“I can’t stay here,” Erich said, not really a reply, some conversation he was having in his head. “The ones they catch, they put them in the worst mines. That’s what happens. They put you back, but worse.”
“Nobody’s going to catch you,” Alex said. “You warm enough?” He closed the bedroom curtains. “If you need light, stay in here. They took the blackout curtains down in the other room, so any light shows. Remember what I said about the stairs if there’s any trouble?”
Erich nodded. “Where are you going?”
Alex turned to Irene. “Where are we going?”
“The M?we. Sasha said he’d meet me there. You don’t know it,” she said to Erich. “It’s just a place people go to. Sleep now and I’ll be back tomorrow.”
He nodded, closing his eyes. “You know what Elsbeth said? Her flat is too small.”
“It’s not her. It’s him.”
“My own sister. Blood.”
“Never mind, it’s better here. Alex is like family.”
Erich smiled, eyes still closed. “Ha! What would papa say? An American in the family. A spy.”
The hairs on Alex’s arms moved suddenly, as if some electric pulse were running along his skin. “Yes? Why a spy?”
“All Americans are spies. That’s what they told us. Don’t talk to them. If you see one in the village, report it. They’re all spies. Imagine how stupid—to think we could recognize them. How? Wearing uniforms? In Aue?” His voice drifted off.
“Yes, stupid,” Alex said, turning off the bedside lamp. “I’ll be back. Remember, no lights in the other room.”
“So careful. So maybe Erich’s right,” Irene said, teasing, then looked at her watch. “Anyway, there should be a power cut soon. They like to turn it off during dinner, so you can’t see how bad the food is.” A Berlin joke, tart, a shrug of the shoulders.
On the stairs the lights did go out, a quick flicker, then darkness, so that after they felt their way to the courtyard entrance they almost collided with a woman trying to get a flashlight to work.
“Oh, Mister Meier,” she said. “You’re in the building too? I didn’t realize.” Then, backing up, “Roberta Kleinbard. We met at the Kulturbund.”
“Yes, I remember. From New York. The architect.”
“Well, Herb’s the architect. But I help with the drawings.”
“You remember Frau Gerhardt?” Alex said, not sure if they had met. Both nodded.
“We’re across the courtyard,” Roberta said. “Did you just move in?”
“Yes, just.”
“So they’re putting all the Americans in one place, I guess. Tom Lawson’s in the back courtyard. He was the first. Here we go,” she said as the flashlight finally went on. “Follow me.”
They trailed the light, single file, out the entrance to the street.
“Thank God I bought extra batteries. Hard to get now,” Roberta was saying, but Alex barely heard her, his mind still back in the courtyard. All the Americans. Is that how Roberta saw him? What Erich thought too. He felt he had just seen himself in a mirror, rubbing bathroom steam away, seen finally what all the others saw, Markus and Martin and Erich making spy jokes. Not a German anymore, someone who hadn’t been here, couldn’t know what it was now to be German. Exile was irreversible, where he lived.
“You can still buy them in the British sector,” Roberta said. “But who knows for how long? They’re going to end the dual currency any day now, that’s what people say, and then what? Who has West marks unless you work over there?”
“Can we drop you somewhere?” Irene said, pointing to the waiting car, sent by Sasha from Karlshorst.
“Oh,” Roberta said, taking it in, impressed, then glancing at Alex. “If you’re going by the Kulturbund. But I can—”
“No, no, it’s on the way. Please.”
They got in, Irene giving the driver instructions. Roberta, who had assumed the car was Alex’s, now looked puzzled, a little wary.
“Another party?” Alex said.
“No, just dinner. With Henselmann. You know he’s in charge of the Friedrichshain project. New buildings all the way to Frankfurter Tor. Herb’s designing two.”
“Frankfurter Tor,” Irene said. “That’s miles.”
“A showcase street,” Roberta said, nodding. “Herb said they’re going to call it Stalinallee.”
“What, Grosse Frankfurter Strasse?” Alex said, remembering his drive into the city, the endless blocks of piled rubble. “But it’s always been—”
“Well, I know. But really, what difference does it make? And it’s the kind of gesture that might get the funding started. You know, once you start a construction project, it’s hard to stop it. But getting started— And Herb’s designs are ready to go. He was at the Bauhaus, you know. Years ago. So this is like a dream for him. Come for a drink sometime and see. So convenient, being just across the courtyard. Do you face the street?”
“Yes.”
“They must think a lot of you,” Roberta said.
“No, it’s probably what was available, that’s all.”
Roberta looked at him, about to correct this, then decided to say nothing. Instead she turned to Irene.
“Can I ask what you do?”
“I’m at DEFA.”
“Oh, an actress,” Roberta said, excited, looking around, as if the answer explained the car.
“No, I work on the production staff.”
“Still. Just to be there. I was always crazy about movies, from a kid on. Of course, here it’s harder. But my German’s getting better. My son laughs at me now. It’s so easy for them at that age.”
“You’ve been here a long time?”
“No, just long enough to get homesick once in a while. For friends, you know. My sister was coming to visit, but with this going on,” she said, jerking her head up to the airlift, “it’s impossible. But soon. I mean how long can they keep it up? Their coal allowance is lower than ours now, and that won’t get anyone through a really cold one.” She had been looking toward the front seat, still trying to work out the car. “Your driver. He’s a soldier? It’s an official car?”