Jutta’s hurried steps are driven by a melting pot of hurt and disappointment, and the anger that she refuses to recognise just yet; a cauldron of simmering emotion that bubbles into hot tears as she walks, head down, allowing her hair to fall like a curtain and hide her deep sorrow. All weekend, she had dreamed of making this return journey with Karin by her side, leading the way back to the window and into a world they would resume. But Jutta is returning alone, and the sense of loneliness is tenfold. Though she has Karin’s pledge to coax Otto round, neither broached what they would do if faced with his refusal, and now Jutta tussles with that prospect. But however wounded she feels, she’s determined not to see Karin’s choice as disloyalty. More that her sister has the capacity for a steadfast fidelity towards another. It’s admirable, and so very Karin. It’s what she – everyone – loves about her. And yet, if she’s entirely honest with herself, Jutta can’t help a new sensation festering inside – bilious and ugly, a toxic green hue: jealousy.
Despite the enduring ache in her feet, she walks on, fuelled by the trepidation that may well turn to terror before she reaches the portal if she’s not careful, cultivated by Karin’s obvious fear of capture. She glances sideways at the vehicles driving past, wary of any slowing up, even slightly; Karin had warned her of the small grey Barkas vans common to East Berlin, which are made up to look like grocery or laundry delivery trucks – sign-painted with names and wares – but are more often Stasi ‘collection’ vehicles, kitted out with cramped holding cells inside. Several greyish vans pass by as Jutta moves south, retracing her earlier route because she’s too afraid to get out her map and work out a new trail towards the garage workshops, but none stop. Women with children eye her as they pass, but it could be out of sympathy for her reddened eyes and the pinched expression of someone about to shed more tears. Even a young Vopo smiles at her weakly, and she manages to turn her mouth upwards accordingly; he’s barely twenty and looks out of place shouldering his gun, let alone using it. As Karin had insisted back at the café, the Stasi have made spies out of many, but not all; East Berliners, she’d insisted, are stoic and solid, ‘loyal to humanity mostly’. For a minute, Jutta had imagined Karin was on the brink of saying ‘us East Berliners’, which might have struck the day’s final blow. Thankfully, she didn’t.
There’s a rush of alarm when Jutta’s memory doesn’t register the street she’s on, or the buildings alongside as familiar. With the well of tears blurring her view, has she missed a crucial turning? It’s not about to get dark any time soon, but any light in this side of Berlin remains shadowy, unfamiliar and definitely uncomfortable. Why hadn’t she committed the name of the street next to the workshop firmly to memory, instead of looking only towards finding Karin? How can you be so stupid, Jutta? She’s almost on the point of sidling into an alleyway and pulling out the map when she recognises a corner shop with a distinctive window display – an impending two-for-one price offer on bread that is sure to see the queues double – and her heart begins pumping again. She pushes all thoughts of her sister aside. It’s about survival now. That’s clearly what Karin has done for almost two years now: just focused on getting by.
The edge of the industrial area comes into view and Jutta makes a sweep of the street by pretending to fiddle in her bag near a bench, noting it’s nearing three p.m. and an hour before some homeward workers begin to populate the streets. With no one obviously loitering, and no sign of the all-too-curious mechanic still lurking, she slips into the lane between the workshops, ears on alert for any footsteps behind – that’s if the noise can make it past the pounding of blood in her ears. On the way to the window, she scouts for pallets or boxes to use as a makeshift ladder, cursing herself for her own lack of planning and prompting a wave of shame. Once again, her only outward focus had been on finding Karin.
But she’s in luck; the alleyway provides one pallet and two pieces of roughly squared-off stone that she hauls towards the window without causing too much noise, aside from her own huffing and puffing. The window is as she left it, seemingly closed but popping ajar as she prises her fingernails under it. Jutta has always been the more agile and sporty of the twins, and here it serves her well as she pulls herself up to full height and levers one leg inside the window, balancing precariously for a second before pushing herself over to part-fall and part-manoeuvre herself onto the pallets on the other side. Grazed and bruised, Jutta holds herself low on the dusty floor, motionless for several seconds. When there’s no clattering of military footsteps, no repercussions, she stands and drives her body forward through the corridor and into the kitchen, where the mama cat leaves her babies’ nest and greets Jutta with a friendly purring, inching over to offer fur and solace, gratefully received by a woman shaking visibly at her day’s endeavour.