CHAPTER THIRTY-SIX
I landed at Tempelhof Airport on a dark, wintry evening in early December, back in Berlin for the first time since I was thrown out of the GDR at the Sonnenallee checkpoint. I’d been to West Germany a couple of times in the intervening years. There had been trips to Frankfurt when I was at Liebermann Brothers. But I hadn’t been east of the River Elbe in fourteen years.
I stared out of the window as the S-Bahn snaked eastwards through Kreuzberg and into Friedrichstraße on elevated tracks. Across the river spun the circular neon logo of the Berliner Ensemble. I’d gone there once with Kevin to see a production of the second part of Goethe’s Faust, an impenetrable and noisy rampage which served only to prove that those who said Faust II couldn’t be staged were probably rig
