But the alternatives were worse. If he refused to confess, then the best he could hope for was a long prison sentence, probably in some God-forsaken labour camp within spitting distance of the North Pole. They might do their best to persuade him, which would be seriously unpleasant. Or they might just take him down to the basement and shoot him. His body would turn up in some Moscow alley, another foreign victim of those anti-social elements that Comrade Stalin was always talking about.
When the all-clear sounded Effi and Rosa returned to the flat. Afraid that Ali might walk into a Gestapo trap, Effi hung the end of a light-coloured scarf across the windowsill – their long-agreed signal for such an eventuality. After one last look around, she and Rosa picked up their already-packed suitcases and set off down Bismarck Strasse. There was still no sign of dawn in the eastern sky, but the street was already quite crowded with people eager to reach work ahead of the next raid. They joined the crush working its way down the steps at Knie U-Bahn station, and shared in the collective sigh of relief when it transpired that the trains were running.
The one that arrived a few minutes later was almost full, despite having only come two stops. Effi resigned herself to standing, but a young army major with an arm in a cast gallantly gave up his seat. Rosa clung to a handrail, small suitcase wedged between her legs, eyes scanning her fellow-travellers with enormous interest. They were not much to look at, Effi thought; if hope was being kindled by the seemingly imminent end of the war, it had yet to reach these faces. On the contrary, her fellow- Berliners were hollow-eyed, anxious and depressed-looking, as if fully convinced that the worst was yet to come.
More people got on at Zoo, filling every available space in the carriage. She and Rosa could have taken a main-line train from there, but Effi had reasoned that the longer they stayed underground the better, and the same service could be joined at Alexanderplatz, ten stops further on. The U-Bahn train was smelly and slow – these days every journey seemed to take three times as long – but it felt much safer.
At the Alexanderplatz booking office she purchased two singles to Fürstenwalde. She had thought long and hard about their destination, and this town an hour or so east of Berlin seemed far enough away to give them credence as refugees, yet close enough to spare them several checks en route. Of course, she might have got it completely wrong, and picked a journey that was short on conviction and long on inspections. She knew her papers would stand up to a cursory look, and was fairly confident that Rosa’s would too, but neither would survive a proper investigation. They were, after all, only tissues of credible lies.
The first check came sooner than she expected. At the top of the stairs to the elevated platform one officer in plain clothes – Gestapo most likely, though he wasn’t wearing the trademark leather coat – was sharing a checkpoint with two military policemen. As one of the latter examined their papers, Effi stole an anxious glance at Rosa, and was amazed to see her beaming happily at the probable Gestapo officer. Even more surprisingly, he was smiling back at her. Fifteen years as an actress, Effi thought, and she finally had a protégé.
It was fully light now, or as fully light as Berlin ever got these days. Several fires were burning in the Old Town, and smoke from those already extinguished still hung in the air. A Fürstenwalde train was scheduled to arrive in a few minutes, but after half an hour an announcement on the station loudspeakers admitted that it was only just leaving Zoo. Like many of her fellow would-be travellers Effi kept one eye on the sky, silently praying that their train arrived before the US Air Force.
It finally appeared in the distance, chugging slowly around the long curve from Börse. Like their U-Bahn train, it was already full, but they fought their way aboard and laid claim to a window spot in one of the vestibules. As they cleared the station the sirens began to wail, and the train seemed to falter in its stride, as if uncertain whether to continue. But instead it gathered speed, rumbling through Silesian Station without making its scheduled stop, leaving several shaking fists in its wake.
Once the city had been left behind the train slowed markedly, as if the driver was allowing his locomotive a rest after the rigours of its pell-mell escape. It was now wending its way through the lakes and forests of the Spreewald, but hardly steaming towards safety. They had, as everyone on board knew only too well, merely exchanged the threat of high-level American bombing for the closer attention of prowling Soviet fighters.
The latter had already been active that morning, as one official announced during a long stop at Friedrichshagen, and only a few minutes after resuming its journey the train clanked to a halt once more. Everybody was ordered out, and in the resultant panic several people managed to injure themselves making overeager exits. Effi and Rosa helped one old woman down the steps and into the shelter of the woods which lined each side of the tracks. She was visiting her daughter in Fürstenwalde, and had already decided that this would be ‘the last time.’
They waited for the best part of an hour, but no plane swept down to attack the stationary train, and eventually the driver sounded his whistle to announce the resumption of their journey. Everyone climbed back on board, and the train set off again. A stop at Erkner was mercifully brief, but long enough to allow an inspection team aboard. These men were meticulous, Effi noticed, as they slowly advanced down the corridor, and for a few seconds she entertained the wholly ridiculous idea of jumping from the train. Instead, she gave Rosa a comforting pat on the shoulder and reminded herself that idiots like these had been checking Frau von Freiwald’s papers for years without noticing anything amiss.
They were finally in front of her, two plump, fortyish men in plain clothes with bile for brains. The taller of the two took the papers from Effi, and began to examine them. ‘And why are you going to Fürstenwalde?’ he asked without looking up. He made it sound the most unlikely of destinations.
‘To see my sister. I’m hoping that I can persuade her to return to Berlin with me. This is her daughter, my niece.’
‘What is your mother’s address?’ the shorter man asked Rosa.
‘Nordstrasse 53,’ the girl said promptly. With no time to visit the library, Effi had picked the name out of the ether the previous night. ‘Do you think the Führer is still in Berlin?’ Rosa asked her questioner, improvising rather too freely for Effi’s peace of mind.
The man opened his mouth and then shut it again, apparently reconsidering his answer. ‘The Führer’s whereabouts are not a matter for public discussion,’ he eventually decided.
‘Oh, I’m sorry, I didn’t know,’ Rosa said with a look of surpassing innocence.
‘Well now you do,’ the man said weakly. His colleague was going through their papers for a second time, as if determined to find something amiss. Failing, he almost flung them back at Effi.
‘She’s very young,’ Effi told the shorter man in part-apology. ‘But she means well.’
‘I’m sure she does,’ he said coldly. He gave them a quick nod, and turned away. His partner scowled at them both before moving on into the next carriage.
‘He stank of onions,’ Rosa whispered.
And so much else, Effi thought to herself.
When they finally reached Fürstenwalde late in the afternoon, Effi was still hopeful of their getting back to Berlin that day. But the news was all bad. A bridge had been bombed a few miles to the east, a locomotive had broken down a similar distance to the west, and nothing much was moving.
The station platforms were already crowded with families in flight from the east, and looking at them convinced Effi that a quick change of clothes was in order for herself and Rosa. Reasoning that an outward show of respectability should help them through checkpoints, they had ventured east in fairly smart outfits, but Effi had also thought to pack some shabbier clothes in their suitcases for this eventuality. Rosa had even remembered something one of her mother’s friends had once said – that tying a piece of string around a suitcase made the owner look more desperate.