Zoo Station by David Downing Page B
Authors: David Downing
Tags: Fiction, General, detective, Suspense, Americans, Historical, Mystery & Detective, Espionage, Mystery, Germany, Fiction - Mystery, Journalists, Mystery & Detective - General, Berlin, spies, spy stories, Journalists - Germany - Berlin, Recruiting, Germany - History - 1933-1945, Americans - Germany - Berlin, Spies - Recruiting
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window. Theres a shop down here that sells model soldiers, and theyve got the new set of dead soldiers. Someone at school brought them in. Theyre really real.
They would be, Russell thought. Death and toys, the German specialties.
If theyd come out before Christmas, Id have them now, Paul said wistfully.
They reached Halensee Station and climbed down the steps to the Ringbahn platform. And then we had a talk from this old man, Paul said, as they watched an electric train pull away from the opposite platform and accelerate down the cutting. Quite old, anyway. He was much more than forty. He came to talk about the last war and what it was like. He said there werent many aeroplanes or tanks, and there was lots of hand-to-hand fighting. Is that true?
There was some. Depends what he meant by lots.
I think he meant it was happening all the time. Paul looked up at Russell. I didnt believe a lot of the things he said. I mean, he said that the best thing a soldier could do was to die for his country. And one of the boys in the back asked him if he was sorry that he hadnt died, and the man didnt reply. The boy was told to report to the leaders room after the talk, and he looked pretty sick when he came out.
Did they give him a whacking?
No, I think they just shouted at him. He wasnt trying to be cleverhes just a bit stupid.
Their train pulled in, and Paul spent the single stop ride staring out of the window at the skeletal Funkturm rising out of the tangle of railways. Finished in 1926, it looked like a smaller version of the Eiffel Tower, which probably galled the Nazis to no end. The elevators going up, Paul said, and they watched it climb toward the viewing platform 126 meters above the ground.
Fifteen minutes later they were waiting at the bottom for their own ride. One lift carried them to the restaurant level, 55 meters up, another to the circular walkway with its panoramic view of the city. The viewing platform was crowded, children lining up to use the coin-operated binoculars. Russell and his son worked their way slowly round, gazing out beyond the borders of the city at the forests and lakes to the southwest, the plains to the north and east. The Olympic Stadium loomed close by to the west, and Berlins two other high buildingsthe office tower of the Borsig locomotive works and the futuristic Shellhausboth seemed closer than usual in the clear air. As tradition demanded, once Paul got his hands on the binoculars he turned them toward the northern suburb of Gesundbrunnen, where Herthas flag was fluttering above the roof of the Plumpes solitary grandstand. Ha! Ho! He! Hertha BSC! he chanted underneath his breath.
In the restaurant below they both ordered macaroni, ham, and cheesewashed down, in Pauls case, with a bottle of Coca Cola.
Would you like to see New York? Russell asked, following a thread of thought that had begun on the viewing platform.
Oh yes, Paul said. It must be fantastic. The Empire State Building is more than three times as high as this, and it has a viewing platform right near the top.
We could stay with your grandmother.
When?
A few years yet. When you finish school, maybe.
Pauls face fell. Therell be a war before then.
Who says so?
Paul looked at him with disbelief. Everybody does.
Sometimes everybodys wrong.
Yes, but. . . . He blew into his straw, making the Coke bubble and fizz. Dad, he began, and stopped.
What?
When you were in the war, did you want to die for England?
No, I didnt. Russell was suddenly conscious of the people at the tables nearby. This was not a conversation to have in public.
Did you want to fight at all?
Lets go back up top, Russell suggested.
Okay, Paul agreed, but only after hed given Russell one of those looks which suggested he should try harder at being a normal father.
They took the elevator once more, and found an empty stretch of rail on the less-popular side, looking away from the city. Down to their left an S-bahn train was
They would be, Russell thought. Death and toys, the German specialties.
If theyd come out before Christmas, Id have them now, Paul said wistfully.
They reached Halensee Station and climbed down the steps to the Ringbahn platform. And then we had a talk from this old man, Paul said, as they watched an electric train pull away from the opposite platform and accelerate down the cutting. Quite old, anyway. He was much more than forty. He came to talk about the last war and what it was like. He said there werent many aeroplanes or tanks, and there was lots of hand-to-hand fighting. Is that true?
There was some. Depends what he meant by lots.
I think he meant it was happening all the time. Paul looked up at Russell. I didnt believe a lot of the things he said. I mean, he said that the best thing a soldier could do was to die for his country. And one of the boys in the back asked him if he was sorry that he hadnt died, and the man didnt reply. The boy was told to report to the leaders room after the talk, and he looked pretty sick when he came out.
Did they give him a whacking?
No, I think they just shouted at him. He wasnt trying to be cleverhes just a bit stupid.
Their train pulled in, and Paul spent the single stop ride staring out of the window at the skeletal Funkturm rising out of the tangle of railways. Finished in 1926, it looked like a smaller version of the Eiffel Tower, which probably galled the Nazis to no end. The elevators going up, Paul said, and they watched it climb toward the viewing platform 126 meters above the ground.
Fifteen minutes later they were waiting at the bottom for their own ride. One lift carried them to the restaurant level, 55 meters up, another to the circular walkway with its panoramic view of the city. The viewing platform was crowded, children lining up to use the coin-operated binoculars. Russell and his son worked their way slowly round, gazing out beyond the borders of the city at the forests and lakes to the southwest, the plains to the north and east. The Olympic Stadium loomed close by to the west, and Berlins two other high buildingsthe office tower of the Borsig locomotive works and the futuristic Shellhausboth seemed closer than usual in the clear air. As tradition demanded, once Paul got his hands on the binoculars he turned them toward the northern suburb of Gesundbrunnen, where Herthas flag was fluttering above the roof of the Plumpes solitary grandstand. Ha! Ho! He! Hertha BSC! he chanted underneath his breath.
In the restaurant below they both ordered macaroni, ham, and cheesewashed down, in Pauls case, with a bottle of Coca Cola.
Would you like to see New York? Russell asked, following a thread of thought that had begun on the viewing platform.
Oh yes, Paul said. It must be fantastic. The Empire State Building is more than three times as high as this, and it has a viewing platform right near the top.
We could stay with your grandmother.
When?
A few years yet. When you finish school, maybe.
Pauls face fell. Therell be a war before then.
Who says so?
Paul looked at him with disbelief. Everybody does.
Sometimes everybodys wrong.
Yes, but. . . . He blew into his straw, making the Coke bubble and fizz. Dad, he began, and stopped.
What?
When you were in the war, did you want to die for England?
No, I didnt. Russell was suddenly conscious of the people at the tables nearby. This was not a conversation to have in public.
Did you want to fight at all?
Lets go back up top, Russell suggested.
Okay, Paul agreed, but only after hed given Russell one of those looks which suggested he should try harder at being a normal father.
They took the elevator once more, and found an empty stretch of rail on the less-popular side, looking away from the city. Down to their left an S-bahn train was
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