Last Night in Berlin

"There's round six thousand out there," he tells me, shivering, cupping his hands together as he looks nervously back into the darkness.

Whether he's right about the number doesn't matter - I can hear them. The sounds of impassioned speeches, stomping boots and united cries of support echo throughout the stadium and into the dark passageway. We squat in shadows, cold and wet, hiding in the false warmth of our jackets.

"Six thousand sets of eyes that we need pointed in one place for one minute." I can see his eyes now as he leans forward - tired and worried after years of being behind enemy lines, of lying, exploiting, fighting, murdering, justifying.

"We all know what ya did. But we know that ya wanna make good. Ya wanna do your part to make it right." I remain silent letting the guilt surge through me as I re-live events yet again. "This is your way out. I don't think you deserve even this, but the man upstairs does and when you're in deep like you, ya take what you can."

A huge ralley of applause erupts. He looks at his watch and gets serious again.

"They have to have your complete attention. Once you're sure you've got it, you run towards the rear fence as fast as you can and climb as high as you can. From there our boys can get you and run you out of this pit. Just run, and climb and you'll be okay. Do you understand? What did I just tell you?"
I cough a bit, the reality of it settling into my body. I want to sound strong "Climb the fence. High. Fast."
"Right. They'll get ya on the other side. They'll have clothes. They'll have you out of Berlin in hours and all this shame you hold will be finished you understand."

I don't believe him, but I have no choice. It's this or back to the barracks and I won't last there.

"Its time."
He reaches down and undoes the cuffs binding my hands. I rub my wrists.
"We're counting on ya," he says.

I start taking off my clothes. The cold wind that rushes through the tunnel freezing me.

I give him my shoes, standing there naked, my feeting sticking to the frozen concrete floor. Looking out into the huge courtyard flooded with artificial light.
"Just climb." he says.
"Yes sir," I say but when I turn to look he's gone. I'm alone and naked with my shame.

I start breathing deeply. Deeply. Trying to forget that I'm naked. Trying to forget that I'm cold. Trying to forget what I've done. I swell with anger, then I run.


I run hard and I run fast feeling the thousands of eyes on me magnetized to me. Feeling the confusion entering all those heads, the viewers, the speakers, the guards, the dogs. Who is he? they'll be asking themselves.

I am blinded by the lights - running crazy. I am fast because I am naked. I start screaming before I stop running. Alone in the middle of the courtyard.

I surprise myself as I start to scream. I conjure profanity the likes of which I didn't realize existed. It is as eloquent as it is caucauphonic, and most surprisingly of all, it is LOUD, as if the God's themselves have lent their power to my meagre vocal chords and with the force of windstorms and atomic explosions I swear. I swear long, wide, the sorts of things that would make a man with Turret's blush. They will not understand the English that I scream, but they will get the idea. They will understand as my words crash into their bodies, and they will watch, they will be unable to do anything else but stand there with guns in their hands and jaws agape.

When I stop I can hear only the falling snow. The floodlights pains petals of shadows around me. An explosion erupts in the distance.

Now get to the fence. I will be safe.

I turn and sprint again, and with my action comes a great roar of activity as six thousand German soldiers were suddenly digging in their uniforms for weapons to hurt me. I crash into the chainlink fence looming 100 feet high before me and start climbing, the frozen metal stinging my skinny hands and feet, ignoring the razor wire as it cuts my skin.

Just climb. Just climb. I am breathing hard and fast. The cold setting in, my finger's numb on the metal. I can't tell if there are bullets whizzing past or I'm just hypothermic. What did he mean they'd pick me up? Where the hell are these guy's? Helicopter over Berlin? Truck? What. Why didn't I ask specific questions. What if I've been set up? Then it dawns on me...nobody really expects me to get out do they? Death is my release from shame.

My body is numb, my mouth is dry. Fear pushes me harder and harder up the fence until it becomes soft and inconsistent and warm and there is a great silence.

I move my hands, and the sting of fresh circulation overcomes them. I swallow, bringing new moisture to my mouth. I'm in a hostel dorm in New Zealand. I roll over but don't dare to open my eyes because I am gripped with a new fear - I have, in all likelyhood just screamed swears at the top of lungs while sleeping.


I close my eyes tight. Maybe I can get back to my dream.