Baby Schubert seems to be my dedicated interrogator.
If I fuck him up they might switch him with Bully Schubert.
I don’t need that. And I can play with him to some extend.
He never wears uniform.
And he always calls me “defendant” for a name.
I never call him anything really as he asks and I answer.
“With whom did you share the 3-pager?”
“Did you send it to anyone within or outside the country?”
“Are there more documents like this anywhere?”
“You would have found them by now, wouldn’t you?”
“I ask the questions.”
The rest of the day-long session revolves around my dad’s travels as a trade show booth builder for East German trade organizations in Western countries.
And other contacts to people from the West.
In particular West Germany.
“Did your father talk much about his trips and work?”
“He likes his work and he likes the experience.”
“Who did he meet and work with other then his co-workers?”
“Are you filling in for the agents that observe him since last week?”
“Answer the question defendant!”
“I told you several times: you can decide to collaborate or…”
-or you snitch on me you wuss!
I’m glad I didn’t say this out loud or I would be greeted by Bully Schubert tomorrow in the basement.
Mario, our cell neighbor, talked about a 'basement treatment' in a police station.
Cell without window, pitch black, rotten bread and thin tea for 3 days.
This must have been so much worse in the 60’s!
Nowadays, THEY feel watched.
The day concludes with more questions about the famous Leipzig Trade Fair.
I hung around there often and made some contact to people from the West.
Nothing a repressive regime like THEM should be nervous about though.
I still decide to play a bit with this theme.
I describe some imaginary booth encounters.
Imaginary people in some (real world) bars and pubs.
“You are lying right now, right?”
“Just killing time.”
He seems relieved to end it for today.
Wondering whether I pushed it too far.
We will see if Bully Schubert is back in the morning.
Dirk tries his first sentences in English that I recalled from a course book.
His ‘sometimes’ sounds like ‘summertimes’.
I decide to not correct him.
There is not enough fun in here as it is.
The whole evening is darkened by my bad conscience about my parents situation and their future.
My mom works as a department head in the largest book store in town.
Dad’s job is certainly over as he travels internationally.
What have I done?