Lost for words, he gaped at Lothar.
“Why do you suppose she never told you?” Lothar said in the same tone of mock surprise. “She must have a knack with you Icelanders. You know what I think? I don’t think Hannes was willing to help her.”
“Help her?”
“She wants to marry one of you and move to Iceland,” Lothar said. “It didn’t work out with Hannes. Perhaps you can help her. She’s wanted to leave Hungary for a long time. Hasn’t she told you anything about that? She’s made quite an effort to get away.”
“I don’t have time for all this,” he said, trying to brace himself. “I must be going. Thanks for telling me all this. Lothar, I’ll discuss it better with you later.”
He walked towards the door, half-falteringly. The man with the moustache looked at Lothar, who shrugged.
“Sit down, you fucking idiot!” the man screamed as he leaped out of his chair.
He stopped by the door, stunned, and turned round.
“We don’t tolerate subversion!” the moustachioed man shouted in his face. “Especially not from fucking foreigners like you who come here to study under false pretences. Sit down, you fucking idiot! Shut the door and sit down!”
He closed the door, went back into the office and sat down on a chair by the desk.
“Now you’ve made him angry,” Lothar said, shaking his head.
He wished that he could go back to Iceland and forget the whole business. He envied Hannes for having escaped this nightmare. This was the first thought to cross his mind when they finally released him. They forbade him to leave the country. He had been instructed to hand in his passport the same day. Then his thoughts turned to Ilona. He knew he could never leave her and, when his fear had largely subsided, neither did he want to. He could never leave Ilona. They used her as a threat against him. If he didn’t do what they said, something might happen to her. Although not explicit, the threat was clear enough. If he told her what had happened, something might happen to her. They did not say what. They left the threat hanging to allow him to imagine the worst.
It was as if they had had him in their sights for a long time. They knew precisely what they were going to do and how they wanted him to serve them. None of this had been decided on the spur of the moment. As far as he could tell they planned to install him as their man at the university. He was supposed to report to them, monitor antisocial activity, inform. He knew that he would be under surveillance from now on, because they had told him so. What interested them most were the activities of Ilona and her companions in Leipzig and the rest of Germany. They wanted to know what went on at the meetings. Who the leaders were. The guiding ideology. Whether there were links with Hungary or other Eastern European countries. How widespread the dissent was. What was said about Ulbricht and the communist party. They recited more points but he had long since ceased to listen. His ears were buzzing.
“What if I refuse?” he said to Lothar in Icelandic.
“Speak German!” the man with the moustache snapped.
“You will not refuse,” Lothar said.
The man told him what would happen if he did. He would not be deported. He would not get off as lightly as Hannes. In their eyes, he was worthless. He was like vermin. If he did not do as instructed, he would lose Ilona.
“But if I tell you everything I’ve lost her anyway,” he said.
“Not the way we’ve arranged it,” the man with the moustache said, stubbing out yet another cigarette.
Not the way we’ve arranged it.
This was the sentence that would haunt him after he had left the headquarters and it rang in his head all the way home.
Not the way we’ve arranged it.
He stared at Lothar. They had arranged something involving Ilona. Already. It simply had to be enacted. If he didn’t do as he was told.
“What are you anyway?” he said to Lothar, rising nervously from his chair.
“Sit down!” shouted the man with the moustache, who also stood up.
Lothar looked at him, a vague smile playing across his lips.
“How do you sleep at night?”
Lothar did not answer.
“What if I tell Ilona about this?”
“You shouldn’t,” Lothar said. “Tell me another thing, how did she manage to win you over? According to our information, you were the hardest of the hardliners. What happened? How did she manage to turn you?”
He walked over to Lothar. He mustered the courage to tell him what he wanted to say. The man with the moustache walked around the desk and stood behind him.
“It wasn’t her who won me over,” he said in Icelandic. “It was you. Everything you stand for persuaded me. Your cynicism. Hatred. Lust for power. Everything you are won me over.”
“It’s very simple,” Lothar said. “Either you’re a socialist or you’re not.”
“No,” he said. “You don’t get it, Lothar. Either you’re a human being or you’re not.”
He hurried home, thinking about Ilona. He had to tell her what had happened, no matter what they demanded or had arranged. She had to flee the city. Could they go to Iceland together? He felt how infinitely far away Iceland was. Maybe she could escape back to Hungary. Maybe even cross over to West Germany. To West Berlin. The controls were not that strict. He could tell them everything they wanted to hear to keep them off Ilona’s back while she set up her escape. She had to leave the country.
What was that about Hannes? What had Lothar said about Hannes and Ilona? Were they together once? Ilona had never told him that. Only that they were friends and had got to know each other at the meetings. Was Lothar playing mind games with him? Or was Ilona really using him to get away?
He had broken into a run. People flashed past without him noticing them. He went from one street to the next completely oblivious, his mind racing with thoughts about Ilona and himself and Lothar and the security police and the steel door with the hatch on it and the man with the moustache. He would be shown no mercy. That much he knew. Icelandic citizen or not. It made no difference to these men. They wanted him to spy for them. Submit reports about what went on at the meetings with Ilona. Inform on what he heard in the corridors of the university, among the Icelanders at the dormitory and other foreign students. They knew they had leverage. If he refused he would not get off as lightly as Hannes.
They had Ilona.
By the time he finally reached home he was in tears, and he hugged Ilona speechlessly. She was worried. She said she had spent ages waiting for him outside Thomaskirche. He told her everything, even though they had ordered him to tell her nothing. Ilona listened to him in silence, then began questioning him. He answered her as accurately as he could. The first thing she asked about was her group of friends, the Leipzigers, whether they could be identified from the photographs. He said he thought the police knew about every single one of them.
“Oh my God,” Ilona groaned. “We have to tip them off. How did they find out about this? They must have followed us. Someone’s blown the whistle. Someone who knew about the meetings. Who? Who’s informed on us? We were always so cautious. No one knew about those meetings.”
“I don’t know,” he said.
“I must contact them,” she said, pacing the floor of their little room. She stopped by the window overlooking the street and peeped outside. “Are they watching us?” she asked. “Now?”
“I don’t know,” he said.
“Oh my God,” Ilona groaned again.
“They said that you and Hannes were together,” he said. “Lothar said so.”
“That’s a lie,” she said. “Everything they say is a lie. Surely you know that. They’re playing a game, playing a game with us. We need to decide what to do. I must warn the others.”