He turned to Lothar, trying to conceal the trembling in his hands.
“What’s this?” he asked.
“You ought to tell us that,” Lothar retorted.
“Who took these photos?”
“Do you think that matters?” Lothar said.
“Are you spying on me?”
Lothar and the man with the burnt moustache exchanged glances, then Lothar began laughing.
“What do you want?” he said, addressing Lothar. “Why are you taking these photographs?”
“Do you know what this gathering is?” Lothar asked.
“I don’t know those people,” he said and was not lying. “Apart from Ilona, of course. Why are you photo-graphing them?”
“No, of course you don’t know them,” Lothar said. “Apart from pretty little Ilona. You know her. Know her better than most people do. You even know her better than your friend Hannes did.”
He did not know what Lothar was driving at. He looked at the man with the moustache. He looked out into the corridor where the steel door confronted him. There was a small hole in it with a shutter across. He wondered whether anyone was inside. Whether they had anyone in custody. He wanted to get out of the office at whatever cost. He felt like a trapped animal looking desperately for an escape route.
“Do you want me to stop going to those meetings?” he offered. “That’s no problem. I haven’t been to many.”
He stared at the steel door. Suddenly he was overwhelmed by fear. He had already started to back down, already started to promise that he would mend his ways, despite not knowing exactly what he had done wrong or what he could do to appease them. He would do anything to get out of that office.
“Stop?” said the man with the moustache. “Not at all. No one’s asking you to stop. On the contrary. We’d like you to go to more meetings. They must be very interesting. What’s their purpose?”
“Nothing,” he said, struggling to put on a brave face. They must be able to tell. “No purpose. We just talk about university matters. Music. Books. Stuff like that.”
The man with the moustache grinned. Surely he recognised fear. Must see how obvious his fear was. Almost tangible. He had never been a good liar anyway.
“What were you saying about Hannes?” he asked hesitantly, looking at Lothar. “That I know Ilona better than Hannes did? What are you talking about?”
“Didn’t you know?” Lothar said, faking surprise. “They were together, just like you and Ilona are together now. Before you appeared on the scene. Didn’t she mention that?”
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.