1987

„Zum Teufel mit dem!“

A loud voice could be heard along with quick forceful steps. A young man was briefly illuminated by one of the street lights that line Tempelhofer Damm. He wore a tattered leather jacket with mistaken conviction that it gave him an aura of coolness, like one of those squatters over in Kreutzberg. He wore the collar flipped up to protect him from the biting wind and thick snowflakes. Markus was the name his father had given him, but he told everyone his Name was Mark. „Mark, like in Deutsche Mark“ was his catchphrase.

As he passed the airport with it‘s flood lights and American jeeps parked out front he spat on the sidewalk with disdain. Flughafen Tempelhof had been closed to the public years ago when the Americans took over. They used it to get supplies into the encircled city at first, but as time passed operations got increasingly more secret and less charitable. Markus raised a fist like he had seen people do at those rallies his father doesn‘t allow him to attend. But when a light was switched on in the car park janitor's hut, he quickly pulled his arm back and walked on with faster steps.

Markus doesn‘t actually have anything against the American military. They often gave him candy when he was a kid and they threw the best parties this side of the Teltow Canal. But ever since his father started working for them, he had to loathe them by proxy. Okay, that is not quite true. Back when he began his work his father was still normal. The change happened later.

„I‘ll show you, you hear me!“ yelled Markus at a tree on the border to the Old Park as he passed by, „You can‘t treat me like that just because! You didn‘t even care what I felt like. You don‘t care for me at all!“

The tree was unimpressed, but a spooked squirrel dropped down and ran for it‘s tiny life. Standing in awkward silence for a bit Markus felt embarrassed and quickly continued on his path. He was on his way to a Punk concert that his father had explicitly prohibited him from attending. But after today he was determined to not give a fuck anymore. He put his hand briefly on his left cheek to check if it still hurt and winced. The pain was fresh again and so was his bile.

He crossed the canal to Marienfelde. A loafer had told him about the concert and said it was supposed to be near the refugee transit camp where all the people who had fled the GDR were interned.

„Fuck you dad! Fuck you snow and fuck you GDR!“, he said with new found mettle.

Markus doesn‘t actually have anything against the socialist neighbor. The German Democratic Republic to him was simply a bunch of backward chumps. Like a zoo of harmless primitives. But it was on a mission in the GDR that his father changed. He used to be a kind, loving man. Strong in his convictions but fair and benevolent. When he returned, he was a different man. He never openly talked about what happened and blamed that on security clearance and nonsense like that.

„That didn‘t stop you talking about your adventures before, you dick!“

Markus had reached Großbeerenstraße, where he had to make a turn. Through a window he saw a family doing the dishes. That sent a bolt of pain to his heart. Markus had not seen his mother in years. She had moved to Dortmund, far away from him.

„Or rather far away from you, asshole“ yelled Markus at another unfazed tree.

There was a letter from her in the mail today. Divorce papers. His father gave him a severe beating, when Markus had put the envelope on the kitchen table. Afterwards his father got his Vodka out again and sat down on the kitchen floor. When the alcohol had loosened his tongue he began to talk.

„I was done with my reconna… rec… with looking around. The commies didn‘t suspect a thing. I was going to spent the night relaxing in a pub and return the next morning.“

„Dad, I don‘t care.“

„That night I ran into…“ There was a long pause while Markus‘ Father stared at the bottle in his hands, as if he tried to find the right words. „There was a woman. You have never seen a woman like tha-“

„Are going to fucking tell me how you cheated on Mum?!“ Markus interrupted him in disgust.

„You have never seen a woman like that.“ repeated his Father stoically. „I only had one beer, I swear. But it felt like I was hammered like… like a… like now.“

Markus buried his face in his hands. He had always expected something like that, but he didn‘t want to hear it.

„I lost track of the people around me and the place just faded away, there was only her. Somehow I ended up in a weird room, like a cellar or a… I don‘t know…“ His mind seemed to fade in and out. „I thought I had been discovered and would be tortured. I didn‘t expect her to take her clothes off.“

He fell silent in a way, that disgusted Markus. It was as if he could read the thoughts on his father‘s mind.

„When I came to, everything was changed. The world is upside down and I am a dead man walking. Nobody can be close to me. Nobody can-“ He suddenly froze and looked at Markus with cold horror in his eyes. „Get out of here you shithead!“

Markus narrowly dodged the bottle that came flying and smashed to pieces on the kitchen wall behind him.

Markus had finally reached the refugee camp just as it had stopped snowing and he noticed with confusion that he was crying. He wiped his tears away and began looking for the venue. There was a dimly lit backyard that looked promising.

„Hello?“ he began unconfidently as he came near. But there was nobody there.

No, wait. There was a guy standing in the back under a canopy that protected a bike rack. He turned around and looked at Markus with a weird look.

„Fear not, Markus“, said the man. Even though now, seeing his face Markus was not sure anymore if it was a man at all. The figure was dressed in a weird flowing overcoat that reminded Markus of the cult members he sees singing on street corners from time to time. The whole thing confused him so much, he didn‘t even question how the man knew his name.

„My name is Daniel“ he said, putting a strange emphasis on the el „and I have been waiting for you. I am sorry, there will not be any punk music tonight“, he continued with a weird smile.

„Wh...“, stammered Markus. Daniel took some measured steps towards him and raised an arm towards him. Markus protested halfheartedly but Daniel just calmly placed a hand on his forehead.

„Thank goodness, you have not been tainted“, exclaimed Daniel with honest joy in his voice.

„I don‘t understand…“ was all Markus could say. He felt strangely numb.

„Come, Markus. Let‘s get warm by the fire. We have work to do.“

Markus followed Daniel inside like an obedient lamb.

***

When the sun rose up the next day, all of his foot prints were covered up with fresh new snow.