“No, I wouldn’t,” I say breathlessly when he pulls away to look down at me.
“I know when you’re lying to me, Liebling.”
His mouth descends on mine again, harder this time, and his hands smooth down to my behind, squeezing lightly. Being touched there makes my mouth open in surprise and his tongue slides against mine, questing, probing. My body responds to his without conscious thought and I’m kissing him back, wrapping my arms around his neck and rising on my toes, wanting to get closer to him, needing more of him. It’s not gentlemanly what he’s doing with his hands, kneading my flesh and beginning to ruck up my skirt, but I don’t want him to be a gentleman. My tongue flicks his top lip and he makes a sound in the back of his throat, a little growl, and it sends a ripple of fire through me. I made him do that. Him, Volker—
Volker.
It’s as if a basin of cold water has been dumped over my head. I tear myself away from him and swipe the back of my hand across my mouth. I’ve been kissing Volker. That’s disgusting. What’s worse is I enjoyed every second of it and there’s a fierce pulsing between my legs. “Why did you do that? I don’t like you. I hate you.”
He reaches for me, but I step quickly away. His eyes are gleaming like a prowling animal’s. “Ja, you hate me. But you don’t dislike me, do you, Liebling?”
I don’t know why the distinction is important. Hate, dislike, I just want him not to make me feel the way that he just did. “There are plenty of other women in East Berlin who would be happy for your attentions. Why me? Don’t you care that I hate you so intensely?”
“Not really, no.” And as if to prove his point he kisses me again, wrapping one arm around me and squeezing one of my breasts with his other hand, rubbing the hard nipple and making me whimper against his mouth. My body is on fire and he’s the only thing I want to be touching me. My clothes feel tight and restrictive; his shirt feels too rough against my hands and I know that if it was just skin against skin it would be so, so much better. He breaks the kiss and looks down at my flustered face. “You don’t dislike me, do you?”
The heat from his body is scorching me. I’m fully aware of who he is and yet I can’t seem to pull away. He begins unfastening the buttons at the front of my blouse and I’m struck by the dangerous reality of the situation. I need to stop this now before I totally lose control. Volker is a killer. Volker murdered your friend and probably put your father in prison. He doesn’t need to be a Nazi—isn’t that enough for you?
A sob rises in my throat and finally the spell is broken. I pull myself out of his arms and run. When I reach my bedroom I throw myself down on the bed and pound a pillow with my fist over and over again until my hand aches.
What have I done?
Chapter Nine
Evony
Over the next week delegations of ministers from other Soviet-controlled countries visit East Berlin, which means Volker’s constantly in meetings with other uniformed, medaled, braid-festooned men. Lenore and I take endless trays of coffee into his office while they smoke and talk, presumably about the amusing ways they oppress people in their own countries. Volker has State dinners and receptions every evening and he either drops me back at his apartment himself or gets Hans to take me under guard. Even though he barely has time to eat or read a report he never forgets to remind me that there’ll be soldiers outside his apartment “for my protection”. On Wednesday morning he even apologizes for leaving me alone so much, a regretful expression on his face as he helps me into my coat. I have to bite the inside of my mouth to keep from laughing. He thinks I’m missing him?
In the evenings there’s nothing much for me to do at the apartment but listen to the radio or read the books in Volker’s history and politics collection. Biographies of Marx and Lenin aren’t my idea of fun and I leave them on the shelves. He doesn’t own a television but I don’t find that to be much of an inconvenience as I hate the bland, government-approved programming. I’ve poked into all the drawers and cupboards, not looking for anything in particular but just out of curiosity. I’m like a cat, sniffing in the corners of an unfamiliar room. The one place I haven’t investigated is Volker’s bedroom. I dread the thought of him coming home suddenly and finding me in there. Just how angry that would make him I’m not sure, but I don’t want to find out.
Frau Fischer comes to the apartment between seven and eight every evening to prepare dinner. I’m perfectly capable of making my own meals on the nights that Volker is out but she insists that he wouldn’t like it, it’s what she’s paid to do, and it’s what he expects.
By Thursday night I’m almost crying from boredom. Volker was entertaining Bulgarians in his office for most of the day, three unattractive, oily-haired men with ill-fitting uniforms that wore them rather than the other way around. Volker looked markedly different, broad shouldered and long limbed, his uniform perfectly tailored as always. And I learned a new thing about him: he speaks another language. Presumably Bulgarian, as they were all speaking it. He had the smallest of smiles for me as I passed him his coffee cup, and my traitorous heart leapt into my throat when our eyes met.
Does the gazelle tell the lion he’s handsome as he’s eating her up? No. Get a hold of yourself, you stupid girl.
Having glared around the neat, comfortable, empty apartment, almost wishing that Volker was there as resenting him is at least something to do, I wander into the kitchen and find the housekeeper making soup. “Can I help you with that, Frau Fischer?”
Predictably, she says, “No, dear, I can manage. How was your day?”
“Oh. Fine.” I slump into a chair and pick at the hem of my skirt. Lenore had me memorize twenty shorthand symbols and I obediently did, despite my intentions of being useless at it. I couldn’t help it. I was so bored. It’s not as if I was used to endless fun and games in my past life, but I had friends. I had people who loved me. I miss them.
Frau Fischer frowns at me, slicing up sticks of celery. “Anything the matter? You’re not feeling unwell again, are you?”
I grimace. Unwell. A pretty euphemism. “Just lonely, I guess.”
Her lips compress in sympathy. “That’s understandable with the Oberstleutnant being so busy. Would you mind stirring this while I pop downstairs for a moment? I’ll be right back.”
I bite back my
retort that I do not miss Volker and do as I’m asked, swirling the stock and vegetables in a half-hearted manner while staring out the window. The nights are slowly getting longer but the days are still freezing and wet. It will improve a little in the spring, but even in summer East Berlin is an unlovely place. The sunshine is never bright enough, the sky is never blue enough for me. The heat makes me feel restless and hemmed in as if the Wall is making the humidity rise. Families often take trips to Hungary or Bulgaria in the summer but even before the Wall Dad never liked to. “Swap one communist regime for another? We may as well stay here.”
Frau Fischer is back a few minutes later, but she’s not alone. There’s a beautiful baby boy on her hip, chubby-limbed and with one fist stuffed into his mouth. “This is Thom,” she says, smiling broadly. “Would you like to hold him?”
I’ve already got my arms out for him. “Yes please. Aren’t you a sweet boy?” I sit down on a chair with Thom and hold him up facing me, his feet pressed against my lap. His blue eyes are very wide as he stares at my unfamiliar face, then he gives a gurgle and grins at me, still chewing on his fingers.
Frau Fischer smiles and goes back to her cooking. “I thought he might cheer you up. Thom’s a good baby and Lea will be glad to be free of him for a little while.”
He is a good baby, and I tell him so repeatedly as I bounce him on my knee. When I bury my nose in his curls he smells like soap and applesauce.