Carla said: "He may not be here to arrest Rebecca."
"True," said Werner. He said to Rebecca: "Talk to him. Find out what he wants. Scream if you need to."
Rebecca stood up. Bernd did the same. "Not you," Werner said to Bernd. "The sight of you might anger him."
"But--"
Rebecca said: "Father's right. Just be ready to come if I call."
"All right."
Rebecca took a deep breath, made herself calm, and went into the hall.
Hans stood there in his new blue-gray suit, wearing a striped tie that Rebecca had given him for his last birthday. He said: "I got the divorce papers."
Rebecca nodded. "You were expecting them, of course."
"Can we talk about it?"
"Is there anything to say?"
"Perhaps."
She opened the door of the dining room, used occasionally for formal dinners and otherwise for doing homework. They went in and sat down. Rebecca did not close the door.
"Are you sure you want to do this?" Hans said.
Rebecca was scared. Did he mean escape? Did he know? She managed to say: "Do what?"
"Get divorced," he said.
She was confused. "Why not?" she said. "It's what you want, too."
"Is it?"
"Hans, what are you trying to say?"
"That we don't have to be divorced. We could start again. This time there would be no deceptions. Now that you know I am an officer of the Stasi, there would be no need for lies."
This felt like a stupid dream in which impossible things happen. "But why?" she said.
Hans leaned forward across the table. "Don't you know? Can't you at least guess?"
"No, I can't!" she said, although she had the glimmering of a creepy suspicion.
"I love you," said Hans.
"For God's sake!" Rebecca shouted. "How can you say such a thing? After all you've done!"
"I mean it," he said. "I was faking it at first. But I realized after a while what a wonderful woman you are. I wanted to marry you, that wasn't just work. You're beautiful, and smart, and dedicated to teaching--I admire dedication. I've never met a woman like you. Come back to me, Rebecca--please."
"No!" she shouted.
"Think about it. Take a day. Take a week."
"No!"
She was yelling her refusal at the top of her voice, but he acted as if she were coyly pretending reluctance. "We'll talk again," he said with a smile.
"No!" she yelled. "Never! Never! Never!" And she ran from the room.
They were all at the open door of the kitchen, looking scared. Bernd said: "What? What happened?"
"He doesn't want a divorce," Rebecca wailed. "He says he loves me. He wants to start again--give it another chance!"
Bernd said: "I'm going to fucking strangle him."
But there was no need to restrain Bernd. At that moment they heard the front door slam.
"He's gone," Rebecca said. "Thank God."
Bernd put his arms around her and she buried her face in his shoulder.
"Well," said Carla in a shaky voice, "I wasn't expecting that."
Werner unloaded the pistol.
Grandma Maud said: "That's not the end of it. Hans will come back. Stasi officers do not believe that ordinary people can say no to them."
"And they're right," said Werner. "Rebecca, you have to leave today."
She detached herself from Bernd's embrace. "Oh, no--today?"
"Now," her father said. "You're in terrible danger."
Bernd said: "He's right. Hans may come back with reinforcements. We have to do now what we planned to do tomorrow morning."
"All right," said Rebecca.
Rebecca and Bernd ran upstairs to their room. Bernd put on his black corduroy suit with a white shirt and a black tie, as if going to a funeral. Rebecca, too, dressed all in black. They both put on black gym shoes. From under the bed Bernd took a coiled washing line he had bought last week. He slung it across his body like a bandolier, then put on a brown leather jacket to hide it. Rebecca donned a dark short coat over her black roll-neck sweater and black pants.
They were ready in a few short minutes.
The family were waiting in the hall. Rebecca hugged and kissed them all. Lili was crying. "Don't get killed," she sobbed.
Bernd and Rebecca put on leather gloves and went to the door.
They waved to the family one more time, then they went out.
*
Walli followed them at a distance.
He wanted to see how they did it. They had not told anyone their plan, not even the family. Mother said the only way to keep a secret was to tell nobody. She and Father were ardent about this, leading Walli to suspect that it came from those mysterious wartime experiences that they never explained.
Walli had told the family he was going to play the guitar in his room. He had an electric instrument now. Hearing no noise, his parents would assume he was practising without plugging in.
He slipped out through the back door.
Rebecca and Bernd walked arm in arm. Their pace was brisk, but not hurried enough to attract attention. It was half past eight, and the morning mist was beginning to lift. Walli could easily follow the two figures, the washing line making a bulge on Bernd's shoulder. They did not look back, and his sneakers made no sound as he walked. He noticed that they, too, were wearing sneakers, and he wondered why.
Walli was excited and scared. What an amazing morning. He had almost fallen over when Father pulled out that drawer and revealed a damn pistol. The old man had been ready to shoot Hans Hoffmann! Maybe Father was not such a doddery old fool after all.
Walli was frightened for his beloved sister. She might be killed within the next few minutes. But he was also thrilled. If she could escape, so could he.
Walli was still determined to escape. After he had defied his father by going to the Minnesanger club against orders, he had not after all got into trouble: his father had said that the destruction of his guitar was punishment enough. But all the same he was suffering under two tyrants, Werner Franck and General Secretary Walter Ulbricht, and he intended to be free of both at the first opportunity.
Rebecca and Bernd came to a street that led directly to the Wall. Two border guards were visible at the far end, stamping their boots in the morning chill. Slung from their shoulders they had Soviet PPSh-41 submachine guns with drum magazines. Walli saw no chance of anyone getting over the barbed wire with those two watching.
But Rebecca and Bernd turned off the street and entered a cemetery.
Walli could not follow them along the paths through the graves: he would be too conspicuous in that open space. He walked quickly at a right angle to their route until he was behind the chapel in the middle of the cemetery. He peeped around the corner of the building. They evidently had not seen him.
He watched them walk to the northwest corner of the graveyard.
There was a chicken-wire fence and, beyond that, the backyard of a house.
Rebecca and Bernd climbed over the fence.
That explains the sneakers, Walli thought.
What about the washing line?
*
The buildings on Bernauer Strasse were derelict, but the side streets were still occupied normally. Rebecca and Bernd, tense and fearful, crept across the backyard of a row house on such a side street, five doors from the end of the road where the Wall blocked it off. They climbed a second fence, then a third, each time moving closer to the Wall. Rebecca was thirty years of age, and agile. Bernd was older at forty, but he was in good shape: he had coached the school soccer team. They reached the back of the house third from the end.
They had visited the cemetery once before, again dressed in black to pose as mourners, their true purpose to study these houses. Their view had not been perfect--and they could not risk using binoculars--but they were fairly sure the third house offered a possible route up to the roof.
One roof led to another, eventually connecting with the empty buildings on Be
rnauer Strasse.
Now that Rebecca was closer, she was even more apprehensive.
They had planned their ascent by way of a low coal bunker, then an outhouse with a flat roof, and finally a gable end with a jutting windowsill. But all the heights had looked smaller from the cemetery. Close up, the climb appeared formidable.
They could not go inside the house. The occupants might raise the alarm: if they did not, they would be punished severely later.
The roofs were damp with mist, and would be slippery, but at least it was not raining.
Bernd said: "Are you ready?"
She was not. She was terrified. "Hell, yes," she said.
"You're a tiger," he said.
The coal bunker was chest height. They climbed onto it. Their soft shoes made little sound.
From there, Bernd got both elbows over the edge of the flat outhouse roof and scrambled up. Lying on his belly, he reached down and hauled Rebecca up. They both stood on the roof. Rebecca felt dizzyingly conspicuous, but when she looked around she saw no one but a single distant figure back in the cemetery.
The next part was forbidding. Bernd got one knee up on the window ledge, but it was narrow. Fortunately the curtains were drawn, so that if there were people in the room they would not see anything--unless they heard a noise and came to investigate. With some difficulty he got his other knee on the sill. Leaning on Rebecca's shoulder for support, he contrived to stand upright. With his feet now firmly planted, albeit on a narrow footing, he helped Rebecca up.
She knelt on the ledge and tried not to look down.
Bernd reached out to the sloping edge of the pitched roof, their next step up. He could not climb onto the roof from where he was: there was nothing to grab but the edge of a slate. They had already discussed this problem. Still kneeling, Rebecca braced herself. Bernd put one foot on her right shoulder. Holding the roof edge for balance, he put all his weight on her. It hurt, but she took the strain. A moment later his left foot was on her left shoulder. Evenly balanced, she could hold him--for a few moments.
A second later he cocked his leg over the edge of the slates and rolled up onto the roof.
He splayed his body out, for maximum traction, then reached down. With one gloved hand he grabbed the collar of Rebecca's coat, and she grasped his upper arm.
The curtains were suddenly pulled apart, and a woman's face stared at Rebecca from a distance of a few inches.
The woman screamed.
With an effort, Bernd lifted Rebecca until she was able to get her leg over the sloping edge of the roof; then he pulled her toward him until she was safe.
But they both lost control and started to slide down.
Rebecca spread her arms and pressed the palms of her gloved hands to the slates, trying to brake her slide. Bernd did the same. But they continued to slip, slowly but relentlessly--then Rebecca's sneakers touched an iron gutter. It did not feel sturdy, but it held, and they both came to a stop.
"What was that scream?" Bernd asked urgently.
"A woman in the bedroom saw me. I don't think she could have been heard on the street, though."
"But she might raise the alarm."
"Nothing we can do. Let's keep going."
They edged crabwise across the pitched roof. The houses were old and some of the roof slates were broken. Rebecca tried not to put weight on the gutter that her feet were touching. Their progress was painfully slow.
She imagined the woman at the window talking to her husband. "If we do nothing we'll be accused of collaborating. We could say we were fast asleep and didn't hear anything, but they'll probably arrest us anyway. And even if we call the police they might arrest us on suspicion. When things go wrong they arrest everyone in sight. Best just to keep our heads down. I'll draw the curtains again."
Ordinary people avoided any contact with the police--but the woman at the window might not be ordinary. If she or her husband was a party member, with a soft job and privileges, they would have a degree of immunity from police harassment, and in those circumstances they would undoubtedly raise a hue and cry.
But the seconds ticked by, and Rebecca heard no sound of a commotion. Perhaps she and Bernd had got away with it.
They came to an angle in the roof. Bracing his feet on the opposing sides, Bernd was able to crawl upward until he got his hands over the roof ridge. Now he had a safer grip, though he ran the risk that his dark-gloved fingertips might be noticed by the police on the street.
He turned the angle and crawled on, every second getting nearer to Bernauer Strasse and freedom.
Rebecca followed. She glanced over her shoulder, wondering if anyone could see her and Bernd. Their dark clothing was inconspicuous against the gray slates, but they were not invisible. Was anyone watching? She could see the backyards and the cemetery. The dark figure she had noticed a minute ago was now running from the chapel toward the cemetery gate. A leaden fear made her stomach cold. Had he seen them, and was he hurrying to warn the police?
She suffered a moment of panic, then she realized the figure was familiar.
"Walli?" she said.
What the hell was he up to? Obviously he had followed her and Bernd. But to what end? And where was he heading in such a hurry?
There was nothing she could do but worry.
They came to the back wall of the apartment building on Bernauer Strasse.
The windows were boarded up. Bernd and Rebecca had talked about breaking through the boards to get in, then breaking through another set at the front to get out, but they had decided it would be too noisy, time-consuming, and difficult. Easier, they guessed, to go over the top.
The ridge of the roof they were on was at the level of the gutters of the high adjacent building, so they could easily step from one roof to the next.
From then on they would be clearly visible to the guards with the machine guns on the side street below.
This was their most vulnerable moment.
Bernd crawled up the house roof to the ridge, straddled it, then scrambled up onto the higher roof of the apartment building, heading for the top.
Rebecca followed. She was breathing hard now. Her knees were bruised and her shoulders ached where Bernd had stood on them.
When she was straddling the lower roof she took a look down. She was alarmingly close to the policemen on the street. They were lighting cigarettes: if one should glance upward, all would be lost. Both she and Bernd would be easy targets for their submachine guns.
But they were only a few steps from freedom.
She braced herself to wriggle onto the roof in front of her. Beneath her left foot something moved. Her sneaker slipped, and she fell. She was still astride the ridge, and the impact hurt her groin. She gave a muffled cry, leaned vertiginously sideways for a horrifying moment, then regained her balance.
Unfortunately the cause of her stumble, a loose slate, slipped down the roof, tumbled over the gutter, and fell to the street, where it shattered noisily.
The cops heard the sound and looked at the fragments on the pavement.
Rebecca froze.
The police looked around. Any second now it would occur to them that the slate must have fallen from the roof, and they would look up. But, before they did, one was hit by a flung stone. A second later, Rebecca heard her brother's voice yelling: "All cops are cunts!"
*
Walli picked up another stone and threw it at the police. This one missed.
Baiting East German policemen was suicidally stupid, he knew that. He was likely to be arrested, beaten up, and jailed. But he had to do it.
He could see that Bernd and Rebecca were hopelessly exposed. The police would spot them any second now. They never hesitated to shoot escapers. The range was short, about fifty feet. Both fugitives would be riddled with machine-gun bullets in a few seconds.
Unless the cops could be distracted.
They were not much older than Walli. He was sixteen, they seemed about twenty. They were looking around in confusion,
their newly lit cigarettes between their lips, unable to figure out why a slate had shattered and two stones had been thrown.
"Pig-faces!" Walli yelled. "Shitheads! Your mothers are whores!"
They saw him then. He was a hundred yards away, visible despite the mist. As soon as they set eyes on him they started to move toward him.
He backed away.
They started to run.
Walli turned and fled.
At the cemetery gate he looked back. One of the men had stopped, no doubt realizing they should not both leave their post at the Wall to chase someone who had merely thrown stones. They had not yet got around to wondering why anyone would do something so rash.
The second cop knelt down and aimed his gun.
Walli slipped into the cemetery.
*
Bernd looped the clothesline around a brick chimney, pulled it tight, and tied a secure knot.
Rebecca lay flat on the roof ridge, looking down, panting. She could see one cop pounding along the street after Walli, and Walli running across the cemetery. The second cop was returning to his post, but--luckily--he kept looking back, watching his colleague. Rebecca did not know whether to be relieved or horrified that her brother was risking his life to divert the attention of the police for the next few crucial seconds.
She looked the other way, into the free world. In Bernauer Strasse, on the far side of the street, a man and a woman stood watching her and talking excitedly.
Holding the rope, Bernd sat down, then slid on his bottom down the west slope of the roof to the edge. Next he wound the rope twice around his chest under his arms, leaving a long tail of fifty or so feet. He could now lean out over the edge, supported by the rope tied to the chimney.
He returned to Rebecca and straddled the ridge. "Sit upright," he said. He tied the free end of the clothesline around her and tied a knot. He held the rope firmly in his leather-gloved hands.
Rebecca took a last look into East Berlin. She saw Walli nimbly scaling the fence at the far end of the cemetery. His figure crossed a road and vanished into a side street. The cop gave up and turned back.
Then the man happened to look up, toward the roof of the apartment building, and his jaw dropped in astonishment.
Rebecca was in no doubt about what he had seen. She and Bernd were perched on top of the roof, clear against the skyline.
The cop shouted and pointed, then broke into a run.
Rebecca rolled off the ridge and slowly slid down the slope of the roof until her sneakers touched the gutter at the front.