I leave my flat, head spinning.

Julias ability to even talk a little about her past is

incredibly brave, and she has shared so much with me. The streetlights cast
cones of harsh, white light onto the grey concrete paving, shining light on the
pockmarked walls with faded graffiti of all colours. I carry on, clutching my arms
close, hoping to retain as much warmth as I can.
By the time I get to the pub, Klaus is already there. His breath turns to steam in
the icy air, and mingles with his cigarette smoke. Seeing me approach, he
grinds his cigarette into the ground with his foot.
What you been up
to? Nothing
much. I lie.
Before going in, I glance up at the pubs sign, which reads Ampelmnnchen, in
alternating green and red neon letters. This pub is clearly a place for the
nostalgic Germans, with its image of a strutting figure of Honecker sporting a
straw hat, a little surviving piece of the GDR.
We go inside.
The pub is a tiny place, the patrons cramped in together. All of them share a
common goal; clearing their minds by fogging them up. Perched on stools at the
bar, staring into the bottom of their glasses, examining the wood through it. The
dcor may shout jolly, but the mood is sombre. Klaus goes off to get us drinks.
After a short while, Klaus comes back over, a pint glass in each hand, filled to
the brim with beer. Hope youre thirsty! he grins. I smile and take the drink
from his hand, placing it on the scratched dark wood of the bar. Eventually,
curiosity gets the better of Klaus, and he starts asking me about my day. I tell
him only that I have been chatting with a friend.
You are a terrible liar, Anna, he says, setting his beer down on a stained
coaster. He leans in closer. Youve learnt something thats shocked you, and so
you need to get wasted. He takes a big swig, leaving white foam in his beard,
adding even more to his unkempt appearance. And I, I am all too happy to
oblige you. Another sip. You know what band this is?
No clue.
Its the Puhdys. More popular than we were, but also werent as political as us.
No wonder they lasted a bit longer than Renft did. The scraping of bar stools
takes over for a moment, allowing him to wonder what could have been. I ask
him whether the Stasi effectively ruined his career as a musician. He is about to
reply when spluttering interrupts us.
Stasi? Ruined?

An older man, in a black puffed jacket, turns to us with a rustle. A grey cloth cap
sits skewed on his head, the occasional thread hanging off it. He takes a large
sip of his Berliner pilsner, and shoots me a steely glance.

Some people dont know whats good for them. The GDR made us all better
off. He shakes his head. I suppose you been talking to whingers. Victims.
He pronounces the last word with particular venom.
He says that no one ever appreciated all that communism and the GDR did for
the German people. That there was no harm in informing on people. A barrage of
answers to questions I hadnt asked yet. After just hearing a story of someone
going through terrible trauma caused by the GDR, I took an instant dislike to
him. His narrative of misplaced pride and patriotism sits uncomfortably with the
paranoia and control so evident in the physical and emotional marks left behind
by the Stasi.
The mans name is Herr Mller, and he had been IM, like the one I turned down
on the phone earlier. Looking over at Klaus, his expression hasnt changed at
all. Mller coughs, and continues; I was IM for a while, but it wasnt rewarding
enough for me.
Klaus scowls and mutters something about how reporting on family obviously
just isnt fun enough for some people. Luckily for our sake, Mller doesnt seem
to hear.
I became quite a high ranked officer in the end, you know. He puffs out his
chest proudly, smiling a little. I even got to hear a lecture from that English
man. You know, that upper class one.
Philby? I interrupt.
This draws another smile from Mller. He says that he found Philby intriguing,
and how it was good that someone of a high status could see the benefits of
communism, and joined the good side. He told us how he managed to get all
kinds of Western secrets. He just drank with the archivist! The British must have
been so lax, and deluded!
Im not convinced. There is no record of Philby ever going to the GDR, and if he
did, how would Mller have known about it? He said he was IM, and if that were
true, how did he rise to become an officer. I didnt come here to have more
puzzles, I came here to clear my head. I keep drinking, not really listening to
Mller at all, slowly fading out of the room. Klaus takes over and talks with
Mller, sharing what little they have in common; that they both are German.
Klaus buys more drinks, Mllers face becomes fuzzier as the night goes on and
eventually disappears. Shortly before sunrise, a taxi drops me back at my flat.
With a thumping head and heavy heart, I enter.