The Berlin Assignment by Adrian de Hoog

Sabine had settled, Martina asked how the book business was doing. “Your charms are wasted there, sweetie,” she added cheerfully. “I’ve told you that before.”
    â€œIt’s going nowhere,” Sabine answered. “The rent from the apartments upstairs keeps Geissler going. Two people came in this morning and one wasn’t even a customer. It was Lisa. She dropped by to tell me about some new social problem. A traffic tunnel somewhere.”
    â€œWell my business is booming,” Martina said nonchalantly, “all over town. Everybody in the West wants to put up advertising in the East. All those run-down buildings with exposed fire walls left over from the war – we’re going to cover them with colour. I’ve told you before, I’ve got a sales spot waiting for you. You could start tomorrow. You’ve got a perfect figure for the job.” She padded the back of her platinum-streaked-blond fluffy hairdo.
    â€œGeissler has fewer customers all the time,” Sabine continued. “People are looking for bargains outside Berlin now, though you couldn’t get old books cheaper than from him. Some he lets go for nineteen-thirties prices.”
    â€œI don’t know much about book prices,” Martina replied, “but the good thing about money nowadays is that Berlin is once again attracting it. Did you know? Fresh men loaded with cash are arriving by the dozens. They’re buying everything that’s going. Dahlem villas are hot items. I’m very optimistic.”
    â€œI doubt it’s for the better. Everything is getting worse with the Wall gone.”
    Sabine watched Martina finish off a first glass of wine. She often wondered how someone outwardly slow and slightly eccentric like Martina could be so lightning-swift in business. When Martina talked business her eyes filled with excitement. Disconcertingly, however, they focussed in slightly different directions, as she suffered from an eye problem. When the prospect of business animated Martina, one eye would fix on the person opposite and the other on something in the distance. This could be unsettling. Sabine noticed Martina’s eyes began to wander when she talked of layering East Berlin in colour, but as she poured herself another glass of wine, a degree of synchronisation filtered back.
    Martina disagreed with Sabine’s view that Berlin was in decline. “Nonsense,” she said. “Your problem is those books and that creepy one-armed Geissler. It clouds your vision. He’s a frustrated man if ever there was one. It’s his right arm that’s gone, am I right? I’m sure it interferes with his stroking of the flesh.”
    â€œMartina!” Sabine was partially amused and partially shocked. “He was injured in the war. It’s done things to his mind. You can’t hold that against him.”
    â€œMaybe. But he landed on his feet right afterwards. In that respect others suffered twice as much as him.”
    Gottfried brought the orders, marinated duck breast for Martina, a Greek salad with black olives for Sabine. “For you two healthy orchids,” he said. A titter escaped Martina. “Thank you, Gottfried. So insightful. Orchids have such splendid inner workings.” When he was gone, she said, “If I were him I’d go East. There isn’t a decent waiter in all of Mitte. He’d be famous overnight. How’s your papa?”
    â€œOut on his bicycle I imagine. As always. Why he goes out on days like this, I don’t know. He races around as if he thinks the end is near. He won’t slow down.”
    â€œHe’s an example,” mused Martina, “for young men everywhere.”
    But Sabine wasn’t sure her father should be an example, at least not the side that caused his non-stop cycling. In her opinion it was overdone. The professional side of him – the lawyer – everyone (not just the young men) would