In the Mouth of the Bear

the Harp?

  Hours ago, you know Phil'. I wondered if she'd get any of that.

  ' The tart's off wi' another wan, he means' said Jock helpfully.

  'Ach, Philip, he is bad for business? or those girls are.' She said

  bitterly.

  'Gitte?' I began. 'About Ute and Dave?' She looked at me hard.Then:

  'Ja, Schmetti, you are right. It is time. For a while now. It is just?

  She was so happy, Schmetti. ?' She had a distant look.

  Birgitte was beautiful in either profile. But the God of Symmetry had played a cruel joke: Birgitte in full face would never make it in the Dream Factory. Not even Beate Uhse could use her was her bitter joke for the Brits; connoisseurs of the porno video one and all. Not ugly, of course: just ? well? startlingly asymmetrical.

  'So, 'Gitte? what...?' My question petered out.

  'Don't worry. I'll take care of it. It isn't the first time, you know?'

  She gave a twisted smile, tossed off her fake drink and went over to the Kansas farmboys: time is money.

  Ute gave up her secret during Ray Davies' fade out: A predictable Midwestern twang rang out. I expect there aren't many transsexual strippers in Topeka. Ute was running for the curtained door when Birgitte shouted:

  'Ute, here! These boys need company, come on! We're short tonight'

  Ute looked round. Looking for Dave, who was still in the bog. She wrapped a diaphanous skirt round herself and reluctantly sat down. Dave's girl didn't do much of the hostess bit. The customers who followed her through the curtain were a niche market. They had come to Mons in search of Ute. They had no need to be persuaded over drinks, fake or not.

  Ute sat next to the 'Gee I' with the bone haircut. A marine from the US Embassy guard force probably. Six feet three of meathead.

  ' Telt ye it wasna worth a bet!' said the laconic Jock.

  Dave came out. Looked at the empty stage. Clocked Ute with the Marine: she shook her head. Dave came and sat down.

  'What's that about?' Almost petulant.

  'Gitte says they're short tonight.' I said. 'Flu. All the girls in town are getting it.' '

  ' Elephant Bar's closed: first time since the wall went up.' Jock added helpfully.

  The haggard waitress wheeled a bucket up to the Yanks' table. Open bottle poking out of a mountain of ice. There was a sort of smile on her face: one that would scare children. I hadn't seen the Americans order the drink. Birgitte poured everyone a drink. Looking cheerfully manic she raised her glass. Ute brought hers up slower, looking over at Dave?

  Who was taking it badly.

  'Look I know, right. It's business. And the men that come, you know,

  looking for her. Well it's different, that's all - sitting with customers. Talking to them.'

  I shot Jock a look. Hoped he would say nothing. Poor Dave. Trying so hard not to be jealous.

  I signalled to the bar. Three more beers. They came:

  'And schnapps, Persico, dreimal', holding up three redundant fingers to the waitress.

  'Dave, it's the job. Alright?'

  ' Yeah, well?' And he took a long slug of beer.

  Three Persico arrived. The schnapps was banned in West Germany; reputedly it had aphrodisiac qualities. It was powerful. It was sweet. And it was effective at removing inhibitions. Dave downed his almost before the glasses touched the table top. I pushed mine toward him.

  ' Have it, I don't feel like it? tonight.'

  It went the same way. Jock kicked me under the table. I gave him a long stare.

  He shrugged.

  'Ha'e mines too, Dave.'

  Jurgen, the boss, came out from behind the curtain. Short -stocky to his face, fat behind his back - he didn't look scary. We knew better. 2 of 3 Para's finest had been hospitalised a few weeks ago: fair enough, you don't damage the girls. A look flashed between him and Birgitte. I thought I could see him raise his eyebrows: he'd noticed Ute. Meathead was animated now: pointing at the champagne, shaking his head. Shouting. Jurgen bowled over.

  'A problem, gentlemen?'-

  Nothing on stage, no music: an expectant hush.

  'Damn' right sir! Ain't payin' for it. Didn't ask for it!'

  'But did you drink it, sir?' His politeness would have scared me.

  'Hell, yeah! But? you know, we thought it was free!'

  'And these ladies are in love with you, of course.'

  Meathead's face fell at Jurgen's words. He'd been a fool. We all knew it, even him now.

  So it kicked off. Meathead and his sidekick lunged over the table at Jurgen. Naturally, he was too quick for a couple of drunks. They sprawled on the floor. Jurgen was first in with the boots, before the reinforcements materialised. Two of the customers weren't. Sometimes the heavies sat at the tables. Pour encourager les autres, you might say. It wasn't an epic battle. The victors dragged the defeated outside, while Jurgen 'phoned his contact in the Military Police over at Templehof.

  Ute had looked terrified throughout. Not used to the rough and tumble of the tables. Dave tried to stop her as she made for the curtain and safety out the back. No luck. He sat down miserably. Birgitte winked at me.

  'Drinks for my friends! Here, this table.'

  The waitress didn't merit even a name. Birgitte sat next to Dave. Hand on his thigh.

  ' Don't worry, Dave. She will be OK, 100%. Just leave her, hey?'

  'But?'

  He was cut short as Birgitte rammed a Persico to his lips and poured it down him.

  ' You'll feel better in a minute, Dave. Sure will.'

  She jerked her head at me, waved with the spare hand at the empty table to the left. I finally returned Jock's kick under the table. Jabbed a thumb to show him the way. We took our beers. Left the schnapps.

  It was horrible. Watching a professional at work. On one of us. Our first night in here, months ago, had drawn the battle lines. We weren't ordinary mugs. Our eyes were open and we were in here on our terms. A bucket arrived. And more schnapps. Ute came out after an hour or so. Sat at the bar. Trying not to watch. I saw a tear as Birgitte led Dave behind the curtain.

  Jock and I went up to the bar. Piled everything from our wallets on the bar.

  ' For Dave's bill' I said.

  Jurgen appeared behind us, a hand on my shoulder, a hand on Jock's.

  'No charge' he said. 'What are friends for?'

  'We'll pay, thanks.' And we did.

  But we knew we owed him anyway.

  Elephant

  'I'll never forget the night the Elephant flew in to Berlin Zoo'

  Bill declared. We'd all been silent for a few minutes. We'd all been silent for a few minutes; a round dozen of forty-or-sos (or a dozen of round forty-somethings) a few drinks showing on the judgement-ometer. All the awkward questions over, we knew who was still married to whom and who had finally come out. It was time to hear the old stories again. Tales from a city split by barbed wire and bricks: West Berlin had been all colour, while the East was as monochrome as the earnest films they allowed out into the world. We'd lived through it, the Cold War in the spy capital of the world. Seen the wall come down, watched the graffiti spread like eczema on formerly pristine Berlin walls. It had been an incredible time. And Bill would never forget the delivery of an elephant.

  We had listened, more than watched, as the Cold War eventually thawed. Like the slush in the streets, it was messy. We professional eavesdroppers worked on the top of Berlin's only hill; Teufelsberg, Devil's Mountain; a grand name for little more than a hillock. Built from the post-war rubble even as the city was being dismembered by the four "allied" powers, the Americans wasted no time in establishing a listening post on the top. By the early Eighties, an engineer with a sense of humour had erected the structure known to the Berliners as "Der Pimmel auf der Himmel", the Prick in the Sky.

  All through the Eighties, we listened and listened, trying to piece together the intelligence puzzle. What were they capable of? Could they get 500 tanks to Hamburg, Bonn and Frankfurt in a day
? Could they launch a strategic nuclear missile from an aircraft based just south of Berlin. Nobody was sure. So every report was a "possible indication of a possible incidence of a probable impossibility." It was so vague. It was all a game. Bluffing on a scarcely credible scale. Or so it proved. The missiles in the silos didn't work. We had heard the rumours of Soviet incompetence before glasnost's arrival . Why would their armed forces be more efficient? But no, we did our bit; we kept intelligence budgets high to fight a horde of shadow boxers.

  There was some excitement, Bill's unforgettable elephant.

  '?? ???? ?? ?????' 'Confirmed, Elephant on board'

  The stamping of feet, raised voices,

  'Don't be ridiculous, you're not taking this seriously! We are not reporting that!'

  And we didn't. But the rest room was full the next evening to watch the East German TV news, and the arrival of the elephant at Berlin Zoo via the Glienicke Bridge, like an exchanged spy.

  International Relations

  Nada finished polishing the glass. Shook the cloth in Phil's face. It would have been a playful gesture a week ago, before he'd met her daughter. Phil's grin was glued in place by a gallon of Warsteiner beer and Yugoslavian schnapps. The lights were dim in Nada's: the pink-lettered neon outside said 'Treffpunkt' at the front and 'Meeting Point' on the side. Nada's could be found deep in the Ku'damm Eck, an indoor drinking precinct, with the odd shop. On the Kurfurstendamm; maybe it's still there.

  It had been a funny night in Nada's: Julischka, her daughter was out of bounds for chit-chat, now. No point in asking about Nada's latest man. Her last romantic adventure was also a no-go area. There hadn't been much else to talk about. As usual, all the other custom