The Berlin Assignment by Adrian de Hoog Page A

benefit from imitating. But when he left his practice he metamorphosed. Professional conformity was left behind and out stepped an idiosyncratic old man. When it came to cycling he was really quite obsessed. Although Sabine quietly adored her father’s unpredictability, she was convinced the world would be a chaotic place if his non-conformity were to be copied widely. Who would sail into a pub and order champagne in a litre mug, or show up at social gatherings with his necktie knotted backwards? She complained too, as she was now doing to Martina, about his sporting ambitions. She couldn’t fathom them. She knew no precedent. Nowhere in the world of literature, not even in the fairy tales, was there a character like him. Why would an eighty-four year old desire physical competition? Not only that, but he wanted victory too. The annual cycle race for seniors was not far off and all he did was talk of winning. Given this eccentricity, it was all the more surprising that his professional side wasso conformist. The law firm –
Albert Müller, Notar und Rechtsanwalt
, a one-man operation – was known for punctuality, meticulous work and crisply-argued opinions. Immediately after the war, back from being an American POW (the Italian campaign), Müller found a niche. He worked non-stop at settling claims by Jewish families stripped of property by the Nazis. Only in late middle age did he allow himself the luxury of sport, returning to the things he loved most in his youth.
    At age sixty Müller decided to become a marathoner. West Berlin, although walled off from the world, wasn’t a bad place for running. With a careful choice of route a marathon could neatly take you from one end of the city to the other. After four hours on the pavement, Müller boasted, he’d had a good run.
Did it again. Went Wall to Wall.
Müller ran the marathon throughout his sixties and seventies (the century’s seventies and eighties) and would have continued had the Wall stayed up. But when it collapsed, and the cosy, enclosed
Wall to Wall
feeling disappeared, Müller turned to cycling. A great hinterland had opened up. The dream – one day to win a marathon by running into the Olympic Stadium – had been replaced. He now planned to win a yellow jersey just like the greats who do it on the
Tour de France
.
    â€œThree years ago he was featured in a national runners magazine,” Sabine said while Martina worked at her marinated breast of duck. “He was the oldest in his club. Have I told you this?
The Hares
. When the wall came down he switched to cycling.
The Eagles
. They race in Brandenburg. It worries me.” Sabine said this with exasperation and pointed her fork over a shoulder into the general direction of that new eastern state, a place of mortal danger. “The traffic is terrible there. Ossis don’t know how to drive modern cars.”
    â€œOssis have élan,” Martina interjected. As she said this she thought of Professor Kraft, her latest
Kater
, a renowned Ossi philologist. Kraft was more corpulent than herself, but despite his size he was remarkably agile in short bursts.
    â€œHe’s training for a race,” continued Sabine, still thinking of her father. “From the Polish border to Berlin. Through Brandenburg! At eighty-four! Why? I asked him. He said,
Either I push myself on my bike or you push me around in a wheelchair
. What can you say to that?”
    â€œI advise against outdoor exercise at any age,” Martina said, sounding like a medical advisor. “Strength should be conserved through the day so that it’s available at night. I must say, with your papa wasting so much energy, it’s a wonder you exist. Maybe his focus was better back then. Didn’t he wear out two wives?”
    Sabine’s mouth dropped and began scolding her best friend for this tasteless remark. Her mother and father had been a loving couple. She never knew her