
There was an X on one side of the wall, and a similar X on the other side, a thin line joining them together.
“The tunnel,” Peter Weber confirmed.
I frowned, my fingers tracing the lines along familiar streets. The X was as large as one of the houses. The entrance to the tunnel looked like it had been dug inside of a building, or like you entered it via a gutter.
“Where is it, exactly?” I asked.
He folded the map up, talking with his back to me as he put it back in the drawer. “Think about it, Klara. Where might we put the tunnel?”
I thought hard, but nothing came to mind. There were a million places to put a tunnel, but only a few of them would work. Which of those million was the right answer?
“I don’t know, sir.”
“We will explain all that later, when you meet us.”
We? Us?
He pointed to another place on the map, a small, square building tucked away in a shady corner of town, not far from the square. It was marked with an H, which I guessed stood for Headquarters.
“The building is abandoned,” he continued after I’d taken it all in. “Meet me there tomorrow evening, after sunset. I will bring the rest of them with me.”
“So the Prinzenkreis—you’re not the only one left?” I asked, having assumed that it was just him.
“For a time, I was. But there are others now. And Klara, if you can prove yourself, you may become one of us.” He stood up, his face inches from mine. “You know the rules. Tell no one. Trust no one.”
“Understood,” I replied, taking a step back. “Can I see the map again?”
He shook his head. “I trust you memorized the location,” he said, his eyebrows raised imploringly.
I hadn’t memorized it—that would have been a difficult task to complete after half a minute of looking at the map, without that intention in mind. Prove yourself. I had to pretend that I’d memorized it. I knew the approximate location; how many abandoned buildings would there be to look in?
“Oh, um, of course.”
“Good,” he said. “And remember, the Prinzenkreis will help you escape, but it won’t come without a cost.”
I should have known that was coming, but it still was a little bit of a shock to me. Of course they weren’t going to help me out of the goodness of their hearts. Nobody did that.
“What sort of cost?” I asked.
“We don’t risk our lives for nothing, you know. We require payment.”
“Money?” My heart sank. We didn’t have much of it, certainly not enough.
He nodded. “Bring whatever you have tomorrow. We’ll see what you can come up with by then.”
“And if it’s not enough?”
He glanced out the window. I turned around too. When he spoke, he was talking low and fast: “Then you’ll have to seek help from somewhere else. Go now, before someone else arrives.”
I was sure I saw a dark figure moving beyond, barely visible through the thick grey fog that had settled over everything. It looked like darkness was creeping in, except it was early afternoon according to my watch, and it would be light outside for a few more hours.
“Thank you,” I said, pulling my coat tighter around myself. Mama would be expecting me back soon, anyway. I wished I’d gotten more information, but so be it—this had to be enough to go on for now.
He practically shooed me out of the building.
I trudged home. It wasn’t snowing, but the fog made it difficult to see where I was going. Even worse, it cast a bleakness over everything, one that made me feel tired, even though I’d slept more than enough the night before.
I dragged my heavy boots along the sidewalk, the bottoms scraping against the ice, the snow almost up to the tops. How was I going to tell Mama that we were going to escape? Would she even agree to come with me? I wasn’t leaving Eastern Berlin until Gunter got back; how long would that be, and would I have to go looking for him myself?
“Halt!”
The voice was harsh and sharp. A Stasi officer emerged from the fog, his penetrating gaze searching mine for any trace that I’d been up to something bad. It felt like the air between us had snapped in half, leaving me horribly exposed.
He approached quickly and stopped just about a foot away from me. “Turn out your pockets,” he commanded.
I did. They were empty.
“Give me that coat.”
Again, I did. As soon as I reluctantly took it off, I began shivering badly and had to wrap my arms around myself.
He shook it out, letting it drag around in the snow, then dug in each of its pockets, then turned it upside down. At last, he appeared to be satisfied and grudgingly handed it back to me.
“Gloves,” he commanded.
I nodded. The gloves were Gunter’s, too big for me, but I’d made a hole in mine after catching it on something sharp. They were made of nice leather, the kind the officer would want.
He tried them on over his other gloves and appeared satisfied, a sneer curving against his lips. “You are free to go.”
I clenched my fists. Those gloves were my birthday present for Gunter. I wanted to pull them off the officer’s hands and maybe knock a couple of his teeth out. The urge swelled in my chest until it was nearly overpowering.
I respectfully dipped my head, staring at the ground. I was trembling with anger, all the way down to my boots.
The Stasi officer moved past me, his coat brushing against mine. I gave him a tiny pinch with my fingernails, but he probably didn’t feel it because he kept on walking.
It was nonetheless satisfying.
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Chapter Twenty-Seven:
The next day, the first thing I did after getting dressed and throwing on one of my mother’s sweaters was run to Elke’s house and knock on the door. Mama was still asleep and probably wouldn’t miss me, and this was a risk I had to take. It was too dangerous to tell Elke what I’d discovered over the telephone. The signal could be intercepted at any time. I had to tell her when we were standing face-to-face.
I checked my watch, barely able to glance at it, much less to contain my excitement. It was mid-morning, leaning towards early afternoon. The sky was as grey as it was at four o’clock in the evening, but the weather had begun to clear up. Still a few hours before sunset.
Tell no one, Peter Weber had said, but it seemed only right that I should tell Elke. She’d been a part of this almost since the very beginning. Surely he’d understand.
But I couldn’t shake the feeling of dread as I hurried up the rickety stairs of her apartment building and raised my fist. Something made me stop before I knocked on the door, though. There were hushed voices within, sharp with urgency, but I couldn’t make out what they were saying.
I knocked lightly. The voices fell, then rose, then were silent. I knocked again, louder.
The door opened after a while. Elke’s mother’s face softened but didn’t brighten when she saw me standing there, shivering slightly in the cold.
“Come in,” she said, ushering me inside quickly and closing the door before leaning forward to speak quickly:
“Elke’s missing.”
My hand flew to my mouth in shock. “Since when? Where?”
Her eyes were full of tears, and she wiped them away with the back of her hand, sniffling a little bit. “She wasn’t in her bed this morning,” she explained. “We think . . .”
“She just—disappeared?”
Her mother shook her head. “She was clearly dragged out by force. We don’t know what happened; we were out for an early breakfast.” She meant her and Elke’s father had been out.
“You mean you left and when you came back, she was . . .”
She nodded and had to wipe her eyes again. “Come, I’ll show you her room. Maybe you can help us.”
Like I could help her. But I had to try. I had to see what had happened. Her mother led me to her room, or what was left to it, and left me there in the doorway.
I looked around. The room was spacious with two big windows casting fine lines of sunlight across the bed, so fine that they looked like they’d been penciled in. I had always loved going to her room because of the windows and the olive-green paint on the walls, but it looked like a starving monkey had been in there.
She had a poster of Grace Kelly, a famous American actress, on her bedroom wall. Or, she’d used to have that poster. It had been torn down violently, leaving only the tacks there. The dresser was lying on the floor, smashed to pieces, her clothes torn and scattered around, some of them still folded. Her bed had been pushed at an awkward angle, like she’d been yanked out of it, the covers still rumpled.
I sank onto the edge of the bed, my head spinning, my vision blurring with tears. I had been so close to getting us out of here, but I had failed. Miserably.
I climbed under her blankets, inhaling the sweet scent of her shampoo—lavender and something sweet, something like honey. Something that smelled like my best friend. First Gunter, and now Elke. The Stasi were not going to stop.
And I was running out of time.
I stayed there until her mother rapped gently on the half-open door, whereupon I got up quickly, brushing my hair out of my face and forcing myself not to look like I had just been crying.
“Find anything?” she asked, her eyes searching mine, pleading.
“No, ma’am,” I replied, brushing my hair away again. “There’s no trace of who took her. Or of why she would’ve been taken away.”
“Well, thank you for trying anyway,” she murmured, turning away from me.
I hadn’t really tried at all, but I told her she was welcome and assured her Elke would be back soon before adding, in a hesitant way: “Gunter was taken, too.”
“Oh, I’m sorry.”
And then I told her a lie, just to make her feel better, because given the current situation, I wasn’t sure if we would ever see each other again, if she would ever discover I hadn’t told the truth.
“But he came back,” I said. “It took a couple days, but he came back, alive and unharmed.”
She smiled gratefully. “I’m glad. I hope Elke will be back soon, too.”
My hands needed to do something, anything, and my feet were just waiting to start running. I said goodbye and hurried out. Once I was outside, I broke into a sprint. I could barely wait for the sun to set, but before I met up with the Prinzenkreis, I had to collect anything of value and bring it to them. And I had to let Mama know what I was doing. She’d undoubtedly notice.
We couldn’t escape until Gunter returned, so I planned to tell her then. But how long could we wait? We couldn’t stay here forever when freedom was so close to us.
That could be an issue solved later. For now, I had to find Mama.
I headed straight for the bakery, pushing the door open so hard that it turned a near-full circle and slammed against the wall, the little bells clanging wildly. I looked around, making sure there were no customers around, before hurrying up to the counter, where Mama was standing with a confused expression.
“Mama,” I started breathlessly.
Her eyes swept over me, taking me in. “Why are you running around like that?” she demanded. “What happened?”
“Two things,” I said. “Number one, Elke was taken away—by force.”
She gasped. “When?”
“There’s no time to explain now. Number two, and more important, we are going to—well, you know what we’re going to do.”
“No, I don’t,” she replied uncertainly. “I hope it’s nothing dangerous?”
I slipped through the gate that allowed me to get behind the counter, into the back room, and returned with a piece of paper and a pen, scribbling one word:
Escape.
Her eyes widened. “No,” she whispered. “No, Klara, it’s far too risky. Have you even seen how many people have been killed?”
I nodded earnestly. “But I have a plan, Mama.” I leaned forward and put my lips to her ear, quickly outlining what we were going to do in an intense whisper. “I’m going to meet them this evening,” I finished. “You can’t come, not yet. I have to show them that they can trust me before I bring you along.”
But she just continued to shake her head. “This is the most ridiculous idea that has come out of your mouth in a long time, maybe ever.”
Frustration bubbled up in my chest, and I fought down a rising wave of panic. “Please, Mama. I know what I’m doing. It’s our only chance.”
“I said no, Klara.”
“Please listen to me,” I begged. “The Prinzenkreis, Herr Weber—they’ve done all this before. Gotten people to the other side of the wall. They can help us.”
“We can’t trust them,” she insisted. “It doesn’t matter if he’s your childhood friend’s father or the handyman for next door. How can you trust him with our lives?”
“Because I trusted Ilona,” I replied firmly. “Because he will keep us safe.”
She shook her head. “Absolutely not.”
My voice rose in anger. “Then we just stay here? Until we get taken away too?”
A tear escaped down her cheek, her resistance beginning to crumble. “What about Gunter?” she asked, her voice breaking. “What if he comes back and . . . and we’re not here?”
I took her hands in mine and gave her trembling fingers a small, reassuring squeeze. They were smooth with dough and olive oil but felt withered at the same time. “We’re not leaving without him. I promise you that.”
She pulled away to hastily brush the tear away like it had never happened. “Alright, Klara,” she whispered. “We’ll do it. But not without Gunter.”
“Thank you,” I said, my shoulders sagging with relief.
“What will I do if something happens to you, Klara? You know it’s not safe out there. You were . . .”
“Ilona and her father helped others escape. Peter Weber knows what he’s doing,” I insisted. “He knows how to get past them—the Stasi. I promise, nothing will happen to us. But I need to—”
“They’re asking for payment, aren’t they?”
“Yes, I—”
“You can take whatever you need to,” she said. “Except the jewelry Ernst gave me on our wedding day. And anything else that might be important to us.” She paused. I nodded eagerly, barely listening to her. “Be careful, Klara.”
“I’ll do my best,” I replied, flashing an overconfident smile before swinging out of the shop, the bells jingling again behind me as the door closed.
I stuffed my hands into my pockets and walked home at a brisk pace. Although I tried to keep myself from grinning like an idiot at the bleak weather and sad people, it was impossible. Everything was finally happening.
Once home, I set about collecting all our valuables. The cash we had in the safes, my gold earrings, dusty jewelry, antique dishware, and even a palm-sized portrait hanging on the wall all went into a rucksack I’d dragged out of the basement.
I hesitated over Elke’s locket, fingering it for a moment. If we never saw each other again, I wanted something to remember her by. I clipped the locket around my neck, hiding it under my shirt.
Finally, everything was ready. I shoved the rucksack under the sofa where it wouldn’t be easily noticed in case the house was searched, and tried to get lost in a book, but my mind and eyes kept drifting, drifting.
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Chapter Twenty-Eight:
I waited until dusk had settled, casting a yellow-orange haze over Eastern Berlin, before I made my next move. Mama had returned from the bakery by then and was busy with dinner. I could hear her humming softly from the kitchen, something she did when she was contented or wanted to distract herself.
I pulled the rucksack out from under the couch and slung it over one shoulder, making my way to the kitchen. “I’m leaving now,” I announced.
Her eyes flickered, her expression darkening. Worry and apprehension and other things lingered in her gaze for a long moment. “Alright,” she said softly. “Are you sure you don’t want to eat first? Dinner will be ready—”
“No, I have to go soon,” I replied, cutting her off.
She nodded after a moment of hesitation. “Come back immediately afterwards, Klara,” she pleaded. “Please. I can’t lose you too.”
“I will,” I promised.
“Are you sure I can’t come with you?” she asked one more time.
“No, it would be better if you stayed here.”
“At least could I walk you to—to wherever you’re going?”
I shook my head. “I wasn’t supposed to tell anyone,” I said. “They won’t trust me if they know I said anything.”
A resigned look appeared on her face, but she nodded again.
A flurry of instructions followed me all the way to the door. I shouldered the rucksack and pulled my coat on, then stepped out into the cold evening air. The rucksack was heavy and I was conscious of the way valuables clinked loudly together.
On the way to the abandoned building, I didn’t pass anybody, not even a lost cat or bird too late to have migrated. I knew the location well enough, but I went in circles a few times before I found it. It was a plain grey concrete structure, the door nearly falling off its hinges. But it was definitely the right place.
I walked all the way around it, searching for an entrance which wouldn’t have me getting poked by rusted nails, but there was only that one door. I moved cautiously, careful not to bump into the door, because it seemed like one breath of wind would knock it to pieces.
The inside was all in shadows, but there was a faint glimmer of light coming from one corner. I was automatically drawn towards the warm orange glow. It turned out to be nothing more than a few dying candles on an empty table surrounded by unoccupied chairs.
I glanced around cautiously, half-expecting a departed soul or Stasi officer to jump out at me at any moment, but there was no sound except that of my breathing.
“I’m here,” I called out, my voice echoing through the large space, bouncing against the rafters and between the thick concrete walls. I’d never felt so small as I did just then.
Finally, I heard approaching footsteps. I grabbed the strongest candle, holding it in front of me like a knight holding out a sword. Faces came into view, including that of Peter Weber.
“Good, Klara. You found us.”
More figures emerged, seven of them in total. My eyes moved from one to the next, and I didn’t drop the candle. The narrow red flame was jostled around by their ragged, heavy breathing, pointing back at me.
They all looked like they had seen better days. All but one were men, their beards bedraggled and their eyes glinting with a strange and hungry light. The woman’s face was bony and pale, like she was a skeleton with skin stretched over her, her eyes dull and the sockets too large.
Gently but firmly, Peter Weber took the candle from my hands and set it back on the table, then turned to the others. “This is Klara Muller,” he announced, pulling me by my coat collar to stand next to him. “A friend, and from now on, one of us.”
There were nods of approval.
Peter introduced each of them in turn to me, but I hardly remembered their names. I shook hands with a couple of the friendlier-looking ones, but most of them skulked in the shadows, preferring to keep their distance.
Then, Peter turned his attention to the rucksack. “What do we have here?”
I emptied it out on the table, my heart clenching at the sight of so much money all together. Part of me was wishing I hadn’t brought it all here. What if this was all a mistake? What if I’d thrown our life savings away for nothing?
Mama was counting on me. Everything was counting on me. I couldn’t disappoint.
A twisted smile spread over his face as he fingered the jewelry, the painting, and the dozens of twenty- and fifty-ruble notes. He counted them up and appeared satisfied, shoving everything back into the rucksack and handing it to the woman, who disappeared with it into another part of the building.
“Klara here wants to escape, just like you do,” Peter continued to the remaining six people. “As we’ve all made our introductions, there is no time to waste. Tonight, we will be forming our plan.”
We all sat around the table. Peter produced a map from what seemed like nowhere, before I realized it was a hidden drawer. It was the same map as before.
He pointed to the X on our side of the wall. “The entrance to the tunnel,” he declared, although we already knew that. Pointing to the second X: “The exit of the tunnel.”
“But where exactly is it?” I asked.
“Right where you’d expect a tunnel to be,” he replied. “In the middle of a trusted member’s living room floor. It’s well-hidden by a rug and table, of course, and looks rather like the opening to a trap door.” He sat back in his seat, smiling faintly with an accomplished look in his eye. “That tunnel took us a year and ten months to complete.”
There were nods all around the table.
“Unfortunately, I was the only one present who ever saw the tunnel before it was finished,” Peter continued. “All the other members of our group were caught and killed. I was the only survivor. But now, here we all are.” He looked at each of us in turn, nodding approvingly. “Revolutionaries. On a mission.”
He turned his attention back to the map. “I trust everyone has memorized the location of the entrance by now?”
I took another hard look at it, and realized in shock that the address scribbled next to the house was 17 Blumenstrasse.
Ilona’s address. Peter’s address.
Now I understood why the woman who’d been living there had appeared so scared when we had showed up. She was afraid we knew about the tunnel.
But we would never have guessed.
Now, I felt stupid, looking back at it. It was so obvious. I wondered if Peter really did still live there, if he’d given the woman, whoever she was, strict instructions not to let anyone in. Maybe she was not the owner of the house, but a maid who had accidentally discovered the tunnel.
“So when do we leave?” the woman asked.
“I’m getting to that.” He folded the map back up and carefully replaced it in the drawer, a lock clicking into place, but it was too dark and I was too far away to see how he’d done it. He looked around, making sure everyone was paying close attention to the final words. “We meet back here tomorrow. Same time. We’ll form and finalize a plan of action then.”
Peter stood up and clapped his hands, and we all formed a tight circle. “Good,” he said. “Remember—tell no one, trust no one.”
I nodded, uncomfortably squished between the pale woman and someone else.
“Klara, stay back for a moment,” he said.
My heart rose to my throat. What could he possibly want with me? Had I not brought enough money to satisfy him? We had nothing more to give him—he must know that.
The rest left in pairs, going in different directions to avoid attracting attention. It was pitch-black outside, and the snow was falling heavily. As I looked outside, watching then go, I wished I’d brought a flashlight with me.
“I’ve heard your brother has been captured,” Peter said, leaning towards me confidentially even though we were alone in the building.
I nodded, a small sigh escaping me despite my best efforts to hold it in. At least he didn’t need more money. At least he might be able to help us. “Yes, he has been,” I said. “Can you help us?”
“Of course I can,” he said. “Come with me.”
Peter led me to the back of the building, where a strange sort of machine sat. It took me a while to realize what it was. It was like a huge radio with countless dials and switches. Attached to it was a pair of headphones. I’d never seen anything quite like it before.
“This,” he said, pointing, “can intercept any signal.”
“Any signal?” I repeated, my eyes wide.
“Yes,” he said. “Including signals sent by Stasi radios. We can try to find your brother by picking up a signal.”
My chest was tight with excitement now. “Where did you get it? How does it work?”
“There’s no time to explain right now,” he replied gently. “Just know that it might help lead us to your brother.”
He sat in front of the device on a low stool and placed the headphones over his ears, motioning for me to wait where I was.
I could only watch as his expression changed—uncertain, confused, hopeful, sharp, focused, hopeful again, brighter. He grabbed the notepad lying on the floor nearby, produced a pen from his pocket, and began writing fast.
For a while, there was only the soft crackle of static in the headphones, our breathing, and the cranky knobs turning. It might have been twenty minutes that I stood there, my legs growing stiff and my hearts beating faster, but it felt so much longer. At last, Peter’s eyes widened, and I felt a tingling of excitement. He’d picked up a useful signal.
After several agonizingly long moments, he straightened up and looked at me, his gaze full of hope and maybe even surprise that he’d managed to find something.
“I’ve got something. It’s faint, but it’s . . .” His voice trailed off and he jotted down a few more names and numbers.
“What?” I demanded.
He frowned. “There’s a signal coming from Outpost 41. It sounds like it’s some sort of prison near the Wall.”
“Did you hear them talking about Gunter?”
“Someone whose last name was Muller,” he replied. “That’s your last name, isn’t it?”
“Yes, yes, yes.” I could barely contain my excitement. “So what are we going to do? How are we going to get him back?”
Peter raised his hand. “Slowly now. We don’t want to rush into anything. It’s getting late, and you should go home before you get caught outside for breaking curfew. I’ll take you.”
“But we need some kind of plan!” I protested.
“Don’t worry. I have friends at the outpost. I’ll think of something.”
Peter walked alongside me for part of the way, but we didn’t speak to each other. Anyone who saw us would never have guessed who we were or what we’d just been up to. They would have thought that we were just two people, one young and one in his forties or fifties, having a late-night stroll in silence.
Finally, I spoke, my voice barely above an apprehensive whisper: “Herr Weber, can I bring my mother along to next meeting?”
He nodded sympathetically. “Of course you can. I remember your mother well; she was always a good and kind person to my daughter.”
I smiled faintly, even though there was never much to smile about. “Thank you.”
When I finally reached home, Mama was waiting for me at the door to take my coat and hug me so tightly I was sure all of my ribs were going to break. I buried my face in her hair. She had beautiful hair, black ringlets that shone like they were still wet. Her dress, a simple brown smock, smelled like baking bread, and I could also smell her shampoo—lavender and something sweet.
“So what did they say?” she asked as she finally released me. “When are we leaving?”
“We’re going to make our plan tomorrow night,” I replied. “And they said you’d be welcome to come along.”
“But we’re not leaving without Gunter,” she reminded me.
“Of course not. We’ll wait for Gunter for as long as we need to.” I quickly filled her in on the new information—about Outpost 41, about how Peter thought they might be keeping Gunter there.
“So, we’re . . . going to get him back?” Mama asked. “How?”
“Peter said he’d think of something,” I replied. “He told me not to worry.”
Mama sighed. “We can’t just wait forever.”
She was right in a way I didn’t want her to be. Would we really miss this opportunity, perhaps our only one, placing our hopes instead on the small chance that Gunter would return? It had been days and days, and we were both beginning to accept that he was never going to come back. Maybe someone would find his body, or what was left of it, and he’d make the news . . . or maybe he would disappear just like that . . . or maybe . . .
But I couldn’t believe that any of that would happen. The people who were found were all just distant figures to me. It did not seem possible that one of them might be my own brother.
It could not be possible.
“He’ll come back,” I said, speaking more confidently than I felt. “And if he doesn’t, we’ll find him. One way or another.” I also had to call Elke’s family the next morning and ask if she’d returned yet. But it was too late now. If she hadn’t come back, we would have to find her as well.
Maybe the Prinzenkreis could help us there, too.
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Chapter Twenty-Nine:
Since Gunter still had not returned when I woke up the next morning, I knew that I’d have to help Mama out at the bakery. That was a bit of a nuisance, but his absence overshadowed it. The house felt empty without the faint sound of our record player and the sound of his voice and the sound his footsteps made.
After I’d reluctantly pulled off my soft nightgown and dressed in work-appropriate clothes, the first thing I did was call Elke’s number. The phone rang and rang, but there was no answer. Eventually, I replaced the receiver in its cradle and let out a sigh.
She almost always picked up. It must mean that she wasn’t back yet.
Mama was already making breakfast. She had made a tomato sandwich for me and . . . another tomato sandwich for herself.
“I thought I’d try something different today,” she explained at my inquisitive look, a smile lighting up her face. “There must be a reason you like these so much.”
I shrugged, taking a big bite out of mine and chewing slowly. The bread was perfectly dry. Mama must be in a good mood, excited even. She usually complained about making me the same thing every day, saying it would stunt my growth (I was already a head taller than her).
Mama took a tentative bite and nodded appreciatively. “It’s good,” she said. “A lot of tomatoes, though.”
I just shrugged again. Of course there was a lot of tomatoes. That was why it was called a tomato sandwich. I wasn’t a picky eater, but you can never go wrong with tomatoes. Besides, I couldn’t imagine having anything else for breakfast.
I glanced at the ancient three-year calendar hanging on the kitchen wall and realized in shock that it was Wednesday already. Meaning that I had to do the shopping.
Meaning that Gunter had been gone for three whole days.
We hadn’t crossed off the past few days, so I drew in the diagonal lines with the thick red marker we always rested on the top of the calendar, which had only two pages left and a lot of space where the other thirty-four pages had been. I liked crossing the days off for some reason, and always took my time to position the marker correctly, so that I could make an immaculate and perfect line there.
I crossed out Tuesday. Mama had written Klara’s birthday a few spaces before. Even though that date had already been crossed out, I surrounded the words with flowers, taking my time on them.
Gunter’s neat handwriting covered a few of the dates, too. I never knew how someone who was always so messy could write so neatly.
I decided that now was a good time to look around in his room. It hadn’t been touched since he had been taken away. The door was still closed, just as he’d left it, the handle strangely cold under my hands, like the universe was daring me to turn it.
I did turn it. There was a rush of cool air that hit me when I stepped in, but it wasn’t ghostly cool; it was relaxing, easing the tension in my body. Careful not to move too much around, I peeked under the mattress, behind his pillows, and even in his dresser drawers. Nothing.
“Klara!” Mama called from downstairs, her voice edged with its usual sharpness. “We have to go now!”
“Coming,” I called back, checking the closet and the bathroom. In my haste, I knocked down a stack of books, sending me sprawling against the hard bedroom floor. I cursed under my breath, picking myself up.
I could hear Mama coming up the stairs. “What are you doing? Is everything okay?”
“Fine!” I called hastily, afraid that she’d come in. I winced, testing my ankle, which I’d rolled painfully when I’d fallen.
Her footsteps stopped. “Well, hurry up then,” she said after a second of silence, in which she’d probably been listening for anything suspicious.
I waited until she was back downstairs before quickly stacking up the books again, but not before another piece of paper fell out of one of them. I snatched it up, eagerly holding it to the morning light streaming through the window.
But there was nothing written on it.
I turned it over, held it in front of the sun, in the dark, and under water, wondering if it was written in some kind of invisible ink. The water idea might not have been the best; I had made invisible ink before with lemon juice before, and the water would have just washed it off, but the paper was clearly empty.
With a sigh, I threw the soggy mess into a nearby wastebasket in the corner of the room and slid down the banister, grabbing my coat just as Mama opened her mouth to call me again.
“There you are,” she said, a bit grudgingly. “I was starting to think you were going to get out of work.”
“No, why would I ever do that?” I replied, playfully sarcastic. “And should I do the shopping later in the evening? We have to . . . you know.”
“Forget about the shopping,” she replied. “We might be leaving tonight, if Gunter’s back this afternoon.”
We both knew he wasn’t going to be back, but there was no harm in allowing a tiny hope to grow in my chest before common sense brutally extinguished it.
We walked side-by-side on the way to the bakery, our heads bent against the cold wind. My hood kept getting blown off, so I let my hair come out of its neat braid, snow flying into my eyes. My breath came in short white puffs that looked more solid than steam-like. The air felt like it was frozen too, the ice crackling beneath my feet. The winter had started off especially cold. Usually, this much snow arrived in mid-January. It would be months before the weather began to warm up.
The bakery was dark and empty when we arrived. Mama spent several seconds unlocking the door, her cold hands fumbling with the keys. Finally, the door creaked open. I was hesitant to go inside at first, because it looked nothing like the usual warm and lively bakery I was used to, but Mama was undeterred.
“Shut the door, Klara. We’re all going to freeze.” She lit the lamps and piled wood and scrap paper into the oven. It took her a few tries to turn on the cigarette lighter which we used to start fires. Maybe she was used to Gunter doing all this.
I looked around for a second, standing there uselessly, then shut the door, turned on the lights, and dug around in the pantry for supplies and ingredients, which I organized on the counter. Then I hung my coat over the chair as the bakery began to heat up slowly from the warmth of the oven. However, Mama was not pleased with my efforts.
“Not this salt. We used the salt from over here, on this shelf, when we’re making bread. That other one is for savory deserts. You spilled flour all over the floor. No one will buy from us if they see things in this state. The store looks like a starving animal was in here. Dust those windows. Turn on that light over there, it’s too dark.”
I did my best to please her but was just glad when I was confined to the back room, writing down numbers as fast as my wrist could go as our first customer of the day ordered half of what we had in the store. Every time I announced the total, she’d add another item to the order.
Mama let out a relieved breath when she was finally gone, staggering under the weight of six paper bags. “Thank goodness that’s over.” She handed me the pile of ten-ruble notes like they were just slips of paper. “Go put these in the safe, will you?”
“Where’s the key?” I asked.
She dug in her pocket. Her hand came up empty, and she frowned disbelievingly at it. “I must have left it at home. Do you mind getting it?”
I left the money under the biggest box of flour that I could find in the storage room, where it would be safe from everything except whatever mice that might roam around when we weren’t looking.
Halfway home, voices coming from a secluded alleyway caught my attention. That was never good. I knew I should leave, but I thought I heard Peter Weber’s voice among them.
I stopped walking, listening with all my might, but I couldn’t make out what they were saying. Slowly, painstakingly slowly, I inched my way towards the sounds, until I was pressed against the wall of a building and whoever was talking was just around the corner.
I peeked around and managed to catch sight of a green coat.
“You must act quickly, Weber!” declared a harsh voice.
Peter Weber had taken on a different tone than I was used to, an appeasing, wheedling tone. “Just give me three more days, sir. That’s all I need. I’ll have them by then.”
“We can’t waste time on this. You may have succeeded the first time, and the second, but there’s no reason why you should not fail now.” A single, heavy footstep. “Give us what we’re asking for and there won’t be trouble.”
“I promise you, I’ll have them. Everything will be ready by tomorrow evening.”
The other man said something too quietly for me to hear, but it was low and menacing, and I could practically hear Peter cringing beneath the weight of whatever the words had been.
I badly wanted to see what was going on, but as I moved, my clothes scraped against the brick building with a ssh.
“Who’s there?”
I hesitated, then broke into a run, my feet light against the ground. I ran until I’d made it back home and locked the door behind me. I collapsed against the doorframe, my heart pounding. My breath came in gasps, but I managed to calm down. No one was chasing me.
I’ve almost got them. What was he trying to get? There were many things that the man wanted him to bring, not just one. I tried to think of things that came in pairs, in threes, but I couldn’t imagine Peter Weber trying to get something for anyone else. He just didn’t seem the type. Food? Money?
He’d seemed scared. That man was obviously powerful. A thought popped into my head: maybe he was a Stasi officer, who’d been questioning Peter.
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Chapter Thirty:
On the way back to the bakery, I was stopped by none other than Peter himself. His gaze was hard, steely, his eyes glinting with a light in them that scared me. I barely saw him, because my head was down, and only really noticed him when he grabbed my arm.
I broke free easily. It turned out he’d just been trying to get my attention without shouting. I followed him away from the few people on the street.
“What are you doing here?” he demanded, his voice low, urgent.
“N-nothing. Walking to . . .”
His eyes were narrowed, piercing through me. He seemed to know exactly what I had heard and what I had not heard. “It’s not safe to be walking around alone.”
“It’s just a short walk. I’m on the way back to the bakery. To help my mother.” I hadn’t realized how badly I was shaking until I looked down at my trembling hands. I was scared, scared that he’d punish me for having heard something he obviously wanted to keep secret.
But to my relief, his gaze had softened. “Go then, Klara.”
I nodded, but my feet remained anchored to the ground.
“You have to trust me,” he said, his voice gentle. “I know what I’m doing. I only want to help you.”
“What are you looking for? Sir?”
He opened his mouth, then closed it again, then finally he spoke: “Why do you want to know that?”
“Because I might be able to help you,” I blurted out without thinking. It turned out to be a pretty convincing lie.
A ghost of a smile crossed his weather-beaten features. “I’ve got all of that under control. Don’t worry about it.”
I nodded again, a flush of embarrassment creeping up my cheeks. At least he hadn’t asked me questions. Before he could say anything else, I hurried away before Mama could start to worry about me.
I kept glancing over my shoulder as I hurried to the bakery, fearful that I was being watched or followed. From there, I could see the Wall, the guards in their thick grey-green uniform coats, their eyes fixed intently on Eastern or Western Berlin, or what seemed to be both at once. I’d reached higher ground and could see over the wall, see the platforms there.
And then, Karl was there.
It was an inexplicable miracle, but I saw him standing on one of the platforms on the other side. He was wearing something on his head. A daisy chain? That was impossible; flowers didn’t grow in the winter, and he would never wear a daisy chain even if his life depended on it. A tiara?
No, it was a crown.
The prince.
I waved at him. I’d already found the prince, but I was glad that he knew something about it. Which meant Gunter probably knew something about it too.
I remembered a game they used to play with Ilona when they were in middle school. Either Gunter or Karl would be the prince, while the other would be the villain, both trying to get to Ilona, the princess, first. The house, including my bedroom, was usually a mess by the time they were playing it, but I got to be the messenger and even make up some of the parts when I grew older, so of course I didn’t mind.
Was that game somehow a part of all this?
One of the guards shouted something, and in the blink of an eye, Karl was gone, lost from my view. I let my hand fall slowly and turned away. I didn’t want to be caught looking over the wall. No one did.
I felt lighter, somehow, as I hurried back to the bakery. “Mama!” I cried the moment I burst in through the door.
She was kneading dough, humming an old lullaby to herself, and barely glanced at me when I came hurrying back with the keys. “No trouble?” she asked, with her uncanny way of knowing things, her eyes still fixed on her work.
“No, none at all. But I saw Karl again.”
She stared at me. “Where? When?”
I explained to her, leaving out the part about the crown, because she wouldn’t understand. She’d always been the one to clean up after we played anyway and had never paid much attention to our silly games.
She let out a long breath. “He knew you were going to be there?”
“Yes, of course he knew. I don’t know how, but he knew.” Was this more than just a coincidence?
“Maybe,” she said, leaning forward and dropping her voice to a whisper, “maybe he’s been in communication with this side.”
I gasped without meaning to. Of course. It all made sense. Karl was somehow involved in all this in a bigger way than I could imagine. I wouldn’t know exactly how, not until we were on the other side, at least. But he was helping me in some way. Had he reminded Peter Weber of me?
The bell jingled, startling me badly, and I hurried around the counter. The first thing I did was lock the money up in the safe. Once a week, we took it to the safe in our home, which was now empty. That money, those few rubles that felt so small and light in my hand—it was all we had now.
I jotted down some numbers in the accounting book, hardly paying attention, and had to unlock and lock the safe again to put the five-ruble note in it. The second customer of the day left with some bread. The bell jingled again a few moments later. I fingered the money before putting it away, wishing that it was somehow a five hundred-ruble note.
“Can I help you?” Mama was asking from the front, her voice tight.
I turned around and immediately ducked under the desk in front of me. It was none other than a Stasi officer.
“Hello, Miss Hannah Muller,” he said, his voice unnaturally soft. “I’m looking for your daughter, Klara Muller.”
I could feel the tension crackling in the air like a live wire about to explode.
“She’s not here. She’s at home right now.”
“Ah, I see. Well, you wouldn’t mind if I took a look around, would you?”
“No, not at all,” she replied tersely.
The swinging gate opened, and his footsteps approached. I closed my eyes, holding my breath as he checked the storage room. Mama dropped something with a clatter, and I took the opportunity to shrink deeper into the shadows under the desk.
There were low, scraping noises as barrels and boxes were shifted around. Mama slipped into the back room and moved the chair into a position where I’d be more effectively concealed. I made a faint sigh of relief.
She was gone just in time. The officer paced around the room. I squeezed my eyes shut because I’d read somewhere that if we made eye contact, I’d be found. His face was about two feet from mine as he leaned over to look under the table. He didn’t see me.
“Are you done poking around yet?” Mama was standing in the doorway with her hands on her hips as he scoured every corner.
I pinched my nose, trying to make myself hold my breath longer.
“Yes?” she asked without waiting for a reply. “Please, leave my store.”
The door slammed shut a few moments later, the sound reverberating through the room. I finally took a deep breath and slowly emerged from under the desk, back into the light.
“When will they learn to stop poking their ugly noses around?” I exploded.
Mama held a finger to her lips, shushing me.
“But it’s just not—” I stopped, my shoulders slumping in defeat. “Not fair,” I muttered to my toes.
That didn’t matter. I didn’t get to decide what was fair and not fair around here. But we wouldn’t be around here for much longer.
In just a few hours, we were going to make a plan, one that would fix things for us. It might not bring down the Wall or bring Gunter back, but at least it would get us out of here. I had to believe that everything else that needed to happen would just happen.
I’d learned to trust in miracles.
The next few hours crawled by at a ridiculously slow pace. I’d glance at the clock after what felt like an eternity, only to realize with a sinking feeling that the hands had barely moved at all
I found a copy of War and Peace, probably something Gunter had studied for his senior year in literature class, as it was compliant with the ideas of the Soviets. Tolstoy was artistic, sure, but I found myself stumbling over the unfamiliar Russian words, my lips moving silently in an effort to pronounce them. We were required to learn Russian in our school (or what had been our school), and I spoke it quite well, but had this book been in German, I doubt I would’ve understood it.
I made it through the first two chapters before giving up. The idea that Russia alone must save Europe . . . Tolstoy could have been a second Lenin. It was all so complicated.
Finally, five o’clock approached. I tallied up the last few numbers and helped Mama clean up the shop before closing time, scraping breadcrumbs off the counter with a scratched-up plastic square that may have been part of an appliance at one point. Only two more hours until sunset. I could hardly wait.
Mama seemed to sense my excitement, but she only looked nervous and distrustful. That made sense—she hadn’t known either Peter or Ilona very well. I trusted Peter completely, though, even with what I’d heard earlier that day.
My mind returned to Karl and I smiled for the tenth time that day, attracting a puzzled look from Mama. Joy swelled up in my heart. We were so close to seeing him and Papa again. To hearing the sound of their voices again. My smile faded slightly from my lips. I missed them so much.
“Remember,” Mama said as we turned out the lights and made sure all the windows were locked tight, “we aren’t leaving without Gunter.”
“I already said we wouldn’t,” I reminded her.
“And another thing,” she added. “I don’t trust these people. Not yet. Anything fishy—anything that seems the slightest bit wrong—and we’re leaving, okay? No arguments.”
“Okay,” I replied, suppressing the urge to sigh or even roll my eyes. I had already promised her that we’d watch our backs and not give too much away. The Prinzenkreis was going to help us escape, and we need never see or hear from them after we were on the West side.
She nodded, her grip on my arm tightening as we stepped out into the chilly air. And with that, we took another step into the unknown, prepared to form a plan that would change absolutely everything.
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Chapter Thirty-One:
The abandoned building was even darker than it had been the night before, but there was a soft hum of activity that was comforting; people moving around just beyond the encroaching shadows, hushed conversation carried out in corners, the flickery glow of candlelight that seemed to be moving around on its own.
“Are you sure about this, Klara?” Mama murmured, her lips close to my ear.
I nodded, even though my throat was tight with anxiety and my heart was beating fast. However, I wasn’t nervous because I was afraid; I was nervous because I was excited.
Peter Weber approached us, a smile playing on the corners of his mouth. “Klara, Hannah. How nice to see the two of you.”
Mama shook his hand with a firm grip as he ushered us deeper into the building, her response curt: “The same to you, Peter.”
They talked in low tones too soft for me to understand. We passed some other members of the Prinzenkreis, who glanced curiously, almost suspiciously, at Mama and then nodded approvingly in acknowledgement.
As we crossed to the other side of the building together, Peter filled her in on everything that I’d missed. I could see Mama trying to listen, even pretending to do so, knowing that her mind was on the one thing that mattered most to her—Gunter.
Peter unfolded the map, just as he’d done last night, pointing out the entrance to the tunnel and explaining the general plan of action. “And here is the exit,” he declared proudly, his voice a little louder than before, though we only spoke in whispers, afraid of attracting outside attention.
Mama nodded, though her lips remained pressed in a tight line. “Very nice.”
Gradually, Peter began to see through her façade of indifference. “Is something the matter, Hannah?”
Mama let out a long, heavy sigh that sounded like she was trying to blow out her soul. “Klara probably told you that my son is missing,” she explained. Her eyes, until now expressionless, flickered with a rare hint of vulnerability.
His expression darkened. “I remember Gunter well. He’s a fine young man. The Stasi don’t pick and choose—they only take what is rightfully ours. Our property, our rights, even our own children. Which—”
“Klara said you knew where he was,” Mama interrupted.
His eyebrows shot up so far they nearly disappeared into his red-blond shoulder length hair. Even his hair was pushing it over the edge; the government would disapprove of something like that, but although he’d be considered rebellious, that was not an excuse to arrest him.
“Of course I do,” he replied.
“Do you have a way of getting him?” she demanded earnestly.
“Well, of course we could retrieve him, but I doubt it would prove useful. And I hope you understand that this is a risky business. Risk comes with a cost. Always.”
“We have nothing more to give you,” she replied firmly. I nodded quickly in agreement.
“Is that so.”
I looked down the end of my nose at Peter Weber, even though he was a head taller than me. Still, I managed to appear like a figure of authority. “Make a plan to find him right now,” I snapped, my voice laden with a harshness I hadn’t even realized I’d possessed. “Or I’ll let the world know about you and your work.”
“You wouldn’t dare—”
“Yes, I would,” I shot back. “I don’t care what happens to me as long as you get my brother back.” Mama was looking at me in an odd way, trailing behind us; there was shock and also something almost like admiration written all over her face.
Peter threw up his hands in resignation. “All right. Hannah, follow me. I’ll intercept another signal.” Mama’s mouth opened with a hundred questions, but I held a finger to my lips to silence her. “Klara, you can do as you please,” he replied. “I’ll let you know if it sounds like Gunter has been moved somewhere else, although it’s unlikely.”
“At least we know what to do now,” I said.
“We do?” Mama asked, looking from Peter to me and back to Peter.
I stared at her like this was obvious. “Of course. We know the location. What more do we need?”
“We need a plan,” she replied firmly. “And Peter’s right—first, we need to check he hasn’t been moved.”
Peter chewed his lower lip pensively. “All right, let’s—”
Before he could finish his sentence, the door banged open, and I heard an urgent voice calling me from what felt like very far away through the sea of darkness separating us:
“Klara! Klara!”
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Chapter Thirty-Two:
I whirled around. It was hard to see anything. Candles held up by the Prinzenkreis moved rapidly towards the entrance. My heart leapt to my throat as I rushed forward, not stopping to calculate the possible dangers of doing so. Elke. But no. That was impossible. She was being held by the Stasi. Wasn’t she?
Yet it was her. There was a dark bruise on her cheek and her clothes looked the worse for wear, but it was definitely her. Considering what the Stasi could do, she did not appear to have been treated badly. Had she come here straightaway after being released?
How had she found this place?
A rusty, dirty knife was shoved against her throat by the pale woman who’d spoken at the last meeting. “Your name,” she hissed.
I ran over and pulled them apart. “Stop. She’s a friend, not an enemy.”
The woman’s eyes glinted with malice, but she allowed me to pull Elke into a hug so tight that it nearly knocked her over. Her warm breath was comforting against my cheeks, reminding me that even with everything that had happened to me and then to Gunter and now to her, there was still hope for everyone who’d been taken away.
“I can’t even explain how glad I am to see you,” she said, her voice muffled against me.
Neither could I, but we had priorities here. “How did you find us?” I asked admiringly, letting her go.
She waved her hand. “Long story. But we need to go, Klara. Right now.” She grabbed me by the wrist, pulling me aside. “We can’t talk about it now,” she continued urgently.
I shook my head, breaking her grip easily. “We can’t go now,” I protested. How could I explain everything that had happened in her absence? How could I even begin to explain?
The Prinzenkreis were still watching us at a distance too close for comfort, though the pale woman had tucked her knife back into her pocket. I knew we couldn’t talk about Gunter or Ilona in front of them. And what Elke had to tell me definitely had something to do with the two of them.
Elke glanced around nervously, her eyes flitting from one figure cast in shadows to the next. “We’ll talk outside,” she whispered.
I nodded, motioning for the others to leave. They retreated a few feet, though they still eyed us warily, clearly intent on doing as much eavesdropping as I could. Elke and I left the building through the amazingly still-intact back door and walked a short distance down the alleyway before I asked the obvious question:
“What happened?”
She took a deep breath. “They took me away. They know everything, except about this place, but I didn’t give anything away. Anyway, they eventually gave up on me and let me go. But the thing is, I was in the record shop again when they came.”
“Again?” I interrupted. They’d taken me when we were there, and she’d barely escaped. Going back there seemed like the worst possible idea.
She nodded earnestly. “I just kept thinking about what Uncle Friedrich said. We’ve already found the prince, so we need a map, right?”
“There’s a map in there,” I replied, gesturing to the building with a sinking feeling in my chest. She had risked everything for something I’d already found.
She frowned. “Really? What sort of map?”
“It’s—it’s a map of Berlin,” I replied hesitantly. “Peter’s scribbled on it a bit, but otherwise it’s just a regular map.”
She shook her head. “It’s the wrong map, then. Uncle Friedrich wouldn’t want us to find any regular map, right?”
That made sense to some degree. “But this is Peter’s map—it’s not—okay, it’s not exactly regular,” I replied helplessly although that was a direct contradiction of what I’d just said.
She shook her head. “There was another map, hidden in one of the records.” A faint smile touched her face. “An album by The Rolling Stones. He remembered us.”
“With—”
“A circle over Ilona’s house.”
Taking a deep breath, I realized that I had a lot of explaining to do. “There’s a tunnel,” I whispered. “In her living room floor. It leads to the other side of the Wall. That must be what he meant. He was trying to give us a hint.”
She bit her lip. “I don’t think that’s what it is.”
I waited for her to go on, but her eyes were squeezed shut, like she always did when she was thinking hard. I thought, too. Mostly, I thought about how we were going to rescue Gunter from the outpost.
She didn’t even know that we’d found him.
“Her last letter,” Elke said quietly after a while. “You saw it in her bedroom, didn’t you?”
I nodded yes.
“Uncle Friedrich, he . . . he knew Ilona. Maybe he was trying to tell us to find her last letter. You didn’t get a chance to read all of it, did you?”
“No, there wasn’t much time.”
“I think we should go back there,” she suggested. “I think it says something important.”
I shook my head. “We’re going to escape, maybe tonight. And we’re going to find Gunter really soon, too. We shouldn’t go anywhere. What if we’re caught out so late? We could be thrown in prison.”
“It’s important,” she insisted. “Ilona wouldn’t put us through danger without a reason.”
I remained unconvinced. “If it was really that important, she would have made sure we had another way of finding it out—Peter Weber would have told us about it already.”
“Please, Klara.” She glanced back uncertainly at the building. “There’s something else.”
“Like . . .”
“There’s something wrong. About all of this. About how he found you.”
“We think Karl—”
“No. It’s not that. It’s not him—he’s done nothing wrong,” she insisted. “It’s not about Peter. It’s about Uncle Friedrich.”
“He betrayed us in some way?” I asked, thinking of how we’d been caught in his record shop. Had he just faked the whole thing?
“No, it’s just that he circled Ilona’s house, and he circled this place. And he wrote the word Danger over the circle over this building.”
“Why would he have written something like that? Are you sure he didn’t write Safety or Hope or something?”
She shook her head. “No, it was definitely Danger. It was written in red. That’s not exactly the color you’d associate with safety, right? And the circle over her house—”
“Like there’s something wrong with this place? Someone knows about it?” I looked around, but the street was deserted. “Like, he tipped us off to the government, but then regretted it and he’s trying to warn us now?”
She bit her lip. “Maybe something like that.”
“It makes sense that he might betray us,” I said. “I mean, if he was being paid for it or something, he might.”
“Maybe,” she replied softly. “I just think Ilona’s last letter—it’s going to explain it all. I really do.”
I sighed. “Fine, we’ll go to her house. But we need to be back here within an hour, okay? We have to find my brother.”
She smiled gratefully. “Deal.”
“Let’s go tell Peter what we’re up to,” I started to say, but she clamped a firm hand over my mouth before I could finish my sentence.
“Are you stupid? He’ll never let us go poking around in his deceased daughter’s room like we’re Brezhnev or somebody.”
That was a good point, but I still didn’t like the idea of poking around in anyone’s room, especially without permission. Still, Elke was persistent, and Ilona had done her best to ensure that I’d find her last letter. Not agreeing to do this would be letting them both down.
“Alright,” I conceded. “Shouldn’t I at least tell my mother?”
Elke shook her head firmly. “Let’s go. Alone. Now.”
As we walked, I quickly filled her in on everything that I’d learned. After I’d finished, she told me about what the Stasi had done to her—the questions, the threat of torture, and finally the release. Her voice was strangely monotonous as she spoke, something that shocked me even further.
We spoke quietly, but there was nothing we could do about the conspicuously loud crunch of our boots through the snow. It was pitch-black outside, and a thick, suffocating fog had settled over the city; we could hardly see our own hands. We fell silent after a while, our senses heightened by our paranoia, glancing around every few steps to make sure we were not being watched or followed.
“Do you think we’re really going to escape?” Elke murmured, her voice not much more than a breath as a sudden wind stole them from her mouth.
I hesitated, weighing the chances. We were so close to escaping, but I’d learned from experience that this was usually the point where everything went wrong.
“Yes,” I said finally. I was already lost in daydreams about what Western Berlin would look like, about what it would feel like to see Papa and Karl again.
Only when the harsh command rang through the air did we startle back to reality.
“Halt!”
It was the unmistakable commanding call of a Stasi officer, one we’d heard once or twice before, which was just once or twice too many. And now? Now when we were this close to getting away?
“Run!” I pushed Elke in front of me and we sprinted down an alleyway, but it was already too late. The Stasi officer was right behind us, gaining on us quickly, his heavy, pounding footsteps coming nearer and nearer. He’d already spotted us.
I spun around and was met by the blinding glare of a high-power flashlight. I couldn’t help but close my eyes tight against it. I rushed forward and punched him in the jaw as hard as I could. He grunted, falling to the ground in surprise but rolling over. I tackled him effortlessly, fueled by fear and adrenaline, holding him against the ground with all the strength in my body as he kicked and struggled.
Elke returned with a trash can cover and swiftly knocked him cold before he had a chance to yell for help. We kicked him against the wall where he wouldn’t be spotted as easily and ran for our lives.
We ran and ran. I stumbled twice, each time catching myself on the icy ground. My palms bled then from where I’d scraped them, warm crimson flowing down my fingers. I clenched my fists.
Finally, we stopped at Ilona’s front gate, our breath coming in tearing gasps. Elke’s eyes were shining with the fire of assured victory.
“We did it,” she gasped.
I nodded, still struggling to catch my breath as well. We might have made it here, but there was still a lot more to come. The next few hours could decide my fate—including whether I’d be killed.
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Chapter Thirty-Three:
Our first thought was to try to climb up the tree and get in through the window, as we had the time before. We’d made it all the way to the base of the trunk before our plans came crashing down on our heads. Not literally.
Well, it could have literally fallen on us if we’d been there at another time. The branch we’d used was missing, lying there on the ground like a shattered glass nobody had picked up. It was probably the victim of one of the recent, vicious winter storms that could knock a tree flat in a second.
The lights of Ilona’s house were all turned out. It looked like a haunted house from a fairy tale. I felt small and inadequate as it loomed in front of me, like I wasn’t good enough or strong enough to do what I had to do.
“How are we going to get in?” Elke asked after a long moment.
“We have to find a back door,” I replied. “The front door will definitely be locked.”
We tried the front door anyway; as I’d suspected, it didn’t even budge.
We walked a half circle around the house, tripping in dead thorny hedges and snow-covered juniper bushes. The landscaping definitely needed some work. Peter Weber seemed to have neglected everything since Ilona had died, and his housemaid (or whoever that old woman was) wasn’t very good about the yard either.
There was one back door, but that, too, was locked. I pressed my nose to the glass, cupping my hands around my face to be able to see in more easily. The interior was dark, but it appeared to be a kitchen; at least I thought I saw a pot sitting on a counter.
I debated just breaking in and answering questions and whatnot later, but there had to be a better way. The only tree in the yard was the broken one in the front. We couldn’t climb through the window—or could we? I glanced around for a gutter leading down from the roof and spotted one.
“Over there,” I said, pointing.
We hurried over. Elke, who was a nimbler and better climber, grabbed the gutter first. It was made of cheap material and bent under her weight, then broke the moment she tried to lift her other foot off the ground. It was clear that we weren’t going to get anywhere using the gutters.
We walked another half circle around the house, ending back up at the front door again. I stared up to the second floor, where the window looking out of Ilona’s room was, wishing she was still here, wishing that she had some way to guide us.
“I need your help,” I whispered, but quietly enough so that Elke wouldn’t hear us.
But nothing happened. My shoulders slumped forward in defeat. We needed a miracle. Gunter’s arrival right now would do nicely. Yet he wasn’t here. My stomach twisted up painfully at the mere memory of what had happened to me when I’d been captured, and that was just the beginning of what the government could do. There were still dark scabs on my injured arm, and I’d bear the scars for the rest of my life. I didn’t want to think about Gunter being tortured, screaming for mercy, begging for his life at the cost of others’ lives as I had.
Suddenly I wanted to turn and run to Outpost 41 to set him free, not caring what happened to me, if I lived or died, so long as he was safe. Finding Ilona’s seventh letter seemed pointless and hopeless.
But I had made a silent promise to her that I was going to find that last letter and read it for myself, no matter what it took. I had to uphold my promise, for everyone involved.
“I think I’ve got it,” Elke announced.
I forced myself to focus on the present moment. Everything else that needed to be done would happen later. Right now, this was the priority.
“That ladder, over there,” she began, motioning towards it. It was a small ladder, only ten or eleven steps high, propped up against the fence, its weight bending the ancient wooden structure. I’d never noticed it before.
My eyes widened in understanding. “Oh!”
“We’ll put it under her bedroom window, but we have to be quiet,” Elke explained. “The maid might be asleep in here.”
I wondered if she really was asleep. We’d made a lot of noise falling and trying to get the door open already. Maybe she wasn’t here. Maybe she was just a heavy sleeper. Maybe she was waiting for us in Ilona’s bedroom with a loaded gun.
Hopefully my first hypothesis turned out to be right.
Our first attempt to lift the ladder failed miserably. It weighed at least twice as much as I’d expected, sending me to my knees. I sat there for a moment, gasping for breath.
“Let’s try again,” Elke suggested, brimming with optimism like she always was.
I nodded. With great effort, we managed to move the ladder a couple of feet before we had to stop and rest again. Then a couple more feet. Finally, we’d managed to maneuver it into the correct location, except it was lying awkwardly on its side.
We lifted it slowly. It banged hard against the wall, leaving a dent there. I winced, hoping the maid hadn’t heard it. But it was almost perfectly aligned beneath the bedroom window. Once at the top, it would be easy enough to open the window while standing on the bottom windowsill.
Except getting to the top was another matter.
Elke agreed to hold the ladder steady from the bottom while I, being the braver one (for better or for worse), went first. It shook under my weight as I climbed the first three widely spaced steps. Only eight steps were left.
“Come on!” Elke urged in a loud whisper.
I nodded, not daring to look down as I climbed three more steps. A sudden wind nearly knocked me off the ladder, but to my relief, Elke was doing a good job holding the ladder steady. I flattened myself against it, waiting for the gale to pass. It was in reality more of a breeze, but felt like a tornado.
Finally, I’d reached the last step. I locked my hands tightly around the windowsill, using it to hoist myself up the last few feet, but my fingers were so sweaty they threatened to slip off.
“I think someone’s coming,” Elke said urgently. It felt like her voice was coming from very far away, but it startled me nevertheless.
“I’m almost there,” I replied, my voice shaking with nervousness. I only had a few seconds. Trembling all over, I got my knee over the edge of the windowsill and unlocked the window before tumbling inside, doing my best to land softly. But I couldn’t linger there for too long as I had the time before. I looked down; Elke had disappeared, leaving the ladder there, a clear pathway to where I was.
Opening the gate were two Stasi officers, their rifles glinting like beacons in the pale, dark night.
For a moment, I couldn’t breathe.
I’d been held at gunpoint before. I’d been tortured. I’d seen people killed. But this . . . this was different, because right now, it really mattered if I lived or died—and I needed to live, so that Gunter could, too.
I’d often wondered what it felt like to have every bit of hope for a miracle drained out of your body. Now I knew what it was like. Like everything inside me was being pulled away, leaving only bones without a soul.
But the officers hadn’t seen me.
And my soul was back again.
I closed the window as gently as possible. There wasn’t time to stand here. Quickly, I scanned the desk.
But the letter wasn’t there where I’d left it.
I frantically rummaged through the drawers, knocking everything out of place in my haste. I checked under the bed, under the blankets. Nothing.
The door banged open, and I gasped. But it wasn’t an officer. Instead, the maid was standing there menacingly, armed with a broomstick. This was little relief but at least she wasn’t holding a weapon that looked like it could really hurt.
“What,” she demanded, “are you doing here?”
I raised my hands into the air, my words tumbling out of my mouth. “Please. You have to help me. I need a letter.”
“A what?”
“Letter,” I whispered. “You know, like, something people write to other people?”
“I certainly know what a letter is, you impudent little girl. What are you doing in my house?”
“Ilona,” I said helplessly. “She wrote me a letter.”
“Ilona?”
I nodded, searching her face for any sign that she recognized the name.
She approached me, her gaze drifting momentarily out the window, her eyes widening when she saw the Stasi officers. Immediately, her voice turned low and urgent. “What do you mean, a letter?”
I lowered my hands, struggling to explain. “She wrote me a letter. It was right here, on her desk. I can’t find it now.”
Her eyes narrowed. “You’re Klara, aren’t you?”
I nodded quickly.
“I have that letter,” she said. “I took it from her desk the last time someone was in here. You’ve been inside before, haven’t you?” I nodded, still shaking. She beckoned with one finger. “Follow me, quickly.”
I just nodded again. She led me to an attic space, where she dug around beneath torn pillows and stuffed animals before producing none other than the letter. My name seemed to be brighter than the rest of the words, glowing.
Before I even knew what was happening, I was pulling it from her hands, my eyes transfixed on my name. Dear Klara, she’d written. I could almost hear her voice again.
“Be careful with it,” the woman instructed, shaking her finger at me. “I don’t understand much of it at all, but maybe you will. There are dangerous things written in here. Use it wisely.” A sharp knock at the door made us both jump. I prayed they hadn’t caught Elke. “Go!” she hissed, shoving me down the stairs ahead of her.
I ran as fast as I could but before I could open the kitchen door, the front door was opening and the maid was saying in an angry, annoyed way: “Can I help you?”
I shot under the nearest thing, which happened to be a table, a fancy circular one with a greasy tablecloth hanging down in folds that concealed me some, but not effectively enough. I could hear their voices, their footsteps.
The kitchen door broke open, splinters of wood flying, leaving a huge, gaping hole in it. I held back a scream. Elke stood there with a sledgehammer, her eyes blazing.
I wriggled out from under the table and we ran around the front as the Stasi came into the kitchen. I could hear them shouting angrily, to each other, to the maid, to the empty house that seemed to be laughing back at them.
Finally, we felt safe enough to stop running. I unfolded the letter, my heart slamming against my ribs in anticipation, my fingers slick with sweat, my eyes fixed on whatever was to come.
This was it. This was her last letter.
Elke was leaning over my shoulder. I couldn’t unfold the paper fast enough, so she snatched it out excitedly out of my hands and held it up to the light of the huge yellow moon where we could both read it easily.
Date: April 19, 1963
Dear Klara,
If this letter ever reaches you, you’ve almost figured it out. Tell your brothers goodbye from me. Tell my family that I love them. You can have my old records.
They caught the Prinzenkreis. They will torture me soon, but knowing that you are reading this brings me comfort, so I am not afraid.
We are digging a tunnel. It begins in a place your brother knows well.
My father is lying. He will try to hurt you. Do not trust him. Get your family and leave. Now.
I am so sorry, but I am not going to survive.
All my love
And then the letter just stopped. She’d never had time to finish it. Elke crumpled it up as soon as we’d finished reading it, tore it, chewed the pieces, stamped them with their foot, and kicked them in different directions. But I just stood there, shocked and confused.
You can have my old records. It had been such a silly, off-topic thing to write to me, one that the Stasi wouldn’t understand, but one that I knew had a deeper meaning. It begins in a place your brother knows well.
The hint she’d given me came to light all at once.
Clearly, Gunter must have gotten all our records from Uncle Friedrich’s shop, explaining the recognition in his eyes when he’d heard my name—one of my brothers must have mentioned me to him. (In my defense, this wasn’t very clear at all, but it seemed obvious to me now.) He knew about me, which was why he’d let me poke around in his shop without much protest against Elke.
How many times had Gunter been back there since the Wall had been built? Did he know, in some way, that Uncle Friedrich was dead? Did he know I’d been in that shop?
But none of that mattered now. I had realized something much bigger—it wasn’t just about old records, or about a place Gunter knew of. Understanding dawned slowly, like a curtain falling.
The tunnel began in the record shop.
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Chapter Thirty-Four:
Elke and I looked at each other for a long second. It took us a few moments to stop smiling. But then I realized that there was something wrong with the entire thing. Peter Weber had said that the tunnel was in his house, not a record shop.
My father is lying.
It was what Gunter had tried to explain in his note, too. My heart stopped beating for a second. Peter wasn’t trying to help us. He was up to something, something bad.
He was . . . he hadn’t been looking for any sort of items. He’d told the truth to the man, lied to us. He’d been talking about me, about Mama and Gunter, about what was supposedly the Prinzenkreis. It wasn’t really the Prinzenkreis—the real group had fallen with Ilona. He’d created a replica, a fake. Something to capture people who wanted to escape. We were easy prey. He’d turn us over to the government. Was he out to get the other members too, or were they with him in this? Uncle Friedrich had never turned against us after all. He’d been trying to save us. Danger. Danger. We needed to get back to Peter. Mama. Gunter wasn’t in any Outpost 41. Everything was so mixed up, spinning.
“He’s lying,” I said out loud, my voice shaking badly.
“Who?”
“Peter Weber. He’s not the prince. He’s going to try to kill us.”
“What? Why?”
“I can’t explain right now. We have to go back, get my mother. She’s in danger right now. And then we have to get my brother.”
It was obviously a trap. That raised another problem—where was Gunter, and had Peter given him away, too? Was he even alive?
But we’d have to deal with that later. Right now, getting back to Mama and informing her of the situation was the top priority.
I could barely believe what was happening. I’d trusted Peter Weber with our lives, trusted him even more than I trusted myself. And he wanted to kill us. It all made sense, in a way, even though I couldn’t understand why anyone would ever kill anyone else and be able to live with themselves. You can never be a whole person again if you have to live with that kind of guilt. A piece of you is taken away every time someone you’ve seen before dies. This is like a million pieces.
Every suspicious thing I’d seen or heard about Peter pointed in this direction. I blinked hard to clear my vision, still trying to understand how I’d been so thick, so unable to see past his false mask and into what he really was.
“Klara,” Elke said sharply, “what are you talking about?”
I shook my head, unable to find the right words.
Elke was tense, pale. “I think we need to go. Now.”
“I know,” I said, my mind still reeling. “So you’re thinking what I’m thinking?”
“No,” she replied, her voice higher pitched than usual. “I am definitely not thinking what you are thinking.”
“Then what?” I snapped.
“I’m thinking that we’re not alone here.”
I looked around, squinting through the darkness of the night. Every hair on the back of my neck stood up. Someone was breathing close by. Someone that wasn’t me or Elke. I could feel their presence, even though I couldn’t see them—him.
Before we could move, he was there.
He looked like a monster. His face was twisted in a sneer, his eyes reflecting the ghostly moon, his yellow teeth exposed. I shrank back instinctively against the wall, feeling Elke’s arm come across me protectively.
“Well, then,” he said quietly, taking a step forward, his claw-like hands reaching outwards, nails grimy and pointing.
“Get back,” Elke said firmly.
“So you figured it out.” He laughed mirthlessly. “You’re smart, Klara. Too smart for your own good.”
I made a small noise like a squeak before I managed to speak: “Peter—why?”
“Why?” He let out a low, harsh laugh, like gravel. “I show up to kill you, and you ask me why?”
I swallowed down my fear. “Why would you do this?” I asked, trying to sound brave even though I wanted to disappear into the ground. “Why would you betray us?”
He stepped forward, just a shadow in the dark night. It was snowing now; when he turned on a flashlight, illuminating his face in a hollow glow, the snow seemed even bigger than before, everything seemed bigger, and I felt even smaller.
“Why?” he repeated, another mocking laugh escaping his thin chapped lips. “Because you know too much. Because you’ve been poking into places you shouldn’t have. You think you’re so clever, Klara. I watched you for weeks, months, maybe. I let you go for a while. But you needed to be taught a lesson.”
Something clicked inside my head. “You tipped me off that day in the record shop?” I demanded angrily.
“Someone needed to remind you of the consequences of your actions.”
“And you took Gunter away. Where are you keeping him?” I clenched my fists, ready to scream, punch, and even kill if that was what it took to find out where he was keeping my brother.
He waved my question off, returning to the previous topic. “I informed the government and asked them to deal with you. Clearly, that little reminder didn’t work.” Little reminder? I’d almost been killed under torture! “So, I went to other measures. First your brother, and then your friend here. Blowing up your school and convicting your teacher didn’t work. Even a public execution didn’t work. Obviously, you needed to be taught a stronger lesson.”
“Like what?” Elke asked, stepping up boldly.
“Like tonight,” he said simply. “Your unsuspecting mother and those other fools who believe I am their answer to freedom will be shown, once and for all, the true meaning of disobeying the government and disrespecting the law. The punishment for treason is not light, let me assure you.”
“What are you going to do to them?” I was fighting to keep my voice level.
“You’ll see, in time.”
Panic surged through my chest, coupled by a suffocating terror. He was going to kill them, and then he was going to kill me after he made me watch my own mother die.
I tried to run for it. He blocked my path before I even took two steps. “Not so fast, Klara. There’s still hope for you.”
I knew better than to push past him. I waited for him to go on, more pleadingly than anything else, even though I didn’t want to appear like I was pleading. I would do anything as long as he didn’t murder my family, and he knew it.
He relaxed slightly once he saw I wasn’t going to run, the tension in his broad, strong shoulders slowly easing, sinewy muscles unclenching beneath his jacket. It felt even colder than it had been before. A shudder passed through my entire body and I shrank into myself, as if trying to disappear into the heavy folds of my coat.
“Tell me how Ilona helped all those people escape,” he said, his voice carefully calculated, “and I will clear your name.”
I swallowed. “And—you’ll let my mother and brother go?” The words were out before I could stop them.
“Why, yes, of course. Your friend here too, if you want.” He gestured to Elke. “Safe and unharmed. With no evidence of anything that may have passed between us. Their names will be cleared, too. As long as you watch your step from now on, you’ll be able to start over. All you have to do is tell me how my daughter did it.”
All I had to do . . . and yet it was so much. The tunnel. He wanted me to tell him where the tunnel was. That was not going to happen anytime soon. I resolved to die painfully before I told him. It was likely the best hope of escape out of East Berlin, one that hundreds, if not the entire city, could use to free themselves. My life was insignificant next to that.
“I don’t know what you mean,” I replied.
He shoved me against the wall, his hands tight and clammy around my throat. “Tell me now!”
Tears welled up in my eyes and it took everything I had not to blubber like a baby right then and there. I clenched my fists until my fingers bit into my palms as the breath was stolen from my lungs, slowly, slowly.
At last, he let me go. I gasped for breath, relief filling me, but it was only for a moment. He was pointing a pistol at me. The cold metal made contact with the side of my head, just above my right ear.
Suddenly I felt like all bones again.
“It doesn’t take much to make me kill you,” he said. His voice seemed to be everything there ever was, filling the entire world, until my mind was overflowing with it. It was a low sound, somehow comforting, dripping with sarcasm and malice.
I wanted to tell him that I knew it didn’t take much, but making snarky comments when there was a gun against my head was generally not the best idea, so I kept my mouth shut.
He pulled the gun away but didn’t tuck it back into its holster. He was circling around me now, like a snake, his voice caressing, almost cajoling.
“Let’s see, now . . .”
Taking this moment of distraction, Elke moved quickly and dove past him before he could stop her. He fired at her, but she kept running, dodging the bullets like she’d been born for this as they ricocheted off the stern brick buildings, the sound echoey in the silence. I couldn’t help but close my eyes, and keep them closed until her footsteps disappeared into silence. She hadn’t been hit.
I could only hope that she was going to save my mother and the rest of the innocent Prinzenkreis, and then maybe get Gunter if she knew where to find him, before she came back with help for me.
Peter Weber calmly reloaded his gun like he was just lighting one of those cheap Soviet cigarettes that broke in half or crumbled into grey cardboard dust the minute you touched them. I stood tall, looking straight ahead, as if I was entirely unafraid.
“Seeing as you are not going to give me the information I need,” he said, “I have no choice.”
My breath coming hard and fast, I waited for a while, but he didn’t shoot me, didn’t even point his pistol at me again. Instead, he took me by the arm, his grip firm.
“Shall we?” he asked, beginning to lead me down the alley.
“Where are you taking me?” I demanded stiffly, tensing in preparation to pull away and run for my very life.
“To show you what you’ve done, of course. Oh, don’t run, Klara. You’ll only make things worse for yourself.”
I couldn’t make any sense of his first statement, so instead I asked him again: “Where are you keeping Gunter?”
“We’ll get to that in time. For now, Klara, I must remind you that you are making a terrible mistake. Your actions have already cost many lives and will cost many more lives. Yours is just one of those many. Do you feel any remorse for that?”
I chose not to answer, my lips pressed tightly together.
“When you die tonight, think of everyone who has suffered because of what you did. Others will die alongside you not because they want you, but because they were made to.”
I stopped walking, trying to pull away, but of course it was no use. “Where are you keeping my brother?” I repeated.
“You really aren’t going to drop the topic, are you? You’re going to be killed before you can do anything for him, so I might as well tell you, if it eases your mind at all. If you must know, he’s being kept in the abandoned steel factory.” He laughed softly. “He is, for the moment, indisposed of.”
“Why did you take him away?” I demanded furiously.
“It wasn’t me; it was the Stasi. I was only doing my duty to this beautiful, beautiful State by tipping them off about your brother and his whereabouts. He is a dangerous figure. He, too, will suffer because of you.”
“You were supposed to help us!” I shouted, yanking away, but he kept a tight hold on me. “You were supposed to be the prince!”
“Was I?” he asked amusedly. “How funny. I was under the impression that your brother, Karl, was the prince. At least that’s always how Ilona expressed it.”
The crown Karl had been wearing. He’d been trying to give me a hint.
“How very sweet,” he continued, though judging by his tone, it was anything but. “Well, I suppose we all misjudge people’s character at one time or another. This mistake, however, will turn out to be your last.”
“You told them about Ilona,” I snarled. “You’re her father. You told them what she was up to, and they killed her.” He’d murdered her, maybe not with his own hands, but he still had murdered her. I couldn’t imagine my own father even thinking about harming me. How cruel and heartless could people get? I thought I’d seen it all with the Stasi. Apparently not.
Peter pulled me back into a walk. “That is unimportant, Klara. As I said before, I was only doing my duty to the State.”
“What duty?”
“My—”
“You dog! You snake in the grass! You killed your own daughter! Is that what you want to be? A cowering servant to dictators?” I spat out the last word.
“You’d better not—”
“I will, I will, I will!” I screamed. “I’ll do whatever you don’t want me to do!”
“I’ll warn you just—”
“You’re going to kill me, right? Go ahead and kill me.” I was unafraid. I was alive and burning and unafraid.
He sighed. “You really don’t understand anything, do you? What I just said about the State—it’s a lie, all of it’s a lie. I’m doing this for the government, but not because I want to.”
“No, you do,” I whispered.
“Maybe, if you shut your mouth for a moment, I can explain this to you before you die.”
“I don’t want to know,” I said. “I don’t want to hear any of your lame excuses. You killed Ilona. And now you’re going to kill every other thing you thought you might ever be able to love. That doesn’t erase the guilt. That doesn’t. It never goes away.” I blinked the tears back.
“I’m doing this for a good cause,” he said softly. “But it seems that you don’t want me to explain, so I won’t.”
“I don’t. I don’t want you to,” I insisted.
And I didn’t. It didn’t matter.
Nothing he was saying mattered.
Instead of concentrating on his next words, I silently willed Mama and Gunter and Elke to get to the record shop and escape, willed them to do that as hard as I could, but I knew the thought was useless, impossible. I gritted my teeth as we continued walking. Maybe miracles could still happen.
And then I realized that we were back at Ilona’s front gate.
And all the lights inside the house were brilliantly on.
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Chapter Thirty-Five:
I stared at the house, numb, disbelieving, not even allowing myself to believe what was happening.
“Yes,” Peter said quietly. “I’ll send them down the false tunnel. All of them. You too, Klara, if you’d like.”
I shook my head. My lips moved, but no comprehensible sound came out. How could he do this? How could he keep a straight face while doing this? It didn’t seem real to me.
“No?” he asked. “You’d prefer to watch them die?”
I wished there was something more I could do, something else I could say, but only a half-sob escaped my lips, a twisted and mangled sound, a desperate plea for mercy. I wasn’t used to pleading.
“This,” he said, dragging my unresponsive body through the gate, “is what happens when you try to outsmart the government.”
“No,” I whispered. “Please, no.”
He stopped walking and turned to face me. He was smiling again. Something about that smile made all my anger at his betrayal boil over, words pouring from my mouth like lava, scorching that sneer off his face.
“You can’t do this!” I shouted, my voice raw.
“I can’t do what? On the contrary, Klara, I can do almost whatever I want. It feels good to be king, doesn’t it? Of course, you wouldn’t know.”
“You have to let them go,” I pleaded. “You have to.”
“Let them go where? The Stasi are watching you right now, don’t you realize that? There is no escape for them. Even if you tell them what will happen to them, it’s useless. You will all be killed before you can blink.”
“It’s not fair! Let them go! Let me go!” I struggled, sinking my teeth into his arm. He yelped in pain, then pulled me away from him, flinging me against the fence like I was a paper sack of bread he didn’t want anymore.
My head smashed into it with impossible force and for a moment I couldn’t move, could only watch the sky growing a tiny bit further through blurry vision as I slumped to the ground. The snow and grass was refreshingly cool beneath my head. I struggled to get my breath back, my ears still ringing.
“Don’t raise your voice.”
He yanked me upright and half-carried me towards the front window, where we could look into the well-lit living room. There, he pinned my arms down by my sides and shoved my face against the glass so hard that I could barely speak, much less breathe normally. This way, I could have a brutally perfect view of what was going on inside.
I was positioned so that my knees were in a briar patch and only the top of my head would be visible to whoever might look out the lowest part of the window (which was pretty much no one). Every time I closed my eyes, even to blink, he’d slap my face hard or hold the gun to my cheek, forcing me to keep watching. His voice was smooth, soothing, cajoling. Evil.
“Now don’t make a sound, there’s a good girl. You get hurt if you try to scream.”
The living room was a well-lit space that looked warm and almost cozy. All the other members of the Prinzenkreis were gathered on the sofas near the stone fireplace, a rare luxury that I was lucky to have in my home. Mama was there too, chatting with the pale woman, although I couldn’t hear what they were saying. The maid was nowhere in sight.
I’d been in this house just a few minutes ago, but it looked like I’d been on the other side of the planet.
“Herr Weber, please,” I whispered against the glass, my breath fogging it up.
Peter didn’t respond. I could hear his breathing. It was a raspy, grating sound, like an engine that wouldn’t start, like a witch straight out of Hansel and Gretel.
They pulled the curtains across, not even seeing me, and I knew they were going to open the entrance to the false tunnel now. But why were they opening the entrance when we didn’t have Gunter? What had Peter told Mama to make her leave without him?
Of course. Mama thought he’d already gone to get Gunter. She thought he’d been rescued. She thought . . .
“Would you like to go inside and get a better view?” Peter asked like he was offering me another biscuit rather than suggesting I get a close-up on my mother’s face just before she died.
I waited until he’d released me just a moment to place one hand on the handle of the front door, then twisted with all my strength. For one miraculous second, I actually broke away, but ended up flat on my face with his knee pressed chokingly hard down on my back. I could taste blood and cement.
“Don’t even think about that.”
I bit him again, and again, but even though I was inflicting pain, he was stronger than that. The occasional grunt didn’t bring me satisfaction, only made me want to bite harder.
“Let me go,” I repeated. I tried to scream but it was useless.
His hand came over my mouth, crushing my head against his shoulder. He opened the front door. I made a frantic grab for the handle and managed to brace myself in the doorframe. The door slammed shut hard.
We were greeted by silence. I struggled furiously. His hand let go for a brief moment and I took a deep breath, but before I could make a sound, he was smothering me again.
“You’re safe,” he called out, his voice laced with false urgency. “But you have to hurry—they’ll be here at any moment. Hannah, I have Klara and Gunter here with me—go on, we’ll follow you. Quickly now!”
The flurry of activity within immediately resumed. I could hear the sounds of people shoving each other, likely each of them trying to get into the tunnel first I could hear Mama calling out to him: “Thank you for my children.” Her voice was broken. And then everything became muffled and I knew they were in the tunnel now.
Lies, everything lies, and she would believe it until the end.
She hadn’t even seen me again.
I tried to scream again, but his hand was still over my mouth. All that came was a muffled sound that wasn’t heard as he took the opportunity to stamp the snow out of his boots. I screamed again and again, but it was useless.
I was entirely powerless as he dragged me into the living room. They’d pulled back the carpet after shifting the coffee table, leaving a trap door exposed, which they’d opened and were now climbing down, one after another. Mama wasn’t there. She’d already descended to her death.
Peter kept a firm hand over my mouth as the last of the Prinzenkreis disappeared into the trap door. Then, holding me so tightly I was sure I was going to suffocate, he carried me down after them, leaving the door open behind him. It was too dark to see much, but they appeared to be filing down a long tunnel, one after another. One of them glanced back and gave Peter a thumbs-up sign.
“There,” he said quietly. “All is in order.”
Tears were streaming down my cheeks, mixing with the dirt on my face and flowing under Peter’s fingers and into my mouth, like the cruelest rain. No. No. This could not be happening.
“One after another, that’s right . . .”
The tunnel seemed to go on forever, but it could not have been more than a hundred feet. I kept my eyes trained on Mama. She grew smaller and smaller until she was swallowed up by the darkness.
Peter Weber pulled his hand away from my mouth. “You can scream now, Klara. Go ahead and scream as loudly as you can. Make them live their last few moments in sheer terror.” He released me and flipped a switch.
For a moment, I stood frozen, then I began punching him as hard as I could. I felt his jaw and ribs smash beneath my fists, his teeth shattering. I hadn’t even known that I possessed such impossible strength. He yelled in pain, causing some of the Prinzenkreis to turn around, and I remembered my mother.
“Mama!” I screamed as loudly as I possibly could.
She was looking at me, a slight frown on her face deepening.
“Come back!” I screamed. “It’s a trap! Come back!”
There was a low rumbling from the far end of the tunnel, and I could see the small bombs racing towards the distant figures.
“No! Come back! Come back!”
Her eyes never left mine. She was in the light, then darkness, a woman, a girl, my mother, a paper puppet tangled in its strings, she was crying, happy, laughing.
It was all over much too fast. In the blink of an eye, even. She never felt the pain, never realized what happened to her. A stick of dynamite tore her apart quickly, so quickly. There was blood, and then there was fire, and then . . .
And then . . .
The ground shook violently, knocking me over onto Peter’s still form. I didn’t try to get up, shaking with sobs. I might have never gotten up had a terrific explosion not flung me against the dirt ceiling, onto the descending step ladder, and right out of the trap door, where I landed on the carpet, back in the light.
The tunnel rumbled and everything was collapsing now, everything. I could hear it outside, thunder, endless.
Peter followed me up a few seconds later. He moved awkwardly, broken and bleeding badly from several places on his body. There was no sadness or regret in his eyes, only a fiery rage that dimmed slowly when he collapsed to the floor.
He was still breathing. I forced myself to sit up. Still breathing. I knew he deserved to die. But I couldn’t bring myself to do anything.
I heard Elke’s frantic voice, shouting for me. She came into the room with a bang as the door slammed against the wall, her eyes wild, but softening some when she saw me alive and unhurt.
“He did it?” was all she could say.
I nodded. I couldn’t hurt Peter, or anyone, especially not after all this. I couldn’t bring myself to even kick him. He didn’t move.
“Leave him,” said Elke. Her voice was very calm. “We have other things to attend to. Your brother, for example.”
“We can’t,” I said in a small voice that didn’t belong to me.
“We have to,” she replied firmly. “We have to go. Now.”
I stood up, my legs quaking beneath me. Elke nodded approvingly, and we walked a short distance away before she came back to spit on peter’s face like a regular tomboy, her saliva trickling down his gaunt cheek.
“You’ll regret this.” It was his voice, except it was just a shadow of his voice, one full of real pain.
I turned back to look at him, my face twisting in disgust as I scrutinized him through eyes narrowed in sheer hatred. I’d believed him. I’d trusted him. And this was what he had done to us. Elke was still walking towards the shattered back door, oblivious of everything.
My nose scrunched up at the very sight of him. He was a monster. Repulsive. I could feel my face twisting.
He looked almost like a man then, one who had fought a battle he’d won, but who was losing now.
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Chapter Thirty-Six:
Abandoned steel factory.
It was the only thing I could think about. We stumbled onwards through the frozen night, our steps heavy in the snow. I felt like a sack of potatoes somehow dragging itself forward.
So much had happened over the past few hours that it was difficult to even begin to make sense of it. It seemed impossible that, just this morning, I’d been turning the lights on in the bakery; just this afternoon, being found by a Stasi officer had been the biggest of my concerns. My other concerns now included Gunter’s safety and how all three of us were going to get to the record shop without being discovered and if Peter Weber was still alive and what I was going to do to him if he was.
“Come on,” Elke urged in a whisper, beckoning me forward.
I realized that I was lagging several steps behind and quickened my pace until I caught up with her. She linked her arm with mine, something we’d started doing in kindergarten when we had become best friends. I reached for the locket hanging on my neck, fingering it slowly. It felt warmer, somehow.
Something snapped in the distance, and we immediately tensed. A gunshot? A bird on a twig? For a while, neither of us dared to breathe. Finally, when no one came and no other sound was heard, we continued our walk.
I’d forgotten how picturesque Berlin could be at night, especially as the sidewalk went up and we could see more of the city from our higher vantage point. At first, it looked like a dark mass with blurry patches of light, but then the snow cleared. I saw the strong outlines of the houses, silhouettes of bare trees, the huge banner of Brezhnev hanging on a government building. It would have made a beautiful picture. A perfect propaganda poster. Caption: Free World.
As if anyone was going to believe that.
The streetlights cast a yellow glow on the snowy street, just dim and hazy circles of pale light that seemed to evaporate into the darkness at their edges. I stood under one for a moment, feeling like the last bright thing left in a world of black.
“Let’s go,” Elke urged. “We can’t stay here for too long.”
I nodded, swallowing back the lump in my throat. I could cry later. I tore the note up and left it under the snow, where no one would find it.
“It’s just down that way,” she said, pointing towards distant railroad tracks that weren’t so distant but which were shrouded heavily by the darkness. “Across those.”
“You know the way?” I asked, my mind slowly switching back to reality.
“We used to go here when we were little, remember?”
I did remember, vaguely. We’d play a spy game with some other kids from school when we were in fourth or fifth grade, scouting the abandoned factory and pretending the “enemy” was hiding inside, but none of us had ever had the courage to go inside, though someone had found an unlocked door and gone so far as to push it open.
We’d always wondered why the factory had been abandoned. Ghosts? The economy? Both those ideas weren’t so far-fetched.
There must be a reason, though. Probably it had something to do with the fact that Gunter was being kept there. I guessed that the government had taken it over after it had been abandoned, to keep prisoners, maybe, or to torture them. It was the last place anyone would look.
The government, then. We couldn’t exactly go banging around in there once we arrived.
We had to struggle across a low field to get to the railroad tracks, pulling ourselves through knee-deep snow. Either way, we could have been easily spotted. Elke’s coat was bright red, a bold statement in this country, but then she often made bold statements, like in that Pioneers meeting, which felt like a century ago.
But we weren’t spotted. We safely made it out of the small valley and to the railroad tracks, which we ran across in a heartbeat. A train whistle blew from close by. I jumped, then winced at my own stupidity. Getting scared by a train. That was a first. The train roared past a few seconds later, barely distinguishable from the darkness and the small houses beyond.
Out of breath from the struggle to get across the tracks, we sat down for a moment. My hands were getting cold through my thin gloves and my coat was wet, too.
“Doesn’t this feel like we’re living in one of those Soviet folktales?” Elke asked after a while, her teeth chattering.
“The ones where labor camp survivors walk hundreds of miles in a Siberian winter to reach civilization? That’s not a story, that’s reality.”
Elke laughed, the sound fleeting. “Sort of like those ones.” She pointed in front of us. “There, the factory’s really close. Let’s go.”
Sure enough, it was close, looming in front of us. I wondered how I’d not noticed it before. We made our way through another field, this one more of a field and not a valley, though, and finally reached it.
It didn’t look at all like I remembered; it was bigger, darker, more foreboding. More of a skeleton of a building than anything else. I took a deep breath as I faced it, wondering what we’d find inside. A ghost? The Stasi? Hopefully we’d only run into Gunter there.
My eyes were trained on the front entrance. The huge, heavy iron door we’d tried to open time and time again when we were kids had fallen off, after twenty years of standing there. It lay defeated on the ground, dusted with snow, baked and rusted. What it left behind was a gaping maw. It looked like it was going to swallow us.
We pressed onward, our footsteps muffled by the snow, that and our breathing the only sounds in the quiet of the city night.
“Almost there,” I murmured, hardly daring to believe it.
Elke nodded. A sudden, freezing wind stole whatever words she said then, and I never heard them. We half-ran the last few steps to the entrance and didn’t stop running until we were inside the building.
Elke stopped and turned to face me. I’d never seen a more serious expression on her face. “What if he’s not in there?” she asked bluntly. “What if we came all this way for nothing?”
I took a deep breath. “Then we’ll turn around and hide somewhere until we figure out another plan. We’re not leaving to the West without him.”
“But what if we never find him, Klara?” Even the moonlight didn’t penetrate this far, and I could barely see her face, but the tears in her eyes were glistening.
“I don’t know,” I replied heavily. “We have to hope that we will, though. And we have to start here, now. As soon as he’s able, Peter is going to alert the Stasi, and they’ll come looking for us.” I turned back, squinting outside at our deep footprints in the snow. “They’ll have no trouble at all.”
She nodded firmly, wiping her eyes with the back of her hand when she thought I wasn’t looking. I wanted to cry a little too. It was only fair that I could cry.
Together, we took a deep breath and steeled ourselves against whatever was to come as we took a few more hesitant steps into the abandoned factory. The front room was a vast, seemingly endless space, the beams overhead rusted or broken, leaving jagged red edges behind. Machinery and huge conveyer belts were everywhere, in perfect order. It looked like it had been functional one day and never touched by workers’ hands since.
There was almost no light, but it wasn’t complete darkness either. Moonlight streamed through huge cracks in the ceiling, casting long, pale ovals against the floor. Still, it was hard to see much, and I kept tripping over lead pipes and broken glass, each time barely regaining my balance.
The entire floor was almost entirely one huge room, but there was a smaller area to the left, walled off, which we moved towards curiously towards. A break room, a lunch room, and other rooms were there, the doors left open, the spaces ominously silent, giving us the feeling that we shouldn’t be here.
We checked each one carefully, going so far as to peek under the tables and scour the storage spaces. There was no sign of Gunter anywhere, no indication that this place had been touched for decades.
It felt like the building was going to collapse on us at any moment, such was the poor condition of the ceiling, so I looked at the ground instead. We kept walking, our footsteps unnaturally quiet against the concrete ground, like the sound had been stolen from this place, or like the entire world was holding its breath, the air thick with tension and apprehension.
“Over there,” Elke whispered, gesturing towards a descending staircase at one end of the room. “He’s probably being held at the lower levels.”
Our footsteps stopped; so did the crunching sound our boots were making on the snow, leaving silence. We were about to break into a run when a noise from another part of the factory caught my attention. It was coming from the lunch room, which we’d so meticulously checked just a couple of minutes before. We froze, making ourselves small behind one of the massive conveyer belts.
We were met by a silence so pure it felt like we were suffocating.
“What was that?” Elke ventured, her voice unusually high-pitched, scared.
“I don’t know. But we have to get out of here. I think there’s someone . . .”
She nodded. We moved fast to reach the staircase. There were at least sixty steps that seemed to lead us towards the center of the earth. I wondered how many floors there were here, anyway.
Finally, we reached another room, this one significantly smaller than the main factory floor, and definitely not an assembly line. It was bathed in an odd red light coming from bulbs on the walls. The air smelled dank and musty, an almost earthy smell.
But the lights. Someone else was in here.
There was a long table, like a dining table, with a dozen chairs set neatly around it. The table was spotless. A door led to another room, this one bigger; it was full of shelves carrying papers and blueprints. I flipped through them, searching for some kind of clue that might lead us to Gunter. No, just blueprints.
The entire time I was sure that I could hear somebody breathing and kept glancing around, but there was absolutely nobody except for Elke.
I replaced the blueprints I’d been fingering absentmindedly on their correct shelf, suddenly more alert than before. There was no one in this factory except Gunter, right? The Stasi would have probably shown themselves by now. Other prisoners?
“I don’t think he’s here,” Elke said, her voice wavering.
“Let’s go back upstairs,” I suggested. “We didn’t check the entire floor yet.”
A low sound like a door creaking on its hinge came out of what seemed like nowhere. Maybe it was just the wind, or maybe it was farther away than we were imagining it to be, but both of were startled. I looked at Elke, and Elke looked at me.
“Yeah,” she said. “Good plan. Let’s go upstairs.”
We practically ran from the bottom floor.
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Chapter Thirty-Seven:
Soon, we emerged at the top of the staircase. The red light was gone, replaced by the greyness. But everyone who lived in the Soviet Union was accustomed to things being grey, so that didn’t bother us.
The air here was easier to breathe, but that didn’t mean we breathed any slower. Our hearts were racing in our chests like they were trying to break free. Mine was slamming painfully against my ribcage.
Once we’d gotten our breath back we began to search again, starting methodically at the back of the factory where we were. We were never more than a few inches apart, sticking close together out of sheer terror. My eyes constantly darted left and right, picking up the smallest details, but nothing seemed particularly out of place.
“There’s someone here,” Elke breathed in my ear and we automatically shrank back into the shadows.
I looked around but could see nobody. “Where?”
“Behind us. I don’t think they’ve seen us yet.”
“Who?”
She didn’t answer, instead motioning for me to keep my mouth shut. But I knew the answer. If it was not a Stasi officer, guard, or government official, it was probably a crazy person poking around where they shouldn’t be. A lunatic could be just as dangerous as an armed man.
I turned around again but could still see nobody, regardless of what Elke thought might be there, though I was sure that I—
A scream shattered the silence.
Elke grabbed my wrist. “What on earth was that?” She wasn’t bothering to keep her voice down anymore.
Shots erupted out of nowhere. It took a second for me to realize that whoever was shooting wasn’t aiming for us. We ran, not caring that we made noise, ran until we ended up in a corner, huddled small on the floor with our arms protectively over our heads.
The gunshots continued, coupled with agonized shrieks of pain, and then I heard people moving around, shouting to each other in Russian. Government officials. I understood just enough Russian to make out what they were saying. They’d killed a fugitive, a woman, who’d escaped from prison.
Well. That information was completely useless. Did they know about us? Would they find us?
We stayed in that corner for what felt like years and years. The minutes crawled by, seconds bleeding into each other. The officials tramped around for a while. Finally, I heard one of them shout, “Safe!” They left with a clang and a bang, but we definitely didn’t feel safe.
“We need to move,” Elke whispered after a while—thirty minutes had passed according to my watch, and it was ticking just past midnight. “They could come back at any moment.”
What if they were waiting just beyond the shadows, waiting for their chance?
I nodded, my legs shaking as I got up. We continued our search, but more quietly now, more cautiously.
Eventually, I heard a muffled sound. At first, I was startled, then felt only sheer relief. I would recognize his voice from anywhere, even if it was coming from a million miles away.
Gunter.
The sound came again, soft, pleading. I whirled around. Where was he? Elke had heard it, too, and was standing perfectly straight, like a board, listening intently.
“Over there—”
I’d spotted him, lying on his side against the wall, his eyes closed, blood pooling around him. I shoved my fingers in my mouth to hold back a desperate scream, rushing to his side and turning him onto his back.
His face was marred with dark bruises and a deep, ugly gash across his forehead was still bleeding. Blood, thick and sticky, was spreading under his shirt when I moved him, signifying a freshly inflicted wound. His hair was slick with sweat and his mouth was slightly open, barely managing to draw in each rasping breath.
“Oh my God,” Elke whispered.
A few facts quickly became apparent. This was my brother lying here on the ground. He had been stabbed just a few minutes ago. He was dying.
“Gunter?” I asked, shaking him, but he didn’t move, hardly even breathed. Elke had come over too and was kneeling beside me.
My hands hovered over him anxiously, like birds that were flying for the first time, then trembled as I ran them over his still body, checking for other injuries. I couldn’t feel any broken bones. The fabric of his clothing was torn in places. Without hesitation, I ripped his shirt the rest of the way down the middle.
I couldn’t help but cry out. There was a stab wound in his chest at his ribs oozing fresh blood. His lung had probably been punctured. It was gruesome and horrible. I couldn’t bring myself to imagine what had happened to him or how he was still alive.
I sucked in a deep breath. My face felt hot, but my fingers were so cold. The world blurred for a second. I steadied myself. He was still alive, which was the important thing, although he wouldn’t last much longer.
I pressed two fingers against his neck. His pulse was there, but it was weak and fading, slowing down, threatening to stop entirely.
“No,” I whispered.
Elke had pulled off her scarf and was pressing it against his wounds, trying to stop the bleeding. It was helping, but not fast enough. He was still losing too much blood. I could only watch in horror as he struggled, clinging onto life.
“Please, Gunter, please wake up. You have to wake up. We’re going to escape now. Please. Wake up. Please.” I was crying now. “Please . . . please . . .”
“We have to go,” Elke said, pulling me into a hug and letting me sob into her shoulder. “He’ll be okay as long as we get him out of here.”
I shook my head, trying to regain control of myself. I had to find a solution quickly, not just cry and watch him die. “No, he won’t. We need to find a doctor. We can’t carry him. And the guards. They’ll find us.” I couldn’t even hear what I was saying anymore.
“No one is going to help us,” she said. “We have to do this on our own.”
I nodded, and shook him again, harder this time, and then again, as hard as I could. “Wake up, Gunter. We have to go. Wake up.”
A soft moan escaped his lips, and then, miraculously, his eyes fluttered open. I held my breath. His gaze shifted to look at me, and there was a flicker of recognition in his eyes.
“Klara,” he managed to say, his voice cracking.
I held a finger to my lips. “Don’t talk. You’re going to be okay. Can you walk at all?”
He nodded weakly, his eyes half-closed. With newfound determination surging through me, I managed to drag him upright. He leaned heavily against me, and I had to support all his weight, which was no easy task, even though I was tall and strong for my age.
“Let’s go,” I said firmly to Elke, who moved to Gunter’s other side.
We had to go slowly. Gunter was able to walk, but just barely. We were carrying him more than anything. His breath was coming in short gasps, his eyes on the ground. His wounds were still bleeding badly. If he didn’t get real medical attention soon . . .
But there was no time to think about that. Once we were in the West, we could think about all of that. For now, we had to move fast. I couldn’t bear the thought of losing him. Not after Mama. Had he even guessed what had happened to Mama? Did he know where we were taking him? Either he was too weak to ask, or he trusted us completely.
I didn’t bother to fill him in on the horrifying, gory details of what had transpired earlier that evening. I didn’t tell him that I’d found Ilona’s last letter. I didn’t tell him anything except, “You’re okay. You’re going to be okay. Keep going. It’s not far now.”
That was a lie. It was, in fact, very far. And he couldn’t walk the whole way.
But for now, we would keep going, for lack of a better plan.
It took us a few minutes to make it out of the factory, and what did we find waiting for us outside? A guard in his standard Red Army uniform, of course. He was alone, having most likely been posted there to keep an eye out for anything suspicious until the rest of his party returned from wherever they were.
He spun around in a flash. “What the—”
Elke grabbed one of the cinderblocks lying on the ground and hit him over the head with it. He collapsed silently, unconscious but fortunately still breathing and not bleeding. She didn’t speak, grabbing his pistol and tucking into her coat pocket before moving to support Gunter again.
All three of us were very out of breath, but we’d barely made any progress. It was at least another thirty minutes to the record shop, at a normal walking speed. It would take us an hour. We didn’t have that kind of time or strength.
We barely managed to get across the railroad tracks before Gunter fell forward, barely conscious. Elke managed to catch him in time. He lay there, broken and bleeding, unable to do more than whimper in pain as I frantically pressed hard-packed snow against his wounds while Elke tried to comfort him.
“He’s not going to make it if we keep going like this,” she said, her eyes wide with fear, which was doing little more than stating the obvious. I knew that only too well.
Finally, I managed to slow the bleeding some. He was shivering badly, so I took off my coat and draped it over him like a blanket since it was too small for him to wear, stamping my feet with my arms tightly around my body to stay warm. Elke was pressing her hand against the bad cut on his forehead, which was bleeding again too.
Things seemed absolutely hopeless. I thought and thought, spent at least a minute doing nothing else except stamping my feet and thinking, but couldn’t come up with any sort of plan. Which was not my best performance, considering that my mind was usually sharp, able to come up with anything in just a few seconds. Well, I needed to exhibit my best performance now.
Elke, too, appeared to be thinking. For a while, none of us spoke. I envisioned success—West Berlin, Papa and Karl, freedom, everything. And then I wondered how I was going to get all that. It seemed, frankly, impossible. There were no in-between steps except for a miracle waiting to happen.
“Klara?” Gunter’s voice was so faint I had to lean closer to hear him.
“What?” I whispered back.
“You remember . . . Not Fade Away?” he asked.
My mind struggled to place the words. Of course. The song. He was talking about the song. “Yeah, I remember,” I said softly.
“That’s what you need to do right now. Not give up and let this . . . everything overcome you.” Then he closed his eyes. “It was such a stupid song,” he muttered.
“Gunter, stop, you’re not making any sense,” I said. “Please, just try to relax.” Of course, I didn’t mention that if he didn’t relax properly, his heart would go too fast, and he’d bleed out before I thought of something to do. I crossed my fingers and prayed.
A soft sound escaped his lips, and then he fell silent again. I pressed my scarf against his wound. He was right, the song was a bit stupid, but I couldn’t give up now. There had to be something I could do.
I heard the distant rumble of a motor on a faraway side street and a brilliant idea popped into my head.
“You stay here,” I said to Elke.
“What are you going to do?”
“You’ll see. Just stay here. Don’t leave him.” I gestured to Gunter, then allowed her to hold my scarf against his body instead of me.
“I promise I won’t, just please, go,” she replied, her eyes wide with fear. “And please, come back.”
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Chapter Thirty-Eight:
Stealing a car turned out to be harder than I’d envisioned. First, there was the simple fact that I had to find one. I hurried along a snowy, deserted street with small houses like mine on one side and fields ending in railroad tracks on the other side.
Freezing sheets of rain were beginning to fall, drenching me from head to toe. I was so cold that it wasn’t painful anymore. I ran faster, having to remind myself every step that it was still me trapped in my numb body. I couldn’t feel my bare, exposed arms anymore.
Finally I came across a car, a beat-up old junker like every other car I’d seen since the Wall had been put up. Fancy American and French cars had been all the rage before that. They’d replaced all those with clanky Soviet cars that, more often than not, didn’t start. Now, even a Volga, which was just a sad Russian replica of a Cadillac, was the dream of the middle and poor classes.
I brushed the thick snow off of the windshield, the cold stinging through my gloves. The synthetic leather in the interior was torn up, exposing the withered yellow foam behind it. I peered in through the windshield. The back seat was covered in holes like a dog with sharp claws had been there, which was odd. Why would anyone put their dog in a car? The people who owned the car were definitely foreigners. I winced as I took in the state of the interior. They needed a new car for sure, but it sometimes took years to get one.
To my surprise, the car had been left unlocked, or maybe the lock was so old that it broke. I opened the driver’s side door with difficulty. The air inside smelled old and stale, almost like something rotting had been left in there for a couple of years.
I slid into the driver’s seat. Gunter had started teaching me to drive, among other things, at the ripe old age of ten. He’d given up on me after a while, but I still knew which one was the gas pedal, at least. I was pretty sure I could drive without crashing.
The shift was sticky with disuse. I pushed it into neutral and started the engine. The car slid backwards on the ice, fighting to stay put, so I quickly put it into drive. This was harder than I’d expected. Finally, with the engine roaring, the car began to inch forward, the tires screaming against the ground, before it got stuck on the ice and stopped again. I wondered how many people had woken up, how many people were staring through their unlit windows in confusion.
I pressed the gas pedal harder, leaning forward in my seat in a hurry to get going. “Come on!” I muttered through clenched teeth, trying to steer the car away from the curb. The engine grumbled in protest.
Eventually, the car chugged forward a few feet, then gained enough momentum to move forward without jolting me in my seat. I breathed a short sigh of relief, grateful that it was still running.
Rain continued to fall, distorting the view ahead. I squinted to see better through the windshield, which was fogging up from my breathing, the sheet of ice on the outside melting slowly. Cars this old had no kind of insulation, and I was trembling, both from the cold and out of nerves.
I hit a slight incline and had to push the gas pedal hard, silently willing the car to keep going. Just a little more. When Mama or Gunter drove, it never looked this hard. The car skidded slightly on the ice, and I gasped.
I had to engage the squeaky brakes to their full extent when I cleared the top of the hill. They were mostly ineffective, anyway. Someone needed to grease them properly. The sound was like the last shriek of a dying cat that went on and on.
Finally, I arrived back where I’d left Elke and Gunter, though I had to guess more than anything, as I couldn’t see them through the heavy rain and the darkness. I fumbled with the shift, putting it into park. The engine sputtered, then cut off. I just hoped I’d be able to start it again when I needed to.
Filled with a sense of urgency now that I wasn’t in danger of crashing or skidding off the road and crashing, I jumped out of the car, leaving the door swinging open in the wind, and rushed into the snow, but soon had to slow down. The rain battered me and the gale threatened to knock me over, but I kept going, my head bent against the elements.
“Elke?” I called out, my voice small and muted in the night. “Elke!”
I couldn’t see her anywhere. I stumbled onwards, hunting for her familiar bright red coat, listening for her return call. But there was nothing except the darkness in front and behind me. The screaming wind drowned out any sounds.
I called her name again, louder. Had I driven far enough? Or too far? The wind sent me sprawling in the snow. Exactly what I needed right now. I got up, rubbing my sore nose. I wished I had my coat back.
It felt like forever before I heard her voice, coming from about a hundred feet to my right. “Klara? Is that you?”
By the time I’d reached them, I was gasping for breath, but there was only one thought in my mind. She was kneeling beside Gunter, her hand on his wrist to check his pulse. He looked even worse than when I’d left him. She was trying to keep him awake, but he was too weak to respond. I was, however, relieved that she had managed to slow the bleeding again.
He couldn’t stand, even with our help. Since I was the taller and stronger between me and Elke, I had to carry him. It took all my strength, but I managed to lift him over my shoulder, his arm hanging down my back and his feet trailing a little in the snow. His blood was warm as it soaked into my shirt and his eyes remained closed.
“Let’s get going,” I panted, shaking my head to clear the water freezing on my eyelashes and collecting in my mouth, even though my lips remained closed. “We have to get away from here.”
She nodded determinedly, reaching over to wipe sweat and rainwater from Gunter’s face so that he could breathe better. I had to admire us for a moment—we were both stronger than we’d realized. Courage was a second nature, but the ability to clear any obstacle in our path was something else. I was confident, for the first time, that we’d escape that night.
Several times, I was afraid I would drop Gunter. I had to keep a tight hold on him, my arms wrapped around his frail body. His ragged breathing echoed in my ears, reminding me with every step that I had to go faster. Elke went ahead of us, carrying my coat for me over her arm.
After an eternity, we made it back to the car. We carefully got Gunter into the back seat, doing our best not to worsen his injuries. I closed the door and got into the driver’s seat again, taking a deep breath. I could not make a mistake. Not now. Not ever.
“Klara, are you going to, you know, drive?” Elke asked in a small voice.
“This is kind of a bad time to be asking me that question,” I said, my heart pounding hard in my throat.
“I mean . . . you know how to drive, right?”
“Of course I do,” I replied smoothly.
I rubbed my arms and clenched my hands into fists to get the feeling back into my fingers. Before I put the car into drive, I glanced back through the rearview mirror. Gunter lay across the back seats with his head resting in Elke’s lap. She was smoothing his damp hair and murmuring soothing words, trying to reassure him, even though I wasn’t sure that he could hear her. She didn’t have siblings, and she didn’t have any idea what it felt like to have one—to have somebody you will laugh and play and argue with and throw things at through your childhood, and do the same things with in adulthood, but will still love and want to protect all the same. I wondered what it must feel like for her right now.
I pushed the shift with some difficulty. The car creaked into motion, but it seemed a little more lively now, and we went up the first hill with ease. I knew the way to the record shop—it would be only fifteen minutes driving.
“Are you okay back there?” I asked Elke after a while, never taking my eyes off the road.
“I think so,” she replied.
Which was not very comforting, but at least she was telling me the truth. That probably meant he was still breathing. For now, that was all that mattered.
The windshield was fogging up again. I wiped the condensation away with my hand, wishing I’d put on my coat before driving, but now, there was no time to think about that kind of thing. Even though I wiped it hard, the windshield was still frosted over from the outside where I couldn’t reach, so it didn’t help much. I had to be even more careful, twisting my head around to see outside.
One of the windows had a long crack running through it, a jagged scar. Maybe that was why the car was so cold. I sniffed deeply. I could smell exhaust and road dust and wet dead grass.
And cinnamon rolls.
I inhaled the warm, sugary scent that made my nose tingle a little all the same. Someone, from very far away, was reminding me that no matter what happened, no matter where life took me from here, I would always have Mama, the bakery, and my terrible cooking skills. In short, a piece of me would forever belong to East Berlin.
“You’re going off the road,” Elke warned me.
I’d been so caught up in my daydreaming that I’d forgotten to pay as much attention as was necessary to the task at hand—getting safely to the record shop. I quickly righted the car, the engine shrieking in protest.
Gunter coughed weakly from the back seat. I wanted to turn around and comfort him, take his pain away, but of course I couldn’t. My heart ached to see him so weak and vulnerable. He’d always been the strong one, the protector, the one I could rely on. And now he was counting on me. Everything was counting on me.
Blood, fire, the sound the dynamite made when it hit Mama—fizz, shriek, tearing. I squeezed my eyes shut, trying to block it all out.
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Chapter Thirty-Nine:
Just a few minutes later, we pulled up in an alley near the record shop. I killed the engine and, leaving the car there, we got out. Gunter was awake now, but just barely, and we managed to get him to stand up, supporting him between us as we’d done before.
The record shop was just a short distance away. The door was unlocked, just as we’d left it, and opened easily. The hinges hardly even creaked.
Almost too easily.
I flicked on the lights and looked around. Someone, or something, seemed to be waiting for us in the shadows, or maybe it was just my usual paranoia. The air was thick. Hard to breathe. I realized my hands were shaking uncontrollably.
It’s okay, I told myself. Everything is going to be okay. Just find the tunnel.
Gunter looked like he was on the verge of collapsing. The short walk had taken almost all his remaining strength. Elke struggled to keep him upright while I frantically searched for any sort of entrance to any sort of tunnel.
I overturned records and posters, pushed aside shelves, and cleared the floor as much as I could. There was nothing except for hardwood. I got down on my knees, my face nearly touching the floor, looking for something that might be a handle. It was just hardwood. Perfect, untouched hardwood. Varnished, glistening. Not even a scratch on it.
No tunnel.
My heart sank. What if we’d been wrong? It would not be the first time. Had we done all this, come all this way, for nothing? What would we do now?
I kept searching, checking for anything suspicious in the ceiling. A perfect white ceiling with a spiderweb in one corner. So perfect. The shop was a well-done job, without a need of repairs—I was used to old buildings that looked like they should have retired last century.
“Klara, he’s bleeding again.” Elke sounded panicky, something that scared me more than I would have liked it to. She never sounded panicky.
Gunter was lying on the floor, his breath coming in weak gasps, fresh blood seeping into his clothes. It was clear that if we didn’t do something for him, he was not going to survive.
Desperation overtook me. I practically pulled what had been Uncle Friedrich’s desk apart, searching for anything useful in the drawers. I even turned the desk upside down, then did the same with the chair.
“Why can’t I find it?”
I sank to the ground, drawing my knees up to my chest and pressing my hands against my head, trying to make the world stop for just a moment.
“Klara? I really need you to help me.”
“I can’t,” I muttered, my voice hardly there at all, so weak and defeated. I had been so convinced that there was a tunnel here. I had been absolutely sure of it. Why was there no tunnel?
It had been just another stupid assumption, hadn’t it? Like the assumption that Peter Weber was trying to help us, not kill my mother and probably me if he’d gotten the chance? My breath came in short gasps.
I can’t.
Tears started in my eyes. I slammed my fist against the wall next to an ugly painting of some renaissance-era queen who looked like a pig. The action brought me a strange sort of relief. I kept punching until my knuckles were raw, until the tears were hot on my cheeks and I was panting for breath.
“Klara, I can’t stop the bleeding, please do something!”
“I’m trying!” My fist made contact with the wall so hard that it gave way, crumpling like paper beneath my fury. I grabbed the thin plaster coating that lay over sturdy planks of wood. Cheap, worthless, like everything else here, everything . . .
I tore it hard, stamping it onto the ground. Maybe destroying the shop would do something good for us.
It turned out to be the best decision I ever made in my life. Behind the wall, screwed into the wooden planks, was a shelf. It wasn’t a very big shelf, but it was full of items. It had definitely been concealed there for a time when someone who was trying to escape needed to use it.
There was an empty bottle, a few Deutsche Marks, ammunition, a lighter, a flashlight, and, most importantly, a tiny first aid kit. I grabbed it eagerly and unzipped it. There was disinfecting alcohol, bandages, and a long needle. Exactly what we needed.
“Klara! You’ve got to do something!”
I rushed over. Desperation overtook me as I did my best to clean and bandage Gunter’s wounds, first the stab wounds, then the cut on his forehead. They turned a light pink even as I worked swiftly, but they stopped the bleeding.
Next, I grabbed the empty bottle and filled it halfway with the rainwater that had collected in a puddle. There was no time to question whether it was clean. After I’d managed to get Gunter to swallow some, Elke and I drank our share. I licked my lips. I hadn’t realized how thirsty I’d become. The water was cool and reviving.
Then, I resumed my investigation of the shelf, pulling away huge sheets of plaster with Elke’s help. It turned out not to just be a shelf. There was a small door beyond it, locked shut, of course, but it was still a door, and it was made of wood, which meant that we could break it.
The door led to the tunnel.
I gasped. I could have cried. I ran my hands over the splintery wood, feeling sheer relief. We had found it. I was absolutely certain we had found it.
“We did it,” I whispered to Elke, who looked like she could have cried too.
“I know. We did it.”
Before we could celebrate, the door to the shop (not the one we were standing in front of and nearly worshipping) opened, hard and fast. We spun around.
Peter Weber was bleeding and bruised badly, but he was very much alive. He grabbed Gunter, holding him effortlessly in front of him like a body shield and pointing a gun at us at the same time.
“Don’t move an inch.”
Elke froze with her hand halfway to her coat pocket, her eyes growing twice as wide in shock. I experienced a feeling not unlike icy water being poured unexpectedly down my back.
“You try anything, and he dies,” Peter continued. “Is that clear?”
Neither of us responded. We were following his instructions very well and didn’t dare to open our mouths, didn’t even dare to breathe.
“I said, is that clear?” He was pressing his gun against the side of Gunter’s head. Gunter wasn’t conscious enough to struggle, wasn’t coherent enough to call out to us. He hung there limply, helplessly, like a rag doll.
I felt the sudden, overpowering urge to protect him.
“Let him go,” I growled.
“What did you just say?” He stepped forward, threateningly.
“I said let him go,” I snapped. “Or you’re going to regret it.”
His finger tested the trigger but he didn’t fire. “Did I not give you enough of a warning, girl?”
I snatched the pistol out of Elke’s pocket, concealing it behind my back before he had time to see what I was holding. “Let him go.”
His eyebrows went up.
I pointed the gun at him. He pointed his gun at me.
“Let him go,” I repeated.
A bullet tore a hole the size of my head in the door behind me. I didn’t even flinch.
“Drop your weapon,” he commanded. “Or the next one will take his brains out.”
“Let. Him. Go.”
He was smiling. I faced the point of his gun, staring into its depths, but at the same time I was taking my aim.
“How amusing,” he said. “You’re just a girl. You aren’t able to kill me, even if you say you can. You are weak and pitiful. I almost don’t want to hurt you. It would be immoral.”
I tensed up. I couldn’t miss this shot.
“Watching your mother die wasn’t enough for you, was it? Do I have to line everyone in East Berlin up and kill them for you to understand that no matter how clever you act, I will always be cleverer? No matter how strong or brave you act, I will always be able to beat you?”
I didn’t say anything, my eyes never leaving his face, twisted in a malevolent sneer, one that spoke a thousand words. The top of the gun blurred slightly as I continued to follow that silvery line. I was not going to miss.
It was hard to believe, almost surreal; Gunter, Peter, the white wall, the fogged-up window beyond, the wet building beyond that; Berlin, Brezhnev, the Stasi; and there was me, standing there in my woolen grey skirt and grey top.
“Let him go or I’ll shoot you,” I said.
“Really.”
I had to shoot him twice before he fell down.
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Chapter Forty:
The successive gunshots reverberated through the shop. Peter Weber fell, slowly, slowly, a dark pool of blood spreading beneath him, his mouth slightly open, eyes wide with surprise. He had never had time to understand what had hit him.
It was quiet then, the only sound the rain outside and Gunter’s labored gasps. We breathed again; the world breathed again. I inhaled deeply and let it out in a sigh, the weight of the world slowly lifting off of my shoulders.
“We need to go,” Elke said after a while. “Someone might have heard the shots.”
The pistol lay there on the floor, having fallen out of my hands, black smoke curling into the air. I kicked it into the corner of the room, suddenly feeling sick. I never wanted to look at it again.
We began hacking away at the door, using anything we could get our hands on. We started by chipping away at the hole that had been made by Peter’s shot, making it larger until our fingers were raw and sore, then kicking at the door. It gave way after several frantic minutes, in which I became convinced that my toes were all broken, although they turned out to be intact.
A rush of dank, stale air greeted me, but it was welcome even though it smelled musty, because it also smelled like freedom. The tunnel beyond was narrow with a low ceiling and led into pitch darkness. Looking at it made me feel claustrophobic. I was beginning to doubt myself again, but I knew in my heart that it definitely was the tunnel we’d been searching for.
I took the flashlight from the shelf and switched it on. A dim circle cut through the darkness, hazy at the edges, illuminating a small stretch of the tunnel beyond us. Rocks stuck out of the sides like jagged teeth and the earth was slightly damp.
“It’s over there,” Elke breathed, pointing down the length of it. “Everything.”
I nodded. Papa, Karl, and a free life all awaited me, just a few hundred feet away.
Elke and I hurried back to Gunter and lifted him between us. His head hung down, but he was still breathing.
“We’re almost there,” I whispered in his ear. “Just hold on a little longer.”
We couldn’t leave the tunnel hanging open like this, so we locked the shop door shut and moved some heavy shelves in front of the hole while we stood in the tunnel, covering up the broken part of the wall as best as we could. Someone would have to know what they were looking for to find their way in here. That someone probably wanted to escape too.
I looked at Elke, and she looked at me, our hearts thumping with exhilaration. We began to walk, our footsteps soft against the earthy ground. I kept the flashlight pointed ahead of us, but we couldn’t see the end, not yet.
Elke was struggling to keep up, and I felt us beginning to slow down just a little, even with all the excitement. We’d nearly been running.
Now that we were almost there, it felt too good to be true. Was nothing else really going to stand in our way? Would we really not have to overcome anything else? I had worked so hard, risked and sacrificed so much, but in the end, it had happened.
It had really happened.
We walked and walked. We had to stop once and I half-carried, half-dragged Gunter the rest of the way, because Elke could barely keep herself upright anymore. The journey had taken so much from both of us. I was struggling too. The thought of the West was the only thing that kept me going.
You dreamed for this. You went to such great lengths for this.
My breath was coming in tearing gasps that felt like they were ripping my lungs to pieces. Elke was walking slightly ahead, holding the flashlight, still breathing heavily too. Neither of us were speaking.
Finally, I thought I saw something like . . . light? Was that even possible? I squinted. The flashlight moved for a moment and I realized that I wasn’t imagining it. It was far away, but it was the end of the tunnel.
“Over there,” she said, moving a little faster.
I nodded, too exhausted to speak. She stayed right beside me for the rest of the time, her presence comforting, going faster when she saw me slowing down, encouraging me in soft tones.
“You can do this, Klara. We’re so close. We’re almost there.”
I could do this.
Finally, the light began to move a little closer, then a little closer still. My vision was blurring out of fatigue. I could barely feel myself walking anymore. The light seemed to be getting closer on its own.
“We’re almost there!” Elke’s voice broke through the haze. She sounded like she was going to cry.
I went faster, then faster still. Gunter’s weight seemed to double with every step, but I forced myself to keep going. To never stop, to never give up. I was almost running by the end.
By the time I was standing under the light, I felt like I was dreaming. I stared up and up, breathing in the fresh, sweet air, the smell of grass. We were beneath a metal grating lit by the glow of a streetlight.
Beyond the grating was the West.
There was no obvious way of getting through it, no ladder; it was clear that it would be a struggle to get the last few feet. The rusted grating was large and circular, about as long as I was tall, and it looked heavy.
Elke was already climbing up the wall with newfound determination, using stones as handholds and footholds. At first, she tried to pull the grating, then slide it; then she realized it had to be pushed upwards, which was no easy task. She was leaning off the wall as far as she could go, her arm straining to push it, but she could barely lift the heavy metal more than a couple of inches before having to set it back down with a clatter.
“I can’t do it,” she gasped.
I set Gunter down, propping him up against the wall, and joined her on the other side of the grating. We managed to lift it up just enough to move it a few inches to the left, where part of it rested on the ground. I pushed, and Elke pulled.
At first, just a sliver of the outside was exposed, but as we worked to move the grating, the gap widened, until we were able to squeeze through it. Elke went first and I heard her laughing once she made it to the top.
I had to help Gunter up next, which was no easy feat. My arms ached—in fact, my entire body ached. It was difficult to lift him again, even more difficult to climb a little while holding him.
Elke was leaning over the edge, her arms outstretched, but I wasn’t able to get up high enough to reach her. I felt my hand, cold with sweat, slipping on the smooth stone I was gripping, and fought to keep my balance.
“Just a little more,” she urged.
I tried to nod, but I was breathing too heavily to do so. I could hear the city sounds from just beyond—cars rushing past on a distant street, small animals in the grass, someone shouting.
I was sure I could hear Papa and Karl calling my name from somewhere very far away. With the last of my strength, and their smiling faces imprinted in my mind, I clambered just a few more feet. It was enough. Elke grabbed Gunter by the arm, then grabbed his other arm, and pulled him over the edge, trying her best not to hurt him, even though he was barely awake and didn’t react much.
I went up after them, collapsing onto the wet grass, burying my face in it, my fingers running through the blades. It smelled like dirt and grass but it was a different kind of dirt and grass because I was finally free.
Elke immediately pushed the grating over, being the practical one as always, then lay down next to me, her arms forming a pillow under her head, staring up into the night sky with a pensive look on her face.
“We did it,” she said softly. “We escaped.”
“We did.” My voice was muffled by the grass.
I took deep breaths of the cool, crisp night air, trying to remember everything—the wind on my face, the hum of the city, the cold ground, the cloudy night sky, the paper-yellow moon. I never wanted to let this moment go.
Safe. Free.
Beauty was one way to describe my surroundings, but it didn’t give me a thrill or make me gasp in awe and wonder. Instead, it gave me a warm and fuzzy feeling, like a good fleece blanket on a cold day.
I closed my eyes for a moment. Relief. Accomplishment. Happiness. Real happiness.
Gunter coughed harshly from a few feet away, startling me out of my blissful haze. “We need to get to the city and find a doctor,” I said urgently to Elke, poking her with my finger.
She barely even moved, lost watching the clouds. I decided to take matters into my own hands. Abandoning my reverie, I rolled over and sat up, shaking the snow out of my hair. Elke had carried my coat the whole way, but I hadn’t had time to put it on until now. It was a little wet, but after a moment it wrapped me up in the warmth and comfort of the home I already, somehow, missed.
I went over to Gunter, shaking him awake. His eyes fluttered open and met mine. He looked a little better, the color returning to his cheeks and his breathing easier, though I knew he wasn’t out of danger yet. Maybe he knew already that we were free.
“Gunter,” I said softly, brushing his damp hair away from his forehead, “it’s over now. We escaped.”
He nodded, just barely. I helped him sit up, and we began to walk again, our eyes fixed on the pretty glimmer of distant lights.
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Oh my god. So heartbreaking. It couldn’t have ended any other way. Just…. Wow.
Comment by raob9 on May 22, 2025Liked by 1
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