“It’s a great credit to the Office of Cultural Affairs,” Martin said, hovering.
“Well, that,” Dymshits said, taking the compliment seriously. “No. Ask these two. It’s about the artists, always the artists. Who else makes the culture? But we provide maybe the good climate, so it can flourish. That’s our legacy, I hope. That we understood the importance of culture, that we made it grow here.” A speech he must have made before, but the voice genuine, believing. “So we ask the artists to come home, and here you are. At such an evening.” He looked around again, ready to be dazzled. “You know the play? To read, yes, but to actually see it? And now with Dessau doing the music—you’ve never heard the songs like this. I saw them rehearse—don’t tell Brecht, he doesn’t like it, people coming in.”
“You’re not people,” Martin said politely.
Dymshits bowed. “Tonight, yes. Part of the audience only. So nice to see you all here. Zweig too, I think, somewhere.” Vaguely looking around, everyone easy to lose in a crowd. “Ah, look who couldn’t resist,” Dymshits said, nodding to the door. “Even RIAS tonight.”
“What?” Alex said, not expecting this.
“So, Ferber, no American jazz tonight? What will your audience think?”
“You can ask them yourself. They’re all over here.”
Dymshits lowered his head in a touché gesture. “As are you, I see. An evening of real culture for a change? You know these people?” he said, introducing them.
“We have met at the Kulturbund,” Ferber said to Alex.
“Yes, at the reception. I thought you were at the radio station every night.”
“Well, not tonight. Not now, anyway.”
“You mean you’ll be there later?” Alex said, catching his eye, Ferber finally alert.
“Another night owl,” Dymshits said pleasantly. “Maybe you’re going to broadcast a review of the play?”
“I haven’t decided yet.”
“Oh, you mean you might like it. And have to say something good about our Berlin.”
“Your Berlin. There are two now?” Ferber said, baiting him.
“If you listen to the Americans. But here you are,” Dymshits said, not rising to it. “You see how easily people come and go? Despite what your radio says.”
“As long as they don’t leave the zone.”
“Why would anyone want to leave?”
Ferber shrugged.
Alex watched them volley. Not the way he’d imagined, but maybe another piece of luck, something he could use. Ferber at the theater all evening. Ferber shot him a darting look, what? Alex glanced back.
“One more picture?” Martin said. “With the major this time?”
Anna and Alex grouped next to him, their backs to the door.
“I see all your usual theater critics have come out,” Ferber said to Dymshits, another tease.
Dymshits turned to see a thickset man coming through the door. Receding hairline, head shaved on both sides, his face set in a scowl of suspicion. He looked, Alex thought, a little like J. Edgar Hoover, the same bulldog stance, the eyes sweeping the room, as if he were looking for snipers.
“Who’s that?” Alex said, slightly mesmerized.
“Erich Mielke,” Ferber said. “A great lover of the theater. Runs K-5 and the new K-5, whatever they’re calling it now.”
“Police, you mean.”
“But not parking tickets. You better be careful. People have been known to disappear when Comrade Mielke’s around. Now you see them, now you don’t.”
“Another American fantasy,” Dymshits said. “Herr Ferber—”
“Suit yourself,” Ferber said, holding up his hands. “Just don’t go anywhere alone.”
“Well, right now I want to use the men’s room before we go in. Think that’s safe enough?” Trying to keep his voice light, not an invitation, but Ferber heard it.
“In pairs,” Ferber said, beginning to split off with him.
“American wit,” Dymshits said. “But I wonder. How many of your security people go to the theater, take an interest in such things?”
Ferber grinned. “I’ll give you that one. But let’s make a bet. Keep an eye on Mielke. See how long he stays awake.”
“Of course he stays awake. Why would he come?”
“I’ll give you that one too,” Ferber said. “Herr Meier?”
But Alex had stopped, rooted. Behind Mielke, probably in attendance, Markus had just noticed him. Another complication, Markus not likely to ignore him, let him melt away. Obsessed with Irene, always eager to keep an eye out. He thought of Mielke’s quick glance sweeping the room. Markus nodded, a polite secret smile between them. How do you become invisible when everyone is watching?
Ferber moved him toward the men’s room.
“What’s wrong? It’s tonight? Why didn’t you tell me?”
“I thought it was safer. You said you were there every night.”
“Not this night.”
“Never mind. Maybe it’s better. We’ll meet you there after the play. Nobody on your staff will be expecting it then. What’s the setup down there?”
“Staff entrance in the back. With a parking lot. Just use my name at the gate. Studio one-ten. Ground floor. If I’m not there yet, anybody can set you up.”
“No, be there.”
“I came with people. I can’t just—”
“They’ll understand. You have to rush back. Mother Courage is news, no?”
“Let’s hope so. How are you going to work this? You coming with him?”
Alex nodded. “The U-Bahn, like you said. But you’ll have a car for us later, right?”
“Herr Meier, such a pleasure to see you.” Markus, without Mielke in tow. “Herr Ferber.”
Ferber gave him a perfunctory nod, then glanced toward the men’s room. “Well, I’d better go before there’s a line. Enjoy the play.” Sliding off.
“What did he want?”
“What he always wants. For me to go on the radio. Don’t worry, I said no. The last thing I’d want to do.”
“That’s right. You prefer the quiet life.” Smiling to himself, some private joke.