THE LOOKING GLASS WAR by John LeCarré

“Who are you?” he asked. She said nothing. “What do you do?”

She took his glass and drank from it, looking at him precociously over the brim as if she were a great beauty. She put it down slowly, still watching him, touched the side of her hair. She seemed to think her gestures mattered. Leiser began again:

“Been here long?”

“Two years.”

“What do you do?”

“Whatever you want.” Her voice was quite earnest.

“Much going on here?”

“It’s dead. Nothing.”

“No boys?”

“Sometimes.”

“Troops?” A pause.

“Now and then. Don’t you know it’s forbidden to ask that?”

Leiser helped himself to more Steinhager from the bottle.

She took his glass, fumbling with his fingers.

“What’s wrong with this town?” he asked. “I tried to come here six weeks ago. They wouldn’t let me in. Kalkstadt, Langdorn, Wolken, all closed they said. What was going on?”

Her fingertips played over his hand.

“What was up?” he repeated.

“Nothing was closed.”

“Come off it,” Leiser laughed, “they wouldn’t let me near the place, I tell you. Roadblocks here and on the Wolken road.” He thought, “It’s eight twenty; only two hours till the first schedule.”

“Nothing was closed.” Suddenly she added, “So you came from the west: you came by road. They’re looking for someone like you.”

He stood up to go. “I’d better find the hostel.” He put some money on the table. The girl whispered, “I’ve got my own room. In a new flat behind the Friedensplatz. A workers’ block. They don’t mind. I’ll do whatever you want.”

Leiser shook his head. He picked up his luggage and went to the door. She was still looking at him and he knew she suspected him.

“Goodbye,” he said.

“I won’t say anything. Take me with you.”

“I had a Steinhager,” Leiser muttered. “We didn’t even talk. You played your record all the time.” They were both frightened.

The girl said, “Yes. Records all the time.”

“It was never closed, you are sure of that? Langdorn, Wolken, Kalkstadt, six weeks ago?”

“What would anyone close this place for?”

“Not even the station?”

She said quickly, “I don’t know about the station. The area was closed for three days in November. No one knows why. Russian troops stayed, about fifty. They were billeted in the town. Mid-November.”

“Fifty? Any equipment?”

“Lorries. There were maneuvers further north, that’s the rumor. Stay with me tonight. Stay with me! Let me come with you. I’ll go anywhere.”

“What color shoulder-boards?”

“I don’t remember.”

“They were new. Some came from Leningrad, two brothers.”

“Which way did they go?”

“North. Listen, no one will ever know. I don’t talk, I’m not that kind. I’ll give it to you, anything you want.”

“Toward Rostock?”

“They said they were going to Rostock. They said not to tell. The Party came around to all the houses.”

Leiser nodded. He was sweating. “Goodbye,” he said.

“What about tomorrow, tomorrow night? I’ll do whatever you want.”

“Perhaps. Don’t tell anyone, do you understand?”

She shook her head. “I won’t tell them,” she said, “because I don’t care. Ask for the Hochhaus behind the Friedensplatz. Apartment nineteen. Come any time. I’ll open the door. You give two rings and they know it’s for me. You needn’t pay.

Take care,” she said. “There are people everywhere. They’ve killed a boy in Wilmsdorf. . . .”

He walked to the market square, correct again because everything was closing in, looking for the church tower and the hostel. Huddled figures passed him in the darkness; some wore pieces of uniform; forage caps and the long coats they had in the war. Now and then he would glimpse their faces, catching them in the pale glow of a streetlight, and he would seek in their locked, unseeing features the qualities he hated. He would say to himself, “Hate him—he is old enough,” but it did not stir him. They were nothing. Perhaps in some other town, some other place, he would find them and hate them; but not here. These were old and nothing; poor, like him, and alone. The tower was black and empty. It reminded him suddenly of the turret on the border, and the garage after eleven, of the moment when he killed the sentry; just a kid, like himself in the war; even younger than Avery.

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