0600, 1 November 1981, East Berlin
Six AM. Alarm goes off. It's dark. Why is it cold? I really don't want to get up. Why should I get up? Factory workers in China are probably going to bed. I envy them.
I need to get out of bed. But maybe I can call in? No, no. I can't. Käthe doesn't have access to those files. Dieter would kill me. Well, Dieter could probably kill a man with his thumb… God, I need coffee.
Then get up! Mutti's not coming to give you coffee in bed!
I open my eyes. I look over to grab my watch and—
Fuck.
On the night stand's a little velvet box. Blue velvet. I know inside there's a gold ring with a nice diamond from the world's most boring man. I know that I'm engaged to Till Leberecht. When Westerners think of an East Berlin bureaucrat, Till Lberecht was what they pictured. And the only thing I can do is grab a pillow and scream.
Okay. It's more of a muffled moan. The neighbours would hear it.
Why'd I say yes? Fuck, fuck, fuck. Fuckitty fuck. FUCK!
I've thrown away my life. To Till Leberecht! Grim boredom personified! It's over! I'm doomed!
Okay.
Sabine. You need to get a hold of yourself. You're gonna be late for work—
It's Sunday. You've got the day off, girl! I don't have to do anything. Till. I have to do something about Till. He's probably gone and blabbed about it to all his family and… Does he have friends? Like, actual friends who like having him around? That's an interesting question.
Okay, lazybones. Get up! The Till problem won't solve itself! I need a shower and coffee now. I won't be going back to sleep anytime soon.
And I'm not desperate enough to run the Wall.
I go over to the bathroom. A sickly little place with yellow wallpaper and a blue enamel tub. As far as I know, it's the only bathroom in the building that doesn't have plumbing problems. Probably because I fixed those a ways back. But why's the water still cold?
Anyway, I could always aparate to Hamburg. No. No I can't. What would Mutti and Vatti do? What would happen to them and the boys?
Why the Hell did he have to propose there? Why in the restaurant! Why in front my boss? In front of that Russian, what's his name, Zeitsev? Yes Zeitsev? In Front of Dieter.
Okay, the water's finally hot. I take off my pyjamas and step in. The water's near scalding. Where did he get the idea that we were an item? I mean. Have we actually been dating? But what constitutes dating? I put shampoo in my hair. Well what constitutes seeing each other? He's bought me lunch, for sure. But I've done the same for him. The vast majority we've payed for ourselves. Oh, who are you kidding, Sabine. Till's been trying his damnedest to get you for what, a year now?
I rinse and put conditioner in my hair; start shaving my legs. How was I supposed to know he couldn't take a hint? I mean, general disinterest and boredom while conversing should be a strong indicator. There's only so much interest one can have on the thickness of cauldrons before everyone is stops listening. We get it! British cauldrons are inferior to German cauldrons! Especially anything that comes from our glorious democratic republic.
I give a sigh. I'm being far too harsh. There's someone out there for him. I think. And this mess wouldn't have happened if I had been more firm. If I had been more direct. I turn off the water and start fowling off. If I had… I don't know. God I'm a pathetic excuse for a human. Just go over to his office and tell him you can't go through with it! I rest my head against the tiled wall and let out a sigh. Why did I not…
"Is that you, Sabine?" Mutti asks from behind the door.
"Yes."
"Everything alright?"
"I'm alright. couldn't sleep, that's all."
"Alright."
She probably goes back to bed. I step out of the shower, towelled off and put my pyjamas back on.
We've been in this apartment for a long as I remember. We lived on Immaneulkirchstraße, in one of the thousands of square apartment buildings centred on courtyards that form the dense rabbit's warren. Like most buildings in Friedrichsain, and most of East Berlin, ours still had the scars of war. Ours was a rebuilt grey, Wilhelmine building, pockmarked with bullet holes and in the courtyard you could still find signs of fire damage. Once in a while, we would find bullets and shrapnel in our walls and floors. A couple of months ago, some kids in a neighbouring building found some unexploded shells in their courtyard.
Our apartment, on the third floor looked over the rather forlorner courtyard with its single linden tree. When I was born, in 1956, we had to share a toilet with our floor neighbours. Over time, the we got some renovations, including bathrooms and slight expansion to our courtyard. And even then, the apartment where my brothers and I were raised and still lived in with our parents was uncomfortably cramp. Three small bedrooms for five people, a kitchen, and a bathroom.
That was all we really had. All that we had ever really been allotted for. Vatti was foreman for a tractor factory and Mutti worked as a secretary for the Deutsche Reichsbahn. My younger brothers, Philipp and Alex, are university students…
And why am I going through my life story while drying my hair?
Anyway. I am surprised no one else is up. I've been thumping about for… What is it now? It's 6:22. I'll put on a pot of coffee for everyone. Not the ersatz stuff, the good coffee.
I am not happy with how my hair is turning out. Brown, shoulder length hair refusing to take any shape. Where's my wand? It's in my room isn't it. I go back and find it on the old sewing machine I use for a desk. It's a Gregorovich wand, hawthorn, unicorn hair — good for charm work — but bought at a subsidiary store in Berlin approved by the Party. Heaven forbid an East German witch needs to cross the border for something.
Well, I fix my hair into something resembling stylish and throw it all into a ponytail. I put my towel back on the rack. Brush my teeth. I've never had my wisdom's taken out. My jaw's big enough that it's redundant to pull them. I go back to my room. Dirty laundry and pyjamas in laundry basket. I put on my frumpy underwear, green sweater, grey skirt, black pantyhose. The Party strongly encourages witches and wizards to adopt Muggle attire, even to wear it at home. Robes are symbols of the past, the bourgeoisie, Western capitalist elitism. The usual line we learned in school. I go to the kitchen. From the pantry I get the good coffee. Actual coffee that we only use sparingly. The ersatz coffee, while made daily, always… left something to be desired. I take out the percolator. Pour in water, put the ground coffee into the top chamber and light the stove. Till, I'm sorry, but I just can't. No. I know you're a nice guy, Till, but I… It's not your fault…
I take out plates and start setting the table for breakfast. Vatti at the end facing away from the windows. Mutti opposite him. Philipp likes to sit in the chair next to Vatti on his left, while Alex and I sit opposite. I set plates and cutlery. From the fridge I bring out bread, cheese, ham, butter, yogurt and jam. I cut up slices of bread and cheese. Till, I need to… I have to tell you. The percolator starts thumping.
"Everything alright?"
It's Alex.
"Yes," I reply.
"It's 6:30"
"6:32, actually."
Alexander and Philipp. Philipp and Alexander. My father had a particular love for the Classics. Philip and Alexander. The names of the great kings of ancient Macedonia. Philipp was the elder at 22, studying engineering. He looks like Vatti: blocky head, dirty blond hair, short and stocky body. Alex is just 20 and started studying chemistry. He looks more like Mutti and me: brown hair, light eyes, more slender and tall.
Alex sits down at the table and starts helping himself to the bread and butter.
"Why are you up so early?"
"What do you think?"
"Wow. Harsh."
"Are you going to make a crack about mind reading?"
"Very carefully."
The coffee's done and I grab a mug. I pour coffee in and then add some milk. All this while I give a heavy, frustrated, disgusted sigh. The sort you got to suck in a breath for. "Till Leberecht asked me to marry him last night."
That gets a stupid look from Alex. Raised eyebrow and a screwed up face like he ate something particularly sour.
"Till Leberecht's the guy who doesn't shut up about those Dresden cauldrons, right?"
"Yep"
"And the same guy you compared to a wall?"
"The same."
"And he proposed to you?"
"Yes."
"And you agreed?"
"Yes."
"As a joke?"
"No. There was a dining room full of people! I… What else was I supposed to say?"
"So as a joke then."
"Shut up!" I say as a grab a tea towel, roll it up and flick it at Alex. He's fully awake now to try and dodge the towel, food still in mouth and hands in the air.
"I kid! I kid!" he cries around his mouthful as I press my attack.
"Okay! Okay! Let's not wake up the neighbours," Alex says after he swallows, "What's your plan?"
I take my cup from the counter with a shrug. "I don't know."
"Well you better figure out something," he says before taking another bight of bread.
"I know."
Outside, the morning light is still a leaden grey. The windows across from us are still dark. The walls are nominally a pale grey stucco, but enough soot and water stains have discoloured them. Directly across from us, the wall has a large area, triangle shape, that is much lighter than the rest. More war damage, Vatti says.
Till, I…
Till, I'm sorry bu…
Till Leberecht isn't all bad. We work for the same department, the Portalschlüsselwaltung: the first people you meet when you take a portkey into the GDR. Got to make sure you've got all your papers in order and aren't bringing in anything you shouldn't. Anyway. Till is my age, half-blood, and about as exciting as the wall I'm staring out at. It's hard to describe Till, because he honestly looks like any other twenty-something man in this country. Brown hair, brown eyes, permanent five o'clock shadow, hollow chested and not much wait behind him. Tell me, how many German men you know fill that bill easily? A lot probably. And while he nice, and helpful at work, but oh so boring!
His definition of 'fun' was making a ham and mustard sandwich and sincerely watching Der schwarze Kanal. He didn't like going out to anything unless it was work related. And then he would talk… What was he talking about last night? Wait. Didn't Till manage to trap that Zeitsev guy in some long winded lecture about Erlking hunting? Dieter and I had to rescue him.
"So, Comrade Leberecht," said Zeitsev.
"I know. Doesn't know when he's beating a dead horse," I said.
"It's a gift," Dieter adds, derisively.
"It is indeed. Never thought the hunting of Erlkings would be so…"
"Lifeless?" I answered, "He's like a vampire to conversation. Sucks the life out of everything."
That was all before the supper portion of last night. That was before Till, just before the desert portion, came over to my seat, got on one knee, and proposed.
I hear Mutti and Vatti starting to wake up. Vatti's shuffled over to the bathroom. Philipp, though. Philipp could have a dragon roar in his ear and he wouldn't wake up. His mandatory service was a nightmare because of how hard it was to wake him up. Didn't help that he would kick you if you tried wiggling his toes.
I go over to the table, take a piece of bread spread butter and black currant jam on it. Alex has poured himself some coffee. I check my watch. It's 6:45. The raven post should be here soon. It's always here at 7:00
We use ravens east of the Wall to deliver mail. It's partially cultural. Many see owls as either bad omens (which the Party was trying to stamp out) or simply stupid. If a Finn wanted to call you an idiot, they'd compare you to an owl. And there is the fact that owls are not the smartest bird out there. There have been more than a few times at work owl mail would come from Britain and the poor thing would fly into the windows. Ravens on the other hand. Ravens were frighteningly smart. Easy to train, infinitely clever, and always punctual. If they liked you. It's been known that ravens will mess with the mail of people who were mean to them. The little buggers can hold a grudge, let me tell you. But the other reason for using ravens was that they were less conspicuous. Owls live in cities, for sure. But you notice owls when they're out and about in the middle of day. Ravens are ubiquitous. They are like crows, pigeons and rats; they're everywhere. No one's going to blink an eye at a raven flying around with something, it's probably some shiny they picked up.
Vatti comes out.
"Why are you two up?"
"Sabi's getting married," snorts Alex.
"Am not!"
"Tell that to Till."
"I should."
"Wait, what's going on?" interrupts Vatti.
"Remember last night when I came home crying?"
"Yes."
"That's why."
Vatti gives his 'I'm getting too old for this' sigh and sits in his spot. I pour him coffee and he fixes his breakfast.
"Is the mail here?" asks Vatti.
"Not yet," I answer.
"I mean the regular mail."
"Haven't checked."
"Well you're dressed. You go get it."
"Sure." I say.
I go to the door and throw on my shoes. Next to the door is a small side table, stained dark brown and used to belong to Oma. There's a bowl were we keep the mailbox key and other odds and ends. The bowl was that blue willow Dresden china. Nobody's really sure where it came from, it's always been in the family.
I head out into the hallway, painted mint green with dark brown accents and awful linoleum floor. The doors are brown with brass screwed on numbers. It's dark, there's no windows to let in light and the ceiling lamps gave off a weak glow; mostly because they hand't been cleaned in a long time. At the end of the hallway was a rickety stare case, tight and sometimes airless and dark. It takes you down to the ground floor, were there's the bank of mailboxes and the entrance to the courtyard. The ground floor is like the other floors, painted mint green and deep brown. The floor, though, is tiled black and white. On my left is the mailboxes. They were brass, but needed a polish years ago, and had small plaques with the occupants last names on them. I take out the key, unlock the box, and take out the contents. I take a few seconds to look over the contents. There's something from the university for Philipp. There's a water bill, a postcard from Tanti Battina and a letter from Opa in Rostock.
As I turn to go, something catches my attention. The door is glass and I can see out to the passageway outside. Sitting on the cobbles, not really moving, and staring as if I were the intruder, was four owls. Two little brown ones, a barn owl, and a grey long-eared owl.
