Apparatus 33 Lawston Pettymore (chapter books to read to 5 year olds TXT) 📖

blinking or flinching. “Oh. That’s right.”

“Ah…” Zerrissen watched a ring of smoke rise towards the ceiling, noticing some bulbs hanging there that needed replacing. “A spy.”

Nicolaus smiled a thin, telling smile. “Raynor. The Workers’ Paradise does not need or employ spies. What’s wrong with you?”

What about your friends at the American Embassy? I’m sure they would love to help you.”

“The American Embassy is thoroughly compromised. I should know. I compromised it. No more temporary visas at the checkpoints. We’d be arrested if we tried.”

Nicolaus paused while the radio announcer became silent, evidently changing programs. A few seconds later, an announcer returned to introduce the conductor of the concluded opera to polite applause.

A bang sounded from across the room. Halina had pulled some scrap materials from the bottom of a greasy pile. The controlled roar of an acetylene torch bounced off the walls and ceiling. She had fired up the welder to piece some scraps together as if she owned the place. But her claim to ownership was no weaker than Zerrissen’s. All things on this side of the River Spree belonged to the State.

Zerrissen shot a worried glance at Nicolaus, but he shrugged. “You can try to scold her, but she really only hears her own thoughts.”

Summoning the patience of a father that he never had a chance to be, Zerrissen decided that a pile of oily car and appliance parts could not be further harmed by a crippled, mute girl. And if she starts a fire? Fine. Let the place burn. With coal still hard to get and now so expensive, the extra warmth would be welcome.

Nicolaus continued, “I’m telling you this because I need Halina to live here for a short time. She can’t go back to her assigned flat. Then, we need to get her across the border.”

Zerrissen leaned over the workbench, searching for his pack of cigarettes. Time to feed the erstwhile piston with another stub and more ashes. “I already paid that butcher bill. I helped you escape Die Kuppel, remember? And here you are today, alive, and your life seems pretty good. So…. You’re welcome.”

“Oh? Did you?”

“Did I what?”

“Did you save us? Or did we save you? A Nazi scientist fleeing the Bunker could evade suspicion, and, in fact, earn a string of sausages, with a couple of kids in tow, yes?”

Zerrissen was visibly uncomfortable with the accusations. He said nothing.

Nicolaus drove home his nail. “So… You’re welcome.”

Zerrissen lost interest in the cigarette, stubbed it out in the piston, already overflowing with the carcasses of previous smokes.

“So, what exactly do you want from me?”

“Halina will stay here for a few days.”

Zerrissen looked over at Halina. This request was much easier than he feared. What difference could it make who spent the night in the shop as long as it wasn’t him.

Sensing he was making progress, Nicolaus moved on to the next ask.

“There’s more.”

Here it comes, Zerrissen thought cynically.

“Do I want to know?”

“You will find it amusing. It’s about what under the streets in this neighborhood.”

“I’m listening” The challenge to ‘surprise me’ went unsaid.

“We’re moving you.”

“Oh? Better neighborhood?”

“What? No. Just a few hundred meters up the street. The neighborhood is the same. At least above ground. It’s what’s underneath that will amuse you.”

“I’ve never been amused by anything underneath Berlin in my life.”

“Ducts.” Nicolaus pronounced plainly, as if the word were self-explanatory.

“Did you just say ‘ducts?’”

“Yes. Did you know that the Reich had a plan to flood Berlin in the event of an invasion?

“Flood? From the river?”

“From ponds and reservoirs from the mountains. Ostensibly for recreation, ice-skating in winter, and small boats in summer. That sort of thing. But what residents did not generally know was that the reservoirs could flood the streets of Berlin and invaders, leaving the drained reservoirs available as ad hoc landing fields for the Luftwaffe if need be.”

“Does that make sense? Are you sure? I’ve never heard of it.”

“Yes, I’m sure. Nazi plat maps do not lie, and no, it doesn’t make sense. Does building a huge bunker in the Polish forest to treat children with polio make sense?”

The Reich was ruled by madness for ten years, Zerrissen thought. And it did sound like something Goering would do.

A shower of sparks as angry fireflies filled the air around Halina. Nicolaus could see the alarm in Zerrissen’s face.

“She knows what she’s doing. The State sends her to a Socialist Workers gymnasium to learn a trade. She picked that one.”

Zerrissen watched her don the welding helmet with one hand as if she were born to do the job. He sat back down.

“You said I would be amused. I find that amusing,” he pointed to Halina holding the welder’s helmet, nearly as big as she was, to her face.

Nicolaus smiled affectionately in agreement.

Zerrissen returned to the mysterious subject of ducts. “Even if that duct is still there, and assuming you could find it, what do you want with this duct, Nicolaus?”

“Ducts can be very useful for hiding things you don’t want found, or for escaping from places you don’t want to be.”

“I wouldn’t know.”

“Yeah, it’s kind of a specialty of mine.”

Nicolaus smiled wryly. “A team will be here tomorrow to move the shop. You can take the day off if you’d like.” Nicolaus called out a ‘goodbye’ to Halina, who waved back, and he turned to leave.

“I’m sorry, I’ll be missed if I don’t get back to my desk.”

“Your cultural attaché desk?”

“Yeah, that one.”

“How do I find you? How do I find the new space? Did I agree to any of this?”

“Don’t worry. I’ll find you. Everything will be clear tomorrow.”

Zerrissen assuming the move as good as a fait accompli, called out after him as he reached the door.

“Nicolaus, I have a personal question.”

“OK.”

“Was Mengele right?”

“You know, I was going to ask you that. Was he?”

Zerrissen was in no mood to make friends with someone who could waltz in and change his life, so he asked the question bluntly,

“Are you a… homosexual?”

Nicolaus paused, then, because there was no good reason to deny it,