Such talk was commonplace at Lili's home, but for some of the kids it was a new and liberating experience to hear the government criticized and the ideas of Communism challenged.
This was not the only place where such things went on. Three or four evenings a week, Lili and Karolin took their guitars to a different church hall or a private house in or near Berlin. They knew that what they were doing was dangerous, but both felt they had little to lose. Karolin knew that she would never be reunited with Walli while the Berlin Wall remained standing. After the American newspapers ran stories about Walli and Karolin, the Stasi had punished the family by having Lili expelled from college: now she worked as a waitress in the canteen of the Ministry of Transport. Both young women had been determined not to let the government stifle them. Now they were famous among young people who secretly opposed the Communists. They made tape recordings of their songs that were passed around from one fan to another. Lili felt they were keeping the flame alight.
For Lili there was another attraction at St. Gertrud's: Thorsten Greiner. He was twenty-two, but he had a baby face like Paul McCartney's that made him look younger. He shared Lili's passion for music. He had recently broken up with a girl called Helga who was just not intelligent enough for him--in Lili's opinion.
One evening in 1967 Thorsten brought to the club the latest record by the Beatles. On one side was a bouncingly happy number called "Penny Lane," which they all danced to energetically; on the other a weirdly fascinating song, "Strawberry Fields Forever," to which Lili and others did a kind of slow dream-dance, swaying to the music and waving their arms and hands like underwater plants. They played both sides of the disc again and again.
When people asked Thorsten how he got the record, he tapped the side of his nose in a mysterious gesture and said nothing. But Lili knew the truth. Once a week Thorsten's uncle Horst drove across the border into West Berlin in a van full of bolts of cloth and cheap clothing, the East's largest export. Horst always gave the border guards a share of the comic books, pop records, makeup, and fashionable clothes he brought back.
Lili's parents thought the music was frivolous. For them only politics was serious. But they failed to understand that for Lili and her generation the music was political, even when the songs were about love. New ways of playing guitars and singing were all tied up with long hair and different clothes, racial tolerance and sexual freedom. Every song by the Beatles or Bob Dylan said to the older generation: "We don't do things your way." For teenagers in East Germany that was a stridently political message, and the government knew it and banned the records.
They were all freaking out to "Strawberry Fields Forever" when the police arrived.
Lili was dancing opposite Thorsten. She understood English, and she was intrigued by John Lennon singing: "Living is easy with eyes closed, misunderstanding all you see." It so vividly described most people in East Germany, she thought.
Lili was among the first to spot the uniforms coming through the street door. She knew right away that the Stasi had at last caught up with the St. Gertrud Youth Club. It was inevitable: young people were bound to talk about exciting things they did. No one knew how many East German citizens were informers for the secret police, but Lili's mother said it was more than the Gestapo had. "We couldn't do now what we did in the war," Carla had said; though when Lili had asked what she did in the war her mother had clammed up, as always. Anyway, it had been likely all along that sooner or later the Stasi would get wind of what was going on in the basement of St. Gertrud's Church.
Lili immediately stopped dancing and looked around for Karolin, but could not see her. Odo was not in sight either. They must have left the basement. In the corner opposite the street door was a staircase that led directly to the pastor's house alongside the church. They had probably gone out that way for some reason.
Lili said to Thorsten: "I'm going to fetch Odo."
She was able to push through the crowd of dancers and slip away before most people realized they were being raided. Thorsten followed her. They got to the top of the staircase before Lennon sang: "Let me take you down--" and stopped abruptly.
The harsh voice of a police officer began to give orders below as they crossed the hall of the pastor's residence. It was a large house for a single man: Odo was lucky. Lili had not been here often, but she knew he had a study on the ground floor at the front, and she guessed this was the likeliest place to find him. The door was ajar, and she pushed it wide and stepped inside.
There, in an oak-paneled room with bookshelves full of works of biblical scholarship, Odo and Karolin were locked in a passionate embrace. They were kissing with their mouths open. Karolin's hands were on Odo's head, her fingers buried in his long, thick hair. Odo was stroking and squeezing Karolin's breasts. She pressed against him, her body curved tautly like an archer's bow.
Lili was shocked silent. She thought of Karolin as her brother's wife, the fact that they were not actually married a mere technicality. It had never occurred to her that Karolin could become fond of another man--let alone the pastor! For a moment her mind searched wildly for some alternative explanation: they were rehearsing a play, or doing calisthenics.
Then Thorsten said: "My God!"
Odo and Karolin jumped apart with a suddenness that was almost comic. Shock and guilt showed on their faces. After a moment they spoke together. Odo said: "We were going to tell you." At the same time Karolin said: "Oh, Lili, I'm so sorry . . ."
For a frozen moment, Lili was vividly conscious of details: the check pattern of Odo's jacket, Karolin's nipples poking through her dress, Odo's theological degree in a brass frame on the wall, the old-fashioned flowered carpet with a threadbare patch in front of the fireplace.
Then she remembered the emergency that had brought her upstairs. "The police have come," she said. "They're in the basement."
Odo said: "Hell!" He strode out and Lili heard him hurrying down the stairs.
Karolin stared at Lili. Neither woman knew what to say. Then Karolin broke the spell. "I must go with him," she said, and followed Odo.
Lili and Thorsten were left in the study. It was a nice place for kissing, Lili thought sadly: the oak paneling, the fireplace, the books, the carpet. She wondered how often Odo and Karolin had done this, and when it had started. She thought about Walli. Poor Walli.
She heard shouting from downstairs, and that energized her. She had no reason to return to the basement, she realized. Her coat was down there but the evening was not bitterly cold: she could manage without it. She might escape.
The front door of the house was on the opposite side of the building from the basement entrance. She wondered whether the police had the whole place surrounded, and decided probably not.
She crossed the hall and opened the front door. There were no police in sight.
She said to Thorsten: "Shall we leave?"
"Yes, quickly."
They went out, closing the door quietly.
"I'll see you home," Thorsten said.
They hurried around the corner, then slowed their pace when they were out of sight of the church. Thorsten said: "That must have been a shock for you."
"I thought she loved Walli!" Lili wailed. "How could she do this to him?" She began to cry.
Thorsten put his arm around her shoulders as they walked along. "When was it that Walli left?"
"Almost four years ago."
"Have Karolin's prospects of emigrating got any better?"
Lili shook her head. "Worse."
"She needs someone to help her raise Alice."
"She has me, and my family!"
"Perhaps she feels that Alice needs a father."
"But . . . the pastor!"
"Most men wouldn't even think about taking on an unmarried mother. Odo is different just because he is a pastor."
At the house, Lili had to ring the doorbell because her key was in her coat. Her mother came to the door, saw her face, and said: "What on earth has happened?"
Lili and Thorsten stepped inside. Lili said: "The police raided the church, and I went to warn Karolin and found her kissing Odo!" She burst into fresh tears.
Carla closed the front door. "You mean really kissing him?"
"Yes, like mad!" said Lili.
"Come into the kitchen and have a cup of coffee, both of you."
As soon as they had told their story, Lili's father left, intending to do what he could to ensure that Karolin did not spend the night in jail. Carla then pointed out that Thorsten probably ought to go home in case his parents had heard of the raid and were worrying about him. Lili saw him to the door and he kissed her on the lips, briefly but delightfully, before walking away.
Then the three women were alone in the kitchen: Lili, Carla, and Grandmother Maud. Alice, now three years old, was asleep upstairs.
Carla said to Lili: "Don't be too hard on Karolin."
"Why not?" said Lili. "She's betrayed Walli!"
"It's been four years--"
"Grandmother waited four years for Grandfather Walter," Lili said. "And she didn't even have a baby!"
"That's true," said Maud. "Although I thought about Gus Dewar."
"Woody's father?" said Carla, surprised. "I didn't know that."
"Walter was tempted, too," Maud went on, with the cheerful indiscretion characteristic of people too old to be embarrassed. "By Monika von der Helbard. But nothing happened."
The way she made light of this annoyed Lili. "It's easy for you, Grandmother," she said. "Everything is so far in the past."
Carla said: "I'm sad about this, Lili, but I don't see how we can be angry. Walli may never come home, and Karolin may never leave East Germany. Can we really expect her to spend her life waiting for someone she may never see again?"
"I thought that was what she was going to do. I thought she was committed." Though Lili realized she could not remember Karolin actually saying it.
"I think she's already waited a long time."
"Is four years a long time?"
"It's long enough for a young woman to start asking herself whether she wants to sacrifice her life to a memory."
Both Carla and Maud sympathized with Karolin, Lili realized with dismay.
They discussed the matter until midnight, when Werner came home, accompanied by Karolin--and Odo.
Werner said: "Two of the boys managed to get into fights with police officers, but other than them nobody went to jail, I'm happy to say. However, the youth club is closed."
Everyone sat at the kitchen table. Odo sat beside Karolin. To Lili's horror, he held Karolin's hand in front of everybody. He said: "Lili, I'm sorry you found out by accident just when we were getting ready to tell you."
"Tell me what?" she said aggressively, though she thought grimly that she could guess.
"We love each other," Odo said. "I expect this is hard for you to accept, and we're sorry about that. But we have thought and prayed about it."
"Prayed?" Lili said incredulously. "I've never known Karolin to pray for anything!"
"People change."
Weak women change to please men, Lili thought. But before she could say it her mother spoke up. "This is hard for us all, Odo. Walli loves Karolin and the baby he's never seen. We know that from his letters. And we could guess it from Plum Nellie's songs: so many of them are about separation and loss."
Karolin said: "If you wish, I will leave this house tonight."
Carla shook her head. "It's hard for us, but it's harder for you, Karolin. I can't ask a normal young woman to dedicate her life to someone she may never see again--even though that person is our beloved son. Werner and I have talked about this. We knew it was coming sooner or later."
Lili was shocked. Her parents had foreseen this! They had said nothing to her. How could they be so heartless?
Or were they just more sensible? She did not want to believe that.
Odo said: "We want to get married."
Lili stood up. "No!" she cried.
Odo said: "And we hope you will all give us your blessing: Maud, Werner, Carla, and most of all Lili, who has been such a great friend to Karolin through her years of trouble."
"Go to hell," said Lili, and she left the room.
*
Dave Williams pushed his grandmother around Parliament Square in her wheelchair, followed by a flock of photographers. Plum Nellie's publicist had tipped off the newspapers, so Dave and Ethel had expected the cameras, and they posed cooperatively for ten minutes. Then Dave said: "Thank you, gentlemen," and turned into the car park of the Palace of Westminster. He paused at the Peers' Entrance, waved for one more shot, then pushed the chair into the House of Lords.
The usher said: "Good afternoon, m'lady."
Grandmam Ethel, Baroness Leckwith, had lung cancer. She was taking powerful drugs to control the pain, but her mind was clear. She could still walk a little way, though she quickly became breathless. She had every reason to retire from active politics. But today the Lords were discussing the Sexual Offences Bill 1967.
Ethel felt strongly about this partly because of her gay friend Robert. To Dave's surprise his father, whom Dave considered an old stick-in-the-mud, was also passionately in favor of reforming the law. Apparently Lloyd had witnessed the Nazi persecution of homosexuals and had never forgotten it, although he refused to discuss the details.
Ethel would not speak in the debate--she was too ill for that--but she was determined to vote. And when Eth Leckwith was determined, there was no stopping her.
Dave pushed her along the entrance hall, which was a cloakroom, each coat hook having a pink ribbon loop on which members were supposed to hang their swords. The House of Lords did not even pretend to move with the times.
It was a crime in Britain for a man to have sex with another man, and every year hundreds of men who did so were prosecuted, jailed, and--worst of all--humiliated in the newspapers. The bill under discussion today would legalize homosexual acts by consenting adults in private.
The issue was controversial, and the bill was unpopular with much of the general public; but the tide was running in favor of reform. The Church of England had decided not to oppose a change in the law. They still said homosexuality was a sin, but they agreed it should not be a crime. The bill had a good chance, but its supporters feared a last-minute backlash--hence Ethel's determination to vote.
Ethel asked Dave: "Why are you so keen to be the one who takes me to this debate? You've never shown much interest in politics."
"Our drummer, Lew, is gay," Dave said, using the American word. "I was with him once in a pub called the Golden Horn when the police raided it. I was so disgusted with the way the cops behaved that I've been looking, ever since, for a way to show that I'm on the side of the homosexuals."
"Good for you," Ethel said; then she added, with the waspishness characteristic of her later years: "I'm glad to see that the crusading spirit of your forebears hasn't been entirely obliterated by rock and roll."
Plum Nellie were more successful than ever. They had released a "concept album" called For Your Pleasure Tonight that pretended to be a recording of a show featuring groups of different kinds: old-time music hall, folk, blues, swing, gospel, Motown--all in fact Plum Nellie. It was selling millions all over the world.
A policeman helped Dave carry the wheelchair up a flight of steps. Dave thanked him, wondering whether he had ever raided a gay pub. They reached the Peers' Lobby and Dave wheeled Ethel as far as the threshold of the debating chamber.
Ethel had planned this and got the agreement of the leader of the Lords to her appearing in her wheelchair. But Dave himself was not allowed to push her into the chamber, so they waited for one of her friends to notice her and take over.
The debate was already under way, with the peers sitting on red leather benches either side of a room whose decorations seemed ludicrously rich, like a palace in a Disney movie.
A peer was speaking, and Dave listened. "The bill is a queers' charter and will encourage that most loathsome
creature, the male prostitute," the man said pompously. "It will increase the temptations that lie in the path of adolescents." That was strange, Dave thought. Did this guy believe that all men were queer, but most simply resisted temptation? "It is not that I lack compassion for the unfortunate homosexual--I am also not lacking in compassion for those who are dragged into his net."
Dragged into his net? What a lot of rubbish, Dave thought.
A man got up from the Labour side and took the handles of Ethel's wheelchair. Dave left the chamber and went up a staircase to the spectators' gallery.
When he got there another peer was speaking. "In one of the more popular Sunday newspapers last week there appeared an account, which some of Your Lordships may have seen, of a homosexual wedding in a Continental country." Dave had read this story in the News of the World. "I think the newspaper concerned is to be congratulated on highlighting this very nasty happening." How could a wedding be a nasty happening? "I only hope that, if this bill becomes law, the most vigilant eye will be kept on practices of this kind. I do not think these things could happen in this country, but it is possible."
Dave thought: Where do they dig up these dinosaurs?
Fortunately not all the peers were this bad. A formidable-looking woman with silver hair got up. Dave had met her at his mother's house: her name was Dora Gaitskell. She said: "As a society, we gloss over many perversions between men and women in private. The law, and society, are very tolerant towards these and turn a blind eye." Dave was astonished. What did she know about perversions between men and women? "Those men who are born, conditioned, or tempted irrevocably into homosexuality should have extended to them the same degree of tolerance as is extended to any other so-called perversion between men and women." Good for you, Dora, thought Dave.
But Dave's favorite was another white-haired old woman, this one with a twinkle in her eye. She, too, had been a guest at the house in Great Peter Street: her name was Barbara Wootton. After one of the men had gone on at great length about sodomy, she struck a note of irony. "I ask myself: What are the opponents of this bill afraid of?" she said. "They cannot be afraid that disgusting practices will be thrown upon their attention, because these acts are legalized only if they are performed in private. They cannot be afraid that there will be a corruption of youth, because these acts will be legalized only if they are performed by consenting adults. I can only suppose that the opponents of the bill will be afraid that their imagination will be tormented by visions of what will be going on elsewhere." The clear implication was that men who tried to keep homosexuality criminal did so as a way of policing their own fantasy life, and Dave laughed out loud--and was quickly told to keep quiet by an usher.