Just walk in the park, Dieter had said, and I’ll come. But how would he know? There was morning traffic on Greifswalder Strasse, a roar of trucks loud enough to cover the sound of the airlift until they stopped for a red light and the droning came back, there even when you weren’t aware of it, like a nervous tremor. He couldn’t stay here forever looking at fairy tale figures. Maybe Dieter had meant him to walk through the park, toward the rubble mountain. “Good morning,” Dieter said, coming from behind. Alex turned, almost jumping. “How did you know I was here?” “I live across the street,” he said, motioning with his head. “I keep a lookout. My cinema. You have a cigarette?” He bent forward while Alex lit it for him. “Something’s wrong?” “I need to hide someone. A safe place. For a while.” “One of us?” “A German. POW. He escaped.” “And you want to help him? Take a risk like that? In your position? Didn’t they teach you anything? Your training?”
