“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?”
“A friend lends it to me. It’s so hard to get around at night. Almost as bad as during the blackout.” Which still didn’t explain why he lent it.
“Yes, thank you for the lift,” Roberta said, looking at her, but reluctant to push it further. “The lap of luxury. Herb’ll be jealous. Here we are. Just at the corner. I must say, I don’t know what we’d do without the Kulturbund. Meals off ration.” She caught herself. “And of course the people-everyone is so interesting. There’s a real seriousness about the arts here. Not like-”
Alex, on the street now, offered his hand to help her out.
“Thank you again,” she said to Irene. “And your friend.” She got out, her hand still on Alex’s. “Thanks. Alex-can I call you Alex? — I wanted to ask you-” She lowered her head, her voice almost conspiratorial. “I mean we don’t know each other really, but to tell you the truth, I don’t know who else to ask.”
Alex looked at her, waiting.
“I just wondered if it was us, people who’d come from the States. For some reason.”
“What?”
“Have they asked you for your Party documents? They said they were calling them in for review and I was just wondering why. You know, whether it was everybody or just Herb-”
“Party documents?”
“Membership books, you know.”
“But I’m not a member. Not yet.”
“Really? I thought-well, never mind. It’s probably just some office thing. They love all that official paper, all the stamps. I just wondered is all.” Her voice trying to be light, but anxious, her eyes troubled. She raised her head. “You’re going to join, aren’t you?”
“Yes,” he said, remembering Dieter.
“I mean, it makes everything so much easier here. And of course it’s-the Party. It’s why we’re here, isn’t it? Anyway, come for a drink and see Herb’s drawings. It’s really wonderful, what Berlin is going to look like.”
4
“Don’t worry, I’m worth the wait,” Irene said, offering her cheek to be kissed. “I brought Alex. You don’t mind. He wanted to see the Möwe. Look, there’s Brecht.”
Across the room, Brecht took out his cigar stub and half waved it.
“The more the merrier,” Sasha said. “You remember Ivan?” The other Russian stood and bowed his head, military polite. “A real Ivan,” Sasha said to Alex. “Not an Ivan. His name. Sit, sit. He came with me to celebrate.”
“Oh yes?” Irene said, sitting down. “What are you celebrating?” She glanced at the vodka bottle, half gone.
“Tell her,” Ivan said. “He’s so modest. She’ll be proud of you.”
“I’m already proud,” Irene said. “So now?”
“A big promotion,” Ivan said. “Moscow!” He raised his glass, a toast they’d made before.
“Moscow?” Irene said, paling a little.
“In the director’s office.” Ivan slapped Sasha on the back. “Now what do you think of him?”
“When?” Irene said to Sasha. “You never said.”
“I didn’t know.”
“It’s all the good work,” Ivan said, clinking glasses with him. “Come, have a drink,” he said to Alex. He raised his hand to get the waiter. “You need a glass.”
“Just beer for me,” Alex said to the waiter. “Irene?”
She shook her head. “When?” she asked again.
“I don’t know. Soon. Any day. Whenever the new man arrives. It’s a question of arranging transport.”