'But how do you know I'm not going to oblige you to work for me?' Mielke chuckled. 'Since you sent that letter to me, you're halfway to working for the Stasi right now.'
'I won't work for you, Erich, any more than I'll work for them. If you make me, I'll find a way to betray you.'
'And suppose I threaten to have you shot? Or send you to prison to await a delivery of wholemeal bread? What then?'
'I've asked myself this question. Suppose, I said, he threatens to kill you unless you work for the Stasi? Well, I decided that I'd rather die at the hands of my own countrymen than get rich in the pay of some foreigners. I don't expect you to understand that, Erich. But that's how it is. So go ahead and do your worst.'
'Of course I understand.' Mielke smacked himself proudly on the chest. 'Before everything else, I am a German. A Berliner. Like you. Of course I understand. So. For once, I am going to keep my word, to a fascist.'
'You still think I'm a fascist, then.'
'You don't know it yourself, but that's what you are, Gunther.'
He tapped his head. 'In here. You may not ever have joined the Nazi Party but in your mind you believe in centralised authority and the right and the law and you don't believe in the left. To me, a fascist is all you'll ever be. But I have an idea that Elisabeth has some hopes of you. And because of my high regard for her. My love for her-'
'You?'
'As a sister, yes.'
I smiled.
Mielke looked surprised. 'Yes. Why do you smile?'
I shook my head. 'Forget it.'
'But I love people,' he said. 'I love all people. That's why I became a communist.'
'I believe you.'
He frowned and then tossed me a set of car keys.
'As we arranged, Elisabeth has quit her apartment and is waiting for you at the Steinplatz Hotel. So say hello from me. And make sure you look after that woman. If you don't, I'll send an assassin to kill you. Just see if I don't. Someone better than the last one. Elisabeth's the only reason I'm letting you go, Gunther. Her happiness is more important to me than my political principles.'
'Thanks.'
'There's a car on Grenz Street. Go right and then left. You'll see a grey Type One. In the glove box you'll find two passports in your new names. I'm afraid we had to use your picture from your time as a pleni. There are visas, money, and air tickets. My advice would be to use them. The Amis aren't stupid, Gunther. Nor are the French. They'll each come looking for you both. So get out of Berlin. Get out of Germany. Get out while the going is good.'
It was good advice. I lit another cigarette and then left without another word.
I turned right out of the shop and walked around the edge of the cemetery. All of the graves were gone and, in the misty darkness, it wasn't much more than a grey-looking field. Was it just the tombs and the headstones that were gone, or had the corpses been moved, too? Nothing ever lasted the way it was supposed to last. Not any more. Not in Berlin. Mielke was right. It was time for me to move on, too. Just like those other Berlin corpses.
The Volkswagen Beetle was where Mielke had said it would be. The glove box contained a large thick manila envelope. On the dashboard was mounted a little vase and in it were some small flowers. I saw it and I laughed. Maybe Mielke did like people after all. But I still checked the engine and underneath the chassis for a car bomb. I wouldn't have put it past him to send funeral flowers before I was actually dead.
As it happens, those are the only kind of funeral flowers I've ever really liked.
