chapter 2

A Chapter by Brad

gunnar and adele's first date

11 August 1961

It was almost 7 o’clock in the evening, and Gunnar was racing around the house to the behest of his parents.

“Hey, boy!” cried out his father Rudolf from the living room, “What’s got you in such a frenzy?”

“The boy has a date.” His mother Greta said in a soft voice.

“A date?” his father put down the paper, “A date with whom?”

“He didn’t say.”

“Gunnar!” his father called to him, “Gunnar, come here immediately!”

Gunnar, who was busy putting on some cologne he had bought in a westie store and snuck home, gave out a great sigh and then appeared in the living room where his parents sat.

“Yes, father?” he asked innocently.

“Who is this girl you are seeing this evening?” his father asked giving him the inquisitive stare over a pair of reading glasses.

“Adele.” Gunnar answered begrudgingly, “Adele Becker.”

“Where is this ‘Adele’ from?”

Gunnar sighed knowing his parents reaction. “Kruezberg.”

His mother gasped and his father’s face flushed, “Kruezberg?”

“Yes, father. Kruezberg. The American Sect….”

“I know what sector Kruezberg is!” he snapped, “A west girl then?”

“She is German, father.” He stood straight again, “And her parents bought some of my paintings and they are going to show them at their gallery in Kruezberg.”

“But she is not a communist.” His father added.

“Does she need to be a communist in order for me to see her, father?”

His father stood up and poured himself vodka over ice, “Gunnar, you are 19. I was 19, and from what I remember…I didn’t really listen a whole lot when my father gave advice. I had to learn the hard way. You are much the same as me back then. So I won’t tell you who you can and cannot see, my son.”

A smile awoke on Gunnar’s face, “Thank you, father.”

“Don’t thank me, son.” His father sat back down, “I don’t approve of you seeing a West Berlin girl. I would hope that you would settle down with a proper eastern Berliner. A fellow communist….”

“Father, I’m not a commu….”

“Silence!” his father held up his hand, “It was the communists that rescued your mother and me from those camps, Gunnar. It was them that freed thousands of us from those death camps! So don’t speak to me of not being a communist.”

“I’m sorry, father.”

“Enjoy your evening, son.” He dismissed him, “But wash off that ridiculous cologne you are bathed in!”

Adele waited nervously by the Brandenburg gate. Her heels clicking on the brick walkway. She stayed in the light of the street lamps for safety’s sake.

“Looking for someone, frau?” called a voice out of the shadows.

She turned quickly, not really seeing where the voice came from.

“Who’s there?” she called.

An east border guard walked out of the dark and smiled with a cigarette in his lips.

Jerk! She thought. His smile was hungry and predatory. He lingered for a bit and that’s when Gunnar came running down the sidewalk.

“Adele!” he was waving. She thought it cute at his anxiousness that she could easily tell even from this distance.

“Adele!” he said and than awkwardly grabbed her in his arms and hugged her and then looked into her eyes for the go ahead to kiss her. She only smiled and then kissed him, hoping the border guard would see this.

Gunnar smiled after she released him.

“Thought we would see Eric Dolphy play tonight at this club on west end?” he asked.

“I’d like that, Gunnar.” She grabbed his arm and put her head on his shoulder as they walked passed the border guard.

“Are you a fan of jazz?” he asked her.

“I’m in love with jazz…my parents are old beatniks so I was practically raised on it.” She answered.

He enjoyed the fragrance of her. There was no perfume on her, but there was an essence that stuck into his nose and made his eyes close to savor it.

“So your parents are into poetry?”

“Are you kidding? They’ve met Ginsberg and Kerouac when they lived in Greenwich Village.”

“Wow! I’m impressed. Your parents sound pretty cool.”

“They are. What about your parents, Gunnar?”

He thought back to the previous conversation he had with his father. “What about them? They’re communists; they would like me to be….”

“…and they’d rather you be dating a nice communist girl?” Adele finished.

Gunnar was embarrassed, “Well….”

Adele’s hand slipped down his arm and her fingers interlaced with his, “its okay, Gunnar. We don’t need to make excuses for our parents. I like this rebellious thing you’ve got going here.”

Gunnar blushed again, “Yeah?”

“Yeah.” She trapped him with those deep ocean eyes of hers and kissed him.

They walked along the Danube with fingers entangled. Not saying much until they came to a spot with a bench and they sat.

“What are you staring at, Gunnar?” she asked.

Gunnar tore his eyes away from her and stumbled his words, “I…I…I’m sorry. It’s just that…yuh you are so…beautiful. I…”

“Stop it. Surely there are beautiful women where you grew up eh?”

“In Freidrichshain? No…not…like you.”

She stood up and leaned on the railing overlooking the river.

“What do you dream about, Gunnar?” she asked him.

“Dream?” he got up and joined her at the railing.

“Yes, dream. Like me…I want to travel…I want to see the States…visit the places my parents were young and in love at….San Francisco…Chicago…New York City…St. Augustine…”

“I guess I never really thought about anything except painting and sculpting…here...”

“That sounds bleak. Not your painting….or sculpting…just you remaining here….there is so much more out there, Gunnar….so much more.”

“I don’t think I’ll ever get out of here….”

The silence became thick. Adele could feel the pain come off of him like heat. It affected her, putting a knot in her chest.

“C’mon, mister,” she pulled his arm away from the railing and speaking lightly. “We’ve got a jazz player to see!”

Gunnar’s smile returned. He grabbed her hand and returned the pair of hands to their previous condition.

“So what is it you do for a living, Adele?” He asked with the same smile on his face.

“I work for the embassy as a secretary. The American embassy, and you, Mr. Breckstaadt? Do you just paint and sculpt to earn your bread?”

“No.” he laughed a bit, “I moonlight as a steel worker in a factory just down the road from here.”

“Guess that’s where you got these then?” she squeezed his arms feeling their tightness and it made her smile like him.

This time, Gunnar grabbed her face with his calloused hands gently, looked deep into those eyes that he wanted to get lost in, and he pressed his lips on her kissing her for what they wished was hours. After the kiss, they ran off to the Dietzkrueg Platz where jazz leaked from the open doors.

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