‘Any time you want to stop working for us, Stefan, all you have to do is say that you categorically refuse. That’s the official rule. Not all case officers lay it out as clearly as they might. For me it’s an essential part of our agreement. Do you understand?’
I nodded. He seemed to be telling me the truth, and yet I had so little sense of there being any choice in the matter that I experienced my acquiescence in it not as something that might or might not happen but as something that had, once again, already happened. Still unclear to me whether this feeling was the result simply of an accurate reading of the forces implicit in the situation, or whether it came from some aberrant warp in my own psyche: a willingness to please, manifesting itself inside me as a feeling of irresistible pressure.
Or was there something even more dubious at work in my mind: was I, could I possibly have been, actively interested in the pursuit and destruction of the individual whom Lieutenant Hager wanted me to help him ensnare? Is it possible I was motivated not just by some dim terror of having my fraudulent poetic credentials exposed, but also by an active desire to eliminate a rival?
I am attempting to understand myself here: not to make excuses, but not to fall into the inverse vanity of exaggerating my own misdeeds either. ‘It is necessary at all times and in all places to make explicit, to demystify, and to harry the insult to mankind that exists in oneself’: Frantz Fanon’s words, drummed into us at school. I summon an image of my old self to hold up for examination. I can discern fearfulness in that unformed, boyish face; I can see a lurking, secretive ambition; I can make out all sorts of furtive, inordinate desires, but in truth I can find no sign of actual malice.
On the other hand, I can hardly be an objective judge in this matter, and it seems a little late in the day to be erring on the side of anything other than harshness… So, let the accused stand charged with cold-blooded complicity to destroy another human being for his personal gain!
THREE O’CLOCK. Will I hear Menzer’s car? I hope not. My state of mind is somewhat precarious. I think I will be able to stay put only so long as it’s just a matter of simple obedience to the principle of inertia. Any stimulus requiring an act of will to resist is likely to prove too much.
Of course, it’s possible he won’t show up. He needed some persuading when I went down to see him again in the city. Not that he had any scruples about the act itself – or if he had, he wasn’t going to risk being out-Menzered by admitting to them in the face of my own apparent indifference. But he was concerned about the risks, and even after I had demonstrated how negligible these were – a shot that would cause no alarm, no possible connection between himself and the victim and no imaginable incentive on my part to incriminate either him or, by extension, myself – he remained sceptical.
On the other hand, he clearly needed money. He had insisted I bring my payment in cash, and the sight of this as he glanced into the large envelope I handed him over our café table had an effect on him like a surging current on an appliance: something in him seemed to dilate. Though again, as if to offset any suggestion of being impressed, he immediately put on a hard, businesslike expression.
‘Well. Suppose I were to ask you to give me the other ten in advance?’
I had come prepared for something like this, and without hesitation took a second envelope from my bag.
‘I’ll give you another five,’ I told him – the total, as it happened, of what I had been able to cash out of my trading account. ‘The rest afterwards.’
He looked thoughtfully at the envelope.
‘OK, maybe. But I’m interested in how I’m supposed to know you’ll actually give it to me afterwards.’
‘I think a better question is how will I know you won’t keep coming back for more after I do? Who has the most leverage in this situation, after all? Considering the past you and I share.’
He laughed at that, conceding the point.
‘What about Inge, though – isn’t she going to wonder about your bank balance?’
‘I deal with all our finances. She’s not interested.’
‘All right. OK. Possibly maybe. Listen, though. Not that it’s in my interest to say this, but do you really think this is going to solve your problems? With her?’
‘I’ll worry about that,’ I said.
He stared hard at me for some time. Then, abruptly, he shrugged.
‘Well, why not? Anything to help out an old pal!’
I gave him the envelope.
‘It’s almost funny,’ he said as we parted company a little later, ‘I was always the one who walked off with the marks-manship prize in our Hans Beimler games. Maybe I’m about to discover my true vocation!’
‘SO. DID YOU decide on a code name?’
My second meeting with Lieutenant Hager.
‘How about Sloth?’
‘Your school nickname?’
There is very little the lieutenant doesn’t know about me.
I shrug.
‘Well, it’s your choice. I’ll put it here in the file. You need to write out this pledge, by the way.’
‘What’s that?’
‘That you’re working for us entirely of your own free will.’
‘OK.’
The boy is present, sitting quietly on the floor, building a windmill out of Lege. He and his father belong to an ‘Interest Association’ devoted to restoring old windmills.
‘Here are permits for the journal…’
He wants me to launch a sort of samizdat journal, modestly risk-taking at first, so as not to arouse suspicion of official involvement, then growing steadily more inflammatory.
‘Permit to set text in type. Permit to print. Permit to bind. Permit to distribute up to one hundred copies. Be sure to submit receipts for all expenses. We’ll reimburse you every month, with a premium for good work. By that we don’t mean gossip or rumour but hard facts, along with evidence that can hold up in court. Our ministry lawyers are very particular about that. Don’t rush things: it takes time to get your legend accepted. We want people to see you as a serious editor, willing to take real chances; not just some fly-by-night renegade. We’re going to give you your own tail; it’ll add to your credibility. Wait, Detlef, that doesn’t go there…’
He goes over to help his boy with the windmill, working from a photograph, while continuing to talk to me from the floor:
‘I often tell people in your situation to think of themselves not only as the agent of the Stasi in the peace movement, but also as the agent of the peace movement within the Stasi. The fact is that although we do make it our business to control this so-called opposition, we’re as eager as they are to avoid a direct conflict with the West, and we’ve recognised right from the start that many of their ideas are worth paying attention to. So you see, we can learn from you. It’s just a question of whether one allows that energy to be diverted into wasteful political side issues, or whether one keeps it focused on the immediate pressing danger. Personally I find it a little immoral to be talking about, oh, I don’t know, reunification, shall we say, or so-called freedom of expression, or even individual human rights, while enough Pershings and Cruise missiles to incinerate every one of us a thousand times over are being amassed right here on our borders…’