Paul Dowswell - Sektion 20

A former senior editor with Usborne Publishing, Paul Dowswell is now a full-time author. He has written over 60 books, including Auslnder , nominated for the Carnegie Medal, the Red House Childrens Book Award and the Booktrust Teenage Prize. Paul lives in Wolverhampton with his family.

As ever, my thanks are due to my valued editors, Ele Fountain and Isabel Ford, who helped me shape and polish the story, Diana Hickman, who proofread, and Dilys Dowswell, who read through my first drafts. Christian Staufenbiel of Cambridge University Library kindly read and commented on the manuscript. Thank you too to my agent Charlie Viney, and Jenny and Josie Dowswell, and Kate Clarke and Black Sheep for the evocative cover.

When I visited Berlin to research the book, I was looked after marvellously by Kati Hertzsch. My thanks also to Dorit Engelhardt and Anna von Hahn for their advice and hospitality. I was also lucky enough to meet Wolfgang Grossman, who spent his childhood and teenage years as a citizen of the DDR. We spent a brilliant day wandering the streets of Berlin together. Although his life turned out quite differently from Alexs, talking to Wolfgang was a great inspiration.

Auslnder

The Cabinet of Curiosities

***

The Adventures of Sam Witchall

Powder Monkey

Prison Ship

Battle Fleet

Ten months earlier

It was Tuesday afternoon. That meant politics. It was their first lesson with Herr Wrfel since the Christmas break and he was in full flow, reading a speech by General Secretary Honecker.

Alex Ostermann noticed his reflection in the classroom window next to his desk. My God, he looked bored. He tried to rearrange his features into one of earnest appreciation. He also noted, with some satisfaction, how long his hair had grown. Well over his ears and down on to his collar. He wondered how much longer he could grow it before Herr Roth, the school Principal, wrote to his parents to complain.

Beyond the window the sky was a low blanket of grey, and gusts of wind blew dead leaves to and fro in the school yard. A cold draught was seeping in through the ill-fitting window. For now, it was just enough to keep Alex from nodding off.

Herr Wrfel was doing his best to keep them interested. He read Honeckers speech as though it was Goethe or Shakespeare. Words flew by: historical mission, class struggle, scientifically founded goals; oft-repeated phrases that Alex barely understood.

Alex wished he was at home in his bedroom listening to music or playing his guitar, even if it was a cheap plastic one from Bulgaria. It made a loud buzz when you plugged it in and would never stay in tune. But it was a vaguely similar shape to the guitar he really wanted a beautiful instrument of wire, wood and mother of pearl, the Gibson Les Paul. They were made in Kalamazoo, Michigan, wherever that was. Alex had learned this from a smuggled guitar catalogue which hed pored over as keenly as other boys in the school had ogled that porn magazine Nadels cousin had sneaked in to him from West Germany.

Alexs politics lesson had become a noise in the background, like the hum of fluorescent-tube lighting.

The noise stopped. You always noticed a noise when it stopped.

Ostermann, what did I just say? said Herr Wrfel.

Alex hadnt got a clue.

Im sorry, sir, he said. For a moment there I lost your thread.

The rest of the class sniggered. Wrfel turned to Nadel. General Secretary Honecker, sir, he said the wisdom of the working class informs the directives of the Socialist Unity Party.

Wrfel smiled proudly. Nadel was one of his star pupils. He was lined up as a possible candidate for the Stasi the Ministry of State Security. You couldnt apply for a position there. Wrfel had put Nadels name forward only last week. He hoped the recent incident with the pornographic magazine would be overlooked. After all, there were worse things than looking at naked women.

Ostermann, sighed Wrfel, are we boring you? Perhaps you would like to remind us of the significance of the symbols on our national flag?

Alex could have reeled them off in his sleep. He sat up and tried to sound enthusiastic. The hammer represents the workers, Herr Wrfel, the wheat garland, the peasant farmers, and the compass, the intelligentsia.

And which are you? smirked Wrfel. I dont see a guitar on the flag.

The class laughed sycophantically. Alex laughed too. He wasnt going to let Wrfel make him feel small.

Wrfel sighed and turned to the class. Now, who can tell me why the Deutsche Demokratische Republik has need for only one political party?

A forest of hands shot up and he pointed to a girl near the front. Because the working class is in power there is no social or political basis for opposition, she answered faultlessly.

As the class finished Wrfel put on a record for them to listen to a collection of marching tunes by the Band of the Ministry of State Security. Alex caught a glimpse of the record sleeve. It was the sort of sickly pastel blue you saw on most Trabant motor cars and district council railings and doors. The band stood stiff and formal on the cover photograph. This is the music Ill have to play if I go to Hell , he thought.

Alex had always gone to school on his bike but recently he had decided to walk. A new student in his class had caught his eye a small, dark-haired girl called Sophie Kirsch. He knew she lived nearby and also walked to school. Alex kept hoping they would meet up.

On the way home that afternoon, he got lucky. Hey, Alex, he heard a voice behind him. Wait for me! They fell into step.

Sophie broke the awkward silence.

Herr Wrfel tried to make you look silly! Well, he didnt succeed.

Alex blushed with embarrassment. I think Im quite a disappointment to him, he laughed.

And a disappointment to us all , she said with a wink. She dropped her voice to a whisper and began to mimic their teacher. How could you not be interested in the scientifically founded goals of the Socialist Unity Party? I think of nothing else.

Alex laughed. He was flattered at how indiscreet she was being with him. He usually only had conversations like this with his sister or his best friends.

He searched for something to say. How do you like Berlin? She had appeared in his class shortly before the Christmas break. Hed heard her family had moved from Magdeburg.

Im glad to be here, I suppose, she said. Magdeburg was bombed to bits by the British in the war. A lot of it is still wasteland. Even more than Berlin but theres so much more of the city here you dont notice it so much.

Alex asked why theyd moved.

My parents both teach at Humboldt Universitt. Politics. Like Herr Wrfel! I think they would get on very well. And my grandmother lives here. They wanted to be closer to her now shes getting older, to help my Auntie Rosemarie with looking after her.

She paused and said, I quite like Berlin really, but its odd being in a new town with none of your old friends around you.

They started to talk about music. Sophie played the cello and had recently joined the school orchestra. Maybe Ill make some friends there, she said. She told him she enjoyed playing the music they performed, especially the German composers Bach, Mozart. Its all so elegant. It fits together so beautifully. Were good at that, arent we, she said. Then she lowered her voice. But I like rock music too.

Now that were not so good at, laughed Alex. But Im trying. I play guitar a bit with my friends.

She laughed, but neither of them felt it wise to say any more. They were discouraged from listening to Western rock music, let alone playing it. Alex was secretly thrilled that she had talked to him about it.

As they turned into Treptower Park on their journey home, Sophie stopped to pet a pair of horses harnessed to a wooden coal wagon. On an impulse, Alex said, Here, come and look at this. He took her to the vast Soviet war memorial at the heart of the park and pointed to one of the stone friezes.