“But don’t you want to know who else I met? I thought that’s what—”
“Another day. Nothing’s more important than this. Aue,” he said, repeating it to himself. “You understand, we’ve been trying to get good information for a long time. What grade ore are they shipping? How? In what form?” He stopped. “Excuse me, it’s a lot all at once maybe. I’ll make a list, what to listen for. Right now, anything. You know, the propaganda value alone—”
“What, that the Russians have labor camps? Everybody must know—”
“But who’s in them? Who’s supplying them? The Russians are capable of anything—yes, old news. But Ulbricht, the German Communists, feeding the beast? With Germans? Their own citizens. Who would trust a government like that? My friend, keep your ears open. Keep your ears open.”
“All right. When do I see you again?”
“Just come to the park. I’ll know. Otherwise, next week, same time, if you can. Look.” He pointed toward what appeared to be a construction site. Narrow-gauge rails had been laid across the park, sloping uphill, the open tram cars loaded with rubble sent up from Friedrichshain. “You see they’re making a mountain. On the flak tower. What’s left of it. They dynamited it, but you know they were built to—anyway, now it’s covered. So, higher and higher. And then some grass, trees, and in a few years it’s gone, buried. The war? No sign. All the sins covered up. That’s what we do. The Russians cover theirs with memorials. Have you been down to Treptow? The memorial they’re building there? Stalin’s words, now in granite. A statue higher than this hill. A Soviet soldier rescuing a child. From Fascism. A broken swastika. Maybe someday somebody believes it. You have one more cigarette?” He coughed as he lit it. “Peasants. They didn’t know how to flush a toilet. You know what happens when you give a peasant a gun? You make a monster. That’s what the statue should be.”
“But they did break the swastika,” Alex said.
“Yes,” Dieter said, glancing at him. “You’re a Jew, yes? Meier? So, all right. We had monsters too. Maybe worse. But they didn’t rape my Liesl.” He flicked away the end of the cigarette. “Barbarians. Now they want to do it to Germany. No. Not them. That’s my politics now.”
* * *
Martin was waiting for him at the hotel.
“We have your housing assignment,” he said, pleased with himself. “In Prenzlauer Berg. A very nice area. So. You can pack now?”
“Now?” Erich, still in Ruth’s room.
“Yes. I have a car for us. You will be anxious to see it.”
“What’s the address? I want to write it down.” He took out a notebook.
“But I will take you,” Martin said, puzzled.
“For the desk here,” Alex said, improvising. “To forward mail.”
“You are expecting mail here?”
“From America. It’s the only address they have. Until I send the new one.”
“Rykestrasse forty-eight. Near the Wasserturm. A very nice street.”
Alex jotted down the address, two copies. “For me,” he explained, “if I forget it. I won’t be long. A few minutes.”
And then, before Martin could say anything more, he was on the stairs. Three knocks. Erich opened the door, still looking sleepy, but not as drawn as last night. Alex slid in.
“They’re moving me. To a flat.” He handed him the address. “You know where it is?”
Erich looked at the paper and nodded. “Your flat? But it’s trouble for you.”
“It’s more trouble if Ruth gets back early. Put the duvet away. No one was here. And make sure there’s nobody around at my place when you come. Three knocks, just like here, okay? Better wait an hour. At least. I don’t know when I can shake Martin.”
“Who?”
“Nobody. My keeper. Okay, let’s go. Neat as a pin, right?”
“What about the key?” He cocked his head toward the night table.
Ruth’s key. Impossible to explain at the desk. A fuss if it went missing.
“Give it to me. I’ll put it back.” How? Surprisingly heavy in his palm. Adlon luxury. At the door he turned. “Erich? The work camp. It was mines? Near Aue?”
“Yes. How did you—?”
“The people who got sick—what happened?”
“They got tired. Well, everybody was tired. But more tired. Sick in the lungs, from the dust. And no boots. You had to work in the slime up to here, no rubber boots, so it was easy to get sick.”
“Did they tell you what you were mining?”
“No, but we knew. Pitchblende. Uranium. Everybody knew. The doctors would check. If someone got sick from that. Radiation. But with them, everyone was healthy. Unless you couldn’t work at all.” He looked up. “Why do you ask this?”
“No reason,” Alex said, thinking of the lesions on Erich’s legs. “We’ll talk later. I want to hear—how it was.”
“They said it was our patriotic duty. As Socialists. The Americans didn’t want anyone else to have it, uranium. And we had so little. We needed more. So, that cough? It’s nothing important. Go back to work. It was like that.”
Alex put his hand on the doorknob. “How many of you escaped?”
“Five. We were afraid, if we told too many someone would betray us. You know, for special privileges.”
Alex stood there for a minute, at a loss. No end to it. “Give me an hour,” he said finally. “And keep this locked from inside.”
His packing, the shaving kit and the extra suit, only took a few minutes. Down the hall, Ruth’s key in one hand, his key in his pocket so they wouldn’t get mixed up. No bellhops in sight. Where was Peter? Who’d know what to do. And then, near the bottom of the stairs, he saw the long overcoat and stopped. Markus Engel, talking to the doorman. Martin leaped off the lobby couch, reaching for Alex’s suitcase.