A Quiet Genocide Read online

Catharina could not eat that evening.

  ‘Are you okay, darling?’ asked Gerhard, sat across from her. ‘You’ve hardly touched your food.’

  ‘I’m fine, sweetheart,’ replied Catharina. ‘I was just thinking about Jozef and how he’s settling in Berlin. That’s all.’

  ‘I’m sure he’s fine, darling, absolutely fine. We’ve talked about this. We have to let Jozef be himself now. That’s why we decided to tell him he’s adopted, to give him time to think and let him return to us naturally.’

  The truth was they had not decided that the eve of Jozef’s departure for Berlin was the right time to reveal he was adopted. Gerhard had decided and there was nothing Catharina could have said to dissuade him.

  ‘What if he never comes back to us?’ said Catharina, suddenly tearful and angry at the thought.

  Gerhard said nothing, irate at the interruption.

  ‘Sorry, sweetheart. You’re right,’ she added. A second lie. Catharina had not been thinking about Jozef at all while she had initially played with her steak. She had been thinking of Janus and trying to fathom just what he might be considering eating his dinner this evening. He had her note! Catharina still could not quite believe it. She was so excited she did not feel she would eat at all until next Thursday when she would finally learn his answer. Catharina would have to go to the cafe and sit there and wait. It would be horrendous and heart-stopping in the same impossible breath.

  Chapter Sixteen

  The train into East Berlin was quiet. It felt like a one-way passage to the end of the Earth. No one seemed keen to arrive there. The train jerked clumsily to a halt and the four of them climbed off.

  Jozef was keen to drink another beer. He was sobering up and he wanted another hit of alcohol.

  Everything seemed grey in East Berlin.

  Jozef wondered if before his death Stalin had banned colour. Everyone’s coats were a drab brown or washed-out blue. People seemed miserable. There were no smiles, no laughter, only tension and a tangible police presence everywhere – the Stasi, which quickly made Jozef anxious again.

  A Stasi officer caught his eye.

  Paranoid, Jozef looked quickly at his shoes to avoid the glare.

  Martyn was not overly confident either. Mathias was fine and lit another cigarette, while Pierre was too drunk to either notice or care and stuck close to Mathias, half bouncing off him if his balance gave way. He occasionally wiped the hair out of his face and tried to gather himself, but it was a poor impression of trying to appear sober. It seemed obvious to Jozef he was quite drunk. Still, Jozef found Pierre intriguing, charming even.

  ‘We made it,’ said Mathias, looking back over his shoulder.

  Jozef half nodded and smiled, looking about himself and trying to take it all in. He remained convinced the four of them stuck out badly, but no one else seemed to mind, so why should he? he thought.

  They bustled into a busy bar. The tight door jammed open into a bawdy crowd of people cloaked in smoke. The bar itself was down a narrow corridor flanked by dingy booths, which each squeezed in six patrons. A group of men and women were leaving and Pierre and Martyn quickly grabbed their booth.

  Jozef followed Mathias to get served.

  It was two-deep at the bar, but his companion knew how to discreetly jump the queue, sneaking in at one end.

  ‘Four pints of beer, please,’ Mathias shouted to the barwoman through the din. ‘Here you go,’ he continued, handing Jozef two tall glasses overflowing with strong beer.

  ‘Thank you,’ said Jozef.

  He was looking forward to this. He fought the short way back to the booth and sat alongside Pierre, who was nearest the wall, while Mathias sat opposite Jozef next to Martyn.

  ‘Cheers,’ said Pierre raising his glass – but only after taking a large swig first – and the four friends merrily clinked their pints together in the centre of the table, spilling a little beer here and there.

  A sexy brunette walked up to the bar and caught Jozef’s eye. She smiled at him. He blushed. He felt like a child in this strange quarter of the city and way out of the woman’s league.

  Mathias noticed the silent exchange and made eyes at Jozef. He was happy but rather jealous and still could not work Jozef out. Was there more to him that he did not yet know?

  ‘I have to go somewhere,’ Mathias said.

  ‘What? Where are you going?’ said Jozef, anxious to keep the group together on his first foray into Berlin’s Soviet sector.

  ‘Don’t worry,’ said Mathias, draining the dregs of his beer and rising and wrapping his jacket around his shoulders. ‘We’ll meet you back here in an hour. Have a drink, relax.’

  ‘Do you want another pint, Pierre?’ Jozef asked.

  Pierre nodded, squinting through cigarette smoke floating up from a final fag cadged from Mathias before he left.

  Jozef took the hint. It was clear he was buying; it was becoming clear you were always buying with Pierre.

  ‘Are you okay?’ Jozef said to his new friend when he sat down with the two beers which had taken forever to buy. Jozef had finally paid the price for sticking out. West Berliners got served last in the Soviet sector.

  ‘I’m fine Jozef,’ Pierre said, more sober now and with perhaps his heaviest drinking behind him this evening.

  ‘Where did Mathias go?’ said Jozef.

  ‘He went to see a girl. I can’t remember her name,’ said Pierre.

  ‘Ah,’ said Jozef. ‘A girl.’

  Pierre nodded again, glugging his way through the first half of his pint at an alarming speed. Jozef had only had two sips of his. Perhaps Pierre’s heaviest drinking was not behind him this evening after all.

  ‘Why did Martyn go?’

  ‘I think he introduced the two of them through a girl he knows at university,’ said Pierre.

  Jozef nodded. ‘It’s nice to sit down and finally chat,’ he said, trying to dilute any remaining discomfort between them.

  ‘Yes, it’s nice to finally sit down and chat with you too.’

  The pair of them had common ground – not only from shared interests, but from a broader outlook on life. Pierre and Jozef had an understanding.

  ‘It’s been nearly an hour,’ said Jozef. ‘Shall we get another drink in?’

  ‘Yes, same again, please.’

  Jozef smiled. Pierre must be skint, he thought. It was hardly his fault – Jozef liked him – but if it had been Mathias claiming poverty, it might have been a different story, Jozef thought wryly.

  An hour became an hour and a half and Jozef became concerned. He felt time sliding away dangerously, like the route back to the west might close on them forever.

  ‘Is he always this late?’

  ‘He can be – when a girl’s involved. He’ll know what time it is. Let’s go.’

  ‘Where?’ asked Jozef. He didn’t know anywhere else – only this place and the subway station home.

  ‘Let’s walk down the street and see what we can find,’ said Pierre, like it was the most mundane thing in the world.

  Jozef didn’t want to wander anywhere. He wanted clear structure to this evening.

  ‘Don’t worry,’ Pierre said. ‘We can always walk home to the western sector. There are no barriers stopping us.’

  He wrapped his arm fondly around Jozef, who was 6ft and taller than Pierre. It was an effort for him, which made him reach more heartily. It felt nice, thought Jozef, who was lovely and warm and drunk he realised, now out in the night air. His head swam happily.

  ‘Is that the jazz club?’ Jozef said, spying a dark doorway and two men standing guard outside.

  They stood at a badly lit crossroads. The road swept round to their right and back up to the safety of the subway station and the west. To their left lay a smaller back road, leading nowhere at first glance. Immediately on their left, tucked around the bottom of the hill and away from prying eyes, was Rolf’s, according to the pink neon letters glowing garishly above the door. The cheap sign had nothing in common with the burly pa
ir of bouncers guarding the entrance beneath it.

  ‘No, that’s not the place,’ said Pierre.

  ‘Shall we try it?’ said Jozef, trying to relax.

  ‘Okay,’ said Pierre, shrugging casually.

  They each had to pay to enter the club. A squat man wearing a thick beard took their money. He was squeezed into a small cubicle which greeted revellers upon arrival, halfway down a flight of stairs. It sounded like an unbridled riot was taking place below. Hectic music, laughter, cheering and loud chatter. Two women wearing men’s tuxedos bounced up the stairs past Jozef and Pierre.

  At the bottom of the stairs was a long bar and a dance floor, crowded happily with couples and friends. One half of the room had seats and tables, but they were largely empty. Most people were dancing and having a fantastic time. There were men and women and groups of friends but no one like Jozef or Pierre on first impression.

  Jozef felt uncomfortable.

  Pierre lit a cigarette and started making his way over to the bar. ‘What do you want to drink?’ he asked. ‘Beer?’

  ‘Yes, beer,’ yelled Jozef.

  They passed two men melting their bodies together and French kissing deeply.

  Jozef had never seen two men kissing before. Then he remembered the women on the stairs and looked again at the people dancing. He noticed nearly all of the couples were of the same sex.

  ‘Pierre, Pierre!’

  Pierre, with the cigarette in his mouth preventing him from speaking, motioned he was in the middle of getting served.

  ‘There you go, handsome,’ said the barman to Pierre, presenting him with two large glasses of beer.

  ‘Thanks,’ said Pierre routinely, ignoring the compliment.

  He handed Jozef one of the beers and both of them drained a good third of their glasses with their first swig. Jozef was gasping slightly when he came up for air. He wanted the alcohol to make his mind swirl again – and quickly.

  ‘Pierre!’ Jozef said again like he was passing on state secrets. ‘We’re in a club for fairies.’

  ‘I know,’ said Pierre smiling.

  ‘Did you know this was a club for fairies?’

  ‘No, I didn’t,’ Pierre said, still amused.

  ‘What are we going to do? I think we have to leave – but together. We can pretend we’re a couple.’

  ‘Relax. We’ve only just got here. Let’s take a seat.’

  Jozef quickly finished his drink and went back to the bar and bought two more beers. It was not like him to drink so quickly. He was beginning to lose track of how many he had had tonight. He was glad to return to the sanctuary of their table and his companion, who was smoking again.

  ‘I didn’t think you had any cigarettes?’ said Jozef, surprised and enjoying his pint more slowly this time. He was starting to feel good again.

  ‘I do,’ Pierre shrugged, wiping away hair from his face, a common mannerism for him. ‘I’m happy to cadge as many as I can from Mathias though. Don’t tell him.’

  Jozef felt flattered to receive the confession, however small. The people dancing were from another planet, he then thought – but he found himself growing to like them. They were not aggressive or spoiling for trouble, Jozef’s big bugbear when he was out drinking in pubs and bars. He wished he was a closet lunatic when strange men caught his eye and tacitly challenged him on a night out. Leave me alone, his head screamed in those feverish moments. Here, there were no such unspoken challenges, although Jozef had noticed four men perched at the bar, quite apart from everyone else.

  The strange men were haggard and immovable, like they lived on their bar stools. Their faces sank into themselves. Alcohol and nicotine abuse had drawn deep lines on their features, now struggling to prop up sagging flesh and there was a warm, pungent smell clouding them like fog, although they were only smoking cigarettes from what Jozef could tell.

  ‘It’s marijuana,’ said Pierre. ‘It’s pretty common in jazz clubs in Berlin.’

  ‘How do you know all this?’

  ‘I just know,’ said Pierre, shrugging again.

  Jozef and Pierre were drunk in the jazz club that night. They got on famously like old friends and talked about football, movies, girls and each other. Pierre’s parents were both big drinkers. At least Gerhard was a quiet one, Jozef thought to himself with some relief while he listened to his new friend open up.

  After an intimidating start, Jozef loved Rolf’s. He realised he liked homosexuals. They were fun; they didn’t seem to care what anyone else thought or did. They were happy to live and let live. Cool, thought Jozef, who felt liberated watching them dance without inhibition to the frantic in-house jazz band. Jozef and Pierre joined them before the evening was out and the club closed at 3am. Jozef danced more than Pierre – he enjoyed more natural rhythm – and attracted the attention of others, mainly for his smooth motion but also for his kind face and good looks. Jozef was happy. He was at home. It was a small revelation to him.

  The pair of them walked home. Jozef was glad to get back to the West and out of the Soviet sector. Others from Rolf’s would have come too, but they had lives to lead – families, jobs, houses. The state keenly repressed the emergence of the homosexual community in post-war East Germany. But they did not mind. At least in East Germany homosexuality laws were not rigidly enforced – unlike the West, where the church was more influential. From 1957 in East Germany, homosexuality was quietly tolerated, just not openly encouraged. That was enough for the people who visited Rolf’s every Friday. They had a few hours to be different, a few hours to be themselves.

  Jozef was beginning to understand.

  Chapter Seventeen

  ‘You look nice,’ said Gerhard from behind his newspaper after supper. He was happy. He knew he was going to enjoy a drink tonight.

  ‘Thank you, sweetheart,’ said Catharina nervously. She felt uncomfortable dressed so well around her husband in the blandness of their home. She wanted to dive out into the night where her elegance might be more fitting and in keeping with others.

  Her head was a whirlwind. She needed a drink. ‘Would you mind if I had a glass of whisky?’ she asked, hoping and praying she would not elicit intrigue.

  She felt it was the most obvious thing in the world that she was bidding to embark upon an affair right under her husband’s nose.

  ‘Let’s both have one,’ agreed Gerhard gladly, rising from his seat and reaching inside their dining room cabinet to find a bottle of his best stuff. He grabbed two glasses from a cupboard and began pouring. Catharina got a small nip; Gerhard got a generous double. He could not help his selfishness when alcohol was involved. ‘Prost,’ said Gerhard, raising his glass after retaking his seat opposite his wife.

  ‘Prost,’ said Catharina, calming a little after her first sip, which made her throat burn but her hand steady.

  ‘Is something special happening tonight at choir practice?’ Gerhard asked, alluding to his wife’s appearance.

  ‘Yes. We’re having group photos taken for publicity shots for shows coming up over the summer.’

  Gerhard nodded and looked down again at his newspaper.

  Catharina studied him intensely. She was looking for any hint of disbelief in his body language, but she could not find any and she started to relax more deeply. She checked the clock hanging high on the wall. 7pm. Half an hour before she was due to meet Janus – if he showed. Catharina had increasingly begun to think he would not. What a fool she had been, she thought. But she had to go now.

  ‘Okay, darling,’ said Catharina, looking at herself one last time in the mirror in their hallway. She needn’t have. She had looked perfect on the previous three occasions she had checked herself in the last hour. ‘I’ll see you later.’

  ‘Bye, darling,’ said Gerhard, looking forward to her exit himself so he could begin drinking seriously, rather than politely sip his whisky.

  * * *

  Catharina enjoyed the first wave of cool evening air enveloping her after she closed the front door. It took
the warm sting out of the panic she had experienced in the last few hours. She took a deep breath and ran both her hands down her dress. She checked her bag briefly to see that some money lay within it. It was a ten-minute walk to the café she had proposed for their rendezvous. She would be early for 7.30pm, but no matter. She preferred it that way. It gave her time to gather herself.

  En route to the café, Catharina’s senses were acutely aware of everything. The general chatter floating out from pubs as she paced by; the little giggles and whispers shared by lovers out strolling across the street; and the sound of night buses rushing up behind her or slowly approaching from ahead. Catharina heard it all like she had not heard it in years.

  When she saw Janus was already seated in the café on the corner of the street, her heart did not simply skip a beat, it somersaulted in her pounding chest. She kept walking, desperately trying to ensure she was not seen. She had to. She had to compose herself from all this – breathlessness.

  She flew past the café, which had fronts on both streets it cornered and, out of sight of its clientele, she picked up her feet and danced for half a moment. Catharina had not danced for a lifetime. Calm yourself, she reprimanded herself playfully. But she couldn’t. She could hardly believe she was about to walk into a café and court another man. Another man. She was married. She didn’t do this. She had never done this. It felt like the engagement she was about to experience would be savoured by another woman entirely – a confident, attractive, middle-aged woman perfectly happy to throw caution to life’s wind before it rolled relentlessly by. She gathered herself. The café glowed romantically inside, lit magically by pockets of candlelight at each table. She opened the door and entered another world.

  ‘Guten Abend. Are you alone this evening?’ asked a waitress.

  ‘No, I’m meeting someone, the gentleman sat over there,’ said Catharina discreetly, motioning to Janus, who was seated alone and quite apart from other customers.

  She carefully weaved her way through the maze of tables to him. ‘Hello Janus.’