Tear Garden

Short Story

1

She looked out over the stream Spree with doubt it would be free of ice. She thought: Was there any shadow watching her flat?

She picked a piece of lint from her silk stockings and prayed as if 1956 would come sooner. But there was still a month left to go and the temperature had skittered in and out of freezing. Even the Linden trees were confused by the weather. She wishes her spouse were here to see it he would be amused. He was always laughing at how the seasons changed haphazardly. It had been a long year since he disappeared in East Berlin. He was in disguise.

The people walk along the Kurfürstendamm not staring at the tall neo-classical building that houses the shops where their betters bought the merchandise that feeds the lifeblood of commerce. But now it was nearly midnight and the tired lorry drivers were finally going home having delivered the next day’s shopping. Rich was the bounty for those who had it but the workers ignored the wide street and were looking down. In the gloom, two horses pulled a hearse. There were always people dying especially in winter when so many gave up the ghost. But that was not what she was looking for.

What she looked for was a signal. A signal that something was not quite right.

And then she saw it: the was a man looking like he was in that uniform of brown but with shoes out of place, a shirt too pristine, and leggings that were too new. It knew he was Russian because the Stasi would be more circumspect in their attire. It was clear from his face that he had the money to be waited upon not waiting after traffic at Versace Boutique. The outside was roughly hewn granite while the inside was delicate with treasures.

Intently she watched the man but also recalled her walk in the Tiergarten. try to recall any slipup in her movements, any hesitation, or looking around when she dropped the package in the bushes underneath Löwengruppe statue.

Remembering how she was internally nervous and felt that she had hidden it very well. But not so well because the man turned around at each Straße bordering her apartment to go back again. It almost seemed as if he were trying to be seen. Almost as if it were a warning: that she had been caught dropping the package.

At once she wondered if it was still there, or if someone had removed it once she was out of sight. The impulse to put on her coat and check was almost irresistible. Like the horseman of death driving me on. But she knew that if it had been discovered she would have already in captured and made to speak of what she had dropped on Ahornstieg.

This reassured me because she knew that he was hoping for some clue as to what she was doing and missed the greater green of the giant garden. As if he were wondering “What was I doing here at the Brandenburg gate?”

So, she watched even longer trying to figure out whether there was nearly one or several. But no hint could she discover. And so, she went to bed in the nude, though hardly a heroic one with the bulges at her midriff and sags on her legs.

And she woke up as early as she could. Looked around at the green velvet folds of her drapes and memorized each detail. The urge to discover whether there was something in her actions. She walked several kilometers to this central park of Berlin. Searching every person thought she would revelry in the expensive dresses of the rich.

Into the trees, she went. This was the largest park in Berlin and even when it was as cold and brown as it was there was something stupendous in how it interleaved the natural beauty and the man-made artifice of statues and paths. She was there along the Ahornstieg. And at each place that she felt that she might have made some blunder she looked in each direction, including up, and all she felt were bows and branches denuded of green.

And again, she saw something that told me that the person walking a bit behind me was on the other side. she knew that she had made a serious error: her position in the garden told whoever was watching me that this was where the guilty pendulum was swinging.

So, she stopped.

But the strides from behind merely continued. She recognized shoes were expensive and new from the tap.

Without turning her shoulders towards him she spoke: “I have been waiting for you.” The strides had stopped.

“I am sure you have.” It was in German, but the accident was Slavic. It was spoken in a high-pitched whine.

“What do you want from me? It is hardly the private place for a public kidnapping.”

“We have done abduction before in this place. Do not think that your presence on this side of the demarcation will stop us.”

She turned around to face why accuser. He was not what she expected: she always thought that Russian agents would be large and big-shouldered. But instead, he was short and delicately boned.

“You still have not told me what it is you want?”’

“I would like to offer you a trade, your life in return for the package that you so artfully hid.”

“I’m afraid I am not at liberty to do so.”

“That’s too bad because there will be an execution on our side of the divide.”

“What does that have to do with me?” She could feel the surprised look on her face, even though she tried to hide it as best she could.

“You think your husband is dead, but he is alive and still breathing. For the moment.”

“And even if she presumed that all you say is true, what difference would that make to me?” Her eyes left some doubt.

“I will throw your husband into the deal.”

“I would not take it even if you were to a wall between East and West,” she said this as if she were a figure calling into the void.

“I will give you a day to think on it. Meet me at the Amazone.” The Amazone is a statue from the 19th century. While it seemed a tribute to Amazons, it is something quite different.

2

When she got back to her apartment there was a slight breeze coming from the outside window. she immediately froze up. But a calm descended on her: “Who is here?” All the while looking about for any clues as to who was here. Finally, after much searching, she saw a drape that was folded over a stool. “I can see there is something wrong with the stool. Come out where I can see you.”

At last, a slender man stepped into view. she had met him before – he was a handler for agents such as me: the front line of espionage work.

“Guten Tag Frau Bauer.”

“Good day to you. What name should I use for you?”

“You can call me Gerhard today.”

“So, Gerhard, what is it you want from me to-day?”

“We have a few problems with the way you are handling this case.”

“I dropped the package and I do not know whether it would be received, but that is in the job description.”

“The package was picked up. But there were certain irregularities. Also, there are some discrepancies one of which you did not report to us. And that has called into question the loyalty of yourself.”

“Was this from Bonn, or was it from someplace far away?”

“I must admit that it was raised by Washington.”

“And therefore, you were put on it immediately.”

“Be that as it may, you do not tell your handler about the Russian intrusion. That is a very serious problem.”

“The Russian intrusion was after the package had been delivered. Of course, I wanted to hear what the other side was proposing if only to reject out of hand what they were offering.”

“And when would you tell other people about this Russian intrusion?”

“If I were to do anything of course other people would have to know.”

“And what was he proposing.” There was a slight annoyance on his face, it was clear he wanted to be told instantaneously, immediately, with force.

“He said there was going to be an execution. The person executed was her husband and that was interesting because I did not know that her husband was still alive.”

“We knew that.”

“Why was I not told.” Not “?” but “.”

“It was need to know.”

“And I did not cut that line. That is a very interesting pair of scissors that you have in your company.”

“No doubt. There are details which I cannot discuss.”

“And you wonder why I keep the Russian intrusion off the books?” It was very clear that loyalty was a one-way street, towards Bonn and not towards Berlin. They had let her dangle for almost a year and even then, they would not have told her except the Russians had raised the possibility and Bonn merely confirmed it.

“So, the other side would give your husband in Berlin. What did they want exactly?”

“They wanted to know where the package that I had dropped off was hidden. The word then would know who the person inside their organization who is a double agent.”

“Obviously. So why didn’t you tell us this? May I remind you, before the war you and your husband worked for the Communist Party.”

“I know that came directly from the pen of someone sitting on the other side of the Atlantic. You and I both know that just before the war there were two parties. And one was the governing party and the other was the Communist Party. One had to make choices between the available alternatives.”

There was no reply to this because people knew it to be true. One could see it in his eyes which were cold and distant.

Then he started down a different path realizing that she was more than just an agent she could stand up for herself. And will betide to any handler who did not recognize this.

“Before you make any further movement towards a response call this number and someone will be with you in four hours.”

She took the paper that he was offering. She also knew that four hours was not the top priority, but it was very close to it. Because in ordinary circumstances the time to contact would at least be a day and probably several. They knew what was in the package. The only problem with his plan was that she had already written out her reply. She rode out before she had returned to her apartment last night. So, technically, and more importantly German technically, from this moment on she would tell him of any additional communications with the KGB.

The handler left but this time through the front door of her apartment. She watched him through the window and wondered what the various three-letter-abbreviation community knew about what she was planning. The Americans were suspicious of her and her husband because they worked for the Communist Party.

They were right to do so.

3

She was waiting at the statute of the Amazon in the Tiergarten. From her angel, the densely packed trees made a green awning for the green statue. She looked again at her face, and she seemed to me to be dejected though her horse was still erect. Perhaps it was a warning from Louis Tuaillon to me. Then she saw the Russian man whom she had had a conference with be earlier day. He seemed a bit disheveled and not as smoothly together as he had the day before. She noted this but did not understand what could be causing it.

He stopped perhaps 5 meters from me. But he did not open his mouth.

Instead, she began: “That is a bit far, don’t you think?”

He stepped extremely close. “Your husband wants you to join him on our side. He knows that you have the same misgivings about the extreme decadence of the West. Come over.”

She paused, and in that pause, there were lieder and leider of despair. The German for despair was Verzweifeln. And Zweifeln was doubt.

He doubted her sincerity - perhaps she did not love her husband. He, was not sure, then, that the loss of her husband would drive her not to a despair to leave West for East.

Thinking about her husband’s face, particularly his laugh at the incongruities: of the weather and whether, about the ideologies and the governments that the two halves of the world had chosen to lead them. It was clear that she had to make a choice of whether to be at the table or on it. the long telegraph had arrived at her desk.

4

She was humming Schumann. In her blouse pocket was a small strip of a small newspaper: that announced the killing of a traitor. The name was not her husband’s, but it was an alias that he used. She was found on the last day of November. The only unusual about her in the slightest was that she paid for the ticket with American money. It’s green stood out with a boldness that shocked the ticket handler but only for a moment.

She ruminated on the aftermath of the war. She had been confused by the positions of the occupiers and could not make up her mind. While her husband lived with her, she went along with whatever he wanted. And thinking about her husband, he was executed. Her husband wanted equality for everyone. Well, he had his equality, the equality of Death. That was not for her: you had to make hard choices among the available alternatives.

She settled down on the Railroad couch looking out at the scenery from the perch inside the cabin. In her knapsack was the real contents of the package because she had slipped into the package a false diagram of the rocket that the USSR was going to launch. Its payload was called Sputnik and while it was small its implications were tremendous: what it said was that the USSR could it any ICBM base anywhere in the world. So, while it was officially a satellite its real purpose was to show a missile launch vehicle. She hoarded the knapsack to her legs. But this time they were not in silk stockings, but in wool leggings and old leather boots. Because Germans were careful about what they wore. She had counted out exactly the amount to give the ticket attendant and had the rest shoved in her skirt. When she departed the train, she would get a lift to a small village made cozy by the brown church steeple and a wood statue of St. Peter. Because Peter never conquered anything not submitted to anyone.

She dreamt of looking in Berlin and all along the boulevard with the tall towers speaking of commerce. Commerce between East and West. In her case, with a stop in Stockholm once the top bidder for the plans was chosen. It did not matter who it was only that there would be no doubt has two the currency that he paid in.

She departed the train, leaving behind a map of Germany. And on this map, she shed a tear in that garden near the Brandenburg gate.