Chapter 18

One day later

David, a.k.a. Pope

A milestone—finally, my last flight eastbound for NSA. After landing I had to get squared away with the Frankfurt office on some details, shape up the apartment and do some shopping before picking up Ursula the next day for our trip to Berlin.

I was anxious to see her. The bell tinkled like a sick telephone when I opened the bakery door. The smells again tried to seduce me, but Adam Zeller, Ursula’s father, was ready for me, pressing down on the cash register counter with his fists. His eyes, more red than white, glared at me. “Mr. Grimm, or should I say Pope? Who the hell gave you that name anyway?”

“Oh, some friends back in—”

“I don’t know why in the bloody hell my wife is letting Ursula to go to Berlin with you. It’s like they plotted against me. They didn’t even tell me ’til this morning. Just remember this, bub, when she returns I’ll be able to tell if you laid a hand on her. She doesn’t lie to me. If I sense something happened ’cause of your pecker, I’ll pound your arse into the ground. You better be like the real Pope and keep your trouser mouse in your pants.”

I stood my ground, as I had determined ahead of time not to be afraid of him. “Sir, I can assure you that I have only the most honorable intentions regarding your daughter. We have developed a fondness for each other through the mail after our first meeting at the cathedral. I will only be in this country three more months, and we want to spend quality, wholesome time together. Please trust me. Trust us.”

“All right, but I’m warning you. No funny business or there will be hell to pay.” He passed the edge of his open hand across his throat, I guess to indicate he would pass a baker’s knife across mine if he believed Ursula and I had sexual intercourse. Of course, I would not do that unless we were married.

Ursula and her mother came down the stairs from the apartment. She was carrying a small cardboard suitcase and wearing sensible shoes. Her hair was not in a bun. Instead it caressed her shoulders. She took a quick glance toward her father and then smiled at me. My heart melted.

Of course we had not known each other long, especially with my going back to the States shortly after meeting her, but we had corresponded while I was gone, and I could tell from her letters we would get along wonderfully. I was anxious to have a female companion in my life, never having had a girlfriend before.

Her mother smiled at me also. It seemed she was happy to have her daughter accompany me to Berlin in spite of her husband’s virulent disapproval. She did not look at her husband. I wondered why.

“Papa, don’t worry. You know I’ll be a good girl,” Ursula said while looking at me, not her father. “And Mama, thank you for being so understanding,” she said as she hugged her mother. Then she turned to me and took my arm. “David, let’s go.” She hurried me to the door as though she were escaping.

***

We left her father’s glare to catch the noon military-duty train from the mammoth Frankfurt station. From the station’s mezzanine we looked down at the dozen or so idling train engines that exhaled steam and exhaust while inhaling people and baggage. The place seemed alive. Our combined sensa­tions added to the electric excitement.

When we settled into our seats, Ursula said, “This is the first time I’ve spent more than one day away from my parents. I’m just tingling. This is thrilling.”

I hoped it was not just being away from her parents that made her tingle. “For me, sitting here holding hands with you and going away for a whole week together is a dream come true.” I tingled in my private place but kept that feeling at bay.

***

It took over an hour before we came to the border. There were watch towers, fences topped with concertina wire and a no-man’s land patrolled by rifle toting soldiers and their dogs.

The French, English and U.S. sectors of Berlin were an island sur­rounded by East Germany. The duty train was sealed; no one could get on or off during the trip though that Communist state.

After we crossed the border, Ursula could not stop talking about what she saw. “I can’t believe this is Germany. It looks like a third-world country: run-down buildings, horses instead of tractors, unrepaired war damage. And the people, dressed in drab clothes staring at us with blank, sad faces.”

“I know. And hardly a car in sight,” I said. “Here, everyone is equal, but they’ve been reduced to the lowest common denominator.” Where there was snow, it was tinged with coal soot and looked like it needed vacuuming.

By five o’clock our train entered the U.S. sector of Berlin. It was a startling, different world from what we had just passed through, bustling with commerce, cars everywhere, neon signs and wonderful buildings surrounding well-dressed, seemingly happy people. West Berlin was a bright spot in a land that otherwise obliterated brightness.

The repair of architectural wounds of war there were well under way; many buildings bristled with construction equipment and had scaffolding clinging to their sides.

“Now, remember, Ursula, I warned you about the two-star hotel where they put me up, but it is clean. And we will not be spending much time there anyway because there is so much I want to show you. I do not have to spend much time at work—only eight to ten in the mornings and then call in frequently to see if I am needed.”

She stomped her foot. “Well, I certainly hope your job won’t interfere with my having a good experience here.” I was certain her pouting was because she was tired from the long travel day.

The hotel was bare-bones basic. U.S. taxpayers would approve of my sparse lodging, but it was well located near museums, restaurants, government buildings, and where I worked. After we checked in, we agreed to meet in the lobby an hour later.

I have to admit, I did have thoughts of a sexual nature about Ursula during the train ride and as we were alone in the same hotel, even if we were in separate rooms. But for moral and religious reasons, I did not intend to act on those urges. I was not sure what Ursula’s intentions were along those lines. We did not talk about such things.

At dinner that evening I shared some thoughts about Berlin. “You will notice the pace here is frenzied. People live for today, knowing that tomorrow they might be over-run by the Communists. Oh, and please do not be offended by some of the things you might see. Pornography is everywhere. In the evening, many women wear revealing clothing, and drinking alcohol as a way of life. The sex trade thrives, and I do not mean just boy/girl encounters.” I shook my head.

“Pope, I’ve heard about that stuff, okay? I know how the world turns. Just show me around.” She looked at some of the art work on the walls instead of me.

“Well . . . ah, yes. After dinner I will take you to Check Point Charlie and the building in which I work. I am glad you brought a heavy coat. It may get quite cold.” I put my arm around her shoulders and squeezed her a little. She did not lean my way, but she did not pull away.

I asked, “Was your schnitzel tasty?”

“It was fine. Now, let’s go.” She did not ask how my sauerbraten was.

On the way to the check point we dodged a few inebriated people and aggressive prostitutes. We turned a corner, and the wall dividing East from West Berlin came into view. Ursula stopped and put a hand to her mouth. “Oh, no. It’s higher and uglier than I pictured.”

I let the view of the wall, the guards, the barbed wire, the spot lights and all the rest of the sorry scene sink into her memory. “Yes, and to our right is the building where I work—the one with all the scaffolding.” I did not know it at the time, but that scaffolding was really an elaborate hoax. Its real function was to mask an antenna that intercepted electronic signals from the east.

The week roared by with me playing tour guide, and for the most part, Ursula seemed comfortable with our relationship. She hinted about how she would like to go back to the States with me.

Berlin’s museums, parks and historical buildings kept us busy. On only two days did I have to go back to the office for short periods in the afternoon. Ursula accepted it easily the first time, but she seemed quite put-out the second. There were a few other flashes of impatience from her, but that was to be expected because of my amateur guide status.

On the last evening, I took her to my favorite Berlin restaurant to a table I had reserved overlooking Gendarmenmarkt Square and its imposing classical buildings. I wanted our last night in Berlin to be at a special place. This was my last trip to Germany for NSA and if I was going to go through with my plan, even though we had not known each other long, this was the time and place for it.

After dinner we walked out on the square. I nodded toward a bench. “Darling, let us sit over there for a moment and get organized.”

“Organized? What the—I mean, what are you talking about?” She seemed upset about something. I would not pretend to understand the female mind as I had not spent much time around them. I guided her over to sit on a bench. Other people were nearby, which made me even more nervous, but I wanted to go ahead with my plan.

“I am not going to be your tour guide right now.” I knelt down and took her hands in mine. I had memorized a little poem I had written for the occasion, but when the time came, it escaped me. “My darling Ursula, it has been wonderful spending a whole week with you. I believe we make a fine couple. I love you. I hope you love me. Will you be my bride?”

She looked pleased. After all, she had hinted how wonderful it would be to go back to the States with me. Still, it took a while for her to respond. Finally, she bent down to hug me. “Of course, David! Yes, I will.”

I slid the engagement ring on her finger. She held it up to the light.

We suddenly felt conspicuous as the other people nearby cheered and applauded us.

“Ursula, I want to assure you that when I make a commitment, as I am now to you, I hold that as a sacred trust I must carry through. With that ring I commit myself completely to you.”

She smiled and nodded.

We went to another restaurant complete with a polka band and dancers with traditional Bavarian dresses and lederhosen for a celebratory coffee before we returned to our hotel. We had decided over coffee we would get married in a month or two, as soon as we could make the arrangements and wade through the red tape, our parent’s questions, and getting their approval. We agreed, especially because of her father, that if our parents’ approval was not forthcoming, we were old enough to make our own decisions.

I walked Ursula to her room and kissed her goodnight. She seemed more responsive than in the past. “David, leave your door unlocked. I want to bring you a surprise.”

A half-hour after the good night kiss, she opened the door to my sparsely furnished room. She was wearing her coat and the same sensible shoes.

“Here I am, Pope. Please go to the other end of the room. I want to show you some things.”

I did as she asked, but in that small room I was not far from her.

She sounded different, almost like she had a smoker’s voice. Her eyelids were at half-mast and she kept licking her lips. I felt uncertain and uncomfor­table, wondering what she had brought me.

“Please stay there,” she said as she slowly removed the coat from her naked body and draped it over the end of the single bed. Her eyes were cast down at the floor and she held out her hands, palms facing me, to indicate I should stay at the other end of the room.

Then she cupped her breasts and gently fondled those beautiful orbs. “These are for you after our wedding. I swear, no boy has ever touched them.”

My eyes could not leave her and my mouth went dry. My inclination was to tell her to put her coat back on because I was afraid this would lead to the most intimate of acts. But I could not speak. I was aroused.

She reached her right hand down between her legs and stroked herself. She moaned and said, “This is for you after our marriage. I swear, no boy has ever entered me.”

I stared at her and was indeed surprised and speechless by her bold display. Nothing, not even her unshaved legs, could detract from my desire for her.

She put her coat on in what seemed like slow motion, then turned toward the door, but as she left, she turned back to me and said, “Pope, I do know what men want.”

I sat on the edge of the bed with my head in my hands. Guilt crushed me like a ten-ton boulder. I should not have watched her caress her body, and unlike her, I could not tell Ursula I had saved myself for her.