The Helsinki Pact by Alex Cugia

trying to do both, which is
difficult, but it’s music that I really love.”
    “Is your family supporting
you?”
    “That would require a long
answer, but the short one is no. I make some money doing gigs, you
know like piano bar kind of stuff. From Billy Joel to Brecht.
Unfortunately the pianist I used to work with just left the city a
month ago.. My father’s dead now and my mother and I don’t really
get on that well. I guess I escaped to Berlin and I have to make my
own way.”
    The more the conversation flowed
the easier it seemed and the more brilliant it appeared to become
to Thomas. They found they shared a passion for music, for Russian
literature and for more besides. Thomas was becoming obsessed with
Bettina but unsure just how she felt about him as he sensed a
wariness, a kind of ‘this far but no further’ tension in her. She
refused a brandy and as he glanced at his watch he realised that it
was nearly time to meet Mark.
    “Bettina, I’m sorry, but it’s
getting kind of late and I have to go. I have to meet a friend,
just someone who sometimes helps me get the opera tickets. Excuse
me for a minute while I settle the bill at the desk.”
    She got up as he
returned.
    “I must ring my mother. She
sometimes gets a little worried if she knows I’m out and it’s
getting late. Is there a telephone here, do you know?” He indicated
the booth down a corridor.
    Some minutes later they met near
the door, Thomas with her leather jacket draped over his arm. The
streets had been washed by a sudden shower, and the lights
reflected off the asphalt. There was a smell of damp earth as they
walked along the river bank, the Spree gliding blackly on the other
side of the low wall, and when Thomas took Bettina’s hand he found
the warmth and slight pressure returned. They linked fingers. They
crossed the Mühlendamm Bridge in silence and Bettina said softly,
almost to herself, “Perhaps I shouldn’t admit it but it’s been a
wonderful evening. Thank you.”
    “For me too. I loved being with
you and I’m so sorry I have to leave early like this. But I’d like
to see you again. Will you come to the opera with me? I have an old
friend from Frankfurt and his girlfriend coming for the weekend
tomorrow and we’re all going to see Fidelio. We could go then,
perhaps.”
    “That would be … , yes … , yes,
that would be good. I’d like that. I’ll meet you outside at, what,
7.15 tomorrow evening?”
    Thomas reached his hand behind
her neck and gently pulled her towards him, meeting little
resistance. Nuzzling her neck he inhaled the light jasmine perfume
of her skin. She leant into his shoulder for a moment and they
stood in silence, pressing together, before she straightened and
pushed him gently away.
    “No, Thomas ... I mustn't. Not
now. Let's, let's just wait until, well, for a bit. I should go.”
She looked at him, serious for a moment, started to say something
but looked down and away. “Be careful.”
    She kissed him lightly and walked
quickly in the direction of the museum. Thomas watched her
disappear then hurried off for the Nikolaikirche, conscious that he
would be late.
    It was drizzling slightly and the
streets were deserted. Thomas found Mark pacing in front of the
church, puffing nervously on an imported cigarette which he was
just lighting from the end of his last one. He threw the butt down
and ground it out with his shoe. Thomas walked towards him,
discreetly giving the sign that he intended exchanging 300 DM into
Ost Marks at the current black market rate of 15:1 and received
acknowledgement from Mark.
    He took a pack of cigarettes from
pocket, put one to his lips and, as stranger to stranger, asked
Mark for a light. As he bowed his head to the match and inhaled he
felt the acid rising from his stomach into his throat. Mark dropped
his cigarette packet and Thomas courteously picked it up, palming
and offering instead his own one with the Deutsche Marks inside and
putting Mark’s identical