The border guard who had taken their passports went away. After a while a tall, stooped man in a civilian suit ordered them to get out of their Mercedes and follow him.
The man strode ahead, then looked around, irritated at Fitz’s slowness. ‘Please hurry,’ he said in English.
Dave remembered the German he had learned in school and improved in Hamburg. ‘My grandfather is old,’ he said indignantly.
Fitz spoke in a low voice. ‘Don’t argue,’ he said to Dave. ‘This arrogant bastard is with the Stasi.’ Dave raised an eyebrow: he had not previously heard Fitz use bad language. ‘They’re like the KGB, only not so softhearted,’ Fitz added.
They were taken to a bare office with a metal table and hard wooden chairs. They were not asked to sit, but Dave held a chair for Fitz, who sank into it gratefully.
The tall man spoke German to an interpreter, who smoked cigarettes as he translated the questions. ‘Why do you wish to enter East Germany?’
‘To attend the funeral of a close relative at eleven this morning,’ Fitz answered. He looked at his wristwatch, a gold Omega. ‘It’s ten now. I hope this won’t take long.’
‘It will take as long as necessary. What is your sister’s name?’
‘Why do you ask that?’
‘You say you wish to attend the funeral of your sister. What is her name?’
‘I said I wanted to attend the funeral of a close relative. I did not say it was my sister. You obviously know all about it already.’
This secret policeman had been waiting for them, Dave realized. It was hard to imagine why.
‘Answer the question. What is your sister’s name?’
‘She was Frau Maud von Ulrich, as your spies have obviously informed you.’
Dave noticed that Fitz was getting annoyed, and breaking his own injunction to say as little as possible.
The man said: ‘How is it that Lord Fitzherbert has a German sister?’
‘She married a friend of mine called Walter von Ulrich, who was a German diplomat in London. He was killed by the Gestapo during the Second World War. What did you do in the war?’
Dave saw, from the look of fury on the tall man’s face, that he had understood; but he did not answer the question. Instead he turned to Dave. ‘Where is Walli Franck?’
Dave was astonished. ‘I don’t know.’
‘Of course you know. He is in your music group.’
‘The group has split. I haven’t seen Walli for months. I don’t know where he is.’
‘This is not believable. You are partners.’
‘Partners fall out.’
‘What is the reason for your quarrel?’
‘Personal and musical differences.’ In truth the differences were purely personal. Dave and Walli had never had any musical differences.
‘Yet now you wish to attend the funeral of his grandmother.’
‘She was my great aunt.’
‘Where did you last see Walli Franck?’
‘In San Francisco.’
‘The address, please.’
Dave hesitated. This was getting nasty.
‘Answer, please. Walli Franck is wanted for murder.’
‘I last saw him in Buena Vista Park. That’s on Haight Street. I don’t know where he lives.’
‘Do you realize that it is a crime to obstruct the police in the course of their duty?’
‘Of course.’
‘And that if you commit such a crime in East Germany, you may be arrested and tried and put in jail here?’
Dave was suddenly frightened, but he tried to remain calm. ‘And then millions of fans all over the world would demand my release.’
‘They will not be allowed to interfere with justice.’
Fitz put in: ‘Are you sure your comrades in Moscow would be pleased with you for creating a major international diplomatic incident over this?’
The tall man laughed scornfully, but he was not convincing.
Dave had a flash of insight. ‘You’re Hans Hoffmann, aren’t you?’
The interpreter did not translate this, but instead said quickly: ‘His name is of no concern to you.’
But Dave could tell by the tall man’s face that his guess had been right. He said: ‘Walli told me about you. His sister threw you out, and you’ve been taking revenge on her family ever since.’
‘Just answer the question.’
‘Is this part of your revenge? Harassing two innocent men on their way to a funeral? Is that the kind of people you Communists are?’
‘Wait here, please.’ Hans and his interpreter left the room, and Dave heard from the other side of the door the sound of a bolt being shot.
‘I’m sorry,’ Dave said. ‘This seems to be about Walli. You would have been better off on your own.’
‘Not your fault. I just hope we don’t miss the funeral.’ Fitz took out his cigar case. ‘You don’t smoke, Dave, do you?’
Dave shook his head. ‘Not tobacco, anyhow.’
‘Marijuana is bad for you.’
‘And I suppose cigars are healthy?’
Fitz smiled. ‘Touché.’
‘I’ve had this argument with my father. He drinks Scotch. You Parliamentarians have a clear policy: all dangerous drugs are illegal, except the ones you like. And then you complain that young people won’t listen.’
‘You’re right, of course.’
It was a big cigar, and Fitz smoked it all and dropped the stub in a stamped-tin ashtray. Eleven o’clock came and went. They had missed the funeral for which they had flown from London.
At half past eleven, the door opened again. Hans Hoffmann stood there. With a little smile he said: ‘You may enter East Germany.’ Then he walked away.
Dave and Fitz found their car. ‘We’d better go straight to the house, now,’ said Fitz. He gave the driver the address.
They drove along Friedrich Strasse to Unter den Linden. The old government buildings were fine but the sidewalks were deserted. ‘My God,’ said Fitz. ‘This used to be one of the busiest shopping streets in Europe. Look at it now. Merthyr Tydfil on a Monday.’
The car pulled up outside a town house in better condition than the other homes. ‘Maud’s daughter seems to be more affluent than her neighbours,’ Fitz remarked.
Dave explained. ‘Walli’s father owns a television factory in West Berlin. Somehow he manages to run it from here. I guess it still makes money.’
They went into the house. The family introduced themselves. Walli’s parents were Werner and Carla, a handsome man and a plain woman with strong features. Walli’s sister, Lili, was nineteen and attractive, and did not look like Walli at all. Dave was intrigued to meet Karolin, who had long fair hair parted in the centre and forming curtains either side of her face. With her was Alice, the inspiration for the song, a shy four-year-old with a black ribbon in her hair for mourning. Karolin’s husband, Odo, was a little older, about thirty. He had fashionably long hair but wore a clerical collar.
Dave explained why they had missed the funeral. They mixed languages, though the Germans spoke English better than the English spoke German. Dave sensed that the family’s attitude to Fitz was equivocal. It was understandable: he had, after all, been harsh to Maud, and her daughter might think it was too late to make amends. However, it was also too late to remonstrate, and no one spoke of the fifty-year estrangement.
A dozen friends and neighbours who had attended the funeral were having coffee and snacks served by Carla and Lili. Dave talked to Karolin about guitars. It turned out she and Lili were underground stars. They were not allowed to make records, because their songs were about freedom, but people made tape recordings of their performances and loaned them to one another. It was a bit like samizdat publishing in the Soviet Union. They discussed cassette tapes, a new format, more convenient though with poor sound quality. Dave offered to send Karolin some cassettes and a deck, but she said they would only be stolen by the secret police.
Dave had assumed Karolin must be a hard-hearted woman, to break off her relationship with Walli and marry Odo, but to his surprise he liked her. She seemed kind and smart. She spoke of Walli with great affection and wanted to know all about his life.
Dave told her how he and Walli had quarrelled. She was distressed by the story. ‘It’s not like him,’ she said. ‘Walli was never the type to fool around. Girls used to fall for him all the time, and he could have had a different one every weekend, but he never did.’
Dave shrugged. ‘He’s changed.’
‘What about your former fiancée? What’s her name?’
‘Ursula, but everyone calls her Beep. To be honest, it’s not surprising that she should be unfaithful. She’s kind of wild. It’s part of what makes her so attractive.’
‘I think you still have feelings for her.’
‘I was crazy about her.’ Dave gave an evasive answer because he did not know how he felt now. He was angry with Beep, enraged by her betrayal, but if she wanted to come back to him he was not sure what he would do.
Fitz came over to where the two of them were sitting. ‘Dave,’ he said, ‘I’d like to see the grave before we return to West Berlin. Would you mind?’
‘Of course not.’ Dave stood up. ‘We should probably go soon.’
Karolin said to Dave: ‘If you do speak to Walli, please give him my love. Tell him I long for the day when he can meet Alice. I will tell her all about him when she’s old enough.’
They all had messages for Walli: Werner, Carla and Lili. Dave guessed he would have to speak to Walli just to pass them on.
As they were leaving, Carla said to Fitz: ‘You should have something of Maud’s.’
‘I’d like that.’
‘I know just the thing.’ She disappeared for a minute and came back with an old leather-bound photograph album. Fitz opened it. The pictures were all monochrome, some sepia, many faded. They had captions in large, loopy handwriting, presumably Maud’s. The oldest had been taken in a grand country house. Dave read: ‘T? Gwyn, 1905’. That was the Fitzherbert country residence, now Aberowen College of Further Education.
Seeing photos of himself and Maud as young people made Fitz cry. Tears rolled down the papery old skin of his wrinkled face and soaked into the collar of his immaculate white shirt. He spoke with difficulty. ‘Good times never come back,’ he said.
They took their leave. The chauffeur drove them to a large and charmless municipal cemetery, and they found Maud’s grave. The earth had already been returned to the pit, forming a small mound that was, pathetically, the size and approximate shape of a human being. They stood side by side for a few minutes, saying nothing. The only sound was birdsong.
Fitz wiped his face with a large white handkerchief. ‘Let’s go,’ he said.
At the checkpoint they were again detained. Hans Hoffmann watched, smiling, while they and their cars were thoroughly searched.
‘What are you looking for?’ Dave asked. ‘Why would we smuggle something out of East Germany? You don’t have anything here that anyone wants!’ No one answered him.
A uniformed officer seized on the photograph album and handed it to Hoffmann.
Hoffmann looked through it casually and said: ‘This will have to be examined by our forensic department.’
‘Of course,’ Fitz said sadly.
They had to leave without it.
As they drove away, Dave looked back and saw Hans drop the album into a rubbish bin.