Ute Krause Im Labyrinth der Lügen

Chapter one

It all began on an uneventful Saturday morning, after Paul picked up his uncle from the museum, where he worked as a nightwatchman.

„Come, let me show you a secret“, Uncle Henri said as they headed for the Friedrichstrasse train station. When they reached the side entrance, he lead Paul past a warren of unused staircases to an abandoned corner and pointed towards a scaffold surrounded by barriers. „That way. But careful.“

He looked around and after he was sure that no one was watching, he clambered over a barrier and slipped behind the scaffold. Paul followed nervously, it took a moment until his eyes adjusted to the twilight. A grey metal door was let into the wall and when uncle Henri opened it, Paul saw that it lead into a dark and narrow tunnel.

„This used to be a secret passage“, whispered Uncle Henri, as he lead the way. „People once fled from here to the West.“

„How so?“

Uncle Henri didn`t answer, as he moved into the darkness. Paul followed slowly, feeling his way with hands and feet until a brickwall blocked their path.

„You can`t go any further“, said Uncle Henri. „Borderguards built this, once they realized what was going on. But now listen, my boy. Listen closely and you can hear the West. Because right here“, he tapped against the wall, „we are almost on the other side. Remember that.“

Unlce Henri took Pauls head between his hands and pressed it against the cool stone. „Listen“, he whispered, when Paul tried to pull away. Paul obeyed and pushed his ear against the brick. In the distance he heard the faint rattling of an incoming train, the screech of brakes and an echoing voice distorted by a loudspeaker. If he concentrated, he could understand what the man was saying: „Attention! All trains end here. All trains. Travellers returning to West Berlin use the train on the opposite platform. Transit passengers proceed imediately to passport control.“

For Paul „West Berlin“ had so far been simply a word – an empty space on a map in his geography book. It was a place surrounded by a wall and part of a foreign country called West Germany. It was incredibly close and unreachably far at the same time, because Paul lived on the other side of that Wall in East Berlin.

Grandma had once said, that when you turned sixtyfive and retired you could actually cross over to the other side. She called it „a quick sidetrip before my rendez-vous with my Maker.“

Paul still had a long way to go until it was his turn to cross over to the other side – fifty-three years to be exact. Things were different for grandma. In two years she turned sixtyfive, which meant that in two years she would be allowed to travel to West Berlin.

The next morning though that empty space in Paul`s geography book took on a whole new meaning. From that day on everything changed forever and now he understood why uncle Henri had taken him into the tunnel. Over Sunday breakfast grandma told him that his parents now lived in West Berlin.

Paul, who was dabbing jam on his toast, gave her a gentle slap on the wrist. „That`s a really stupid joke“, he said.

Grandma shook her head and when he saw the expression on her face, Paul realized that she wasn`t joking. And then something inside him went numb and very still, so still that the ticking of the kitchen clock echoed loudly through his head.

„But … but how did they manage to get out of prison?“ His voice was barely a croak. „And then across the wall?“

Almost no one was able to escape through the „Iron Curtain“, as the Wall was called. Whoever tried was imprisoned or killed.

Grandma took his hands between hers and gently squeezed them. His hands seemed small and lost between her wide palms and broad fingers. She lowered her gaze and concentrated her attention on a glob of jam, that Paul had accidentally dropped on the kitchen tablecloth.

„You won`t believe it“, she said, addressing the glob. „They were bought out. So now they are free.“ Her voice sounded so solemn, even ceremonious, that it sent a small shiver down Pauls back.

Grandma usually had a sonorous, rather raspy voice when she talked. Uncle Henri said it came from all those cigarettes she refused to stop smoking. Because Grandma never listened to the voice of reason. Paul didn`t care. In fact he liked her voice, just as it was, even though now it seemed to crack.

„Bought out? What do you mean?“, he asked, not quite understanding. „Who bought them? And if they are free, why aren`t they here with us?“

As he jumped to his feet, he bumped against the kitchen table, making grandmas coffee spill into her saucer.

„And when are they coming back to be with us?“

Grandma rarely lost her composure. Today was different. Her lower lip trembled and the furrows around her mouth deepened.

Paul starred at her. „They ARE coming, arent they?“

Grandma reached for the cleaning rag in the sink. Turning her head away, she unobtrusively wiped at the corner of her eye. But Paul had noticed and suddenly he felt like crying as well.

With great care grandma wiped away the jam and crumbs. She took her time and to Paul it seemed like it took forever. No one spoke.

Grandma was dad`s and uncle Henris mother. Unlce Henri always treated her like she was a little crazy. Paul knew better – grandma was the bravest and kindest grandmother one could possibly wish for. Without her he would till be in that terrible home. Paul had no doubt about that.

„And“, he cried, when he could no longer stand the silence. „Tell me!“

Grandma threw the rag back into the sink, pulled a cigarette from behind her ear and lit it. Slowly she exhaled and watched the smoke curl and shimmer in the morning light. Finally she spoke:

„They were bought free by them“, she pointed her cigarette vaguely towards West Berlin. „Sometimes they buy political prisoners. Your parents were very lucky.“

She adjusted her glasses and looked at him to see how he would react. When he didn*t respond, she continued. „Look, your Mama wasn`t doing so well in prison. Especially in the last year. I never told you, because I didn`t want to upset you, but she got pyelitis, a serious kidney infection. It took a toll on her and she desperately needed good doctors.“ Grandma tipped the ash into an ashtray. „Your parents have finally been given the chance to begin a new life.“

„A new life?!“ Paul frowned. „A new life without me?!“
Grandma pulled him towards her. „Sweetheart, they would do anything in the world to be with you. Believe me. But after everything that happened they can`t set a foot across the border again. If the did, they`d be arrested.“

„But when will I see them again.“ The lump in Pauls throat was growing.

Grandma pushed her cigarette into the tray and dragged him into her lap, before he could protest. She craddled him, as she had done when he was small, but at twelve Paul was too old for this, no matter how terrible he felt. He pulled away and looked at her demandingly.

„Tell me! When will I see them again?“

Grandma sighed. „Only our dear god may know that, my boy“, she murmured. „Only our dear god.“

It was difficult to pay attention in class the next day. Everything in Pauls head whirled round and round, as if his thoughts were on a roller coaster.

In the morning, when he had tried to straighened out his mop of hair infront of the hallway mirror, grandma had warned him not to speak to anyone about Mama and Papa. As if her words were necessary! Paul had already learned that it was often better to remain silent. Besides there was no one in class whom he trusted enough to talk with.

Frau Goetze interrupted his thoughts. Her blond bubble-perm whipped around her narrow head. With her sharp nose and the receeding chin she looked like a bird. A bird with a bubble-perm. Impatiently she tapped the board with a piece of chalk, and looked sternly at Paul.

„I don`t want to disrupt you day-dreaming, Paul“, she said with a grim smile. „But in case you have forgotten, we are in school. Civics, if you please. Not your favorite subject, I know –.“

The others giggled and looked surreptitiously in Pauls direction. Since he had joined the new school, he was considered a dreamer and somewhat odd.

The truth though was, that Paul had become cautious. No wonder after that summer two years ago when his whole life turned upside down. Since then there were many things, that he could not and dared not speak about to anyone. And when you have a sad secret, the silence inside grows until there is only just that – a silence that surrounds everything and weighs heavily.