Back inside, a blonde girl was strumming a guitar and singing ‘Freight Train’. She was not as beautiful as Karolin, but she was pretty in a more obvious way. Next, a virtuoso guitarist played a complicated finger-picking blues. Then Danni Hausmann called Walli’s name.
He felt tense as he faced the audience. Most of the guitarists had fancy leather straps, but Walli had never bothered to get one, and his instrument was held around his neck by a piece of string. Now, suddenly, he wished he had a strap.
Karolin said: ‘Good evening, we’re the Bobbsey Twins.’
Walli played a chord and began to sing, and found he no longer cared about a strap. The song was a waltz, and he strummed it jauntily. Karolin pretended to be a wanton strumpet, and Walli responded by becoming a stiff Prussian lieutenant.
The audience laughed.
Something happened to Walli then. There were only a hundred or so people in the place, and the sound they made was no more than an appreciative collective chuckle, but it gave him a feeling that he had not experienced before, a feeling a bit like the kick from the first puff of a cigarette.
They laughed several more times, and at the end of the song they applauded loudly.
Walli liked that even better.
‘They love us!’ Karolin said in an excited whisper.
Walli began to play ‘Nobody’s Fault But Mine’, plucking the steel strings with his fingernails to sharpen the drama of the plangent sevenths, and the crowd went quiet. Karolin changed and became a fallen woman in despair. Walli watched the audience. No one was talking. One woman had tears in her eyes, and he wondered if she had lived through what Karolin was singing about.
Their hushed concentration was even better than the laughter.
At the end they cheered and called for more.
The rule was two numbers each, so Walli and Karolin came down off the stage, ignoring the cries for an encore, but Hausmann told them to go back. They had not rehearsed a third song, and they looked at one another in panic. Then Walli said: ‘Do you know “This Land is Your Land”?’ and Karolin nodded.
The audience joined in, which made Karolin sing louder, and Walli was surprised by the power of her voice. He sang a high harmony, and their two voices soared above the sound of the crowd.
When, finally, they left the stage, he felt exhilarated. Karolin’s eyes were shining. ‘We were really good!’ she said. ‘You’re better than my brother.’
Walli said: ‘Have you got any cigarettes?’
They sat through another hour of the contest, smoking. ‘I think we were the best,’ Walli said.
Karolin was more cautious. ‘They liked the blonde girl who sang “Freight Train”,’ she said.
At last the result was announced.
The Bobbsey Twins came second.
The winner was the Joan Baez lookalike.
Walli was angry. ‘She could hardly play!’ he said.
Karolin was more philosophical. ‘People love Joan Baez.’
The club began to empty, and Walli and Karolin headed for the door. Walli felt dejected. As they were leaving, Danni Hausmann stopped them. He was in his early twenties, and dressed in modern casual clothes, a black roll-neck sweater and jeans. ‘Could you two do half an hour next Monday?’ he said.
Walli was too surprised to reply, but Karolin quickly said: ‘Sure!’
‘But the Joan Baez imitator won,’ said Walli, then he thought: Why am I arguing?
Danni said: ‘You two seem to have the range to keep an audience happy for more than one or two numbers. Have you got enough songs for a set?’
Once again Walli hesitated, and again Karolin jumped in. ‘We will by Monday,’ she said.
Walli remembered that his father planned to imprison him in the house for a month of evenings, but he decided not to mention that.
‘Thanks,’ said Danni. ‘You get the early slot, eight-thirty. Be here by seven-thirty.’
They were elated as they walked out into the lamplit street. Walli had no idea what he would do about his father, but he felt optimistic that everything would work out.
It turned out that Karolin, too, lived in East Berlin. They caught a bus and began to talk about which numbers they would do next week. There were lots of folk songs they both knew.
They got off the bus and headed into the park. Karolin frowned and said: ‘The guy behind.’
Walli looked back. There was a man in a cap thirty or forty yards behind them, smoking as he walked. ‘What about him?’
‘Wasn’t he in the Minnes?nger?’
The man did not meet Walli’s eye, even though Walli stared at him. ‘I don’t think so,’ said Walli. ‘Do you like the Everly Brothers?’
‘Yes!’
As they walked, Walli started to play ‘All I Have to Do is Dream’, strumming the guitar that hung around his neck on its string. Karolin joined in eagerly. They sang together as they crossed the park. He played the Chuck Berry hit ‘Back in the USA’.
They were belting out the refrain, ‘I’m so glad I’m living in the USA,’ when Karolin halted suddenly and said: ‘Hush!’ Walli realized they had reached the border, and saw three Vopos under a street light glaring at them malevolently.
He shut up immediately, and hoped they had stopped soon enough.
One of the cops was a sergeant, and he looked past Walli. Walli glanced back and saw the man in the cap give a curt nod. The sergeant took a step towards Walli and Karolin and said: ‘Papers.’ The man in the cap spoke into a walkie-talkie.
Walli frowned. It seemed Karolin had been right, and they had been followed.
It occurred to him that Hans might be behind this.
Could he possibly be so petty and vengeful?
Yes, he could.
The sergeant looked at Walli’s identity card and said: ‘You’re only fifteen. You shouldn’t be out this late.’
Walli bit his tongue. There was no point in arguing with them.
The sergeant looked at Karolin’s card and said: ‘You’re seventeen! What are you doing with this child?’
This made Walli recall the row with his father, and he said angrily: ‘I’m not a child.’
The sergeant ignored him. ‘You could go out with me,’ he said to Karolin. ‘I’m a real man.’ The other two Vopos laughed appreciatively.
Karolin said nothing, but the sergeant persisted. ‘How about it?’ he said.
‘You must be out of your mind,’ Karolin said quietly.
The man was stung. ‘Now that’s just rude,’ he said.
Walli had noticed this about some men. If a girl gave them the brush-off they became indignant, but any other response was taken as encouragement. What were women supposed to do?
Karolin said: ‘Give me back my card, please.’
The sergeant said: ‘Are you a virgin?’
Karolin blushed.
Once again the other two cops sniggered.
‘They ought to put that on women’s identity cards,’ said the man. ‘Virgin, or not.’
‘Knock it off,’ Walli said.
‘I’m gentle with virgins.’
Walli was boiling. ‘That uniform doesn’t give you the right to pester girls!’
‘Oh, doesn’t it?’ The sergeant did not give back their identity cards.
A tan Trabant 500 pulled up and Hans Hoffmann got out. Walli began to feel frightened. How could he be in this much trouble? All he had done was sing in the park.