“He’s in charge?”
“You’re so interested in this?”
“No, I’m interested in him. He’s-somebody you’re with.”
“You don’t have to worry about him. It’s not Kurt. Or you. Something useful, that’s all.”
“Useful.”
“Well, to have a friend at Karlshorst. He works with Maltsev.”
“Who’s Maltsev? What does he do?” Any information, Willy had said.
“What they all do. Give orders. Anyway, important. You know how I know? Markus. I could see it in his face, the first time he saw me with Sasha. This way,” she said, leading him, “it’s a shortcut.” The street branched off to a wide connecting footpath. “It’s better at the Luisenstrasse end. They cleared all the streets near the hospital first.” There were lights finally, people at home. “You see how lucky we were here. Not too bad, only some top floors. Fires. It was like that. Not too bad in one place and then one street away, everything gone. I’m just down there, near the end.”
They passed under the sound of a radio, loud enough to be heard through the closed window. Waltz music, which Alex heard somewhere in the back of his mind, the rest preoccupied with SED quotas. Sasha says it’s difficult. Would any of this be useful? What else? And then suddenly the music stopped and the lights blinked out, the street pitched into darkness.
“A power cut,” Irene said, a weary resignation. “Careful where you walk. It’s all the time now. But they say it’s worse in the West.”
“How long have you been with-” Alex started, not wanting to let Markovsky go, then stopped, blinded, as a bright light swung into the street behind them. Two lights. Headlights, the same shape as the car in Lützowplatz. He swung his head away and grabbed Irene’s elbow. But where was there to go? A long street, straight, impossible to outrun a car, no heaps of rubble to duck behind, the footpath back at the corner. No Willy to help this time. In the Russian sector, no questions asked. Run. Where?
Without thinking he pushed Irene into the building entrance, pressing her into the doorway corner. Get out of the light. A couple huddled in a doorway. The car began to race toward them, close to the curb, headlamps blazing, tracking. Alex pressed more tightly, away from the street. Make them come for you, get out of the car, not just run you down. He raised one arm, a shield, ready to swing it around in defense, waiting for the crunch of tires stopping in the snow. The car swept past. He took a breath, then realized he’d been panting, running over the rubble again. He looked over his shoulder. Almost at Luisenstrasse now, not even aware of him.
“Alex-”
He dropped his arm. “Sorry.” Still catching his breath.
She put her hand up to his face. “What is it? You’re shaking.”
“I thought I knew the car. Saw it before.”
“Saw it before?” Hand still on his cheek. “When?”
Well, when?
“Before. Following us.”
“Following us? Why? You think Sasha-? No. He doesn’t-” She stopped, looking up at him. “My God, how this feels.” The hand now behind his neck, drawing him down, kissing him, kissing each other, tasting her, his breathing still ragged from fear, now something else, blood rushing to his face, pushing up against her in the corner. “Alex,” she said, kissing him again.
He pulled away.
“Come upstairs,” she said, a whisper, her breath warm on his cheek.
“No.”
“It’s dark. No one will see.” A small giggle. “Really no one. If we can find the stairs.”
“Irene-”
“I knew it would feel the same. When I saw you.” She touched his temple. “All gray. But I knew it would be the same.”
“It’s not.”
“I don’t care.” She put her head next to his. “I just want to feel like before.” The words warm in his ear. “It’s not so much. When we were nicer. Just that.”
“Irene-”
“Why? You don’t want to? What a liar you are,” she said, reaching down, feeling him. “Cars following us. So maybe that was an excuse too.” Playing, oblivious to the look on his face. Another kiss, his mouth opening willingly. “Nobody ever wanted me like you. Nobody. Remember on the beach? My God. And now you don’t want to anymore?” She shook her head, still close to his, her hand gripping him below. “What a liar.”
He looked over her shoulder at the threshold, another line to cross. Don’t. This betrayal worse than the other, or maybe just part of the same one now. What they wanted. More.
“I know you,” she said. “Don’t I?”
Already betrayed, so that when he nodded, his head filled with her, nobody ever wanted me like you, the nod seemed like a small lie.
“Be careful in the hall. Don’t make too much noise.” She was whispering, her breath faster, the same reckless eagerness as before, the way he remembered. “Frau Schmidt. I think she listens at the door. She used to be the block warden. Now she can’t stop.” She put her fingers to her lips, turning to the door, opening it slowly. A small foyer, the stairs opposite. “Can you see? Should I light a match?” Still whispering, conspiratorial. She turned, holding him again. “Maybe it’s better. You can’t see me. How I look. We’ll be the same,” she said, kissing him again. “This way. It’s better by the stairs.” The one visible part of the room, under a skylight.
Her foot bumped into something-a pail, a child’s toy, something that clattered.
“Ouf.” She giggled again. “Now she’s setting traps. Wait.” She reached into her purse and took out a match, lighting it, and waving it over the floor. “Okay.” She took his hand, leading him to the stairs. “Just hold the rail. Here. It’s the first step.”
A faint noise, furtive, from out of the dark, beside the stairs. “Irene.”
She froze.
“Over here.”
Someone moved away from the wall, approaching them. “Thank God. I’ve been waiting.”
Almost there, the thin pale face ghostlike in the dim light.
“Erich,” she said. “Erich?”
“I didn’t know if you were still living here.” Both whispering.
“Erich.” Almost a sob now, falling on him. “My God. How you look. So skinny. My God.”
They held each other for a minute, Erich shaking, a nervous relief, exhausted.
“Shh. It’s okay,” Irene was saying, patting him. “Everything’s okay. Erich.”
“I have to hide. Can you hide me?”
“Hide?”
“We escaped-” He raised his head, noticing Alex for the first time. An odd, startled look, seeing the dead. “Alex?” His eyes darting, confused. What had he heard, waiting by the stairs? Irene giggling, intimate.
“Yes.”
“It’s you?” An inexplicable presence.
“What do you mean, escaped?” Irene said, now studying his face. “You’re all right?” She looked down. “Like a skeleton.” Her voice broke, a whimper at the back of it. “My God, what have they done to you?”
Alex looked at him, the boy they’d hidden under the stairs. His hair, once the color of Irene’s, was now indeterminate, cropped short, prison style, easy for delousing. Dirty, streaked with grime, his skin drawn tight over the bones, so that his eyes seemed to bulge out, too big for his face. Holding onto the newel, some support.
“Come,” Irene said. “Alex, help me with him. Just hold onto the rail.”
A flickering light appeared, a candle coming out of a door.
“Who is it? What’s going on?”
“It’s only me, Frau Schmidt. Another power cut-it’s hard to see.”
Erich swerved away, his back to the candle.
“Frau Gerhardt,” Frau Schmidt said, holding the candle higher. “Two visitors?”
“Can I borrow the candle?” Irene said, breezy. “For the stairs? So kind. I’ll replace it tomorrow. Thank you.” She took the candle before Frau Schmidt could object.
“It’s late,” Frau Schmidt said. “For parties.”
“It’s not a party,” Irene said. “It’s my-” Then stopped, catching herself. “Well, it’s to make sure I got home safely.”
“And now you are home.”
“Yes,” Irene said, not biting. “Thank you again.” Moving up the stairs, the others shuffling behind.