In The Skies

1 Zara Berlin, Germany, May 1948 Zara leaned back in her seat, watching as the ruins of Berlin passed by. Every second the train took her farther away from the city she’d learned to fear, and nearer to her new job as housemaid for an American family at the Wiesbaden airbase. She had never personally met her employers, but judging by the phone calls with Mr. and Mrs. Gardner, they seemed quite nice. And they came highly recommended by friends of hers. “Aren’t you sad to leave Berlin?” Laura, the roommate of one of Zara’s best friends, asked. Laura was three years younger than Zara herself, and her signature feature was the long, blond braided hair. She always looked like the poster child of the Bund Deutscher Mädel – an organization Zara had been forced to attend for many years, but that had long ceased to exist. “I am sad to leave my friends, but not to leave the city. After the Soviets occupied it, it never returned to being the place I once called my home.” “But you live in the American sector, they treat us well.” Laura shook her head, her braids bouncing around her shoulders. Her looks were a stark contrast to Zara’s, who had thick waist-long black hair and such pale skin, that people had compared her to Snow White ever since she was a child. “As long as you’re in Berlin, you can never get away from those damned Russians. It’s like being in an oversized prison, since they have encircled the city like a monster squeezing you in his jaws.” Laura laughed. “You’re being overly dramatic. Heinz always says they’re not half bad.” Zara preferred not to rise to the bait. She didn’t particularly like Laura’s boyfriend Heinz, who was engaged in all kinds of shady activities, especially the smuggling of luxury foodstuffs. Of course, he liked the corrupt Russians who sold him Crimean champagne, Beluga caviar and the colorful matryoshka dolls. “I’m glad to leave that pile of rubbish behind and start a new life in Wiesbaden, far away from any Russians.” She looked out at the landscape passing by. Since they had cleared the city borders, the train picked up speed and would bring them within the next two hours to the inner-German border at Marienborn. She gave a small sigh, knowing the ever-present tension would only leave her body once they reached the British zone. It had been a folly to return to Berlin after the war, and she’d paid bitterly for her sentimental decision to relocate. But it was where her family had lived all her life, before her father had moved them to the beautiful Austrian city of Linz. For three years now, she’d lived in constant fear of the Soviet soldiers. Zara shook her head. She refused to think of that time and all the horrible things that happened back then. “…I’m so excited to see Göttingen. Heinz has told me it’s beautiful.” Laura had kept talking while Zara was lost in her thoughts. “I was there before the war, my mother dragged us to see all the cultural buildings and museums. It’s a traditional town, dating back to the first millennium,” Zara said. Since travel permits were so hard to get, the train wasn’t full and she and Laura had managed to find a compartment all to themselves. That would change once they passed the border, but for now she enjoyed the space and stretched out her long legs. “What are you doing in Göttingen, anyway?” Laura sat up, a big smile crossing her face. “I’m running some errands for Heinz. Can you imagine, me going all by myself into the British zone?” “It’s rather exciting.” Zara thought, but didn’t say out loud, that Heinz probably wanted to avoid unwelcome questioning if he undertook the journey himself. Even though he posed as a respectable businessman, everyone knew the real nature of his dealings. Officially, the occupation powers in Berlin frowned upon black marketeers, but they enjoyed the perks too much. Heinz and his uncle, the owner of the famous Café de Paris, offered whatever money could buy to those who could pay for it, and the authorities never harassed him more than was needed to keep up appearances. That was likely to be different in the British zone of Germany, far away from the mutual coexistence in the capital where everyone knew everyone else. She didn’t care much for Heinz or Laura, but thanks to his connections, she had been able to buy tickets on a direct train that passed through the Soviet occupied zone without a single stop. And that was worth gold. Zara was glad she was going to leave all of this behind. A screeching sound tore through the air and she grabbed her armrest to keep from sliding off the seat. Moments later, the train came to a full stop. “What’s going on?” She craned her head to get a glimpse through the window, but couldn’t see anything, except for a red light somewhere in the distance. “Probably just a blocked track,” Laura speculated. Damaged tracks were a frequent occurrence and it seemed to happen especially often on the routes of the direct trains, allowing the Soviets to needle the other Allies with little pinpricks here and there. Zara involuntarily clutched her handbag tighter. Every additional minute she had to spend in Soviet territory seemed to increase the heavy weight pressing down on her lungs until she could barely breathe. It felt like an eternity, but was probably only minutes later, when their compartment door opened and several Soviet soldiers strode inside, sternly looking at the two women. Suppressing the nervous trembling of her limbs, Zara waited with bated breath to hear what the soldiers wanted. She cast a sideways glance at Laura, unfazed as always, casting a bright smile at them. The two men wore the Soviet army uniform, one of them had the facial features of those born far in the east of his vast country, while the other one showed the classic pale and angular face that marked him out as a Russian from a mile away. “Papers please!” the blond one said. They weren’t supposed to ask for papers, since they had checked the passengers already four times in Berlin, the first time upon buying the tickets, then when she and Laura entered the restricted passenger area at the station. Their papers were checked once again when they reached the platform and a last time just before departure when the Soviet soldiers had to leave the train, since it was supposed to travel without stopping until it reached Helmstedt in the British zone. But it wouldn’t do any good to refuse their orders. Zara kept the expression on her face blank, as she opened her purse and pulled out her identification, the travel permit and the ticket and handed them over to the solider who’d asked her, while Laura handed hers to the other man. The soldier took Zara’s papers and scrutinized them, as if searching for something. Her nervousness grew when he gave her the once-over. It felt as if he was undressing her, trying to see through her clothes not only onto her bare skin, but also inside her soul, trying to find whatever secret she might have hidden. Despite the crawling spiders on her skin, she didn’t move, sitting rigid under his scrutiny, while his eyes flicked back and forth between the photograph on her Ausweis and her person, as if to make sure she was actually the person she pretended to be. Who on earth would pose as me, anyway? she thought, having difficulties not to laugh out loud. He spoke to his colleague in Russian, nodding at her and handing him her papers. More frantic spiders crawled over Zara’s skin and she considered whether it would be worth jumping out of the half-open window. The smell of trouble descended over their compartment and took her breath away. But much to her relief the Asian-looking soldier, apparently superior to the blond one, gave a slight shake of his head and returned the papers to her without the slightest hint of an emotion. Once again, her hatred for the Soviets had gotten the better of her and she’d let her imagination run wild. To make sure she wasn’t losing her mind, she peered over at Laura, who was storing her papers in her purse, humming a low tune. How on earth could that girl be so … oblivious … to everything going on around her? Zara shrugged, relaxing against the backrest of her seat and staring at the door through which the two Soviet soldiers had just disappeared. She waited for the telltale sound of the carriage doors closing, so the train could continue its journey. But the only sounds she heard were steps in the corridor and the sudden opening of their compartment door once again. She jerked her head toward the entrance, wondering whether new passengers had been allowed to board the train and this was the reason for their unexpected halt. But, much to her dismay, two tall men dressed in Soviet military police uniforms entered the compartment. What do they want now? Couldn’t these thugs simply leave her in peace? Didn’t they see she was about to leave their sphere of influence for good? Soon, neither she nor they would have to deal with each other ever again. Her knuckles hurt and she glanced down at her hands clutching her handbag. She willed her fingers to relax and slowly the blood returned to her fingers. There was nothing to worry about. Laura’s elbow against her ribs returned Zara’s attention to the men in front of her, who’d apparently commanded her to do something, and the older one now pinned her with a furious glare. “Excuse me, I didn’t understand your question,” she said. “Open your suitcase.” His command sounded like the bark of a dog. Short, loud, and sharp. Most of all, it brooked no dissent. Not that she had entertained the idea of opposing the order of a Soviet official. After all, they were the occupiers and she was…nobody. “Yes.” She got up, towering above him by half a head, as she stretched out her legs and arms to reach for her suitcase in the overhead luggage rack. It was small and light, since she didn’t own many possessions. A few changes of clothing, a picture of her with Marlene and Bruni, taken last summer, two books and her toiletries. Her entire life in one small suitcase. He rummaged through her things, causing her stomach to lurch. There was nothing secret or forbidden in that suitcase, but it felt entirely awkward having a man search through her most intimate wearables. She resisted the urge to close her eyes and crossed her arms in front of her chest, jutting out her chin. As anticipated, he didn’t find anything of value or interest and she wanted to cry with joy when he threw the suitcase lid shut. But even as he turned around, his gaze stayed on her face and then travelled downward, where it stopped on the delicate silver necklace with a pendant around her neck. “This is a very beautiful necklace, I need to see the purchase certificate,” he declared after a thorough inspection that she was sure wasn’t entirely confined to the medallion, but also to the bare skin on her neckline. She cursed herself for not wearing a turtleneck pullover, but it had been hot these past few days and she’d opted for a summery blouse with a décolleté big enough to reveal the necklace and the pendant. “My godmother gave the medallion to me on my fifteenth birthday,” she said, hoping he wouldn’t notice the trembling in her voice. “How convenient.” “It’s true.” “I’m very sure it is stolen. Take it off,” he ordered and waited for her to remove the necklace from her neck. His eyes lit up when his thick thumb stroked the smooth surface, and moments later the necklace disappeared into his pocket. Zara gasped, but didn’t dare to protest, despite being heartbroken, since this was her only memory of her godmother. She cast a helpless glance at Laura, who pretended not to notice anything out of the ordinary. Arguing with a Soviet officer intent on stealing valuables wouldn’t change anything, except get her into trouble. The necklace was lost. The policeman turned around to look at Laura and her suitcase, but before he could order her to open it, another officer appeared in the compartment door. “What’s the delay?” he said in Russian. Zara had learned enough of the loathed oppressor’s language in the past years to maintain a very simple conversation, but usually pretended not to understand. The policeman seemed to defend himself and after a short exchange of words, he pulled out Zara’s necklace and pointed an accusing finger at her. The cold hatred in his eyes made her shiver. “You have been pilfering and stealing German cultural property.” “Why, no! My godmother gave it to me ten years ago. In fact, he’s the one stealing it!” As soon as the words left her mouth she regretted them, because his face turned into an ugly grimace and he turned toward the officer. “Comrade, you won’t believe an obscure German slut over a member of the Red Army.” He held out the necklace to his superior, who eyed it and then said to Zara, “You’re under arrest for smuggling, pilfering and stealing.” When Zara, frozen in place by fear, didn’t move immediately, he said impatiently, “The great Soviet Union is intent on protecting the cultural property of Germany and you will be tried for your crimes.” There was nothing she could do, except to send a helpless plea for help to Laura, who only shrugged, her eyes wide open in anguish. It was a cruel irony of fate, because Zara was sure Laura was the one actually smuggling things in her suitcase. Zara followed the two policemen from the train, like a lamb being led to slaughter. She was innocent, but would anyone care about that little detail? Going by what she knew about the Soviet system, she guessed not. She jumped from the steps of the carriage onto the embankment, where yet another officer was waiting to lead her to a dark gray vehicle. He shoved her into the backseat together with two men who looked like the criminal she was supposed to be. The car started and turned eastward to a place she didn’t know and probably didn’t want to know about. Her only hope was that Laura would alert someone to come to her rescue. Although that was a very long shot. Nobody gave a s**t about the fate of a German civilian. Each power could do whatever they wanted in their zone, without the others interfering. Zara was at the mercy of the Soviets, arrested for the alleged crime of stealing her own necklace, now deemed German cultural property.