Midnight Hunter

He chuckles, lighting a cigarette, and that infuriatingly indulgent smile is back. “Never say never, Liebling.”

8 8 8

The argument with Volker casts a pall over me for the next few days. Being called selfish for believing that I have the right to opt out of the country I was born into and go elsewhere stings. Surely it’s not selfish to want more than this? But what is more? My father hates the Soviets and Ana wanted to go to a free-thinking university. Ulrich wanted to start his own business and to own land like his parents once had. I didn’t really have a plan. I think I was swept along by the currents of their needs. If I was in the West now with them I’m certain I’d be happy as I’d be with the people I loved. But what do I want? I’m stunned that I could have made the choice to flee so unthinkingly, and the knowledge that I did makes me feel like I’ve misjudged the last step on a staircase.

I dearly want to ask Lenore what she thinks about all this as she’s the closest thing I have to a friend, but I know without asking that she doesn’t think anything about this. She’s one of the least political people I’ve ever met though she’s intelligent and quick-witted. It’s as if she’s never thought beyond the pond she swims in. The ideal East German.

Because thinking is too upsetting I try and be a good little secretary instead. I learn where the w key is on the typewrit

er without having to look and decipher the wriggles and lines of shorthand until I can transcribe from Lenore’s stenography pad and just about keep up with the speed of normal human speech. Every morning I dress in the clothes that Volker paid for and twist and pin my hair up. I don’t wear the makeup that Lenore chose as it feels uncomfortable on my face, but she can usually cajole me into putting on a little lipstick after we’ve drunk our morning coffee.

I’m accepting things. I’m acquiescing to what Volker has made of my life and I hate him more than ever. The feeling seems to be mutual. He barely looks at me now and I wonder if he dislikes me enough not to find me interesting or attractive, or whatever it was he thought of me.

Until the afternoon he calls me into his office.

Lenore has disappeared into another part of the building and Volker puts his head around his office door, saying he has an urgent letter that he needs to dictate so I can type it out.

“Fräulein Hoffman will be back any minute…” I call, but he goes back to his desk, leaving his door open. My stomach flutters. I don’t like the thought of going into his office and I’ve heard how quickly he dictates letters to Lenore. If he talks that fast to me I’ll be able to catch about one word in ten.

I go in and close the door. Once I’ve settled myself in the chair in front of his desk he fixes his eyes on a point somewhere above my head and begins to recite his letter. He’s as clipped and professional with me as he is with Lenore, though I notice he’s speaking a lot slower than usual and I’m able to keep up. My skin’s prickling with awareness of him, making me forget the symbol for every third word so I have to write them out in full.

It’s not a long letter and we’re done in less than five minutes, and examining its contents it doesn’t sound particularly urgent, either.

But when I look up and see him gazing at me with a speculative gleam in his eyes, I realize it isn’t. The letter was just an excuse to get me in here.

“I’ve got a present for you, Liebling.”

My heart plunges through my body. He hasn’t called me that for days. Leaning forwards he places a cellophane wrapped packet on the desk in front of me. Silk stockings. Lenore’s favorite sort. Getting her hands on a packet is the highlight of her month.

“Thank you, Herr Oberstleutnant,” I mutter, taking them and standing up. Lenore’s welcome to these.

“Evony.”

I just want to get out of his office but his voice holds me in place.

“Would you like to come here?” He glances at the desk in front of him and then back at me.

My pulse races. There and do what exactly? “I thought this letter was urgent.”

“I’ve changed my mind. I want to put those stockings on you instead.”

The packet grows clammy in my hands even as I feel my body heat. Put them on me. Touch my legs. Put his hands beneath my skirt. I can anticipate the touch of his fingers, the gentleness with which he’ll smooth the soft, gossamer fabric up my thighs, and my body begins to feel liquid and heavy. That’s why I can’t go anywhere near him. I can’t be trusted.

He watches me for a moment, thoughtful. “Most people can’t imagine what it’s like in Hohenschönhausen. It’s bleak, Liebling. The guards do not talk to the prisoners. The prisoners don’t talk to each other. The prisoners do not even get to see each other. The lights stay on all night. There is no sky. No wind. No hope.”

The hairs on the back of my neck stand on end. I don’t doubt what he’s telling me is true but I will never be thankful for the life he’s given me instead. A little of my bravado from the other night stirs within me. “You’ve got an interesting seduction technique, threatening me. Out of practice?”

A sleek smile crosses his handsome face. He knows exactly what he’s doing, I just haven’t figured it out yet. It’s not supposed to happen like this, I think desperately. I was supposed to meet a nice young man in the West who wants to hold my hand, not a predatory, cold-blooded Stasi officer who wants me to sit on his desk while he puts silk stockings on me.

“Perhaps I’m just trying to make this easier for you.”

I don’t understand him at first, and then I realize what he means: if I think I have no choice I won’t have to feel guilty for enjoying what he does. “That’s so manipulative,” I whisper.

The silky, dangerous tone is back. “I think you mean thank you, Herr Oberstleutnant.”

Biest. I walk around his desk and thrust the stockings into his hand, not looking at him.

Volker’s gaze travels from my feet, up to the hem of my A-line skirt and back again, his gaze soft and appreciative. “Take off your shoes.”