The Wall Crossers

Anja the Spy

Olivia's perspective

Later in the afternoon of my third day under house arrest, a couple of hours after the Maren visit, I am sitting reading in my room, having purchased a paperback book about the Rolling Stones, and the CQ on duty knocks politely on the open door announcing I have a visitor.

I think to myself, Another visitor again so soon?

The CQ must think so too because he chuckles as he waits for me, and he says, "How many girlfriends do you have anyway, Reary?"

I stand and put my book down after inserting a paper book mark that Anja and I bought in a gift shop in the Grunewald Forest that day we lost her key. The picture on the bookmark is a beautiful scene of the Havel river in Grunewald at Schildhorn. That day I felt so in love with Anja, and she was so happy. Was it... August? No... July.

I turn and say, "Thank you," to the CQ and follow him down the hall trying to imagine who this might be. If Clarence, he would have come for me himself, and Clarence is no visitor. Éléonore? Not likely. Clarence would have come with her. Not Anja. We are over. She made that clear, and I am out of tears for her. Can't be the JAG, even though it is past time—I have not seen him since my first full day here—Thursday, two days ago. He should have come here by now to give me a status, or... ask more questions?

The CQ takes me to the same small room, again, door already open, and where I know there is a small table with two chairs. He motions me in saying, "Let me know when you are through. I will have to sign her out. I will be at the CQ station. Right on?" And he departs.

I step inside, and already seated at the table, facing the door, I see—Patrizia Becker.

She stands when I enter, and smiles. She is wearing a lovely yellow contrast collar shift dress, dark textured tights, and low heel black ballet flats. Dark green loops in her ears, green gemstone on her right hand, just as I recall she wore at the party, where I saw her last. Her dark auburn hair is combed back and clasped in back, splaying into a lovely fountain. Her long lashes are pretty and dark and thick, and her lips glossed. Her pretty face looks made up professionally, and her warm mostly brown (but with a shade of some other color in them) eyes sparkle.

I am wearing regular Army fatigues and boots, having taken off the shirt dress earlier. She looks me up and down as she comes around to greet me. As her body closes on mine, both her arms reach out, she says, "Livia," and I smell again sweet pine trees deep in the forest, and that hint of sweet anise licorice. This makes me want to close my eyes, so instinctively I do, as she puts her arms between my arms and body and on around me and presses her mouth to mine, begins kissing me softly. It is not rough or demanding, like it was in the Damen at the Peters' party. But like the warm kiss of a long lover.

Her mouth tastes like a mint. Her kiss is light yet still possessive in a way that is hard to describe.

We kiss for maybe five seconds, then she pulls away and searches my eyes, while I recover and mumble, "Patrizia."

She returns to her chair and points to a chair across from her for me to sit in. So I do. I see she has a light-gray overcoat draped behind her chair, and charcoal shoulder satchel bag hanging there as well.

Patrizia puts her elbows on the table, clasps her hands together, and props her chin on her hands. She is smiling. I put my hands in my lap, suck my lips in between my teeth, and taste her zippy lip gloss as well as the hint of mint from her mouth. I give her a confused look and tilt my head and say, "Why are you here?"

She ignores my question and says, "You look different. You look good in this uniform." She smiles broadly showing perfect teeth.

"Are you here to help me?" I ask Patrizia.