'Marlene Kaschke. They've allotted me this place. And next time you call please knock or ring, Herr Miihlberger, or better still don't call at all.'
'Oh, hoity-toity. are we? Well, if the lady thinks she can manage without masculine protection… a woman's not safe around here, so they say now, specially at night.'
'I don't think there'll be a problem — so long as I don't come across you,' she shot straight back at him. With a dirty laugh, he disappeared.
She found a hammer and nails in the kitchen and hung the stag above the chest of drawers. She knew Franz would be glad she'd found the picture. Her face cleared. 'Now for the cinema.'
It was like a dream. The dimly lit auditorium with the curving rows of seats. The heavy, silvery blue curtain that would open any minute for Hans Albers, Willy Fritsch or Heinz Riihmann. First the man who played the Wurlitzer would climb out of the depths and accompany the colourful slides of advertisements with his magical, swelling organ music. Marlene remembered every detail of her past visit to the Onkel Tom cinema.
The manager was a pale corporal called Pringle, who was sitting in the office drinking coffee with his pallid German boyfriend. 'There'll be no playing around with the boys. Gisela will get your dress.'
Gisela was a strong-minded redhead who advised her, 'Do as I do, wear four pairs of panties on top of each other. They're always bloody pinching your arse. Here, this should fit.' She helped Marlene into the short lilac taffeta dress with its frilled sleeves and tied a large bow, also lilac, in her hair. Then she steered Marlene to the mirror and stood beside her. 'Designed and made by Corporal Pringle. The taffeta cost him four cartons of Chesterfields. He and Detlev just love to sew. Well, at least those two don't pinch you, the little darlings.' The two young women looked at each other and spluttered with laughter.
Marlene was given a torch and a tray slung around her with chocolate bars, bags of popcorn and a small chilled container for ices on a stick. Her territory was the left-hand aisle. A doll-faced, black-haired girl paraded up and down the right-hand aisle, and Gisela took the middle one.
There was no Wurlitzer now, there were no ads, there was no documentary. The loudspeakers played swing, while slides warned you about sexually transmitted diseases. Instead of the screen heroes of the pre-war UfA, Terra and Tobis studios, the cinema was showing a Metro-Goldwyn Mayer movie with Clark Gable. Admission was from eight, and the movie began at twenty to nine.
All went smoothly. She managed to elude the bottom-pinching to some extent. Clark Gable radiated raw masculinity, and predictably won Loretta Young. The cinema closed at eleven, and the girls changed. 'Never, for heaven's sake, forget your Yank pass,' Gisela warned. 'Or they'll take you in for being out after curfew.'
'Got it here.' Marlene slapped her shoulder bag with the flat of her hand.
'Hey, there's a hole in your bag. Listen, my Erich works with leather goods. Bet you he's got a patch of leather somewhere he could mend it with for you.'
'No, I want to leave the bag like that, as a memento. But thanks for the offer. See you tomorrow.'
She didn't have far to go: past the Yank guard, out of the prohibited zone, right into Argentinische Allee. The war meant that the second carriageway had never been built, and so a broad strip of sand overgrown with weeds ran parallel to the street. She crossed it to reach the buildings on the other side, and had to be careful not to stumble in a rabbit hole.
A motorbike came rattling through the dark. Right in front of her, its headlight flared. She swerved aside just in time. 'You lunatic,' she swore as the rider moved away. The headlight was switched off. The motorbike turned. She could hear it coming back towards her. This time it roared past without any light on, only just missing her.
She didn't wait for it to turn again, but raced over the pavement to the nearest building. The front door was not locked. Gasping, she leaned against it from the inside. She gradually calmed down, and became aware that someone else was breathing heavily. She switched on her torch. An American soldier and his girl were standing on the stairs. The girl was a step above the man, leaning against the wall. She had pulled up her dress and wrapped one bare leg around his hip. She was moaning in time to his movements.
'Sorry.' Marlene made her escape. All was quiet outside now. She reached the door of her building unmolested, and opened it.
'Rather late home, lady.'
She jumped. She knew that voice. Quickly, she climbed the stairs. He followed her. It seemed an eternity before she got the door of the apartment open. 'Goodnight, Herr Muhlberger.' She slammed it shut. In the bathroom, she ran water into the washbasin — thanks to the Americans, the water mains were functioning in the Onkel Tom quarter — and dipped her face into it. The chorine stung her eyes.
She fell asleep, exhausted. She dreamed. Franz had put a protective arm around her. 'Go ahead…' she murmured happily.
Muhlberger seemed to guess her comings and goings. He always happened to be in the stairwell, scratching his crotch and making suggestive remarks. And so little to say for himself when his wife's around!' Frau Muller from the second floor showed a tiny gap between thumb and forefinger. All the same — don't you have anyone to look after you?'
Of course I do.'
'Mine's in Russia.' Frau Muller didn't expect an answer.
Was Franz in Russia too? She remembered how she had last seen him, tied to a post in the cellar, being tortured by the Gestapo. She didn't like to think of it.
'Franz Giese: please get in touch. Lene is living in Onkel Toms Hutte, 198 Argentinische Allee, 3rd floor,' she wrote on the once-white lid of a shoebox. She fixed it to the entrance of the apartment building where he'd lived.
The lid of the shoebox followed her into her dreams. Suppose Franz didn't pass the door of his old building any more because he'd long ago found another place to live? Or suppose someone had torn the message down? Rain could have washed the writing off. Wind could have blown the cardboard away.
Every other day she set off for Schoneberg. The message still hung in its place, unchanged and obviously unread. Her secret hope of finding a note stuck behind it with his answer, with a brief explanation of why he hadn't been able to visit her yet, began to fade.
On Wednesday, yet again, she went home disappointed. The tram was overcrowded, as usual. The man behind her was rubbing his penis against her hip. She turned round, which wasn't easy. 'Here you are, then.' She rammed her knee into his crotch. His face went pale with the pain.
A woman got in at the next stop. She had hollow cheeks and wore a headscarf. Her eyes wandered over Marlene and the other passengers, and then, incredulous, returned to Marlene. Her voice was quiet and hesitant at first, as if she had to convince herself. 'Frau Camp Commandant Neubert, isn't it? What a surprise!' The voice grew louder. 'So where's your riding crop, Frau camp commandant?'
Marlene understood. The woman was mixing her up with Gertrud Werner, the appalling Hauptsturmfiihrerin. In her tormented memory, the similarities between them were blurred. For her, Marlene and Frau Werner were one and the same person. Assurances and explanations would do no good. She'd get out at the next stop.
Accusingly, the woman turned to them all. She used to beat you mercilessly until you couldn't even whimper.'
The other passengers pricked up their ears. A few showed signs of sympathy. Most turned away. They didn't want anything to do with this kind of thing. But they were all listening.
'She enjoyed strapping you into a chair, then her doctor colleague could root about until your insides burned like fire. She'd lever your teeth apart and pour chemicals down your throat so that her criminal friend with his doctorate could study their effects. If you were lucky you didn't die, you just developed a few harmless symptoms.' The woman tore the scarf off her head. Her skull was bald and fiery red. Allow me to introduce myself, ladies and gentlemen,' she cried. 'Lilo Goldblatt, doctor of medicine, formerly a guinea pig in Blumenau concentration camp. Do you remember me, Frau camp commandant?'