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They were on opposite sides of the Wall, and they might as well have been a thousand miles apart.

So Walli came to Hamburg and moved into his sister's spacious apartment.

Rebecca never nagged him. His parents, in their letters, badgered him to go back to school, or perhaps college. Their stupid suggestions had included that he should study to become an electrician, a lawyer, and a schoolteacher like Rebecca and Bernd. But Rebecca herself said nothing. If he spent all day in his room practising the guitar, she made no objection, just asked him to wash up his coffee cup instead of leaving it dirty in the sink. If ever he talked to her about his future, she said: "What's the rush? You're seventeen. Do what you want, and see what happens." Bernd was equally tolerant. Walli adored Rebecca and liked Bernd more every day.

He had not yet got used to West Germany. People had bigger cars and newer clothes and nicer homes. The government was openly criticized in the newspapers and even on television. Reading some attack on the aging Chancellor Adenauer, Walli would find himself looking guiltily over his shoulder, fearful that someone might observe him reading subversive material; and he would have to remind himself that this was the West, where he had freedom of speech.

He was sad to move away from Berlin but, he now discovered to his delight, Hamburg was the pounding heart of the German music scene. It was a port city, entertaining sailors from all over the world. A street called the Reeperbahn was the center of the red-light district, with bars, strip joints, semi-secret homosexual clubs, and many music venues.

Walli longed for only two things in life: to live with Karolin, and to be a professional musician.

One day soon after moving to Hamburg he walked along the Reeperbahn with his guitar slung over his shoulder and went into every bar to ask if they would like a singer-guitarist to entertain their customers. He believed he was good. He could sing, he could play, and he could please an audience. All he needed was a chance.

After a dozen or so rejections he struck lucky at a beer cellar called El Paso. The decor was evidently intended to be American, with the skull of a longhorn steer over the door and posters of cowboy films on the walls. The proprietor wore a Stetson, but his name was Dieter and he spoke with a Low German accent. "Can you play American music?" he said.

"You betcha," said Walli in English.

"Come back at seven thirty. I'll give you a trial."

"How much would you pay me?" said Walli. Although he still got an allowance from Enok Andersen, the accountant at his father's factory, he was desperate to prove he could be financially independent, and justify his refusal to follow his parents' career advice.

But Dieter looked mildly offended, as if Walli had said something impolite. "Play for half an hour or so," he said airily. "If I like you, then we can talk about money."

Walli was inexperienced, but not stupid, and he felt sure that such evasiveness was a sign that the money would be low. However, this was the only offer he had got in two hours, and he accepted it.

He went home and spent the afternoon putting together half an hour of American songs. He would start with "If I Had a Hammer," he decided; the audience at the Europe Hotel had liked it. He would do "This Land Is Your Land" and "A Mess of Blues." He practised all his choices several times, though h

e hardly needed to.

When Rebecca and Bernd came home from work and heard his news, Rebecca announced that she would go with him. "I've never seen you play to an audience," she said. "I've just heard you messing about at home and never finishing the song you started."

It was kind of her, particularly as tonight she and Bernd were excited about something else: the visit to Germany of President Kennedy.

Walli and Rebecca's parents believed that only American firmness had prevented the Soviet Union from taking over West Berlin and incorporating it into East Germany. Kennedy was a hero to them. Walli himself liked anyone who gave the tyrannical East German government a hard time.

Walli laid the table while Rebecca prepared supper. "Mother always taught us that if you want something you join a political party and campaign for it," she said. "Bernd and I want East and West Germany to be reunited, so that we and thousands more Germans can be with their families again. That's why we've joined the Free Democratic Party."

Walli wanted the same thing, with all his heart, but he could not imagine how it might happen. "What do you think Kennedy will do?" he asked.

"He may say that we have to learn to live with East Germany, at least for now. That's true, but it's not what we want to hear. I'm hoping he'll give the Communists a poke in the eye, if you want to know the truth."

They watched the news after they ate. The picture was in clear shades of gray on the screen of their up-to-the-minute Franck television--not blurred green like the old sets.

Today Kennedy had been in West Berlin.

He had made a speech from the steps of Schoneberg town hall. In front of the building was a vast plaza that was jam-packed with spectators. According to the newsreader, there were four hundred fifty thousand people in the crowd.

The handsome young president spoke in the open air, a huge stars-and-stripes flag behind him, the breeze tousling his thick hair. He came out fighting. "There are some who say that Communism is the wave of the future," he said. "Let them come to Berlin!" The audience roared their agreement. The cheers were even louder when he repeated the sentence in German. "Lass' sie nach Berlin kommen!"

Walli saw that Rebecca and Bernd were delighted by this. "He's not talking about normalization, or realistically accepting the status quo," Rebecca said approvingly.

Kennedy was defiant. "Freedom has many difficulties, and democracy is not perfect," he said.

Bernd commented: "He's referring to the Negroes."

Then Kennedy said scornfully: "But we have never had to put up a wall to keep our people in!"

"Right!" Walli shouted.


Tags: Ken Follett The Century Historical