Stasiland_ Stories From Behind the Berlin Wall - Anna Funder [81]
So it came in the mail. Criminal proceedings were issued against him. The indictment charged him with theft of GDR property. Still Koch did nothing.
Not long afterwards there was another knock at the door. It was the same men again. ‘Excuse us, Herr Koch. I am pleased to inform you that the allegation of theft has been withdrawn.’
‘Mmmhh.’
‘In the first place on account of triviality: the plate was worth only sixteen eastern marks. In the second place because of the Statute of Limitations for such crimes: the allegations concerned an act which took place eight years ago and are therefore barred.’
Koch looks at me closely.
‘However,’ the officer said, ‘new proceedings have been issued against you.’
‘Oh?’
‘For perjury.’
‘Get out.’
The official put his foot in the door. ‘I’m afraid, Herr Koch, that it is alleged that on 14 June 1985 you swore in an affidavit to the Ministry of State Security of the former German Democratic Republic that you did not know the whereabouts of the plate in question. That is an offence against the law then in force in the GDR, and it is the responsibility of the new Germany to ensure prosecution of crimes which occurred in the former GDR.’
I am laughing by now. Koch goes on.
‘I said, “Bravo. Terrific. Well done. Can’t you people make up your minds? Do you want to see me punished because I worked for the Firm, or do you want to see me punished because I worked against the Firm? What is it, exactly, you want?”’ He’s laughing now too. This is his moment. The man who drew the line, and who sat on the fence, pulls some righteousness from the post-Wall rubble.
‘Did the trial come about?’ I ask him.
‘No. But all these allegations did quite a bit of damage. My wife lost her job because of them. The rumours were pretty bad, and they took on a life of their own—you know, Koch is a thief, a liar, a perjurer.’ He pauses, and leans towards me. I can smell him again, warm and piny. He says, ‘You know though, it was worth it. All the courage I had is in that plate. The whole shitty little skerrick of it. That’s all I had. That plate,’ he says pointing behind him, ‘stays there.’
Beep. ‘Hi Miriam, it’s Anna.’ I’m keeping this upbeat. ‘Just thought I’d call to say hello. I’d love to catch up. I’ve been having some odd adventures in your old country! Curiouser and curiouser—I’ve a lot to tell. Anyway, I’ll call, or you can reach me.’ I leave my number. ‘See you.’
Herr Koch gave me Stasi diagrams and photographs of the ‘border installation’ at Bornholmer Strasse. ‘Top Secret!’ he cried gleefully, as he made copies of them on the machine in his hallway.
A day or two later I have them rolled in my pocket as I walk from my apartment to where Miriam climbed over. I also have the sketch she drew; the place where she was caught is marked with a gash of blue ink. I want to see what it looked like to her; I want to place these pictures over what’s there now, as if to bring the past into some kind of focus.
It is muggy today. Everyone has been burning their heaters without pause for weeks and the clouds are low and tinted with coal dust. I take breaths of this orange sky as I walk.
The first thing I reach is the garden colony. A path leads through the plots, each one fenced off from its neighbour with cyclone mesh. There are small huts on them—for garden tools and seeds, for barbecue grills and folding chairs and ladders. There are a few larger trees, but mostly there is just sodden black earth arranged into rectangles, waiting for a lick of sun to bring up vegetables and flowers. These are squared-off places for contained fantasies—in one plot I find Snow White and her dwarves, two fawns and two portly gnomes all cohabiting peacefully with an almost life-size sow and her three fat piglets.
Between the garden plots and where the Wall was there’s a wider stretch of grass and then an embankment. I climb up to another cyclone fence and look through at the mess of railway lines and