“Why one life over another? Why is Frau Schäfer saved, but Ana and Ulrich are killed in cold blood?”
“I was getting to that. First I wanted to show you…” He glances at the file as if he’s regretting the way our conversation has unfolded. “I want to talk to you about Ana Friedman.”
My stomach turns over hearing him say her name. I’ve tried not to think about her much these past weeks, both because I’ve missed her and because I’ve felt so guilty. She knew the risks when we went down into that basement but that doesn’t mean she deserved what happened to her at Reinhardt’s hands. “There’s nothing you can say.”
“You’ve seen me do things that seem harsh and cruel. I don’t enjoy killing people but I have to sometimes if they threaten me, or you. Especially if they threaten you.” His eyes harden and I know he’s thinking about Ulrich. I don’t know what to think about his death, either. I’ve lost so much these past months and I’ll never get Ulrich and Ana back. I’ll never get back Evony Daumler, either. Each day that passes I can feel her slipping further and further away and as she slips away so does the hope that I’ll ever see my father again.
Reinhardt shifts on his feet, his jaw working. “I’m not very good at explaining my actions, or asking for forgiveness. I’ve never had to do either before.”
That doesn’t surprise me in the least.
He’s silent for a few minutes, thinking hard. Finally he says, “I was wrong to shoot your friend.”
I search his blue-gray eyes, wondering if he’s just saying what he wants me to believe. “You don’t mean that.”
“I do.”
“What happened to ‘She deserved it because she aimed a gun at me?’”
“I was very angry that night. Hauptmann Heydrich was undermining me and I was in a terrible temper. In fact, he’s still—” Reinhardt’s jaw clenches again but he shakes his head. “I take my work seriously.
I think in absolutes, like the soldier I’ve been for a long time. But I should have told Ana to put the gun down. I’m sorry.”
My chest feels very tight all of a sudden. Why does this even matter to him? He doesn’t need to prove anything to me. I’m his prisoner.
His voice is low and urgent. “I mean it, Liebling. I’m sorry.”
So many things are churning in my head that I can only look at him, unable to speak, unable to breathe. Is this even forgivable? Does he deserve anything but my hatred for the things he has done?
He raises a hand to touch me, but then hope seems to die in his eyes. “For what it’s worth.”
I hear myself say hoarsely, “Why are you sorry?”
Reinhardt runs his eyes over the shelves, as if trying to put his feelings into words. “Because it could have so easily been you I shot that night. Ana on the stairs. You beside me with the gun. East Berlin has always been a battleground to me and there’s never been a single person in this city that I’ve had love for. I haven’t felt how I feel about you in a very long, long time.”
My face creases with tears and I bury it in my hands. The tears come thick and fast and I realize that I haven’t grieved for Ana. The world has moved so fast since that night. He puts a tentative hand on my arm and when I don’t shrug him off he draws me to him. He holds me as I cry, and I lean against him, taking strength from his body as I did after Ulrich attacked me. I know I shouldn’t, but I do, because I think I understand what he’s saying to me. All this time, we haven’t been people to him. We’ve been the enemy.
I’ve worried that I’ve been starting to see him as a man and not my captor. Maybe I’m becoming someone real to him, too.
He hands me his handkerchief and I wipe my face and say, “All right. I believe you.”
“Danke, Liebling.” And he sounds like he really means it.
I gaze at the rows of files and archive boxes. All these Stasi records filled with secrets about the people of East Berlin. Gossip. Overheard conversations. Traitors. I think I understand what he was trying to tell me just now when he showed me the photograph of the Schäfer family. They were separated by the political turmoil between the East and West, just as he was separated from Johanna during the war. He can’t think of people like Frau Schäfer as his enemy because he saw his own pain reflected in her eyes.
“I thought you were taking me to prison.”
Grim humor returns to his face. “Take you to prison because you refused to tell me you love me?”
I wonder if he’s going to press me again to say it now. He hasn’t even said it himself. What would it sound like, if he did? I can hear the words so clearly. Ich liebe dich. I love you. “It seems like something you would do.”
Reinhardt laughs softly. “Remember what I told you? I’m not letting you go. Not for anything.” He kisses me fiercely amid all these papers, these secrets, and I think I can taste the words in his mouth.
8 8 8
From that night I go to him willingly and we take to spending hours in bed, ignoring meal times and likely scandalizing Frau Fischer. I didn’t know it was possible to want a man this much, to crave his lips on my throat, his heavy body on mine. To need him again and again like a drug. He shows me things I didn’t know my body could do, orgasms that string on and on, one after the other, as he bears down on a spot deep inside me with his fingers until I’m weak and shaking. He pulls me up and astride him, showing me how I can take the lead, my hands pressed against his chest as I slowly ease down on his length. He watches me like he’s never seen anything so beautiful in his life.
Even after the most intense lovemaking I return to my own bedroom at night, making excuses about why I can’t stay as I extricate myself from his arms. I can’t sleep here. I’m not ready. Please be patient. He takes me at my word, kissing me before reluctantly letting me go. I worry that he’ll grow impatient and go into my room later to find me gone, but he’s too pleased by my surrender to seek me out, or even to question why I won’t spend the whole night in his bed.