"Agreed," I mumbled. And she ran off the way I had just come, while I darted in the other direction. My mind burned with curiosity for who that woman was and how she knew my father, but there was a much stronger urge for me to get to that pulley. The sun was rising fast. I didn't have much time.
About fifteen minutes later, I reached the neighborhood with the pulley. Since it was a weekend, several of the stores would be closed today, and I had some time before the rest opened. Many of the residents here would have already left for the countryside, drowning their troubles in a bottle of Pilsner. I hoped those who remained were sleeping in late.
I breathed a little easier once I was in the lot with the damaged building. There were plenty of places to hide, and based on the scattered garbage I passed, other people had hidden here before me. I had to stack a couple of cinder blocks on their ends to stand high enough to reach the pulley, but after checking the area carefully to be sure I was still alone, I reached up with my knife, sawed off the rope, and let the pulley drop to the ground.
I jumped down, hid it in my burlap sack, and crouched behind the rubble in the lot until the first signs of traffic grew around me.
It was an easy walk home, but as soon as I rounded the last corner I saw Fritz waiting for me on the street. His face was nearly purple and his breaths were harsh and shallow. He grabbed my shirt collar and yanked me inside the apartment building, then twisted me around.
"What were you thinking?" he hissed.
My chest tightened as I got ready for the argument that clearly was coming. I had known he'd be angry when he learned I was gone, especially that I went alone, but my reasons were good. If he wanted to fight about this, we would. But I would win.
"We needed something and I got it," I said.
"Nothing is worth what you did. How dare you, Gerta?"
I started to retort but quickly lost any interest in arguing. Now that I really looked at him, it wasn't anger in his eyes. It was fear, more than I'd ever seen in my brother before.
I opened the burlap sack just enough for him to see what was inside, and when I did, he nodded and tears streamed down his cheeks. He grabbed me into a hug, his stiff fingers digging into my back to communicate the worries still trapped inside him. He whispered, "That was too stupid to count as bravery. What if we lost you? Never do that again, Gerta. Never do anything like that again."
I gave him an apology, but only for making him so afraid. I could never regret what I'd done. Because now we had a pulley.
Intelligence is not to make no mistakes, but quickly to see how to make them good. -- Bertolt Brecht, German playwright
Thankfully, the rain had stopped by the time we left for the Welcome Building. On the way there, Fritz and I stopped by a market and bought five Ostmarks' worth of rope, and also a little food we could eat while working on the tunnel. When he asked where the money had come from, I asked my own question instead. "How involved was Papa in the Resistance? Was he only talking to those who were fighting? Or was there more?"
Fritz frowned. "Why are you asking that now?"
Because I already knew the answer and needed him to confirm it. Maybe my father hadn't led any marches or put up protest flyers, but that woman last night knew his name, and knew him well enough to recognize me after at least four years. There had to be reasons for that.
As we walked, Fritz said, "Father promised Mother he wouldn't break any laws, but he bent that promise as far as he could. I know he spent a lot of time next door with Herr Krause, helping him build support against the government. They used to hold meetings there, ones so secret he denied they had ever happened, even after I told him I could hear them through my bedroom wall. Why do you ask?"
"Last night I met someone he used to know," I simply said.
Which reminded him that he hadn't scolded me for a while. But even as angry as he still was, I'd also gotten him to admit the pulley was invaluable. He thought it would only take a few pieces of wood and the rope to get it working.
Fritz grabbed some old wooden slats from the same lot where I'd stolen the pulley and bundled them with our garden tools to carry them into the garden. Once it was safe to bring everything into the basement, he stood the two longest pieces of wood on their ends and attached them at the top with a third piece of wood. He built stands for the base and said I would have to anchor them with my weight while I pulled the bucket up, or else the whole thing would tip over on me.
"I wish I could make it more permanent," he said. "But I think we should lay this down flat each night, so it doesn't draw any attention in case someone does peek in the windows."
I attached the pulley at the top and ran the rope through it. The other end was already tied to the bucket beside me. When I pulled down on the rope, the bucket handle lifted up.
"Let's test it," I said, already anticipating how helpful this was going to be.
Fritz climbed into the shelter and I lowered the bucket beside him. He filled it with dirt and then told me to raise it up.
Even though it was heavier than the buckets I usually hauled up the ladder, the pulley bore most of the weight and took less of my effort than before. I raised the bucket up to eye level, then dumped it on the basement floor beside me and lowered it again.
Fritz and I worked this way until he announced all the extra dirt was gone from the shelter. He suggested he could go to work digging while I got rid of the dirt in the basement.
So I did. I first lowered the pulley system, untied the bucket, and emptied the new dirt from the basement out into the garden patch. The work seemed much easier today, maybe because I wasn't already exhausted from hauling it up and down the ladder. Only an hour of work easily convinced me I had done the right thing by sneaking out to get the pulley.
By midday, the extra dirt was mostly gone from the basement and spread out in the garden area. Fritz would have more dirt after lunch, but for now, I decided to work outside to make it look as if we were progressing in the garden.
I was accustomed to the constant city noises in Berlin, but here, set off so far from any main roads, it was very quiet. So it was easy to detect the footsteps of someone arriving from the alley, the same way I had come when I first found this building. I took a quick glance back to be sure the boards were covering the window, though I already knew they were. Fritz and I were very careful to always remember that. And I knew he wouldn't come out unless he was sure nobody else was around.
So I turned back to my work and tried not to appear too concerned. Any look of guilt or stress would certainly give me away, because if my only purpose here was gardening, I was allowed to be here. But who I saw emerge from the alley confused me.
It was Anna. Her mother was with her, carrying a basket covered with a cloth.
"Mama thought she saw you working here," Anna said cheerfully. "After seeing you at the restaurant yesterday, we walked this way home and thought something looked different here."
I stopped working and stared up at her while shielding my eyes from the sun at her back. She was smiling and acting as friendly as always, the same Anna as she had been before her brother's death. Or, almost the same. Something seemed different, and I couldn't quite place it. It was like she was too friendly, working too hard to pretend everything was normal. It probably wasn't much different than I had acted on our last day of school together, when I first told her about this garden. Maybe she felt as awkward as I did about repairing our friendship.
"After Peter's ... accident ..." Frau Warner chose her words carefully. Maybe she wanted everyone to believe that escaping one's country by hiding out in a specially designed car was an accident. Or more likely, that's how the Stasi had told her to describe it. "... you brought us some bread from your mother. That was so kind, and we never thanked her."
I sat back on my heels. "My mother had to leave town to take care of my grandmother."
"Yes, I heard that." Frau Warner casually looked around. "We wondered if there's anything you and your brother might need while
she's gone. Where is Fritz, by the way? I thought he was helping you garden."
"He had to run an errand," I said. "He might not be back for a while."
She accepted my lie just as I had told it, without batting an eye. "Ah, well, please tell him hello for me. I know he and Peter were friends, and it would've been nice to see him too. Is there someplace I could set this basket? It has cheese and crackers, and some homemade shortbread. I thought you might like that until your mother is home to cook again."
It all sounded delicious. So good, in fact, that I'd have snatched the basket off her arm and inhaled the food from my filthy fingers if I didn't think it would draw some unwanted attention my way. Instead, I pointed to a flattened rock near the pond. "You could put it there. And thank you." The gratitude I felt could not be expressed enough with words. If only she knew how much the food meant to us.
While her mother walked over with the basket, Anna crouched near me. I returned to working on some weeds, but that didn't stop her from talking. In a low voice, she said, "On the last day of school when you sat by me at lunch, I know you were just trying to be nice and I was horrible in response. I want you to know I'm sorry about that."
I looked up. "I'm sorry too, for not telling you about Peter's plans as soon as I heard. Maybe if I'd told you sooner --"
"That wasn't your fault." Tears filled her eyes, but she blinked them away. "Mama thinks it would be good for me to get out of the apartment more. So if you'd like, I could come by sometime and help here in the garden."
Actually, I didn't like the idea at all. But how could I refuse Anna's polite offer without raising suspicions?
I smiled as kindly as I could manage. "It's hot and you'll get filthy, and it's boring, but if you really want to --"
"Thank you, Gerta!" She seemed genuinely happy about what little I had offered, which made me wish it could've been possible. "I know a lot about gardens, so I can be helpful and we can fix some of your mistakes before you get the seeds planted."
My eyes narrowed. "What mistakes?" Even in my fake garden, I felt slighted by her suggestion that I might have done a poor job.
She chuckled. "Well, you can't just cover the weeds over with dirt, silly. I don't know where you got this dirt from but it won't fix the problem for long. Pretty soon, the weeds will just pop up through the new dirt, stronger than ever."
I didn't answer her. Instead, I glared, which I shouldn't have done. But she had no idea how hard I'd worked, and how important it was that I get rid of our extra dirt. If I couldn't figure out that problem, we would surely be caught. I wasn't angry at her, just frustrated with myself. But all I could do was let her walk away.
After I was sure she and her mother had left, I made my way back inside the building, where Fritz had been watching us.
"I heard it all," he said, even before I could say a word.
"Maybe the next rainstorm will even the fresh dirt out with the old," I suggested.
"We got some rain last night and nothing improved," Fritz said. "Whether we cover the weeds or bare ground, it still looks like fresh dirt. We can't use it out here anymore."
He was right. We would have to do the hard work of removing the weeds. Which was bad enough, but the second problem was much harder.
What would we do with all the extra dirt?
One today is better than ten tomorrows. -- German proverb
The next day was a Sunday, which gave us some much-needed time at home to rest, bathe away at least five layers of caked-on dirt, and gulp down the food from Anna's mother as if we hadn't seen anything edible for weeks.
The tunnel had made us both noticeably thinner, but we were also both more muscular in our arms and shoulders. While I liked feeling stronger, I also knew it was important for us to eat enough to avoid looking like we were in the process of starving. People had begun staring at us lately, and stares invited questions. Questions led to gossip, which surely ended up in the form of reports at Stasi headquarters.
Fritz and I had chosen to dedicate the day to pleasing the hidden microphones. We talked about how grateful we were to have the allotment of land, and how much we were learning about gardening. We spoke of missing our mother, but being proud of her for taking care of Oma Gertrude and not burdening the state. We discussed Fritz's enthusiasm to join the military at the end of the month, and my hopes to get more responsibility from the Pioneers this fall.
Maybe we laid it on a little thick. No doubt some of what we said brought groans from whoever was tasked with listening to us. But these conversations were only a game now. If there were any consequences for our overworked chatter, we didn't care. We wouldn't be around to face them.
Fritz and I worked together to get the apartment cleaned up, but we were both delaying the worst job of all: the laundry. It had piled up over the last week and a half to something on the scale of a small mountain. Our clothes were dirty and smelly and so stiff with sweat that they practically held their shape after we had removed them. The sheets from our beds were even worse. It was bad enough now that I sometimes woke up in the morning with new dirt on my face from having slept on it in the night.
"We have to wash these," I said. "But if we hang them up now, they won't be dry by bedtime, and once we return from the garden tomorrow, they'll only get dirty again."
"It's too bad the washing can't get done for us while we're gardening."
"Yeah, we --" Then I stopped as an idea snapped in my head, like someone had flipped on a light. Suddenly, I knew exactly how we'd get rid of the dirt. I looked over at Fritz and saw a mischievous gleam in his eyes. We had the same solution in mind, I was sure of it.
"The pond next to the garden!" Fritz said.
I grinned. That was exactly my idea.
On our way to the Welcome Building the next morning, Fritz and I stopped by a lumber shop for more wood and rope, and a handful of nails, all for a clothesline. It would take much of the day to build, but it was absolutely worth it.
While Fritz nailed the wood together to make two tall T's, I dug two deep holes in the ground, about ten meters apart. We chose the spot carefully: exactly parallel to the Berlin Wall and in front of the pond. Then we set the posts into the ground and filled it back in with dirt. Our posts weren't quite straight, and Fritz said they'd probably tip over in the next big wind, but I thought they were good enough for our purposes. We ran rope between them. It sagged a little and the longer fabrics might brush against the dirt, but that was fine by me.
It was time for a test. I carried a bucket of dirt from the building with a single bedsheet on top. If the guards were watching, they'd see me wash that sheet in the pond and then hang it on the clothesline to dry. With the sheet blocking their view, I would then empty the dirt into the pond. Then back to the building for another load of dirt, and another sheet to be washed.
With the second sheet on the clothesline, I had even better cover from the guards. There was plenty of laundry to be done, and endless loads of dirt to be emptied.
Fritz and I worked that way throughout the week. By the end of the week, he was ten meters in, but we were also slowing down. It took time to walk the piles of dirt from so deep within the tunnel back out to the air-raid shelter, and it took me more time to empty the dirt because now I had to sneak the dirt out from the building and get it to the pond, then wash and hang sheets on those trips. And we both had to put in time on the garden because it was almost certain that at some point, someone would drive by to check on us. Fritz and I began working longer hours, arriving as early as possible in the mornings and staying as late as we could at night. We were barely sleeping, eating as little as we could to get by, and working. Always working.
Occasionally, on our trips to the Welcome Building, we walked past the platform where I had seen Dominic and Papa, but they were never there anymore. I wished they were. I wanted to let them know we were digging, as Papa wanted.
I tried to remain patient, though, and keep focused on the fact that at least we were moving deeper
each day.
The problem was, as Fritz pointed out, that his eighteenth birthday was coming up soon, exactly three weeks from now. That was our absolute deadline to be finished. We weren't sure how much farther we had to dig, but it was a long way. Nor could we just walk away if we didn't finish in time. The tunnel had progressed far enough that eventually it would be discovered. And when the Grenzers found it, figuring out who had dug it would be the simplest of mysteries.
"If we don't finish, we need a backup plan for escape," Fritz said. "The second we began digging this tunnel, we committed ourselves to leaving, one way or another."
"We're not swimming the Spree," I said. That had been a bad idea weeks ago and it was no better now.
Fritz gritted his teeth. "We can tie ourselves together with a rope so we can help each other against the current."
"All the easier for one of us to pull the other underwater. And what about Mama? We're not leaving her behind."
"Then what's our backup plan?" Fritz wasn't as angry as he sounded. It was only the same frustration as I felt too. "Everything else is far more dangerous. We can't jump over the wall. Three of us can't be smuggled across the border at once, and we know how that idea ended for Peter. So what do we do?"
I stood up and dipped the bucket in the dirt again to carry more of it outside. "We'll finish this tunnel, Fritz. We'll finish this tunnel as if our lives depend on it. Because now, they do."
By the beginning of our third week of digging, we had washed every sheet in the apartment at least ten times. And since the pond was constantly being flushed with dirt, the water was hardly clean. The sheets looked worse and worse with each washing. I figured that was good news -- it gave me an excuse to pull them down and wash them again, along with more hidden dirt from my bucket, of course. If my mother saw these sheets, which were now only white in the past tense, she would be horrified. But I couldn't have been happier with their lack of progress.
Forget not the tyranny of this wall, horrid place, nor the love of freedom that made it fall. -- Written on the Berlin Wall after it came down