Seventh Monday in pretrial detention. My cellmate Andi and I are busy assembling Bakelite plugs again.
Since it's my stepfather's birthday soon, I wrote him a short letter a few days ago.
“Dear Dad, happy birthday. Don't worry, Mom. Say hi to the third button for me...”
I didn't want to mention Uncle Werner, Aunt Erika, and Karin a third time so that the censors wouldn't get suspicious.
Instead, I pretended I was saying hello to my younger brother.
With the small but important difference that we never, ever called him “button.”
In fact, the third button refers to the channel on my parents' TV, which is tuned to the West German program.
Let's see if he understands the message.
Despite all the antipathy I feel for my stepfather, one thing is certain: he is neither in the party nor in the Stasi.
Politically, we were in agreement—the communists, socialists, and whatever-ists have screwed everything up!
That's why he would definitely welcome it if I made it to the West.
All he has to do is inform my relatives in Wuppertal.
As cunning as he is at organizing everything that's important to him, it should be easy for him to send a message to the West.
The best opportunity would be during the February holidays, when my mom, “Dad,” and my little brother go to Krkonoše for winter sports, as they do every year.
There, he'll have to come up with something to let my cousin Karin know about me.
She'll do the right thing.
It would take a miracle for him to mess this up.
Let's see if, when, and how he responds to my birthday greetings.
Then we'll see what happens next.
This song by Udo comes to mind:
“Mit dreizehn ist er zum ersten Mal (At thirteen for the first time) /
Von zuhause weggerannt (he ran away from home) /
Er wollte nach London (He wanted to go to London) /
Und später nach Paris (And later to Paris) /
Das waren komische Gefühle (It was a strange feeling) /
Als er nachts an der Straße stand (As he stood on the street at night) ...”.