Gunter paused again, and Gerhard felt he should say something.
“I agree. I would love to take Monika to live in America.”
Gunter nodded as if that was what he wanted to hear. “Brunhild told me you were driving a Volkswagen. Is that correct?’
“Yes. It belongs to a friend of mine in West Berlin.”
Brunhild had asked him in her last letter if he could drive to East Berlin in a Volkswagen. He considered that a curious request at the time, especially the way she’d phrased it, as if it would be a fun thing to do. She had to be careful what she wrote; there was no guarantee someone wasn’t reading her mail. Gerhard figured she might have a hidden meaning. Fortunately, a friend from his army days who lived in West Berlin was willing to lend him his VW.
Gunter said, “I am a mechanic. I have worked on a lot on Volkswagens. I would like to look at your car.”
That was a strange request too. After all, one Volkswagen was like another. That was part of their beauty.
“It’s parked outside on the street.”
“There is a garage under the building that only I have the key for. We will drive your car in there.”
Apparently, judging from the equipment in the garage, Gunter was running a business here, fixing cars. A Trabant, a car of questionable quality produced in East Germany, was sitting with its engine exposed, but there was room for the Volkswagen beside it. After Gerhard drove it in, Gunter closed the door and said he wanted to check something. He used his tools to take out the bottom of the luggage storage area under the hood, while Gerhard watched and wondered what was going on. Brunhild stood by and smiled at him. She had said to trust Gunter.
Gunter motioned for Gerhard to look at the space below the luggage area. Gerhard handed Monika to Brunhild and peered down at the wires, axle, steering mechanism—the stuff that made up a car. Cars to him were a method of getting from point A to point B. This was a jumble. He looked at Gunter, puzzled.
Gunter nodded as he made some measurements using his hands. He glanced at Gerhard. “If we are careful we can build a small compartment that would fit under the place where you put your suitcase. It could not be spotted.”
Gerhard still wasn’t comprehending. “It would be very small. What would be the purpose of it?… Oh.”
Gerhard suddenly understood. He looked around, half expecting to see an eavesdropper. Then he looked at Brunhild.
She said, “This is no place to raise a child. Monika should grow up in America.”
“But… Would she fit in there? She would suffocate.”
Gunter shook his head. “That is the beauty of the Volkswagen. All the exhaust goes out the rear. She is small enough to fit. Now is the time to do this before she grows. If she is wrapped in a warm blanket, she will be fine.”
“What if she cried?”
Brunhild said, “I will give you a pill that will make her sleep right through it.”
Shivers went up and down Gerhard’s spine. Could he really get Monika out of here? What if he failed? What would happen to him? He didn’t want to rot in an East German prison. What would happen to her? What would happen to Brunhild and Gunter? Surely it would be traced back to them. But Brunhild and Gunter had planned this together. They trusted him to do it. Even in the military, he had never done anything this dangerous. Or, if it worked, glorious. He looked from one of them to another.
“It is a tremendous risk for you.”
Brunhild spoke for both of them. “This is our way of protesting against an intolerable government. We have to do something. We have to draw a line somewhere.”
Gunter nodded.
Still, Gerhard couldn’t commit. It was too much to swallow.
“It’s not my car.”
Gunter said, “The alterations will not damage the car in any way. The compartment will be easy to remove.”
“I have to think about it.”
“There isn’t time to think about it. I have to start working on it now.”
Gerhard liked to weigh his decisions carefully. But for once in his life he had to act decisively. This might be the most important thing he ever did.
“If you think this can be done, I’m willing to do it. How do we start?”
Gunter nodded approvingly. “I will build the box.”
“Can I help you?”
“No. Better I do it myself. I know how. I am also a carpenter. I will start right now.”
Brunhild said, “First, come and join us for dinner. You need to have something to eat.”
Gunter shook his head. “It is better if we are not seen so much together. I am fine. Go now and let me get started.”
Gerhard took out his wallet. “I will pay you for materials.”
He took out a wad of East German bills he’d bought on the black market in West Berlin, and handed them to Gunter. It was money he’d been planning to give Brunhild. Gunter shook his head initially, but Gerhard persisted. Cash was difficult to come by here. Gunter reluctantly took the money.
Brunhild said, “Come, Gerhard. We will go and eat while Gunter gets to work.”
Gerhard hardly slept that night. He tossed and turned and decided not to undertake this perilous task half a dozen times. He almost got up and sought out Gunter, who he was sure was working through the night. Then he thought of Brunhild’s words: “We have to draw a line somewhere.”
Gerhard could see the dinginess and the poverty and the pollution on an intellectual level, he could see the fear in people’s eyes and watch them looking over their shoulders, he could read about the million ridiculous regulations that made doing anything productive next to impossible, but he didn’t feel the weight of the tyranny on his back like Brunhild and Gunter did every day. He could leave. If they were willing to take the risk, he should be willing also. He slept a little just before dawn.
Gerhard awoke to the sun streaming in the window of the living room, where he’d slept on the sofa. It was too short for his long legs, and he was stiff and sore when he stood up. Perhaps the sunshine was a good omen. He noticed a piece of paper on the floor near the outside door. He picked it up and unfolded it. For a few seconds he couldn’t read the scrawled German handwriting. Then he realized it was from Gunter. By concentrating he could make out the words: “Come to the garage door at 11. Knock three times.” It was signed with a G.
Gerhard heard Monika fussing and Brunhild talking to her. That’s right, babies were early risers. Brunhild wasn’t working today. He went into the small kitchen, said good morning, and showed Brunhild the note. She read it quickly.
“I knew he could do it. He is a good man. I am making your breakfast. If you like you can feed Monika.”
Monika was sitting in a highchair. When she saw Gerhard she banged her hands on the tray of the chair and burbled to him in her own language. Brunhild showed him how to spoon up the pureed food of indeterminate color and put it into her mouth. He tried it.
“She’s spitting out half of it.”
“Welcome to the world of babies.”
But Monika was so good-natured about it that Gerhard couldn’t help but love her. How could he even think of leaving her behind?
There was a loud knocking. Gerhard almost jumped out of his skin.
“Who do you think that is?”
Brunhild frowned. “I don’t know. It’s early, even for Mrs. Rudolphi. She sometimes ‘checks up’ on me, to see, I’m sure, if I’m hewing to the Party line. I will go. You stay here with Monika. I don’t want her exposed to negative vibrations any more than necessary.”
The Communist Party line, Gerhard assumed. Brunhild went to the door. Gerhard could tell it was Mrs. Rudolphi, speaking in a loud voice. Brunhild evidently wouldn’t let her in, and he couldn’t make out what the woman was saying. In a couple of minutes Brunhild managed to close the door on her and return to the kitchen. Her fists were clenched and she sounded angry when she spoke after Gerhard asked her what Mrs. Rudolphi wanted.