Chapter 407 - 50: Finale (3)

Monica stopped writing. "Do you agree with his view?"

"Not entirely," said Werner. "The East German system had many problems—surveillance, suppression of freedom. Those things were real and can't be romanticized. But that doesn't mean we should completely negate the lives of East Germans."

"People were happy in East Germany, too," he said. "They had picnics by the lake on weekends, vacationed at the Baltic Sea in the summer, and drank in beer gardens. Children learned to swim and sing at Pioneer summer camps, and young people fell in love, got married, and had children at their state-run enterprises. That was real life, real happiness."

Monica looked at him. "Are you defending East Germany?"

"No." Werner shook his head. "I'm defending the East Germans. The tens of millions of people who actually lived their lives in this country. They weren't props of history or material for political propaganda. They were people of flesh and blood, with their own joys and sorrows, their own memories and emotions."

Monica gazed at him, her expression complex. "It sounds like you were one of those people who truly lived through it."

Werner returned to the sofa and relit his cigarette. "No, the Werner who did business by the Berlin Wall no longer exists. The new Germany needs law-abiding businessmen, not speculators who walk the gray areas. I'm a legitimate businessman now, with a company, employees, and a board of directors. On the covers of business magazines, I'm a 'successful entrepreneur,' a 'bridge for the unification of East and West Germany.'"

Monica looked at him. "How do you think history will judge you?"

Werner smiled, a trace of self-deprecation in his voice. "History? History won't care about a small fry like me. Decades from now, when people open the history books about East Germany, they'll see the names Anger, Kohl, and Gorbachev. I'll be a footnote at best—'an East German-era businessman,' or 'a gray-area figure active during the unification process.'"

"But I don't care," he said. "What I care about is that the people I helped will remember me. The political prisoners who regained their freedom because of me, the dissidents I funded, the families who escaped to West Germany through my channels—they will remember that a man named Werner Betelich gave them hope to keep living."

"That's enough." He looked out the window at the new buildings rising from the ground. "I don't need history's approval or the praise of future generations. I just need to know that I lived, I witnessed, and I did what I could to make life a little better for some people."

Monica closed her notebook and turned off the recorder. She stood up, her eyes filled with respect. "Thank you, Mr. Werner. This has been one of the best interviews I've ever done."

Werner stood up as well and extended his hand. "I hope your readers can understand that history isn't black and white. People who have lived in the gray areas have their own stories, their own choices, and their own struggles."

The two shook hands.

"When will the article be published?" Werner asked.

"Next week," said Monica. "I'll send you the first draft to review."

"There's no need." Werner waved his hand dismissively. "I trust your professionalism. Besides, I've already said what I wanted to say. How others interpret it is their business."

Monica nodded and turned to leave. At the door, she suddenly looked back. "Mr. Betelich, one last question—if you could go back to before the Berlin Wall was built, would you make the same choices?"

Werner froze for a moment.

He thought of the winter of February 1961, the dilapidated apartment in Prenzlauer Berg, the anxiety of his first smuggling run, and the night the Berlin Wall went up.

"I would," he said calmly. "Without those experiences, I wouldn't be the man I am today."

"The good and the bad, it's all a part of me," he said. "I accept it all, because it's what made my life."

Monica gave him a long, deep look, then left.

The office fell quiet again. Werner stood before the floor-to-ceiling window, looking out at the bustling construction site at Potsdamer Platz.

The sun was setting, painting the entire city in gold. The shadows of the cranes stretched long, like the hands of a clock pointing toward a future under construction.

He thought of many things.

The winter of 1961, before the Wall was built, when he sold his first batch of coffee on the Black Market.

His first day at Koko in 1963, sitting at his desk, staring at the nameplate.

A night in the 1970s, counting West German Marks in a secret apartment, with the gray skies of East Berlin outside his window.

The night of November 9, 1989, when the Berlin Wall fell, he stood on the edge of the crowd, watching history unfold.

Thirty years. From a Black Market peddler to a high-ranking Koko official, from a gray-area businessman in East Germany to a successful entrepreneur in Germany. He had witnessed the birth and death of a country, the rise and fall of a wall, and the turning tides of fate for millions.

'Was it worth it?'

Werner looked at his reflection in the glass.

'It was.'

Not because of how much money he made, nor because of the status he had achieved. It was because he had truly, fully lived through a magnificent and tumultuous era.

Werner turned and walked toward his bookshelf. Beneath a glass cloche was the piece of the Berlin Wall. He took it out and placed it in his palm.

This piece of stone had witnessed history. It had witnessed the madness of an era, the struggles of countless people, and the division and reunification of a city.

Werner glanced at his watch—it was six-thirty in the evening. 'Time to go home.'

He tidied his desk, grabbed his coat, turned off the light, and walked out of the office.

The streets were a river of traffic, the pedestrians hurrying along.

Werner slid into the driver's seat and started the engine. The Mercedes-Benz's engine let out a low rumble.

He took one last look at the office building. On the twelfth floor, his office was now dark. Only the piece of the Wall under its glass cloche was faintly visible in the twilight.

It was the remains of a piece of history.

And the gravestone of an era.

"Goodbye," Werner said softly.

He put the car in gear. It pulled out of the parking lot and quickly disappeared into the dense, torrential flow of Berlin's headlights.

There was no East Germany anymore, only Berlin.

[End of Book]