A Night Divided: Chapters 16–33

Mama said the reason East Berliners didn’t fight the wall was because so many citizens considered it God’s punishment for Germany’s crimes in the Second World War. Maybe that was so, but God didn’t seem to be punishing the west equally, and besides, the war was the crime of my grandparents’ generation. I didn’t see why I should be forced to share in their penance.

The best I could do was to slink along the edge of the wall and hope if anyone saw me that I looked casual enough to escape any further attention.

With every new revelation, his shoulders slumped further, and the light dimmed in his face.

Now he was alone, surrounded by a crowded apartment of assorted tools, car parts, and trinkets that would do nothing to comfort him.

I nodded, and Fritz turned on the water tap and then a small radio that Mama kept on the counter. While it blared out some all-night dance music, he motioned for me to lean toward him.

I was so taken aback by her words that I only sat there in shock.

The letter I wrote to my father was simple. I said nothing more than what absolutely had to be written and weighed each word carefully, just in case the Stasi intercepted it.

“They’re called Schrebergärten, allotted spaces for interested families. The state gives permission to garden in certain areas, legally. I went to ask if we might use that small piece of land near the Welcome Building to make a garden. This paper is our permit, and in this bag I even have some small gardening tools and corn seeds.”

My brow furrowed.

One late afternoon, Fritz said he would lift the buckets for me if I would go and find water to refill his canteen.

I wore my blandest clothes, which really only required a choice between Communist gray and Communist grayer.

The officers’ rifles reflected from the streetlights and their shared laughter was coarse and louder than it ought to be for this early hour.

That single thought was enough to prompt me into moving.

Frankly, I was so relieved that she didn’t demand a bribe of silence from me, I barely even thought about the fact that I was the one receiving the bribe.

I started to retort but quickly lost any interest in arguing.

Even in my fake garden, I felt slighted by her suggestion that I might have done a poor job.

But it didn’t look like they had gone through it with anything more than a cursory examination.

Fritz hailed the officers and walked out to meet them as far from the pond as possible.

I lowered my head and held a tone of humility.

“Where is Fritz today?” Her voice turned skeptical. “Another errand?”

But the friendship was obviously over, and getting into her apartment now would be a product of lies and manipulation.

Not long before we intended to quit for the evening, Fritz began using the shovel as a wedge to pry out a rock lodged deep into the dirt. We pressed down on the handle together, but the rock was more embedded than we had expected.

They are also telling the truth when they say there are people in the west who will take advantage of others for their own profit. Some people use capitalism to help themselves and let the rest suffer for it.

I knew her, and suddenly loathed her just as much as I did Officer Müller.

I suppose that was how Fritz’s and my thinking had evolved: The fact that we hadn’t been shot and left to die was the morbid way in which we cheered ourselves up.

When those didn’t work, I sang songs in my head. Ironically, the only ones I could think of were the patriotic songs of the Pioneers.

But their rousing tunes didn’t help for long.

“It’s just a scratch,” I told her, for the microphones. “From a brambly weed. We’ve been gardening. It was supposed to be a surprise for you.”

My heart lurched into my throat.

Herr Krause was brought out again, but this time his body was on a gurney and perfectly still.

Somehow, I had to beg, swindle, or steal my way inside.

I knew she believed seeing Anna would weaken my resolve to leave East Berlin, but if anything, it would be just the opposite.

Anna’s room was the same as it had always been: simple and sparse, and painted in a cream color that somehow reflected gray.

In fact, I might’ve lost track altogether if I didn’t have that dark patch of ground to keep me oriented.

But behind her innocent facade she had to know this wasn’t about the clothes. I’d always known there was a risk of someone I knew becoming a spy against us.