The Story of Henri Tod Read Online Free Page A

few minutes, drawing his handkerchief from his side pocket, he would wipe, carefully refolding the handkerchief and replacing it in his pocket.
    Ulbricht motioned him to the usual chair, a gesture von Hausen acknowledged with a “Good morning, Mr. Chairman.” And, to one side, “Good morning, Caspar.”
    â€œGood morning, sir,” Caspar replied.
    The Chairman said nothing. He leaned back slightly in his straight chair, the signal that von Hausen was to begin, which he did.
    It was the day for the weekly report the Chairman dreaded most hearing. An account of how many East Berliners, and East Germans, had emigrated to West Berlin. The figure for the third week in April, 1961, was an astonishing five thousand and fifteen. Of these, 42 percent, von Hausen went on, had resided in East Berlin. The balance had come into East Berlin from outside the city to one of the eighty-eight transit points, whence they were taken by the West German police to the great processing center at Marienfelde, where they registered their desire either to stay in West Berlin or to fly west, to West Germany.
    â€œWhat is the current count on the number of East Berliners who work in the Western sector?” Ulbricht asked, tapping his finger on his desk.
    â€œThe figures are not exact, Mr. Chairman. Between 53,000 and 53,075.”
    â€œCan’t you get more exact figures than that?” Ulbricht needed to express his exasperation in some way.
    â€œThose figures strike me as pretty exact,” Caspar Allman volunteered.
    The Chairman turned his head slowly in the direction of his nephew. “Your views on the matter are neither solicited, nor interesting, nor welcome.” Caspar shrugged his shoulders, reached over to pick up the copy of the Neues Deutschland , and said nothing.
    â€œI tell you, von Hausen,” the Chairman declaimed, “pending a final solution to this problem, we have got to increase the difficulties of these cowardly traitors when they set out to desert their fatherland.”
    â€œDo you have any suggestions, sir?”
    â€œRun over for me what we are currently doing to discourage the traffic.”
    Von Hausen leafed through a black notebook, adjusted his glasses, and began to read: “Respecting the flow of citizens from outside Berlin, we have sharply limited the schedule of buses and trains entering the city. The service is erratic, punctuality is discouraged. It is no longer possible in East Germany to count on making any connections if the objective of the voyage is to travel to Berlin.”
    â€œGood.”
    Von Hausen went on: “When passengers board trains or buses, their traveling papers are inspected. Any irregularity is instantly taken as disqualifying, and the passenger is let off at the next station.”
    Caspar turned down the paper he was reading. “Why not stop the train and make them get off wherever they are? That would make things much more inconvenient for them, wouldn’t it?”
    Ulbricht’s instinct was once again to rebuke his nephew. But before doing so he gave thought to his proposal. “Not a bad idea, von Hausen. Not a bad idea. They might find themselves, with their baggage—which I assume is extensive—fifteen or twenty miles from the nearest telephone. Yes, yes. Good idea, Caspar. What about the day workers coming over to this side?”
    â€œWell, sir, as you know, we have done the following. We do not, effective last week, permit them to buy anything at any East Berlin store unless they pay in East Berlin marks for it, and of course East Berlin marks are trading on the black market at six to one. So if they want to buy something here, they need to pay six times as much for it. What would you think, sir, of adding an additional requirement, that they produce working papers to show that they have earned their marks in the Eastern sector, and also show an exchange slip certifying that any Western marks were exchanged