He picked up his guitar and left the room.
Until he got downstairs he had no plan, just rage; but when he saw the front door he knew what to do. With his guitar in his hand he walked out of the house and slammed the door so hard the house shook.
An upstairs window was thrown up and he heard his father shout: ‘Come back, do you hear me? Come back this minute, or you’ll be in even worse trouble.’
Walli walked on.
At first he was just angry, but after a while he felt exhilarated. He had defied his father and even called him a stupid old fool! He headed west, walking with a jaunty step. But soon his euphoria faded and he began to wonder what the consequences would be. His father did not take disobedience lightly. He commanded his children and his employees, and he expected them to comply. But what would he do? For two or three years now Walli had been too big to be spanked. Today Father had tried to keep him in the house as if it were a jail, but that had failed. Sometimes Father threatened to take him out of school and make him work in the business, but Walli considered that an empty threat: his father would not be comfortable with a resentful adolescent roaming around his precious factory. All the same, Walli had a feeling that the old man would think of something.
The street he was on passed from East Berlin to West Berlin at a crossroads. Lounging on the corner, smoking, were three Vopos, East German cops. They had the right to challenge anyone crossing the invisible border. They could not possibly speak to everyone, because so many thousands of people went over every day, including many
Grenzgänger
, East Berliners who worked in the West for higher wages paid in valuable deutschmarks. Walli’s father was a
Grenzgänger
, though he worked for profits, not wages. Walli himself crossed over at least once a week, usually to go with his friends to West Berlin cinemas, which showed sexy, violent American films that were more exciting than the preachy fables in Communist movie houses.
In practice, the Vopos stopped anyone who caught their eye. Entire families crossing together, parents and children, were almost certain to be challenged on suspicion of trying to leave the East permanently, especially if they had luggage. The other types the Vopos liked to harass were adolescents, particularly those wearing Western fashions. Many East Berlin boys belonged to anti-establishment gangs: the Texas Gang, the Jeans Gang, the Elvis Presley Appreciation Society, and others. They hated the police and the police hated them.
Walli was wearing plain black pants, a white T-shirt, and a tan windbreaker. He looked cool, he thought, a little like James Dean, but not a gang member. However, the guitar might get him noticed. It was the ultimate symbol of what they called ‘American unculture’ – even worse than a
Superman
comic.
He crossed the road, careful not to look at the Vopos. Out of the corner of his eye he thought he saw one staring at him. But nothing was said, and he passed without stopping into the Free World.
He caught a tram along the south side of the park to the Ku’damm. The best thing about West Berlin, he thought, was that
all
the girls wore stockings.
He made his way to the Minnesänger club, a cellar in a side street off the Ku’damm where they sold weak beer and frankfurter sausages. He was early, but the place was already filling up. Walli spoke to the club’s young owner, Danni Hausmann, and put his name down on the list of competitors. He bought a beer without being questioned about his age. There were lots of boys like himself carrying guitars, almost as many girls, and a few older people.
An hour later the contest began. Each act performed two songs. Some of the competitors were hopeless beginners strumming simple chords but, to Walli’s consternation, several guitarists were more accomplished than he. Most looked like the American artists whose material they copied. Three men dressed like the Kingston Trio sang ‘Tom Dooley’, and a girl with long black hair and a guitar sang ‘The House of the Rising Sun’ just like Joan Baez, and got loud applause and cheers.
An older couple in corduroys got up and sang a song about farming called ‘
Im Märzen der Bauer
’ to the accompaniment of a piano-accordion. It was folk music, but not the kind this audience wanted. They got an ironic cheer, but they were out of date.
While Walli was waiting his turn, getting impatient, he was approached by a pretty girl. This happened to him a lot. He thought he had a peculiar face, with high cheekbones and almond eyes, as if he might be half Japanese; but many girls thought he was dishy. The girl introduced herself as Karolin. She looked a year or two older than Walli. She had long, straight fair hair parted in the middle, framing an oval face. At first he thought she was like all the other folkie girls, but she had a big wide smile that made his heart misfire. She said: ‘I was going to enter this contest with my brother playing guitar, but he’s let me down – I don’t suppose you’d care to team up with me?’
Walli’s first impulse was to refuse. He had a repertoire of songs and none were duets. But Karolin was enchanting, and he wanted a reason to continue to talk to her. ‘We’d have to rehearse,’ he said doubtfully.
‘We could step outside. What songs were you thinking of?’
‘I was going to do “All My Trials” then “This Land is Your Land”.’
‘How about “
Noch Einen Tanz
”?’
It was not part of Walli’s repertoire, but he knew the tune and it was easy to play. ‘I never thought of doing a comic song,’ he said.
‘The audience would love it. You could sing the man’s part, where he tells her to go home to her sick husband, then I’d sing “Just one more dance”, and we could do the last line together.’
‘Let’s try it.’
They went outside. It was early summer, and still light. They sat on a doorstep and tried out the song. They sounded good together, and Walli improvised a harmony on the last line.
Karolin had a pure contralto voice that he thought could sound thrilling, and he suggested that their second number could be a sad song, for contrast. She rejected ‘All My Trials’ as too depressing, but she liked ‘Nobody’s Fault But Mine’, a slow spiritual. When they ran through it, the hairs stood up on the back of Walli’s neck.
An American soldier entering the club smiled at them and said in English: ‘My God, it’s the Bobbsey Twins.’
Karolin laughed and said to Walli: ‘I guess we do look alike – fair hair and green eyes. Who are the Bobbsey Twins?’
Walli had not noticed the colour of her eyes, and he was flattered that she was aware of his. ‘I’ve never heard of them,’ he said.
‘All the same, it sounds like a good name for a duo. Like the Everly Brothers.’
‘Do we need a name?’
‘We do if we win.’
‘Okay. Let’s go back in. It must be almost our turn.’
‘One more thing,’ she said. ‘When we do “
Noch Einen Tanz
”, we should look at one another now and again, and smile.’
‘Okay.’
‘Almost as if we’re boyfriend and girlfriend, you know? It will look good on stage.’
‘Sure.’ It would not be difficult to smile at Karolin as if she were his girlfriend.
Back inside, a blonde girl was strumming a guitar and singing ‘Freight Train’. She was not as beautiful as Karolin, but she was pretty in a more obvious way. Next, a virtuoso guitarist played a complicated finger-picking blues. Then Danni Hausmann called Walli’s name.
He felt tense as he faced the audience. Most of the guitarists had fancy leather straps, but Walli had never bothered to get one, and his instrument was held around his neck by a piece of string. Now, suddenly, he wished he had a strap.
Karolin said: ‘Good evening, we’re the Bobbsey Twins.’
Walli played a chord and began to sing, and found he no longer cared about a strap. The song was a waltz, and he strummed it jauntily. Karolin pretended to be a wanton strumpet, and Walli responded by becoming a stiff Prussian lieutenant.
The audience laughed.
Something happened to Walli then. There were only a hundred or so people in the place, and the sound they made was no more than an appreciative collective chuckle, but it gave him a feeling that he had not experienced before, a feeling a bit like the kick from the first puff of a cigarette.
They laughed several more times, and at the end of the song they applauded loudly.
Walli liked that even better.
‘They love us!’ Karolin said in an excited whisper.
Walli began to play ‘Nobody’s Fault But Mine’, plucking the steel strings with his fingernails to sharpen the drama of the plangent sevenths, and the crowd went quiet. Karolin changed and became a fallen woman in despair. Walli watched the audience. No one was talking. One woman had tears in her eyes, and he wondered if she had lived through what Karolin was singing about.
Their hushed concentration was even better than the laughter.
At the end they cheered and called for more.
The rule was two numbers each, so Walli and Karolin came down off the stage, ignoring the cries for an encore, but Hausmann told them to go back. They had not rehearsed a third song, and they looked at one another in panic. Then Walli said: ‘Do you know “This Land is Your Land”?’ and Karolin nodded.
The audience joined in, which made Karolin sing louder, and Walli was surprised by the power of her voice. He sang a high harmony, and their two voices soared above the sound of the crowd.
When, finally, they left the stage, he felt exhilarated. Karolin’s eyes were shining. ‘We were really good!’ she said. ‘You’re better than my brother.’
Walli said: ‘Have you got any cigarettes?’
They sat through another hour of the contest, smoking. ‘I think we were the best,’ Walli said.
Karolin was more cautious. ‘They liked the blonde girl who sang “Freight Train”,’ she said.
At last the result was announced.
The Bobbsey Twins came second.
The winner was the Joan Baez lookalike.
Walli was angry. ‘She could hardly play!’ he said.
Karolin was more philosophical. ‘People love Joan Baez.’
The club began to empty, and Walli and Karolin headed for the door. Walli felt dejected. As they were leaving, Danni Hausmann stopped them. He was in his early twenties, and dressed in modern casual clothes, a black roll-neck sweater and jeans. ‘Could you two do half an hour next Monday?’ he said.
Walli was too surprised to reply, but Karolin quickly said: ‘Sure!’
‘But the Joan Baez imitator won,’ said Walli, then he thought: Why am I arguing?
Danni said: ‘You two seem to have the range to keep an audience happy for more than one or two numbers. Have you got enough songs for a set?’
Once again Walli hesitated, and again Karolin jumped in. ‘We will by Monday,’ she said.
Walli remembered that his father planned to imprison him in the house for a month of evenings, but he decided not to mention that.
‘Thanks,’ said Danni. ‘You get the early slot, eight-thirty. Be here by seven-thirty.’
They were elated as they walked out into the lamplit street. Walli had no idea what he would do about his father, but he felt optimistic that everything would work out.
It turned out that Karolin, too, lived in East Berlin. They caught a bus and began to talk about which numbers they would do next week. There were lots of folk songs they both knew.
They got off the bus and headed into the park. Karolin frowned and said: ‘The guy behind.’
Walli looked back. There was a man in a cap thirty or forty yards behind them, smoking as he walked. ‘What about him?’
‘Wasn’t he in the Minnesänger?’
The man did not meet Walli’s eye, even though Walli stared at him. ‘I don’t think so,’ said Walli. ‘Do you like the Everly Brothers?’
‘Yes!’
As they walked, Walli started to play ‘All I Have to Do is Dream’, strumming the guitar that hung around his neck on its string. Karolin joined in eagerly. They sang together as they crossed the park. He played the Chuck Berry hit ‘Back in the USA’.
They were belting out the refrain, ‘I’m so glad I’m living in the USA,’ when Karolin halted suddenly and said: ‘Hush!’ Walli realized they had reached the border, and saw three Vopos under a street light glaring at them malevolently.
He shut up immediately, and hoped they had stopped soon enough.
One of the cops was a sergeant, and he looked past Walli. Walli glanced back and saw the man in the cap give a curt nod. The sergeant took a step towards Walli and Karolin and said: ‘Papers.’ The man in the cap spoke into a walkie-talkie.
Walli frowned. It seemed Karolin had been right, and they had been followed.
It occurred to him that Hans might be behind this.
Could he possibly be so petty and vengeful?
Yes, he could.
The sergeant looked at Walli’s identity card and said: ‘You’re only fifteen. You shouldn’t be out this late.’
Walli bit his tongue. There was no point in arguing with them.
The sergeant looked at Karolin’s card and said: ‘You’re seventeen! What are you doing with this child?’
This made Walli recall the row with his father, and he said angrily: ‘I’m not a child.’
The sergeant ignored him. ‘You could go out with me,’ he said to Karolin. ‘I’m a real man.’ The other two Vopos laughed appreciatively.
Karolin said nothing, but the sergeant persisted. ‘How about it?’ he said.
‘You must be out of your mind,’ Karolin said quietly.
The man was stung. ‘Now that’s just rude,’ he said.
Walli had noticed this about some men. If a girl gave them the brush-off they became indignant, but any other response was taken as encouragement. What were women supposed to do?
Karolin said: ‘Give me back my card, please.’
The sergeant said: ‘Are you a virgin?’
Karolin blushed.
Once again the other two cops sniggered.
‘They ought to put that on women’s identity cards,’ said the man. ‘Virgin, or not.’
‘Knock it off,’ Walli said.
‘I’m gentle with virgins.’
Walli was boiling. ‘That uniform doesn’t give you the right to pester girls!’
‘Oh, doesn’t it?’ The sergeant did not give back their identity cards.