Michael enjoys a second sip and looked more relaxed on the uncomfortable world beyond the misted glass. Beneath his window floated an army of black umbrellas over the sidewalk and the damp fabric mushrooms remembered him not for the first time at the shiny exoskeleton of an ant-convoy. Tirelessly crawled the wet army through the Neuendorfer-Street and by the bizarre sight returned slowly Michaels good mood. Grinning, he ignored the passers-by that battled against the rain, and looked on his own reflection. At first glance, it sprayed the usual charm, that was so popular by ladies, and in his gray eyes sparkled obvious a hint of irony.
"Tough, old boy!" Michael cast another look at the familiar face and wrinkled involuntarily his forehead. Somehow, his smile seemed a little bit unreal, and the beard stubble gave him not a younger look. Yes it was true, the first gray stubbles was a silent reminder at his fortieth birthday last Year.
"All right, still a pinch world weariness more?" Michael Herold winked to his likeness, while behind him quietly opened the door. The reflex of a volatile shadow flitted across the window glass and a throaty voice asked: "A little bit vain today? Do you like what you see?”
"Let's say I'm not surprised." Herold turned around and looked unabashed at the new volunteer. "I suppose, you see me not only to improve my mood?"
"Oh, I am sorry. Normally I blurt not so easy in, but the colleague on the third floor, this somewhat conservative, with the strange sense of humor..."
Michael Herold laughed softly. "This is probably the most accurate description from Harald Seib, I've heard in years. A headline could not express it more appropriate.”
"Thank You. Colleagues Seib is hard to ignore. He asked me personally, to present you this information; he say, it's damn hot!"
"Very cooperative, but watch it, Christine. A few more of these errands and you start an apprenticeship at the post office."
"Do not worry, I leave me not exploit so quickly, and, besides, I was already on the way to this floor. It smells always so delicious, and just today I couldn't resist a cup of good coffee.”
"Well, then, you are cordially invited." Herold opened the drawer again and fumbled a second cup out. He poured carefully the still steaming coffee in the china cup and handed it to Christine. "Enjoy it alone, I see now just through that documentation."
"Do what you want" Sipping at the black poison, leaned the girl against the table. Michael ignored her provoking long legs, and pulled out of the brown envelope a thin booklet.
"A message from the Spandau district office; Seib is surely not in his right mind. These illuminations from the town hall reach me without his help." Annoyed Herold turn around the cardboard-cover and glanced fleetingly at the first page: "Commercial use of Palas 85/86" proclaimed the headline under a drawing of the Julius tower. Michael paused and looked now with more attention at the rough recycling leaves. That was not a mandatory advertisement for the Spandau Christmas market, but a catalog for a number of exhibitions in the citadel. For the next month promised the bold lines: “November 1985. Visit the crown exhibition! Crowns and royal insignia from eight European countries! See them in the shadow of the Julius tower."
"Incredible!" Impressed Michael lowered the booklet and mustered the cover picture. "Really! Apparently they are finally woke up in the town hall and try to obtain the budget of their problem child on her own account."
"Don’t be angry, but do you mean this old building just beyond the ship sluice?" Christine touched playfully the stylized emblem of the fortress, and smiled disarmingly. "Sorry, I came only a year ago from Osnabrück to Berlin."
"No need to apologize; your description of the old fortress is quite right. For so many people is the Citadel in fact nothing more than a dusty museum. Yes, this is an absolutely forgotten area, where you can only play with your grandkids at a Sunday-afternoon, or spit from the Citadel-Tower into the river. A matter of course, as the moat around the old town and the Nikolai Church, and this is a ignorance, that the Citadel does not deserve. After all, she is the oldest Renaissance fortress north of the Alps, and parts of the main building even date back to the time of Albert the Bear."
"Sorry, I've missed a real gem."
"No problem, you have a lot of reason, to sneer!" Michael Herold looked the young woman deep in her green eyes. "In the end, you are not so wrong. Not even my fellow countrymen stroll at the weekend to the Citadel, and how should they? For the fortress there is neither an effective advertising concept, nor integration into the Berlin tourism. In practical terms, the official side of the citadel is dead and now, suddenly this enlightenment!"
Herold opened the catalog again and pointed with his index finger on the announcements on the second page: "Februar 1986: Dali Retrospective 1920-1980. Graphics, objects, and designs. Summer 1986: Pyotr I. Alexejewitsch-Russia’s opening to the West. Woow! What for attractive local themes, and here as the icing on the cake, the crown exhibition."
"By the way," the volunteer fished an envelope out of the stack of letters, "This message belongs to the info. Seib accepted no absence from the fete, and there is free beer!"
"Well, fantastic!" Michael slits the envelope with the thumb and looked at the contained card. "An invitation, and naturally, of course, for tonight. At 20:00 clock, the head of the art-office present the finer details of the exhibition in the citadel. For dining and drinks will be provided, good humor, and enthusiasm everyone must bring his own."
Herald's looked at his wristwatch. "I love these timely notifications! This is so typical for Bergmeier!”
"Well, I don’t want to disturb you much more. So, thank you for the delicious coffee. Ciao!" Christine walked with a skillful pelvic thrust out of the room, and Michael looked again at the invitation. Nothing against a celebration in the citadel, but before that, he had a very urgent meeting with the old Bronslav.
Sighing, Michael slipped a hand into his jacket, and weighed thoughtfully the car keys in hand. Normally, he would cancel the meeting, but Bronslav was simply the only person in town, who owns vital information about Poland Charlie's last days and hours.
Poland Charley, or as his real name was, Joseph Zcybulski; united with Lech Bronslav a fierce love-hate relationship, that still stemmed from the old country. The two men fought already on the Lenin Shipyard in Gdańsk shoulder to shoulder for their ideals, and braved so long the Russian winds, until they had to migrate in an unloved country. There, in the cold streets of West-Berlin, Zcybulski succumbed very quickly the dark side of life, while Bronslav over the years became the shepherd of the ever-growing Polish community. His word now had top priority, and probably, not even a leaf fell from the trees at the faraway river Weichsel, without Lech’s blessing.
Amused, by this not so absurd idea, Herold leaves the publishing house, and hurried to his Datsun. Automatically, he activated the car radio and heard the refrain of "Ebony and Ivory" in the RIAS (Radio in the American sector) . Michael turned the sound a little louder, started the car, and reached a few minutes later the Lynar-Street. The old road was named after the architect of the Citadel, Count Rochus of Lynar. Directly in front of the red block of the hospital with the same name, he parked the car, and mustered for a moment the tenements on the other street side.
Most of the four-story houses were buildings from the eighties of the last century, and behind the dirty windows of Bronslavs apartment flickers no lights. Michael knew that it did not mean much, and crossed the dam. With great strides he climbed to the second floor of the house and beat in the appointed rhythm against Lech's door. After a moment answered him a rough voice, "Yes, yes, I'm coming! Will it not be so hasty, or has the last judgment finally arrived? Would it not surprise me in this accursed city!"
Reluctantly, the door opened a crack, and Lech blinked short-sighted through