The Wall Crossers

Wed 12 January - 2:20am In a Hotel Room in East Berlin - Anja's perspective

I am waking up in the night, anxious, and cold. I have been dreaming, again, of... Elke. I shake my head to clear it of this wahnsinniger Traum (insane dream), feeling disbelief as I lie alone in this strange bed in the East, rubbing my sleepy eyes, trying hard now to be awake enough to focus, to dispel this unbearable conflict, these troublesome thoughts.

Though recent events felt endless, in reality they've spanned only a few short days. It was a roller coaster of fear and emotional anguish, but now, finally, a ray of hope emerges!

Ja, amidst the desolation of East Berlin, unlikely allies have somehow appeared!... at just the right time it seems. Envoy Herr Stegel—a lifeline from the West; my loyal Niels Kepner—masterminding strategems; and my dear, though enigmatic, Elke, shrouded in mystery always, nevertheless directing things—introducing a glimmer of hope, beguiling me into a spellbound state of heart, as if she had all this planned from the beginning! Only... as I reflect on Horst and his grieving parents, tears threaten to surface once more, but then my thoughts settle again on Elke. While under her sway, even amidst the chaos, a compelling allure rises, floats above it all—a beautiful beckoning that tugs me forward through this darkness that both threatens and frees me. What will I find on the other side? Infatuation for... a girl? This is what my future is to become?

When I remember back to long ago—when I was twelve, each time I saw Gabriele, my face turned red like a tomato and my stomach flipped. She was older than me and what she showed me how to do was so embarrassing. Then when I was fourteen, and writing already to Horst, I swooned over Petra, hoping she would show some affection in return, but then one day she casually admitted she adored Klaus, which was worse than a slap to my face! I cried bitterly, inconsolably, wretchedly, for days!

Ja. My love life has been, and is, a profound dilemma, a difficult truth like the happy glitzern (glister/glitter) of the West being eclipsed when acknowledging the dark of the East. For me there has always been a sparkle of girls—Gabriele, Petra... Sofía. Ahhh, Sofía—that kleine schmutzige Miststück (dirty little bitch), a year older than me. I was at that party she hosted at her house while her parents were away, also attended by several well-known girls from our school, and a group of popular but laut und geil (rowdy and horny) boys as well. I merely glanced at her, and she was staring—at me! I quickly looked away, then slowly back again—still she was with the stare! I ask her, "Was? (What?)" She lowered her such long eye lashes, licked her lips. I shook my head and rolled my eyes. Later, as I was in a circle of girls talking about boys and giggling, she came to me—her two dark eyes wide, all pupil, as if drugged, intense gaze, oval face, olive Mediterranean skin, the heavy Maybelline Great Lash mascara, her shimmer pearl eye shadow and lips, lemondrop nails worn bitten and chipped, she insanely wearing Oud Eau De Parfum scent!... the most expensive in the world! And her lemon minidress with just inches from neck to bottom hem leaving very little unknown about her, clearly braless, the boys' eyes all following her peekaboo fluffy softly puffed-out purple bikini gusset showing—yet... she brushing all the boys aside, pointedly ignoring them, giving me instead that searching look, taking my hand, wordlessly leading me, pulling me, to her room upstairs, away from the other partier girls, away from all those boys with their flaming-out hearts, closing the door behind us.

I step tentatively into Sofía's room, my gaze immediately caught by the opulence that surrounds me. The walls, painted in a soft rose hue and adorned with delicate floral-patterned wallpaper, serve as a backdrop for a collage of posters featuring contemporary female stars. Among them, posters of voluptuous celebrities grace the walls, their glamour juxtaposed against the room's ambiance of luxury. The heavy velvet curtains, drawn shut, hint at a clandestine world within. Expensive pieces of furniture line one wall.

The centerpiece of the room is a grand canopy bed, swathed in cascades of sheer fabric and adorned with an array of plush cushions. Amidst the lavishness, the sight of posters featuring these captivating women, their alluring poses frozen in time, creates a contrasting allure. An ornate vanity, meticulously arranged with cosmetics and perfume bottles, stands as a shrine to femininity, while the scent of jasmine and vanilla hangs in the air, intermingling with a hint of secrecy. Cloisonné, topaz, amber, lapis lazuli, opal, tourmaline, all these catch my wandering glance. I flick my eyes back to the postered walls. I realize with a start—some of these posters are actually Playboy Playmate centerfolds!