Chapter 403: Unification of the Two Germanys

At nine in the morning, Werner and Anna arrived at the Brandenburg Gate.

A sea of people.

The entire square was packed shoulder to shoulder.

German, European Union, and state flags fluttered throughout the crowd. Some people held banners that read, “We are one people.” Others held up posters depicting the dismantled Berlin Wall. Still others had brought their children, letting them ride on their shoulders to watch the spectacle.

Their invitation was for the VIP section, on the viewing platform directly in front of the Brandenburg Gate.

When Werner showed their invitation, the security guard in charge glanced at him, then nodded respectfully and let them pass.

“Mr. Betelich, this way, please.”

Quite a few people were already seated on the viewing platform.

Werner recognized a few familiar faces—a deputy secretary of state from the West German Ministry of Foreign Affairs, several directors from major banks, and a few “reformist officials” from the East German era. Everyone was impeccably dressed, wearing polite smiles.

“Werner!”

Margaret walked up to greet them. She was wearing a beige suit today, her hair done up meticulously. She looked as if she were on her way to a royal wedding.

“Margaret.” Werner took her hand.

“You’re looking well.”

“Thank you,” Werner said with a smile. “You look radiant.”

“Still such a smooth talker.” Margaret took his arm. “Come, let me introduce you to a few people. This is the chairman of the Hamburg Port Authority…”

For the next half hour, Werner moved through the crowd. Shaking hands, making small talk, exchanging business cards.

Everyone was saying the same things: “Congratulations on German reunification,” “This is a historic moment,” “We should keep in touch.”

**************

At ten o’clock sharp, the ceremony officially began.

A military band began to play. The German flag rose slowly, fluttering in the wind above the Brandenburg Gate. Cheers erupted from the crowd. Some people cried, some applauded, and some shouted, “Germany! Germany!”

Werner stood quietly, watching the black, red, and gold tricolor flag.

On August 13, 1961, he had watched East German soldiers put up barbed wire here. On November 9, 1989, he had watched the people of East Berlin break through the checkpoints. Today, on October 3, 1990, he was watching the two Germanys officially merge.

Twenty-nine years.

He had gone from a penniless Transmigrator to a businessman worth tens of millions.

He had lived through the construction and fall of the Berlin Wall, through the height of the Cold War and its eventual end. He had witnessed the fates of countless people—some escaped, some died, some compromised, and some persevered.

“What are you thinking about?” Anna asked.

Werner didn’t answer right away. He watched Prime Minister Kohl begin his speech on stage, watched the cameras focus on the platform, and watched the countless camera flashes go off one after another.

“I was just thinking,” Werner finally said, “that if someone had told me in 1961 that I would be standing here twenty-nine years later, I would have thought they were crazy.”

“Do you believe it now?”

“Well, I’m standing here now.” Werner turned to look at Anna. “But it still feels like a dream.”

Kohl’s speech was long-winded. He spoke of the pain of division, the inevitability of unification, and the future of Europe. As Werner listened to these grand narratives, his mind drifted to specific people and events.

He remembered Fatty Wolf, the Black Market middleman who had shown him the ropes in 1961, who died of a heart attack in 1975. He remembered Krupp, the former Black Market boss, who died in a Stasi Prison in 1962. He remembered Vonke, the Stasi agent, who committed suicide just before the collapse of East Germany in 1989. He remembered Eva, who had died of illness in Munich in 1987.

And then there were the living. Mathias Bauer, once a Border Guard, was now in the security force of the New Germany. Pastor Weber was still with the Church. Lawyer Vogel was supposedly writing his memoirs.

Everyone had their own story. Every story was influenced by this wall, torn apart by this division, and changed by this unification.

“Mr. Betelich.”

A voice interrupted Werner’s thoughts. He turned his head and saw a young reporter.

“I’m a reporter with the Frankfurt Allgemeine Zeitung. May I ask your thoughts on today’s unification?”

Werner was silent for a few seconds.

“I’m reminded of the night the Berlin Wall first went up,” he said slowly. “On August 13, 1961, I was standing on a street in East Berlin, watching soldiers put up the barbed wire. Back then, people thought that wall would stand for a hundred years.”

“But it only stood for twenty-eight years,” the reporter pressed. “What force do you think brought it down?”

Werner thought for a moment. “People. Ordinary people. The people who wanted freedom, the people who wanted to be reunited with their families, the people who refused to be trapped by a wall.”

“You lived in East Germany for many years and witnessed the process of unification. What role do you feel you played in it?”

It was a trap question. Werner knew it. If he said he had “pushed for unification,” he would sound arrogant. If he said he was “insignificant,” he would be seen as disingenuous.

“I’m just a businessman,” Werner said calmly. “I did some business, helped some people. That’s all. The real heroes are the ordinary citizens who took to the streets, the dissidents who held onto their ideals, and the politicians who dared to reform. I just happened to do a few right things at the right time.”

The reporter seemed satisfied with this answer, nodded, and left.

**************

Around noon, the celebration reached its climax.

Beethoven’s Symphony No. 9, “Ode to Joy,” rang out. The performance by the Berlin Philharmonic reverberated through the square, stirring the soul. Many in the crowd began to sing along, the German lyrics mingling with English, French, and Russian.

Werner didn’t sing. He just listened quietly, watching the emotional faces around him.

He saw an old woman wiping away tears as a young man next to her put an arm around her shoulder. He saw a couple holding up an old photograph of themselves in front of the Berlin Wall. He saw several children riding on their fathers’ shoulders, waving small flags.

Werner didn’t know most of these people. But he knew that every one of them had their own story. Every one of them had been hurt by the wall, and today, they had all found some form of release.

“I see Hans,” Anna said suddenly.

Werner followed her gaze and, sure enough, saw Hans Honer. He was standing at the edge of the crowd, dressed in a respectable dark coat. He held a hat in his hands, his expression calm yet tinged with a certain solemnity.

Werner walked over.

“Hans.”

Hans turned, a smile appearing on his face when he saw Werner.

“Mr. Betelich.” He extended his hand. “You’re looking well.”

“You too.” Werner shook his hand. “I hear you opened a repair shop. How’s business?”

“It’s steady,” Hans said. “I just bought the shop next door last month, planning to expand a bit. My son is learning the trade with me now. He’s got good hands.”

“Eva would have been very pleased.”

Hans’s expression softened. “She talked about you constantly before she passed away.” He paused. “She said that if it weren’t for you, she and I would have long…”

“Don’t say that,” Werner said, his voice low.

Hans took an exquisite little box from his pocket.

“My mother left this for you.” He handed the box to Werner. “She said that if she ever had the chance to see you again, she had to give it to you in person.”

Werner took the box and opened it. Inside was a silver brooch, simple and elegant in design, along with a neatly folded slip of paper.

He unfolded the paper. On it, in Eva’s delicate handwriting, was a note: “Werner, thank you for giving my son and me a home. This brooch is the first decent thing I bought in West Germany. I wanted to give it to you in person, but in the end, we never saw each other again. Perhaps it’s for the best. You must take care of yourself, and take care of Anna and the children. If there is a next life, I hope there won’t be a wall, and we can meet in a better world. —Eva, Spring 1986”

Werner stood frozen, looking at the brooch and the note in his hand. Memories from twenty-nine years ago came flooding back—that cold February morning, the widow in the worn-out overcoat, the little boy hiding behind her. And all the time that followed, the suppressed feelings in her eyes.

“Was she happy?” Werner’s voice was a little hoarse. “Those years in Munich.”

Hans thought for a moment. “Quite. She worked at a bookstore, had her own small apartment, and would go on outings with friends on the weekends. She said life in West Germany was peaceful, but she always felt something was missing.” He paused. “I know what she meant.”

Werner didn’t respond.

Hans stood there for another moment, then said, “I should get going. My kid is waiting for me at home.”

“Alright,” Werner said. “Come to Berlin when you have time. I’ll buy you a drink.”

“Definitely.” Hans put on his hat, turned, and quickly disappeared into the crowd.