When one door shuts, a window opens
August, 1961 - Germany
He looked down at the scrap of paper in his hand and then back up again, brows furrowed as he eyed the buildings along Mommsenstrasse. He walked to the corner of the street and stopped, glancing once more at the crinkled sheet in his hand. Even with the numerous folds and wrinkles, he could still make out the two words written in a hasty but legible script.
This was the place.
He stood in front of the entrance but before he could take another step forward, the door suddenly opened. It swung outward to reveal a young woman standing on the threshold; as she stepped onto the pavement, a man close in age to him followed her out. He then waited for the couple to pass before reaching for the handle and letting himself inside.
The pub was dressed mostly in dark-hued wood, from the shelves behind the bar and the paneling that edged the walls to the chairs and tables scattered around the room. With all the lamps and candles lit, the golden lights gave the space a remarkably warm and cheery atmosphere. The low hum of intimate conversation helped to soften the harsher sounds of glasses clinking and thumping onto the tables.
He quickly looked around, searching amongst the many faces for his contact. He had been given no name nor description, only the address of where he was supposed to meet this person. The majority of the tables were occupied by couples or small groups of three and four. As he scanned the room, his gaze eventually settled on a table in the back. It was a table meant for two, though there was only one occupant. The man's seat faced outward and offered a view of the entire pub. Though much of his face was hidden by the brim of his hat, he did not appear to pay any attention to his surroundings. Instead, his attention was directed entirely on the newspaper spread out across the tiny table.
He hazarded a guess that this man was his contact.
With a sigh, he slowly made his way towards the back. As he passed some of the other tables, he caught brief snatches of conversation spoken in the different tongues of the city.
"… es wird später regen..."
"…mais non, je pense que le chanson parle d'un désir pour…"
"…think Kennedy knows what he's doing even if Kruschev claims that…"
He glanced down at the table to his right. Americans. The Yanks were just about everywhere these days; he's seen more than his share of them ever since his arrival in this part of the city. One could not go anywhere without seeing members of the many foreign Brigades patrolling the neighborhoods, particularly those near the Eastern border.
As he drew closer to the back table, he wondered how he should greet the man. Would he need to introduce himself, or did the man already know who he is? He thought for a moment before deciding he should not assume and mentally worked on how to phrase his introduction in his rudimentary German.
He stopped next to the table and opened his mouth but it was the other man who spoke first.
"Herr Scrubb," the man addressed him in a low voice but did not look up, "bitte nehmen Sie Platz."
Eustace stared blankly at him for a moment until the man waved a hand towards the empty chair. "Ah, right." He pulled the chair out from beneath the table and quickly sat down. Now that he was at eye level with the man, he tried to get a better look at him but he could see nothing but shadows; the brim of the hat dipped further down as the man leaned forward to circle an article in the newspaper.
He barely finished his observation when a woman appeared beside their table. "Was möchten Sie gerne trinken?" she asked, smiling at them as she tapped a pencil against a small pad of paper.
He tried to remember the word for "menu". Essen? No, that wasn't right. Was it Speisen?
Without looking up, the man muttered something to the waitress. The woman quickly replied and given the brief pauses between words, Eustace guessed she was reciting some of the specials being offered that day. After a moment, the man spoke again and the only word Eustace understood from the response was "Bier".
The woman nodded and after scribbling on her notepad, walked away. He watched as she headed towards the counter. A minute later, she returned and set down two tall glasses full of a dark and frothy liquid.
"Danke," Eustace said to her. She flashed a quick smile at him before turning away, moving towards a nearby table where a group of uniformed men sat.
"So, you do speak some German, Herr Scrub," the man said as he finally lifted his head from the newspaper. Though his English was very fluent, there was a slight but noticeable accent in his speech.
"Just a few words of your language, I'm afraid," he admitted. He wished the man would take his hat off so he could see his face more clearly. "If I knew more, I wouldn't have had such a difficult time trying to cross the border." He reached for one of the glasses and took a sip before continuing. "I must thank you, Sir, for your troubles. You were an immense help in extricating me from over there, Mr…" he trailed off, hoping the man would fill in the rest.
"You may call me Herr Richter or," the man paused and slowly removed his hat, "you can call me as you always have."
For several seconds, Eustace gaped at him in disbelief. And then, "It was you?!"
"I do not think that 'you' is how you normally address me," the man commented dryly, but he did so with a smile; the German accent was gone and he now spoke in a very familiar, very British voice. "But I suppose I can make an exception just this once-no doubt you were not expecting to see me here, of course."
Eustace shook his head. "I should know better by now," he said ruefully. "Dare I ask why you're here, or how you found out about me?" He turned slightly in his seat and looked around. "And should I be expecting anyone else to show up before the night is over? One of your sisters perhaps?"
The man laughed. "As always, you are a man of many questions."
"Asking questions is requisite in my line of work."
"Point taken." The man refolded the newspaper and set it aside. He then reached for the remaining glass and after taking a long sip, he asked, "What would you like to know first?"
It was an easy choice. "How did you know I was in trouble, Ed?" Eustace asked.
Edmund vaguely waved his hand. "I was passing through when I was contacted by a friend of a friend. They had heard a rumour about some mad Englishman being detained on the other side. I didn't learn who it was until after I started to look into it."
Eustace knew better than to ask his cousin whom his friends were. These days, it was best not to ask for too many details when it came to matters involving either Edmund or Susan. Instead, he focused on something the other man had said. "Mad Englishman?"
His cousin grinned. "Not my words, I assure you. Though, I suppose they were curious as to what you were doing over there, given the situation going on in this city." Though Edmund didn't voice it, Eustace could hear the unspoken question in his words.
"Research," he simply replied.
Edmund raised a brow. Briefly, Eustace wondered if this was how the other man conducted his affairs as a King. Peter had his infamous Frown while Susan usually kept a prim and proper countenance. Lucy had always been more open than her older siblings; if she wanted to know something, she simply asked.
"Research?" Edmund echoed.
Eustace sniffed. "Of course. Why else would I be mad enough to place myself in the middle of all this?" He waved a hand into the air around him. "I'm not that daft."
Edmund leaned back in his seat and sighed. "Well then, I hope it was worth it, cousin. The price to cross the border has grown exponentially in the last few days."
He was not going to ask about what price his cousin paid to assure his passage to freedom; he suspected the payment was either in cash or in cigarettes-possibly both. Based on what he saw, he knew the Russians were quite eager to get their hands on some Western tobacco. "And I am grateful to you, of course. But does my gratefulness extend only to you or to someone else?"
"To me, and a few others," Edmund said, flicking his fingers dismissively, "but you need not worry about them. And if it's my Gentle sister you're thinking of, she knows nothing of this matter. She's not even in Germany at the moment." He took another sip of his beer. "I was on my way to France to meet her and her colleague, actually, when this came to my attention."
Eustace could not help but grin at the emphasis in Edmund's words. He had met Susan's colleague a few times, and he knew exactly what her two brothers thought of the man. "Well, give them both my regards."
The older man dipped his head slightly in acknowledgement. "So, what is this research you're working on, Eustace? I thought you were studying Chimpanzees with that Leakey fellow."
"No, he found a better assistant to work with-a Jane Goodall. Don't suppose you've heard of her? She's near my age, maybe a year or two younger. Aunt Polly said she had just the right personality for dealing with Leakey."
"So you've moved from studying primates to...?"
"Oh, I'm back to dragons, actually," Eustace replied cheerfully.
"Studying German myths then?"
"Not at all, though what I was looking for just happened to be in East Berlin unfortunately." At Edmund's glance, he elaborated. "I needed to visit the Pergamon Museum to look at the Ishtar Gate."
"Which is?" Edmund prompted.
"One of the gates from Babylon. It's dedicated to the goddess Ishtar and there are Dragons and Bulls painted all over it. The Pergamon reconstructed it from whatever they found during the excavations from the '30s."
"Ah."
"Now I know you're not really interested in all this but I will add that in front of the gate ran this long road called the Processional Way, which was paved in yellow and decorated with Lions."
Edmund smiled. "Dragons and Lions. It reminds me a bit of a certain Wardrobe decorated with such Creatures too. But no Gryphons?"
"None whatsoever. Why else do you think I came alone?"
Edmund leaned forward and touched his arm. "A bit of advice for the next time, cousin: Try not to plan a trip to an occupied city right when they're building a wall to keep people in."
Eustace grimaced. "Yes, well, I shall definitely keep that in mind for the future."
--
Historical footnotes can be found here.
He looked down at the scrap of paper in his hand and then back up again, brows furrowed as he eyed the buildings along Mommsenstrasse. He walked to the corner of the street and stopped, glancing once more at the crinkled sheet in his hand. Even with the numerous folds and wrinkles, he could still make out the two words written in a hasty but legible script.
This was the place.
He stood in front of the entrance but before he could take another step forward, the door suddenly opened. It swung outward to reveal a young woman standing on the threshold; as she stepped onto the pavement, a man close in age to him followed her out. He then waited for the couple to pass before reaching for the handle and letting himself inside.
The pub was dressed mostly in dark-hued wood, from the shelves behind the bar and the paneling that edged the walls to the chairs and tables scattered around the room. With all the lamps and candles lit, the golden lights gave the space a remarkably warm and cheery atmosphere. The low hum of intimate conversation helped to soften the harsher sounds of glasses clinking and thumping onto the tables.
He quickly looked around, searching amongst the many faces for his contact. He had been given no name nor description, only the address of where he was supposed to meet this person. The majority of the tables were occupied by couples or small groups of three and four. As he scanned the room, his gaze eventually settled on a table in the back. It was a table meant for two, though there was only one occupant. The man's seat faced outward and offered a view of the entire pub. Though much of his face was hidden by the brim of his hat, he did not appear to pay any attention to his surroundings. Instead, his attention was directed entirely on the newspaper spread out across the tiny table.
He hazarded a guess that this man was his contact.
With a sigh, he slowly made his way towards the back. As he passed some of the other tables, he caught brief snatches of conversation spoken in the different tongues of the city.
"… es wird später regen..."
"…mais non, je pense que le chanson parle d'un désir pour…"
"…think Kennedy knows what he's doing even if Kruschev claims that…"
He glanced down at the table to his right. Americans. The Yanks were just about everywhere these days; he's seen more than his share of them ever since his arrival in this part of the city. One could not go anywhere without seeing members of the many foreign Brigades patrolling the neighborhoods, particularly those near the Eastern border.
As he drew closer to the back table, he wondered how he should greet the man. Would he need to introduce himself, or did the man already know who he is? He thought for a moment before deciding he should not assume and mentally worked on how to phrase his introduction in his rudimentary German.
He stopped next to the table and opened his mouth but it was the other man who spoke first.
"Herr Scrubb," the man addressed him in a low voice but did not look up, "bitte nehmen Sie Platz."
Eustace stared blankly at him for a moment until the man waved a hand towards the empty chair. "Ah, right." He pulled the chair out from beneath the table and quickly sat down. Now that he was at eye level with the man, he tried to get a better look at him but he could see nothing but shadows; the brim of the hat dipped further down as the man leaned forward to circle an article in the newspaper.
He barely finished his observation when a woman appeared beside their table. "Was möchten Sie gerne trinken?" she asked, smiling at them as she tapped a pencil against a small pad of paper.
He tried to remember the word for "menu". Essen? No, that wasn't right. Was it Speisen?
Without looking up, the man muttered something to the waitress. The woman quickly replied and given the brief pauses between words, Eustace guessed she was reciting some of the specials being offered that day. After a moment, the man spoke again and the only word Eustace understood from the response was "Bier".
The woman nodded and after scribbling on her notepad, walked away. He watched as she headed towards the counter. A minute later, she returned and set down two tall glasses full of a dark and frothy liquid.
"Danke," Eustace said to her. She flashed a quick smile at him before turning away, moving towards a nearby table where a group of uniformed men sat.
"So, you do speak some German, Herr Scrub," the man said as he finally lifted his head from the newspaper. Though his English was very fluent, there was a slight but noticeable accent in his speech.
"Just a few words of your language, I'm afraid," he admitted. He wished the man would take his hat off so he could see his face more clearly. "If I knew more, I wouldn't have had such a difficult time trying to cross the border." He reached for one of the glasses and took a sip before continuing. "I must thank you, Sir, for your troubles. You were an immense help in extricating me from over there, Mr…" he trailed off, hoping the man would fill in the rest.
"You may call me Herr Richter or," the man paused and slowly removed his hat, "you can call me as you always have."
For several seconds, Eustace gaped at him in disbelief. And then, "It was you?!"
"I do not think that 'you' is how you normally address me," the man commented dryly, but he did so with a smile; the German accent was gone and he now spoke in a very familiar, very British voice. "But I suppose I can make an exception just this once-no doubt you were not expecting to see me here, of course."
Eustace shook his head. "I should know better by now," he said ruefully. "Dare I ask why you're here, or how you found out about me?" He turned slightly in his seat and looked around. "And should I be expecting anyone else to show up before the night is over? One of your sisters perhaps?"
The man laughed. "As always, you are a man of many questions."
"Asking questions is requisite in my line of work."
"Point taken." The man refolded the newspaper and set it aside. He then reached for the remaining glass and after taking a long sip, he asked, "What would you like to know first?"
It was an easy choice. "How did you know I was in trouble, Ed?" Eustace asked.
Edmund vaguely waved his hand. "I was passing through when I was contacted by a friend of a friend. They had heard a rumour about some mad Englishman being detained on the other side. I didn't learn who it was until after I started to look into it."
Eustace knew better than to ask his cousin whom his friends were. These days, it was best not to ask for too many details when it came to matters involving either Edmund or Susan. Instead, he focused on something the other man had said. "Mad Englishman?"
His cousin grinned. "Not my words, I assure you. Though, I suppose they were curious as to what you were doing over there, given the situation going on in this city." Though Edmund didn't voice it, Eustace could hear the unspoken question in his words.
"Research," he simply replied.
Edmund raised a brow. Briefly, Eustace wondered if this was how the other man conducted his affairs as a King. Peter had his infamous Frown while Susan usually kept a prim and proper countenance. Lucy had always been more open than her older siblings; if she wanted to know something, she simply asked.
"Research?" Edmund echoed.
Eustace sniffed. "Of course. Why else would I be mad enough to place myself in the middle of all this?" He waved a hand into the air around him. "I'm not that daft."
Edmund leaned back in his seat and sighed. "Well then, I hope it was worth it, cousin. The price to cross the border has grown exponentially in the last few days."
He was not going to ask about what price his cousin paid to assure his passage to freedom; he suspected the payment was either in cash or in cigarettes-possibly both. Based on what he saw, he knew the Russians were quite eager to get their hands on some Western tobacco. "And I am grateful to you, of course. But does my gratefulness extend only to you or to someone else?"
"To me, and a few others," Edmund said, flicking his fingers dismissively, "but you need not worry about them. And if it's my Gentle sister you're thinking of, she knows nothing of this matter. She's not even in Germany at the moment." He took another sip of his beer. "I was on my way to France to meet her and her colleague, actually, when this came to my attention."
Eustace could not help but grin at the emphasis in Edmund's words. He had met Susan's colleague a few times, and he knew exactly what her two brothers thought of the man. "Well, give them both my regards."
The older man dipped his head slightly in acknowledgement. "So, what is this research you're working on, Eustace? I thought you were studying Chimpanzees with that Leakey fellow."
"No, he found a better assistant to work with-a Jane Goodall. Don't suppose you've heard of her? She's near my age, maybe a year or two younger. Aunt Polly said she had just the right personality for dealing with Leakey."
"So you've moved from studying primates to...?"
"Oh, I'm back to dragons, actually," Eustace replied cheerfully.
"Studying German myths then?"
"Not at all, though what I was looking for just happened to be in East Berlin unfortunately." At Edmund's glance, he elaborated. "I needed to visit the Pergamon Museum to look at the Ishtar Gate."
"Which is?" Edmund prompted.
"One of the gates from Babylon. It's dedicated to the goddess Ishtar and there are Dragons and Bulls painted all over it. The Pergamon reconstructed it from whatever they found during the excavations from the '30s."
"Ah."
"Now I know you're not really interested in all this but I will add that in front of the gate ran this long road called the Processional Way, which was paved in yellow and decorated with Lions."
Edmund smiled. "Dragons and Lions. It reminds me a bit of a certain Wardrobe decorated with such Creatures too. But no Gryphons?"
"None whatsoever. Why else do you think I came alone?"
Edmund leaned forward and touched his arm. "A bit of advice for the next time, cousin: Try not to plan a trip to an occupied city right when they're building a wall to keep people in."
Eustace grimaced. "Yes, well, I shall definitely keep that in mind for the future."
--
Historical footnotes can be found here.