Letters From Prague (29 page)

‘It'll do.' Christopher was feeling in his pocket for change. ‘And my friend is interested. I have been telling her of your new set-up.'

They took their drinks to the low beige chairs.

‘I understand you have had quite a few changes,' said Harriet.

‘In Berlin?' He laughed.

‘In Berlin, but also for you, yourself. You were working in a nationalised factory. Now –'

‘Now –' He spread his hands. ‘Now we are capitalist at last.' Another laugh. ‘The world waits for Wilkendorf & Scheiber. But seriously. We are doing okay. My friend here is helping us a little.'

‘You don't need to bore her with details,' said Christopher. He had not sat down, but was smoking and drinking his coffee, looking out of the window. He frowned. ‘Is something happening out there?'

‘There is always something happening here.' Dieter turned and looked over his shoulder. They exchanged a glance. ‘It is deliveries only.'

‘No – I don't mean the lorry. Outside the fence. You seem to have visitors, Dieter. I think you'd better –'

Now Dieter was frowning. He got to his feet and looked out. ‘A little problem, only. Excuse me.' He nodded to Harriet and went quickly over to the reception desk, speaking quietly in German.

‘What's happening?' Marsha asked.

‘I'm not sure.' Harriet stood next to Christopher at the window. Outside the compound, beyond the perimeter of the high wire fence, a group of demonstrators was marching towards the gates, shouting. They carried a banner, and placards; she could see the company logo, W & S, violently crossed through in red. There were slogans, but these she could not understand. There was a skull and crossbones-

‘Christopher?'

‘It's okay – just a little local demo.' But he was still frowning.

Behind her, the receptionist was speaking on the phone. Then the barrier at the entrance was raised, and a lorry pulled out, rather fast. The gates swung to behind it, and the barrier swiftly descended.

‘Excuse me for that.' Dieter had rejoined them. ‘Shall we begin our little tour?' He gestured towards the entrance.

Harriet looked at Christopher, stubbing his cigarette out in a tubular ashtray. ‘What was all that about?'

He ushered her forward. ‘Tell you later. I'm going to go and talk to a few people now, okay?'

Dieter was holding the door at the entrance: they went out and he led them across the compound, away from the gates. A smell hung in the air as they approached the factory itself, and Marsha covered her mouth.

‘My apologies,' said Dieter. ‘Some of these industrial processes do cause unpleasantness in the atmosphere, but –' he shrugged – ‘Soon we shall be improving this side of things.'

They followed him in through heavy swing doors: at once, the smell became worse, and the noise was deafening. A foreman gave them earmuffs, and led them through more swing doors. Even to Harriet's untutored eye it was clear, as she put on her earmuffs and looked around, that what was here was a mixture of ancient and modern: enormous hunks of ironmongery, thick with decades of black grease, stood alongside sleek, scaled-down Nineties machines equipped with sophisticated calibrators. They followed Dieter round, greeted with nods by the operators. Vats and powders and chemicals were everywhere.

‘You see we are still in the transition,' Dieter shouted. ‘We have much outdated equipment still.'

Harriet nodded. ‘I don't know much about these things, but –'

‘But you can see, yes? Some of this machinery we have since the 1960s. In time we shall be completely modernised. Well –' They were nearing the door again; he looked towards Marsha, who was watching thick liquids swirling in enormous vessels. She looked pale and bemused. ‘You have seen enough, now?'

‘Yes yes, thank you for showing us. I'll fetch my daughter.'

She made her way over and touched Marsha on the shoulder. She jumped.

‘Ready to go?' mouthed Harriet. ‘Are you okay?'

Marsha nodded dazedly.

‘So,' Dieter said to her, as they came out into the fresh air once more. ‘You have enjoyed our factory, Marsha?'

‘I feel a bit sick.'

‘I am sorry. That unpleasant smell?' He reached into his pocket. ‘Your mother allows you a peppermint?'

‘Her mother allows her anything today,' said Harriet. ‘She's been wonderful, a true travelling companion. In a couple of days we're going to Prague, did Christopher tell you?'

‘To Prague?' They had reached the main office building: he held the door. ‘So he can show you around there, also. Or perhaps you know it well?'

‘No, it's our first visit.'

‘They're going on a mystery tour.' Christopher was waiting for them, looking out of the window again. ‘Your friends seem to have gone for lunch,' he added.

Dieter followed his gaze. ‘Very good. So –' he looked at them questioningly. ‘I have one or two phone calls, and then perhaps you will like some lunch in our canteen? You will wait here, or you will go direct –' He indicated another passage, behind the reception desk.

‘I want to go to the loo,' Marsha told Harriet.

Dieter pointed them in the right direction, down the passage away from the canteen.

Inside, Harriet said, ‘You're not going to be sick, are you?'

‘I don't think so.' Marsha went into a cubicle. She wasn't sick, but she still looked pale when she came out.

‘Better now? Want to sit down?'

‘It's all right.' She dried her hands and moved out of the way as a young woman in overalls, from the machine room, pushed the door open. ‘Let's go.' She went out; Harriet followed, feeling that Marsha was lost to her, and feeling, once again, the mixture of guilt and irritation which had begun to be a feature of the last few days. Out in the passage, she said, ‘I know this isn't exactly fun, but could you –'

Marsha ignored her, striding ahead.

Out in the reception area Christopher was smoking, his back to the desk. Harriet walked up beside him, and looked out of the window. The barrier was still down, and the gates were closed, but the group of demonstrators had gone.

‘What was all that about?' she asked him again.

‘Dieter's had to lay off quite a few people in recent weeks,' he said. ‘And not just him – quite a few factories on this estate are finding things difficult. It's what we were talking about – out in the open market, things get tough. A lot of local people had high hopes when industry moved out here; they get a bit heated when jobs have to go, or they're put on
Kurzarbeit
– short-time work.'

‘And that's who those people were? But Dieter's supposed to be doing well.'

‘We're in a recession, remember? Nothing's guaranteed. And Dieter has to be careful – his other half wants to see his money well invested.'

‘Wilkendorf.'

‘Wilkendorf, indeed. Anyway, the moment seems to have passed. Where's Marsha?'

‘Right here.' Harriet turned to where Marsha was seated on one of the low beige chairs, swinging a foot. ‘I think she's had enough.'

‘Sure. Well go back after lunch, yes? And continue our conversation?' He looked down at her. ‘You realise, after all my talk last night, that I still know almost nothing about you at all?'

‘Yes. Well …' She looked round, as Dieter rejoined them.

‘So. My apologies again. Let me show you our canteen.'

They lunched on meatballs, fried potatoes and salad in a new canteen – all white tiles and shining saucepans. Harriet, looking around her, observed among the men and women in middle age faces which she felt instinctively that you might see on any street in Eastern Europe: the faces of people who had queued for too long, done without for too long, smoked too many cheap cigarettes and had about them in consequence an air of grey fatigue which in these optimistic new surroundings made them look washed up from another era.

Marsha had a plain bowl of chips and a bottle of mineral water. She ate in silence as the grown-ups talked. Harriet, without thinking, asked Dieter about local unemployment, and feelings about the industrial estate. He gave a little frown, looking at Christopher.

‘These things are inevitable,' he said, taking salad, ‘I am afraid that sometimes there is no choice.'

‘It's none of my business, of course – I'm just curious.'

‘Naturally. You are visiting the Third World.' He raised his spoon, and she blushed. He smiled: he was joking, she must not take him personally, please. ‘I explain to you before, we are in transition. It is not so long since I was carrying the party card, you know. Some of the people I had working for me now are my friends from a long time.' He paused. ‘Except, of course, that in East Germany we were cautious friends, you understand. There were informers in every workplace.' He shrugged, finishing a mouthful. ‘Perhaps still. It is a risk I take, like others. I do not like to see people without jobs, but in the end I must look to make a profit, to succeed. It is the same for the other factories here. That way there will be a future. So.' He turned to Marsha. ‘They are good, your chips?'

‘Yes, thanks.'

‘Your family have been very kind to us,' said Harriet. ‘Particularly to Marsha. Haven't they, Marsha? Tell Dieter about the kittens.'

‘You tell him.'

‘Marsha –'

Dieter ignored this exchange, but he picked up on the change of subject and began to talk at some length about his uncle and aunt and their new way of life, now that the hotel was theirs. He did not ask about Harriet's life, or her work, or about Marsha's school, and she commented on this to Christopher when he went to fetch coffee.

‘It's as though he has no curiosity about us at all.'

Christopher shook his head. ‘It isn't that.' She could see him think about lighting up, but they were, out of deference to Marsha, in the non-smoking part of the canteen, and he took his hand out of his pocket. ‘You must understand that for decades people looked for the meaning behind every question. It's true what I was saying earlier on – and he's just mentioned it, hasn't he? Even your own mother could be informing on you – people learned to be very suspicious of questions, and it wasn't good form to ask too much. You can forget all the London chat: and what do you do, and where do you live, and oh, really, and how long have you lived there? If people want to tell you things, they'll tell you. They assume you'll do the same.' He watched Dieter coming back towards them, carrying a tray. ‘And also, of course, he's enjoying the opportunity of telling you about his family's success.'

‘I'm sorry if I was tactless – about laying people off, and so on.'

He looked at her steadily. ‘I thought it was one of your milder moments, actually.' He pulled a chair out of the way as Dieter put down the tray of coffee.

Afterwards, they were given a tour of the rest of the estate. They visited a workshop making electrical goods, a printer's, a plastics factory where the smell was worse than amongst the dyes and paints. By the time they came out into the car park the afternoon was almost gone. Harriet noticed a building on the far side of the compound, bolted and barred.

‘What's in there?'

Christopher glanced towards it. ‘No idea. Storage, I should think.' He took her arm. ‘Time we were off.'

Dieter offered them a lift.

‘Are you sure?'

‘Of course.' He looked at his watch. ‘I am not able to take you to Prenzlauer Berg, unfortunately, but back into Marzahn is no problem. This way, please.' He led them over to a Volvo parked near the factory entrance. ‘Please.'

The barrier was raised at their approach; they swung out into the road and turned left. Within two hundred yards their way was blocked by a bulldozer and an articulated lorry, at right angles: one unmanned, the other tipped up and pouring sand out in a heap at the roadside.

‘Fantastic.' Dieter leaned on the horn.

‘In England you'd think nothing of it,' said Christopher. ‘This kind of thing goes on all the time.'

Harriet and Marsha sat waiting in the back.

Dieter looked at his watch again. ‘We make a detour, I think.' He reversed a little, and turned in the road; a line of vehicles behind them were doing the same.

‘Tch, tch.'

They left the industrial estate behind, and travelled then through wasteland in either side of the road. To their left, the building works gave out, and the land was abandoned to weeds and a rubbish dump. To their right, after half a mile or so, Harriet looked out on the now familiar drab surroundings of another housing estate.

‘Quite a number of our workers live here,' said Dieter, overtaking a bus.

Gathering clouds hung low over apartment blocks whose cramped balconies were draped with washing; below, children biked up and down along cracked paths. It was not quite as densely built-up as the gigantic sprawl of Marzahn, and the blocks, on the whole, looked older, bordering a characterless main street. They drove past a line of shops, a post office, one or two bars, a crowded pinball arcade.

‘Christopher?' Harriet leaned forward. ‘Where do you think this hostel might be?'

He looked at her in the mirror. ‘Is it really on your sightseeing agenda?'

She bit her lip. ‘I just –'

‘I know, I know.' He turned to ask Dieter.

‘The refugee hostel? That is another of our problems.' He slowed down as they came to the end of the main street, and nodded towards low, barracks-like buildings set in the middle of a piece of open land. ‘There.' He stopped the car for a moment. A wire fence surrounded the buildings, much like the one at the factory, and on the other side they could see women in kerchiefs hanging out washing and children kicking a ball about. The doors were open, revealing dark interiors: men sat smoking in silence on the steps, or walked up and down beside the wire.