Midnight Hunter

“Did you take your pill?”

Reinhardt asks this as soon as I enter the kitchen. Frau Fischer has her back turned toward us and is stirring something on the stove, but I notice her ears prick up.

“Good morning, Evony, did you sleep well, Evony,” I mutter while helping myself to coffee from the pot.

He waits, watching me narrowly. I feel safe with the housekeeper in the room and merely take an ostentatious sip from my cup. If he’s so interested in me not getting pregnant then I feel safe from him in that way, too, for at least a week. Maybe longer if I can pretend I’m not taking the pills.

He slaps his paper down and rounds on me, his face a snarl. “Listen to me. I gave you those pills for a reason and I’m not in the mood to play silly games. Now, did you take your pill?”

I’m startled by how quickly he’s erupted into a burning temper. I give him a look that I hope conveys how detestable I find the idea of both him and the possibility of his children, and say, “Yes. Of course I did.”

Somewhat mollified, his shoulders unclench and he speaks in a softer tone of voice. “And will you take them as per the instructions and inform me when you need more?”

“Yes,” I mutter.

“What was that?”

I match his volume from a moment ago and shout, “Yes, Herr Oberstleutnant!”

Reinhardt straightens the belt on his already perfectly straight uniform jacket, his expression seething. Why couldn’t he have just asked when we were alone? Why does he have to make such a drama out of it? I stare him down, thinking with pleasure about the plan I’ve concocted to spy on him, right under his very nose. Let him see the defiance in my face. I know I should try harder to pretend I’m going along with this man’s wishes but I can’t.

Reaching for his cap he pulls it down onto his head. “I’ll be downstairs by the car and will expect you there at zero eight hundred and five hours. Don’t keep me waiting.” He storms out, his polished boots flashing in the morning light.

I sit down and notice Frau Fischer watching me, her eyebrows raised. I give a half shrug, as if I don’t know what has got into the Oberstleutnant this morning either.

At exactly five past eight—or as he puts it in his punctilious military manner, zero eight hundred and five hours—I close the front door and sweep past Reinhardt with a sunny smile, relishing how good it feels to provoke him. He narrows his eyes at me as Hans opens my door but doesn’t say anything. When he’s in a temper with me he doesn’t try to kiss me or give me little presents so I only wish it would last longer.

After lunch I type up an important letter incorrectly three times and Lenore banishes me to the filing room. I didn’t even mess it up on purpose. Lately I’ve given up deliberately trying to be a poor secretary as it hasn’t helped me avoid Reinhardt, and I feel badly for Lenore if I don’t pull my weight. Unfortunately, though, I’m a poor secretary even when I’m trying. I can type at a reasonable speed but my mind wanders, and then I make mistakes and the page gets covered in Tipp-ex. Lenore spotted me stamping over a b that should have been a p and tore the sheet out of my typewriter.

“Evony, for heaven’s sake, we can’t send a letter to the Chairman’s office looking like this. I’ll do it. You go and file everything in that tray.”

I’m partway through the stack and thinking that the Chairman himself won’t even see the damn letter, when I hear someone come into the room. I turn, hoping it’s Peter, but it’s Reinhardt. He’s got a file in his hand and ignores me as he opens a cabinet and thrusts it back in its place. His face is closed and set and I’m wondering why he didn’t give the file to Lenore or I to put away when he turns suddenly, slips his arms around my waist and pulls me back against him.

“You are very provoking,” he murmurs into the side of my neck before kissing me there. I angle my head to one side, instinct taking over like it did that first day, my eyes closing as I enjoy the touch of his lips. My hands reach for his arms and I feel the wool of his uniform jacket beneath my fingers, and I hold onto his wrists.

“And you are quite a beast.”

I feel him smile against my throat, and then growl softly. The vibrations travel throughout my entire body like thunder rumbling in a summer sky. Then he releases me and is gone, and I don’t see him again for the rest of the working day. Not in person at least. The memory of his large hands are imprinted on my body, his lips on my throat.

Later that evening when we’re siting in front of the fire he gets up and twitches the curtains aside, peering up at the sky. It’s poured with rain the last few nights but tonight the sky is clear. My heart begins to beat a little faster. Could he be thinking of going hunting? I run through my plan again, searching for problems. I could encounter dozens but I won’t know until I put it into action.

I make a show of yawning and heading sleepily for my bed. Once the bedroom door is closed I listen for moment, trying to discern what my captor is doing. Going to bed? Having a last cigarette before going out? I can’t tell, but I spring into action. It’s imperative that I’m down in that Trabant before he leaves the house or the plan won’t work.

My coat has to stay on its peg in the hall but I pull a woolen sweater over my blouse, a beret onto my head and wind a scarf around my neck. Taking the stool from beside the dresser into the closet I push my clothes aside and look up at the trapdoor. It was the conversation I had with Frau Fischer the night Reinhardt got so angry about Thom that gave me the idea. She mentioned hearing rats in the roof. “I can hear them scurrying around in the rafters when I’m lying in bed. All these attics are connected and they run up and down all night long.”

If I can get into the attic and make my way along the length of the building to the empty apartment I’ll be able to let myself out onto the street. I’ll have to be careful not to be spotted by Reinhardt’s guards, but if I’m lucky they won’t be paying much attention to comings and goings at other buildings on this street.

If I’m lucky. So much of this plan hinges on luck, but it’s the best idea I’ve go

t. Surely I’ve got to get lucky sometime.

Of course, just because rats can get through doesn’t mean there’ll be room for a person. I might trip and put my foot through a plaster ceiling. Someone might hear me and call the police. One thing on my side, ironically, is the Stasi. If anyone does hear footsteps they might believe it’s a Stasi agent going about their secretive business and decide it’s safer to pretend they haven’t heard anything.

Standing up on the stool I carefully maneuver the cover aside and straighten so that my head and shoulders are in the attic. The air up here smells flat and musty and it’s very dark. Grilles high up in the brickwork let in some street light but it’s not much after the brightness of my bedroom. I stay where I am for a few minutes, praying my eyes will adjust. Soon I can make out the dark rafters running along the attic and the lighter ceiling plaster between them.

Hauling myself up I perch on the rim of the access hole, take a steadying breath, and then stand up. The ceiling is low and slanted and I have to bend at the waist, but I’m able to brace my hands against the roof for balance and begin edging my way along the narrow beams. It’s slow going as I have to be as silent as possible, and I can’t risk falling and putting a foot through the plaster. After just a few minutes my back prickles with sweat and I’m panting, more from nerves than effort. But I remember the tunnel with Ana and the constant danger we faced of being buried alive. This is nerve-wracking, but it’s not the most dangerous thing I’ve done.

There are rat droppings everywhere and I try not to think about fat brown rats with their worm-like tails nipping at my ankles. Reinhardt has called me a sneaking rat on occasion, and look at me now, creeping around like a rat, a spy, when I swore I would never become like the Stasi. But it’s either stay in East Berlin and be what Ulrich said I was, a Stasi Schlampe, or this.