Page 489 of Edge of Eternity (The Century 3)

Dimka put in: "Which is illegal. If the banks find out . . ."

"The interest on our debt is now four and a half billion dollars a year, which is two-thirds of our entire foreign currency earnings. We must have your help to deal with this crisis."

Gorbachev bristled. He hated it when East European leaders begged for money.

Krenz wheedled. "East Germany is in a sense the child of the Soviet Union." He tried a masculine joke. "One should acknowledge the paternity of one's children."

Gorbachev did not even smile. "We are in no position to offer you assistance," he said bluntly. "Not in the present condition of the USSR."

Dimka was surprised. He had not expected Gorbachev to be this tough.

Krenz was baffled. "Then what am I to do?"

"You must be honest with your people, and tell them that they cannot continue to live in the manner they have become used to."

"There will be trouble," Krenz said. "A state of emergency would have to be declared. Measures must be taken to prevent a mass breakthrough across the Wall."

Dimka thought this was approaching political blackmail. Gorbachev did, too, and he stiffened. "In that case, do not expect to be rescued by the Red Army," Gorbachev said. "You have to solve these problems yourself."

Did he really mean it? Was the USSR really going to wash its hands of East Germany? Dimka's excitement mounted with his astonishment. Was Gorbachev willing to go all the way?

Krenz looked like a priest who has realized there is no God. East Germany had been created by the Soviet Union, subsidized from the Kremlin's coffers, and protected by the strength of the Soviet military. He could not take in the idea that that was all over. He clearly had absolutely no idea what to do next.

When he had gone, Gorbachev said to Dimka: "Issue a reminder to commanders of our forces in East Germany. They must not under any circumstances get involved in conflicts between the government there and its citizens. This is an absolute priority."

My God, Dimka thought, is this really the end?

*

By November there were demonstrations every week in major towns in East Germany. The numbers grew larger and the crowds grew bolder. They could not be crushed by brutal police baton charges.

Lili and Karolin were invited to play at a rally in the Alexander Platz, not far from their home. Several hundred thousand people showed up. Someone had painted a huge placard with the slogan WIR SIND DAS VOLK, "We are the people." All around the edges of the square were police in riot gear, waiting for the order to wade into the crowd with their truncheons. But the cops looked more frightened than the demonstrators.

Speaker after speaker denounced the Communist regime, and the police did nothing.

The organizers permitted pro-Communist speakers, too, and to Lili's astonishment the government's chosen defender was Hans Hoffmann. From her position in the wings, where she and Karolin were waiting for their turn onstage, she stared at the familiar, stooped figure of the man who had persecuted her family for a quarter of a century. Despite his expensive blue coat he was shivering from the cold--or perhaps it was fear.

When Hans tried to smile amiably, he succeeded only in looking like a vampire. "Comrades," he said, "the party has listened to the voices of the people, and new measures are on the way."

The crowd knew this was bullshit, and they began to hiss.

"But we must proceed in an orderly fashion, acknowledging the leading role of the party in developing Communism."

The hissing turned to booing.

Lili watched Hans closely. His expression showed rage and frustration. A year ago, one word from him could have destroyed any of the people in the crowd; but now, suddenly, they seemed to have the power. He could not even shut them up. He had to raise his voice to a shout in order to be heard, even with the help of the microphone. "In particular, we must not make every member of the state security organizations into scapegoats for whatever mistakes may have been made by the former leadership."

This was no less than a plea for sympathy on behalf of the bullies and sadists who had been oppressing the people for decades, and the crowd was outraged. They jeered and yelled: "Stasi raus," "Stasi out."

Hans yelled at the top of his voice: "After all, they were only obeying orders!"

That brought a roar of incredulous laughter.

For Hans, to be laughed at was the worst fate. He flushed with rage. Suddenly Lili recalled the scene, twenty-eight years ago, when Rebecca had thrown Hans's shoes at him from the upstairs window. It had been the scornful laughter of the women neighbors that had driven Hans into a fury.

Now Hans remained at the microphone, unable to speak over the noise, but unwilling to give in. It was a battle of wills between him and the crowd, and he lost. His arrogant expression crumpled, and he seemed close to tears. At last he turned from the microphone and stepped away from the lectern.

He cast one more look at the crowd, laughing and jeering at him, and gave up. As he walked off, he saw Lili and recognized her. Their eyes met as she walked onstage with Karolin, both carrying guitars. In that instant he looked like a beaten dog, so tragic that Lili almost felt sorry for him.

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