The Draining Lake

22

He followed the radio, television and newspaper reports on the discovery of the skeleton, and saw how the story gradually paled in significance until eventually not a word was said about it. Occasionally a short statement appeared saying that there was nothing new to report, quoting a detective whose name was Sigurdur Oli. He knew that the lull in news about the skeleton meant nothing. The investigation must be in full swing and if a breakthrough happened someone would eventually knock on his door. He did not know when or who it would be. Maybe soon. Maybe that Sigurdur Oli. Maybe they would never find out what had happened. He smiled to himself. He was no longer sure that this was what he wanted. It had preyed on him for far too long. Sometimes he felt that he had no existence, no life, beyond living in fear of the past.

Before, he had sometimes felt a compulsion, an uncontrollable urge, to reveal what had happened, to come forward and tell the truth. He always resisted it. He would calm down and in the course of time this need faded and he became numb again to what had occurred. He regretted nothing. He would not have changed anything, given the way things had turned out.

Whenever he looked back he saw Ilona’s face the first time he met her. When she sat down beside him in the kitchen, he explained Jonas Hallgrimsson’s End of the Journey to her and she kissed him. Even now, when he was alone with his thoughts and revisited everything that was so precious to him, he could almost feel again the soft kiss on his lips.

He sat down in the chair by the window and recalled the day when his world had caved in.

Instead of going back to Iceland for the summer he had worked in a coal mine for a while and travelled around East Germany with Ilona. They had planned to go to Hungary, but he could not get a permit. As he understood it, foreigners were finding it increasingly difficult to obtain permission. He heard that travel to West Germany was also being severely restricted.

They went by train and coach and then mainly on foot, and enjoyed travelling on their own. Sometimes they slept outdoors. Sometimes in small guesthouses, school buildings or railway and coach stations. Occasionally they spent a few days on farms that they chanced upon in their travels. Their longest stay was with a sheep farmer who was impressed by having an Icelander knock on his door and repeatedly asked about his northern homeland, especially Snaefellsjokull glacier; it transpired that he had read Jules Verne’s Journey to the Centre of the Earth. They spent two weeks with him and enjoyed working on his farm. Much the wiser about farming, they set off from him and his family with a rucksack packed with food, and taking their good wishes with them.

She described her childhood home in Budapest and her doctor parents. She had told them about him in her letters home. What did they plan to do? her mother wrote. She was the only daughter. Ilona told her not to worry, but she did nevertheless. Are you going to get married? What about your studies? What about the future?

These were all questions that they had considered, both together and separately, but they were not pressing. All that mattered was the two of them in the present. The future was mysterious and uncharted and all they could be sure about was that they would meet it together.

Sometimes in the evenings she would tell him about her friends — who would welcome him, she assured him — and how they sat in pubs and cafes forever discussing the necessary reforms that were on the horizon. He looked at Ilona and saw her become animated when she talked about a free Hungary. She talked about the liberty that he had known and enjoyed all his life as if it were a mirage, intangible and remote. Everything that Ilona and her friends desired he had always had and taken so much for granted that he had never given it any special consideration. She talked about friends who had been arrested and spent time in prison, about people who had disappeared and whose whereabouts were unknown. He noticed the fear in her voice but also the exhilaration brought about by having deep conviction and fighting for it regardless of the cost. He sensed her tension and excitement at the great events that were unfolding.

He thought a lot during the weeks they spent travelling that summer, and grew convinced that the socialism he had found in Leipzig was built on a lie. He began to understand how Hannes felt. Like Hannes, he had woken up to the realisation that the truth was not single, simple and socialist; rather, there was no simple truth. This complicated beyond all measure his view of the world, forcing him to tackle new and challenging questions. The first and most important hinged on how to react. He was in the same position as Hannes. Should he continue studying in Leipzig? Should he go back to Iceland afterwards? The assumptions behind studying in Leipzig had changed. What was he supposed to say to his family? From Iceland he heard that Hannes, the former youth movement leader, had written newspaper articles and addressed meetings about East Germany, criticising communist policy. He provoked both anger and uproar among Icelandic socialists and had weakened their cause, especially against the backdrop of what was happening in Hungary.

He knew that he was still a socialist and that that would not change, but the version of socialism he had seen in Leipzig was not what he wanted.

And what about Ilona? He did not want to do anything without her. Everything they would do after this, they would do together.

They discussed all this during the last days of their trip and reached a joint decision. She would continue studying and working in Leipzig, go to her clandestine cell meetings, distribute information and monitor developments in Hungary. He would continue studying and act as if nothing had changed. He remembered his diatribe against Hannes for abusing the East German communist party’s hospitality. He now intended to do precisely the same, and had trouble justifying this to himself.

He felt uncomfortable. Never before had he been in such a dilemma — his life had always been so simple and secure. He thought of his friends back in Iceland. What was he going to tell them? He had lost his bearings. Everything he had believed in so steadfastly had become alien. He knew that he would always live according to the socialist ideal of equality and fair distribution of wealth, but socialism as practised in East Germany was no longer worth believing in or fighting for. His mind was only beginning to change. It would take time to understand it completely and to redefine the world, and in the meantime he did not intend to make any radical decisions.

When they returned to Leipzig he moved out of the ramshackle villa and into Ilona’s room. They slept together on the old futon. At first, her landlady had doubts. As a strict Catholic she wanted to preserve decorum, but she gave in. She told him that she had lost her husband and both sons in the siege of Stalingrad. She showed him photographs of them. They got on well together. He did odd tasks for her in the flat, mended things, bought kitchen utensils and food, and cooked. His friends from the dormitory sometimes called round, but he felt himself growing away from them, and they found him more subdued and reticent than before.

Emil, his closest friend, mentioned this once when he sat down beside him in the library.

“Is everything okay?” Emil asked, sniffing. He had a cold. It was a gloomy, blustery autumn and the dormitory was freezing.

“Okay?” he said. “Yes, everything’s okay.”

“No, because,” Emil said, “well… we get the feeling you’re avoiding us. That’s wrong, isn’t it?”

He looked at Emil.

“Of course that’s wrong,” he said. “There’s just so much that has changed for me. Ilona and, you know, lots of things have changed.”

“Yes, I know,” Emil said in a concerned voice. “Of course. Ilona and all that. Do you know much about this girl?”

“I know everything about her,” he laughed. “It’s okay, Emil. Don’t look so worried.”

“Lothar was talking about her.”

“Lothar? Is he back?”

He had not told his friends what Ilona’s comrades had revealed about Lothar Weiser and his part in Hannes’s expulsion from the university. Lothar was not at the university when it reconvened that autumn and he had not seen or heard of him until now. He had resolved to avoid Lothar, avoid everything connected with him, avoid talking to him and about him.

“He was in our kitchen the night before last,” Emil said. “Brought a big bag of pork chops. He always has plenty of food.”

“What did he say about Ilona? Why was he talking about her?”

He made a bad job of concealing his eagerness. He glared agitatedly at Emil.

“Just that she was a Hungarian and that they were a law unto themselves,” Emil said. “That sort of thing. Everyone’s talking about what’s going on in Hungary but no one seems to know exactly what it is. Have you heard anything through Ilona? What’s happening in Hungary?”

“I don’t know much,” he said. “All that I know is people are discussing change. What exactly did Lothar say about Ilona? A law unto themselves? Why did he say that? What did he mean by it?”

Noticing his eagerness, Emil tried to remember Lothar’s exact words.

“He said he didn’t know where she stood,” Emil ventured after a long pause. “He doubted that she was a genuine socialist and said she was a bad influence. She talked about people behind their backs. Us too, your comrades. He said she was nasty about us. He’d heard her do that.”

“Why did he say that? What does he know about Ilona? They’re complete strangers. She’s never spoken to him.”

“I don’t know,” Emil said. “It’s just idle gossip. Isn’t it?”

He said nothing, deep in thought.

“Tomas?” Emil said. “Isn’t that just idle gossip that Lothar’s repeating?”

“Of course it’s crap,” he said. “He doesn’t know Ilona in the slightest. She’s never spoken badly of you. It’s a fucking lie. Lothar—”

He was on the brink of telling Emil what he had been told about Lothar, when he suddenly realised that he could not. He realised that he could not trust Emil. His friend. Although he had no reason not to trust him, his life had suddenly begun to revolve around whom he could trust and who not. People he could open his heart to and those he could not talk to. Not because they were underhand, treacherous and conniving, but because they might allow something indiscreet to slip out, just as he had done about Hannes. This included Emil, Hrafnhildur and Karl, his dormitory friends. He had told them about his experience in the basement when it had happened, how Ilona and Hannes knew each other, how exciting everything was, even dangerous. He could not talk like that any longer.

As far as Lothar was concerned, he had to tread particularly carefully. He tried to figure out why Lothar spoke of Ilona like that in his friend’s hearing. Tried to remember whether the German had ever described Hannes in such terms. He could not remember. Perhaps it was a message to him and Ilona. They knew precious little about Lothar. They didn’t know who exactly he was working for. Ilona believed her friends who thought he worked for the security police. And this could well be the method the police used. Spreading slander in small groups to create friction.

“Tomas?”

Emil was trying to get his attention.

“What about Lothar?”

“Sorry,” he said. “I was thinking.”

“You were going to say something about Lothar,” Emil said.

“No,” he said, “it was nothing.”

“What about you and Ilona?” Emil asked.

“What about us?” he said.

“Are you going to stay together?” Emil asked falteringly.

“What do you mean? Of course. What makes you ask?”

“Just take care,” Emil said.

“What do you mean?”

“Well, after Hannes got thrown out, you never know what might happen.”

He told Ilona about his conversation with Emil, trying to play it down as best he could. Her expression turned anxious immediately and she asked him for every detail of what Emil had said. They tried to puzzle out Lothar’s motivation. He was clearly slandering her in front of other students and her closest circle, his friends. Was this the start of something bigger? Could Lothar be keeping a special watch on her? Could he know about the meetings? They decided to lie low for a few weeks.

“They’ll just send us home then,” Ilona said, trying to smile. “What else could they do? We’ll go the way of Hannes. It’ll never be more serious than that.”

“No,” he said consolingly, “it will never be more serious than that.”

“They could arrest me for subversion,” she said. “Anti-communist propaganda. Conspiracy against the Socialist Union Party. They have phrases for it.”

“Can’t you stop? Withdraw for a while? See what happens?”

She looked at him.

“What do you mean?” she said. “I don’t let prats like Lothar order me around.”

“Ilona!”

“I say what I think,” she said. “Always. I’d tell everyone who’s interested what’s going on in Hungary and the reforms people are demanding. I’ve always been that way. You know that. I’m not going to stop.”

They both fell into an anxious silence.

“What’s the worst they can do?”

“Send you home.”

“They’ll send me home.”

They looked at each other.

“We’ll have to be careful,” he said. “You’ll have to be careful. Promise me.”

Weeks and months went by. Ilona continued as before, but was more cautious than ever. He attended his classes but was beset by worries about Ilona, telling her time and again to take care. Then one day he met Lothar. He had not seen him for a long time and when he thought afterwards about what had happened he knew that their encounter was no coincidence. He was leaving lectures on his way to meet Ilona by Thomaskirche when Lothar appeared from nowhere. Lothar greeted him warmly. He did not return the greeting and was about to go his own way when Lothar grabbed him by the arm.

“Don’t you want to say hello?” he said.

He tore himself free and was heading down the stairs when he felt a hand on his arm again.

“We ought to talk,” Lothar said when he turned round.

“We’ve got nothing to talk about,” he said.

Lothar smiled again, but his eyes were no longer smiling.

“On the contrary,” Lothar said. “We’ve got plenty to talk about.”

“Leave me alone,” he said, continuing down the stairs to the floor where the cafeteria was located. He did not look back and hoped that Lothar would leave him be, but Lothar stopped him again and glanced around him. He did not want to attract attention.

“What’s all this about?” he snapped at Lothar. “I don’t have anything to say to you. Try to get that into your head. Leave me alone!”

He tried to walk past him, but Lothar blocked his path.

“What’s wrong?” Lothar said.

He stared into the German’s eyes without answering.

“Nothing,” he said eventually. “Just leave me alone.”

“Tell me why you won’t talk to me. I thought we were friends.”

“No, we’re not friends,” he said, “Hannes was my friend.”

“Hannes?”

“Yes, Hannes.”

“Is this because of Hannes?” Lothar said. “Is it because of Hannes you’re acting like this?”

“Leave me alone,” he said.

“What has Hannes got to do with me?”

“You—”

He stopped immediately. Where did Hannes come into the picture? He had not seen Lothar since Hannes’s expulsion. After that Lothar had vanished into thin air. In the meanwhile he had heard Ilona and her friends describe Lothar as a puppet of the security police, a traitor and informer who tried to make people reveal what their friends were thinking and saying. Lothar did not know that he suspected anything. But he had been poised to tell him everything, tell him what Ilona had said about him. Suddenly it struck him that if there was one thing he must not do, it was to give Lothar a piece of his mind, or imply that he knew about him.

It dawned on him how much he still had to learn about the game he was beginning to play, not only with Lothar but also his fellow Icelanders and in fact everyone he met, apart from Ilona.

“I what?” Lothar said stubbornly.

“Nothing,” he said.

“Hannes didn’t belong here any more,” Lothar said. “He had no business being here. You said that yourself. You said that to me. You came to me and we talked about it. We were sitting in the pub and you told me what a cheapskate you thought Hannes was. You and Hannes weren’t friends.”

“No, that’s right,” he said, an unsavoury taste in his mouth. “We weren’t friends.”

He felt he had to say that. He was not fully aware who he was covering for. He no longer knew exactly where he stood. Why he did not speak his mind as he had in the past. He was playing some game of bluff that he barely understood, trying to inch his way forward in total darkness. Maybe he was no braver than that. Maybe he was a coward. His thoughts turned to Ilona. She would have known what to say to Lothar.

“I never said he ought to be expelled,” he said, steeling himself.

“Actually, I recall you talking along exactly those lines,” Lothar said.

“I didn’t,” he said and raised his voice. “That’s a lie.”

Lothar smiled.

“Calm down,” he said.

“Just leave me alone.”

He was about to walk away but Lothar stopped him. This time he was more menacing and gripped his arm tighter, pulling him close and whispering in his ear.

“We need to talk.”

“We have nothing to talk about,” he said and tried to tear himself loose. But Lothar held him fast.

“We just need to have a word about your Ilona.”

He felt his face flush suddenly. His muscles slackened, and Lothar felt his arm go powerless for an instant.

“What are you talking about?” he said, trying not to give himself away.

“I don’t think she’s good enough company for you,” Lothar said, “and I say that as your Betreuer and your comrade. I hope you’ll forgive me for intruding.”

“What are you talking about?” he repeated. “Good enough company? I don’t think it’s any of your business what—”

“I don’t think she associates with the likes of us,” Lothar interrupted him. “I’m afraid she’ll drag you down into the mire with her.”

Speechless, he stared at Lothar.

“What are you talking about?” he blurted out for the third time; he did not know what else he ought to say. His mind was a blank. All he could think about was Ilona.

“We know about the meetings she organises,” Lothar said. “We know who goes to the meetings. We know that you’ve been at those meetings. We know about the pamphlets she circulates.”

He could not believe what he was hearing.

“Let us help you,” Lothar said.

He stared at Lothar, who fixed him with a serious expression. Lothar had dropped all the charades. His false smile was gone. He could see only unflinching harshness on his face.

“Us?” he said. “What us? What are you talking about?”

“Come with me,” Lothar said. “I want to show you something.”

“I’m not coming with you,” he said. “I don’t have to come anywhere with you!”

“You won’t regret it,” Lothar said in the same steady voice. “I’m trying to help you. Try to understand that. Let me show you something. So you understand exactly what I’m talking about.”

“What can you show me?”

“Come on,” Lothar said, half-pushing him along in front. “I’m trying to help you. Trust me.”

He wanted to resist, but fear and curiosity drove him on and he yielded. If Lothar had something to show him it might be worth seeing it, rather than turning his back on him. They left the university building for the city centre, heading across Karl Marx Square and along Barfussgasschen. Soon he saw that they were approaching Dittrichring 24, which he knew was the city headquarters of the security police. He slowed, then stopped dead when he saw that Lothar intended to go up the steps into the building.

“What are we doing here?” he asked.

“Come on,” Lothar said. “We need to talk to you. Don’t make this more difficult for yourself.”

“Difficult? I’m not going in there!”

“Either you come now or they come and get you,” Lothar said. “It’s better this way.”

He stood still in his tracks. He would have liked to run away. What did the security police want of him? He hadn’t done anything. From the street corner he looked in all directions. Would anyone see him go inside?

“What do you mean?” he said in a low voice. He was genuinely afraid.

“Come on,” Lothar said, and opened the door.

Hesitantly, he walked up the steps and followed Lothar into the building. They entered a small foyer with a grey stone staircase and brownish marble walls. A door at the top of the steps led to a reception room. He immediately noticed the smell of dirty linoleum, grimy walls, smoking, sweat and fear. Lothar nodded to the man at reception and opened a door onto a long corridor. The walls were painted green. Halfway down the corridor was an alcove, inside it an office with the door open and beside it a narrow steel door. Lothar went into the office where a weary middle-aged man was sitting at a desk. He looked up and acknowledged Lothar.

“Hell of a long time that took,” the man said to Lothar, ignoring the visitor.

The man smoked fat, pungent cigarettes. His fingers were stained yellow and the ashtray was crammed with minuscule cigarette butts. He had a thick moustache, discoloured by tobacco. He was swarthy, with greying sideburns. He pulled out one of the desk drawers, took out a file and opened it. Inside were a few typed pages and some black-and-white photographs. The man removed the photographs, looked at them, then tossed them across the desk to him.

“Isn’t that you?” he asked.

Tomas picked up the photographs. It took him a while to realise what they were. They had been taken in the evening from some distance and showed people leaving a block of flats. A light above the door illuminated the group. Peering more closely at the photo-graph, he could suddenly see Ilona and a man who had been at the meeting in the basement flat, another woman from the same meeting and himself. He leafed through the photographs. Some were enlargements of faces — Ilona’s face and his own.

After lighting a cigarette, the man with the thick moustache leaned back in his seat. Lothar had sat down on a chair in a corner of the office. On one wall was a street map of Leipzig and a photograph of Ulbricht. Three sturdy steel cupboards stood against another wall.

He turned to Lothar, trying to conceal the trembling in his hands.

“What’s this?” he asked.

“You ought to tell us that,” Lothar retorted.

“Who took these photos?”

“Do you think that matters?” Lothar said.

“Are you spying on me?”

Lothar and the man with the burnt moustache exchanged glances, then Lothar began laughing.

“What do you want?” he said, addressing Lothar. “Why are you taking these photographs?”

“Do you know what this gathering is?” Lothar asked.

“I don’t know those people,” he said and was not lying. “Apart from Ilona, of course. Why are you photo-graphing them?”

“No, of course you don’t know them,” Lothar said. “Apart from pretty little Ilona. You know her. Know her better than most people do. You even know her better than your friend Hannes did.”

He did not know what Lothar was driving at. He looked at the man with the moustache. He looked out into the corridor where the steel door confronted him. There was a small hole in it with a shutter across. He wondered whether anyone was inside. Whether they had anyone in custody. He wanted to get out of the office at whatever cost. He felt like a trapped animal looking desperately for an escape route.

“Do you want me to stop going to those meetings?” he offered. “That’s no problem. I haven’t been to many.”

He stared at the steel door. Suddenly he was overwhelmed by fear. He had already started to back down, already started to promise that he would mend his ways, despite not knowing exactly what he had done wrong or what he could do to appease them. He would do anything to get out of that office.

“Stop?” said the man with the moustache. “Not at all. No one’s asking you to stop. On the contrary. We’d like you to go to more meetings. They must be very interesting. What’s their purpose?”

“Nothing,” he said, struggling to put on a brave face. They must be able to tell. “No purpose. We just talk about university matters. Music. Books. Stuff like that.”

The man with the moustache grinned. Surely he recognised fear. Must see how obvious his fear was. Almost tangible. He had never been a good liar anyway.

“What were you saying about Hannes?” he asked hesitantly, looking at Lothar. “That I know Ilona better than Hannes did? What are you talking about?”

“Didn’t you know?” Lothar said, faking surprise. “They were together, just like you and Ilona are together now. Before you appeared on the scene. Didn’t she mention that?”

Lost for words, he gaped at Lothar.

“Why do you suppose she never told you?” Lothar said in the same tone of mock surprise. “She must have a knack with you Icelanders. You know what I think? I don’t think Hannes was willing to help her.”

“Help her?”

“She wants to marry one of you and move to Iceland,” Lothar said. “It didn’t work out with Hannes. Perhaps you can help her. She’s wanted to leave Hungary for a long time. Hasn’t she told you anything about that? She’s made quite an effort to get away.”

“I don’t have time for all this,” he said, trying to brace himself. “I must be going. Thanks for telling me all this. Lothar, I’ll discuss it better with you later.”

He walked towards the door, half-falteringly. The man with the moustache looked at Lothar, who shrugged.

“Sit down, you fucking idiot!” the man screamed as he leaped out of his chair.

He stopped by the door, stunned, and turned round.

“We don’t tolerate subversion!” the moustachioed man shouted in his face. “Especially not from fucking foreigners like you who come here to study under false pretences. Sit down, you fucking idiot! Shut the door and sit down!”

He closed the door, went back into the office and sat down on a chair by the desk.

“Now you’ve made him angry,” Lothar said, shaking his head.

He wished that he could go back to Iceland and forget the whole business. He envied Hannes for having escaped this nightmare. This was the first thought to cross his mind when they finally released him. They forbade him to leave the country. He had been instructed to hand in his passport the same day. Then his thoughts turned to Ilona. He knew he could never leave her and, when his fear had largely subsided, neither did he want to. He could never leave Ilona. They used her as a threat against him. If he didn’t do what they said, something might happen to her. Although not explicit, the threat was clear enough. If he told her what had happened, something might happen to her. They did not say what. They left the threat hanging to allow him to imagine the worst.

It was as if they had had him in their sights for a long time. They knew precisely what they were going to do and how they wanted him to serve them. None of this had been decided on the spur of the moment. As far as he could tell they planned to install him as their man at the university. He was supposed to report to them, monitor antisocial activity, inform. He knew that he would be under surveillance from now on, because they had told him so. What interested them most were the activities of Ilona and her companions in Leipzig and the rest of Germany. They wanted to know what went on at the meetings. Who the leaders were. The guiding ideology. Whether there were links with Hungary or other Eastern European countries. How widespread the dissent was. What was said about Ulbricht and the communist party. They recited more points but he had long since ceased to listen. His ears were buzzing.

“What if I refuse?” he said to Lothar in Icelandic.

“Speak German!” the man with the moustache snapped.

“You will not refuse,” Lothar said.

The man told him what would happen if he did. He would not be deported. He would not get off as lightly as Hannes. In their eyes, he was worthless. He was like vermin. If he did not do as instructed, he would lose Ilona.

“But if I tell you everything I’ve lost her anyway,” he said.

“Not the way we’ve arranged it,” the man with the moustache said, stubbing out yet another cigarette.

Not the way we’ve arranged it.

This was the sentence that would haunt him after he had left the headquarters and it rang in his head all the way home.

Not the way we’ve arranged it.

He stared at Lothar. They had arranged something involving Ilona. Already. It simply had to be enacted. If he didn’t do as he was told.

“What are you anyway?” he said to Lothar, rising nervously from his chair.

“Sit down!” shouted the man with the moustache, who also stood up.

Lothar looked at him, a vague smile playing across his lips.

“How do you sleep at night?”

Lothar did not answer.

“What if I tell Ilona about this?”

“You shouldn’t,” Lothar said. “Tell me another thing, how did she manage to win you over? According to our information, you were the hardest of the hardliners. What happened? How did she manage to turn you?”

He walked over to Lothar. He mustered the courage to tell him what he wanted to say. The man with the moustache walked around the desk and stood behind him.

“It wasn’t her who won me over,” he said in Icelandic. “It was you. Everything you stand for persuaded me. Your cynicism. Hatred. Lust for power. Everything you are won me over.”

“It’s very simple,” Lothar said. “Either you’re a socialist or you’re not.”

“No,” he said. “You don’t get it, Lothar. Either you’re a human being or you’re not.”

He hurried home, thinking about Ilona. He had to tell her what had happened, no matter what they demanded or had arranged. She had to flee the city. Could they go to Iceland together? He felt how infinitely far away Iceland was. Maybe she could escape back to Hungary. Maybe even cross over to West Germany. To West Berlin. The controls were not that strict. He could tell them everything they wanted to hear to keep them off Ilona’s back while she set up her escape. She had to leave the country.

What was that about Hannes? What had Lothar said about Hannes and Ilona? Were they together once? Ilona had never told him that. Only that they were friends and had got to know each other at the meetings. Was Lothar playing mind games with him? Or was Ilona really using him to get away?

He had broken into a run. People flashed past without him noticing them. He went from one street to the next completely oblivious, his mind racing with thoughts about Ilona and himself and Lothar and the security police and the steel door with the hatch on it and the man with the moustache. He would be shown no mercy. That much he knew. Icelandic citizen or not. It made no difference to these men. They wanted him to spy for them. Submit reports about what went on at the meetings with Ilona. Inform on what he heard in the corridors of the university, among the Icelanders at the dormitory and other foreign students. They knew they had leverage. If he refused he would not get off as lightly as Hannes.

They had Ilona.

By the time he finally reached home he was in tears, and he hugged Ilona speechlessly. She was worried. She said she had spent ages waiting for him outside Thomaskirche. He told her everything, even though they had ordered him to tell her nothing. Ilona listened to him in silence, then began questioning him. He answered her as accurately as he could. The first thing she asked about was her group of friends, the Leipzigers, whether they could be identified from the photographs. He said he thought the police knew about every single one of them.

“Oh my God,” Ilona groaned. “We have to tip them off. How did they find out about this? They must have followed us. Someone’s blown the whistle. Someone who knew about the meetings. Who? Who’s informed on us? We were always so cautious. No one knew about those meetings.”

“I don’t know,” he said.

“I must contact them,” she said, pacing the floor of their little room. She stopped by the window overlooking the street and peeped outside. “Are they watching us?” she asked. “Now?”

“I don’t know,” he said.

“Oh my God,” Ilona groaned again.

“They said that you and Hannes were together,” he said. “Lothar said so.”

“That’s a lie,” she said. “Everything they say is a lie. Surely you know that. They’re playing a game, playing a game with us. We need to decide what to do. I must warn the others.”

“They said you hung around with us in order to escape to Iceland.”

“Of course they say that, Tomas. What else would they say? Stop being so stupid.”

“I wasn’t supposed to tell you anything, so we have to act carefully,” he said, knowing she was right. Everything they said was a lie. Everything. “You’re in great danger,” he said. “They let me know that. We mustn’t do anything stupid.”

They looked at each other in desperation.

“What have we got ourselves into?” he sighed.

“I don’t know,” she said, hugging him and calming down slightly. “They don’t want another Hungary. That “s what we’ve got ourselves into.”

Three days later, Ilona went missing.

Karl was with her when they came and arrested her. He went running to Tomas on the campus and gasped out the news. Karl had gone to collect a book she was going to lend him. Suddenly the police appeared in the doorway. He was slammed against the wall. They turned the room upside down. Ilona was led away.

Karl was only halfway through his account when Tomas ran off. They had been so cautious. Ilona had passed on a message to her companions and they had made arrangements to leave Leipzig. She wanted to go back to Hungary to stay with her family; he was going back to Iceland and would meet her in Budapest. His studies no longer mattered. Only Ilona mattered.

When he reached their house, his lungs were bursting. The door was open and he ran inside and into their room. Everything was in disarray, books and magazines and bedclothes on the floor, the desk overturned, the bed on its side. They had spared nothing. Some objects were broken. He stepped on the typewriter that lay on the floor.

He ran straight to the Stasi headquarters. Only when he was there did he realise that he did not know the name of the man with the moustache; the people at reception did not understand what he meant. He asked to go down the corridor and find him for himself, but the receptionist just shook his head. He barged against the door to the corridor, but it was locked. He shouted for Lothar. The receptionist had come from behind his desk and called for assistance. Three men appeared and dragged him away from the door. At that moment it opened and the man with the moustache entered.

“What did you do with her?!” he roared. “Let me see her!” He shouted down the corridor: “Ilona! Ilona!”

The man with the moustache slammed the door behind him and barked orders at the others, who seized him and led him outside. He pounded on the front door and cried out to Ilona, but to no avail. He was out of his mind with anxiety. They had arrested Ilona and he was convinced they were keeping her in that building. He had to see her, had to help her, get her released. He would do anything.

He remembered noticing Lothar on campus that morning and left in haste. A tram had stopped by the campus and he jumped aboard. He leaped out by the university while the tram was still moving and found Lothar sitting alone at a table in the cafeteria. There were few people inside. He sat down facing Lothar, panting and wheezing, his face red from running, worry and fear.

“Is everything all right?” Lothar said.

“I’ll do anything for you if you let her go,” he said immediately.

Lothar took a long look at him, observing his sufferings almost philosophically.

“Who?” he said.

“Ilona — you know who I’m talking about. I’ll do anything if you let her go.”

“I don’t know what you’re on about,” Lothar said.

“You arrested Ilona this lunchtime.”

“We?” Lothar said. “Who’s “we”?”

“The security police,” he said. “Ilona was arrested this morning. Karl was with her when they came. Won’t you talk to them? Won’t you tell them I’ll do whatever it takes for them to release her?”

“I don’t think you matter any more,” Lothar said.

“Can you help me?” he said. “Can you intervene?”

“If she’s been arrested, there’s nothing I can do. It’s too late. Unfortunately.”

“What can I do?” he said, almost bursting into tears. “Tell me what I can do.”

Lothar took a long look at him.

“Go back to Poechestrasse,” he said in the end. “Go home and hope for the best.”

“What kind of a person are you?” he said, feeling the anger coursing through him. “What kind of bastard are you? What makes you act like… like a monster? What is it? Where does this incredible urge to dominate come from, this arrogance? This inhumanity!”

Lothar looked around at the few souls sitting in the cafeteria. Then he smiled.

“People who play with fire get burned, but they’re always surprised when they are. Always fucking innocent and surprised when it happens.”

Lothar stood up and bent over him.

“Go home,” he said. “Hope for the best. I’ll talk to them but I can’t promise anything.”

Then Lothar walked away, taking slow steps, calmly, as if none of this was any concern of his. He stayed in the cafeteria and buried his face in his hands. He thought about Ilona and tried to persuade himself that they had only called her in for interrogation and she would soon be released. Maybe they were intimidating her, as they had done to him a few days before. They exploited fear. Fed off it. Maybe she was already back home. He stood up and left the cafeteria.

When he left the university building he found everything strangely unaltered wherever he looked. People were acting as if nothing had happened. They hurried along the pavements or stood talking. His world had collapsed, yet everything seemed unchanged. As if everything were still in order. He would return to their room and wait for her. Maybe she was already back home. Maybe she would be back later. She had to come. What were they detaining her for? For meeting people and talking to them?

He was at his wits” end when he rushed off home. It was such a short time since they’d been lying snuggled up against each other and she had told him that what she had suspected for some time had been confirmed. She whispered in his ear. It had probably happened at the end of the summer.

He lay paralysed, staring up at the ceiling, uncertain how to take the news. Then he hugged her and said he wanted to live with her for his whole life.

“Both of us,” she whispered.

“Yes, both of you,” he said, and laid his head on her stomach.

He was brought back to his senses by the pain in his hand. Often when he thought back to what had happened in East Germany he would clench his fists until his hands ached. He relaxed his muscles, wondering as usual whether he could have prevented it all. Whether he could have done something else. Something that would have changed the course of events. He never reached a conclusion.

He stood up stiffly from his chair and walked to the door down to the basement. Opening it, he switched on the light and carefully descended the stone steps. They were worn after decades of use and could be slippery. He entered the roomy basement and turned on the lights. Various oddments had accumulated there over the years. If he could avoid it, he never threw anything away. It was not untidy, however, because he kept it all in order — everything had its place.

Along one wall stood a workbench. Sometimes he made carvings. Produced small objects from wood and painted them. That was his only hobby. Taking a square block of wood and creating from it something living and beautiful. He kept some of the animals upstairs in his flat. The ones he was most satisfied with. The smaller he succeeded in making them, the more rewarding they were to carve. He had even carved an Icelandic sheepdog with a curly tail and cocked ears, scarcely larger than a thumbnail.

He reached under the workbench and opened the box he kept there. He felt the butt, then removed the pistol from its place. The metal was cold to the touch. Sometimes his memories would draw him down to the basement to fondle the weapon or just to reassure himself that it was where it belonged.

He did not regret what had happened all those years later. Long after he returned from East Germany.

Long after Ilona disappeared.

He would never regret that.