Shining Through Page #6

I did sense, however,

that time was running out.

In mid-October a single British aircraft

made a daring night raid,

shattering the illusion that

Berlin was immune to harm.

Still empty-handed

after five weeks,

I risked returning to the fishmonger

with a note requesting instructions,

and sending a signal homeward

that I was still alive.

But Berlin was changing now,

the night raid fuelling panic that

more bombs were soon to fall.

- All this way for a fish! - You'll like

the fish from Berlin, I promise.

- I hate fish!

- I wanted to go to the zoo.

- I know. - You could buy a fish,

but I won't eat it!

All right, all right.

Give me your hands.

- I mean it! I'll throw it away!

- OK, I heard you. Careful.

Excuse me.

Can I help you?

- Is fresh cod in season?

- Barely.

I had given up on you.

I thought you didn't like our fish.

She loves your fish. We were on

the bus two hours to get here.

She'd rather come here

than go to the zoo.

Is like this in all the stores today,

people stocking up, salting the fish.

Everyone's afraid.

Look!

Eels!

Stay right here, OK?

You were looking for

something in particular?

Just something fresh.

I mean, last time I saw you, you were

looking for something in particular.

- You found them? - Is not easy

to find a few fish in a big sea.

They have amazing fight,

though, these fish.

Twice the net swept over them,

twice they escaped.

With this kind of luck,

maybe they are still fresh.

There's a...

a kind of...

fish over here that I think

you might... wanna...

- ... take a look at.

- There you are. 2.10.

No!

No!

No!

No!

Lina!

Enough!

Out!

- Come on, kids. Let's go.

- Out!

- What is it?

- Go! Go!

- What happened?

- Was there a fight?

She fights over fish.

She's in love with fish.

- What happened? Lina?

- Nothing. Nothing. I'm sorry.

Inside the fish was a note that

gave the address 99 Kinderstrasse,

where my relatives were hiding in

a basement on the outskirts of Berlin.

And suddenly it was

no longer a fantasy.

An address had

made them real.

Hannah, Liesel,

and my beautiful cousin Sofi,

who played the flute,

and whose photo I carried

and had now been forced into hiding

somewhere in the darkness nearby.

I wondered if she were

in a bed, like I was,

or curled up on

a cold cellar floor.

if she was alone

and frightened,

or if she could sense that the

moment of our meeting was near.

In the morning,

after dropping the children at school,

I'd have just enough time

to make it back and forth to the city.

- Berlin?

- Yes.

Oblivious to any danger,

I was overwhelmed with excitement.

After a lifetime

of dreaming this,

I was finally on my way.

Destination?

What?

What?

"Wounded war

veteran-can't speak. "

Oh, I see.

A letter from your

sister in Dsseldorf saying

your father's dying, you should

come home immediately.

A ticket for a night train to Dsseldorf,

which you won't take.

I'll meet you at the train for Switzerland

and give you new ID.

- Can I... - When you tell

Dietrich you're leaving,

tell him you met a couple at the market,

a cook and chauffeur...

- He has a chauffeur.

- Not for long, he doesn't.

Ed, I'm not ready to go.

Not tonight.

- I didn't hear you right, did I?

- I found my cousins.

- Your cousins?

- You found them?

- Somebody help me out here, please.

- There are no Jews left in this city.

Alexanderplatz.

99 Kinderstrasse.

- You've seen them?

- Not yet.

Linda, you can't help them.

There is nothing you can do.

No, but you can.

Papers, passports, tickets to Switzerland.

What the hell ya think I got,

a printing press?!

Lina, Friedrichs was picked up

yesterday and questioned by Dietrich.

- By your boss!

- Franze?

- Yeah. Linda, we are on thin ice here.

- We are all on thin ice.

- Just one more day.

- To do what?

To give them hope.

To let them know that

I'll try to help them.

I won't leave here

without doing this.

This ticket

is good for 24 hours.

So are my papers.

They expire tomorrow at six.

I'll wait till then, but not a minute

longer. If you find out they're alive,

and you come to the train back to

where there are printing presses,

and contact with partisans, we can do

something about getting them out.

But whether you

find them or not, Linda,

18:
00 tomorrow night I

want you on that train.

Thank you.

Six o'clock, Linda.

If you're not there,

I have to leave without you.

Sorry, Ed.

Is not your fault.

I should never have let you go.

I had to do this.

That's not what I mean.

I should never

have let you go.

Come out, Linda.

Please.

I can't come out now.

Don't stand me up

tomorrow night.

I know it was on a Friday

that Ed and I said goodbye

because the next day was Saturday,

and I had nowhere to leave the children.

- What do you want to see?

- I want to see every animal there.

- I want to see a lion.

- I want to see the bears.

- When do we get there?

- Alexanderplatz.

Here we go.

Come on.

- I don't see it.

- Is the wrong place.

I thought we'd just

walk a few blocks.

- What are we doing?

- This isn't the zoo.

Excuse me.

- We're looking for the zoo.

- Five blocks.

- 99 Kinderstrasse?

- Is the one on the corner.

This is scary.

What are we doing?

- Kids, wait here.

- Where are you going?

God.

Help!

Lina!

Quick!

Lina!

- Help! Lina!

- Is all right.

Lina!

Help!

Quick!

Help!

- Are you all right? Are you OK?

- We've got to go home.

In the cellar!

I know a place to hide!

Look!

The zoo!

Papi!

- Papi, are you all right? Did they

bomb you? - They bombed us!

- A whole building exploded!

- You should have seen it!

- You were in Berlin?!

- We went to the zoo.

- You should have asked me.

- I'm sorry.

Never leave Potsdam again

without asking, please.

Come.

If they come again, we'll go down

to your secret room, all right?

- Yes.

- In the cellar.

You said it was safe there.

You said nobody knew about it.

- Can we sleep down there?

- Yes. They won't bomb again.

- It was awful, Papi!

- I think some people were killed.

You're safe.

Thas the important thing.

Children!

Lina?

You weren't in your room.

I was afraid you

might have left us.

Why would I?

Perhaps you'd

learned enough.

Thas what you are doing, isn't it?

For Herr Himmler and his friends.

For the Gestapo.

The Gestapo?!

Infiltrating my house

to find out if I am soft,

on the principles

of the Reich?

If I can be drawn into

confiding my secrets?

On my life, I am not Gestapo.

Is not right that such

a beautiful woman should labour.

I have no choice.

Do you have a

dress for evening?

No.

Von Karajan is playing Wagner.

A celebration of our courage.

You will wear a

dress of my wife's

and sit beside

me tomorrow night.

My God, that's Olga Leiner.

Do you know her?

- Who?

- Olga Leiner. Look.

Yes.

She's waving at you.

She must mistake

me for someone.

Lina!

Lina!

So nice to see a familiar face. Seems

like no one I know is left in the city.

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