Lilly's Stories

August, 1972

Elisa Vogt was terrified. She had made it—but barely. Heart still pounding mercilessly, she stumbled in the night, despite the glow of the street lights. Her husband had been right behind her. Where was he now?

“Jochim!” she tried to shout, but all that came from her throat was a raspy whisper. She was petrified. If he wasn’t here, then what had happened? He had helped her over, and she had seen him only a moment ago…

No. Oh, no, no, no. Surely he had made it. She knew it.

But she didn’t. She stood there, panic-stricken, knowing but not willing to acknowledge the fact that she would most likely never see her husband again.

What would she do?

She looked behind her at the wall that had kept her and her husband prisoner for eleven years. She could remember the terrifying day that it had been put up. August 13, 1961. Berlin hadn’t ever felt the same. Especially after her only child, her daughter, Liesl, had been taken. Well, not taken. She had tried to escape with Jochim’s brother and his family, and none of them had made it. Elisa felt as though that day had been far more horrifying than the day the wall went up.

If Jochim was gone, too, then she didn’t know how much longer she would last. Either she would die alone in a street, or she would be shot and die just moments after finding freedom.

But really, she couldn’t be shot then. She was safe. There were people here that would help her, they would find Jochim, they would fix all of this…

But no. She knew exactly what was going to happen. She wasn’t a child. Not oblivious to everything.

Elisa shivered but didn’t allow any tears to fall.

She would not think of Liesl, or Sofia, or Konrad, or Jakob, or Rolf, or Teresa, or…everyone else. Especially not Jochim.

But she had to think of him. How would she know if he wasn’t alive? She couldn’t bear to think that he might…that he might be…

No. She would walk into town and find a place to stay. Something to eat. Someone to help. That was what she could do. What she would do.

She took a step forward. She was past the wall. The Death Strip, East Berlin—it was all behind her. There was absolutely no going back. She had to move forward.

There was a tap on her shoulder. “Geht es dir gut?” a woman asked her.

Was she alright?

If she was being honest—no. She was everything but.

But instead, Elisa nodded, swallowed, and said, “Ja. I’m alright.”

At least, I will be. Maybe.

⎻⎻⎻⎻⎻⎻

November, 1974 — Two years later

Word of Jochim had not arrived. By then, Elisa had begun to admit to herself that he was most likely dead. Caught.

And for her sake. To get her out of East Berlin.

She stared out the window at the view of downtown Boston. For others, it seemed hard to believe that beyond the almost-perfect life in the city, there was a wall dividing the people of Berlin and people probably dying almost daily. But it wasn’t the Americans’ fault for their innocence. They had not experienced the fear of walking down the street every day.

They did not know why Elisa was so unhappy living in a place where she didn’t have to be afraid of walking to the store. Thankfully she had Susanne, a friend from West Berlin, who had come along with her from Germany to the U.S. and had understood everything so much more.

The view was beautiful, but at the same time, so very bleak. To Susanne, it was a safe haven. To Elisa, it was only a temporary home until the wall fell and she could return to her real home. To Berlin.

The image of Jochim and Liesl came to her mind, and she blinked. No, she knew they would not be there. There was almost no possible way that Jochim could be alive, and Liesl had been gone for years now. She knew that it would be ever so difficult to go back to her life at home without them, but it was far better than being an ocean apart from the only place she had ever known, before a year ago.

⎻⎻⎻⎻⎻⎻

May, 1968 — Six years earlier

Elisa could see Jochim biting his lip, waiting for her response. He would not allow any decision to be made without his wife’s approval. She almost smiled, but with a topic as solemn as the one at hand, she couldn’t have.

“Bitte, Elisa. She would be safe. You know we can get her over there. The plan is quite secure,” Jochim’s brother, Konrad, pleaded. “Liesl would have another life. Kannst du es nicht verstehen?”

Oh, yes, she understood. That was exactly why she was hesitating. She understood all too much. Getting past the wall was a feat that hardly any could accomplish. Most died. There was hardly any chance that her daughter would make it, and Konrad and his family, either.

Fourteen-year-old Liesl looked up at Elisa expectantly, but also nervously. She didn’t want to disappoint her mother. The look she gave Elisa was almost heartbreaking. How would she know what was best for her daughter? She wanted another life—a better life—for Liesl, but the likelihood of them making it to West Berlin…

Konrad’s wife, Sofia, looked anxious. She loved Liesl as any aunt would, and she knew the chances of getting over the wall were ever so slim. But she was trusting Konrad with her life and with her son’s. It was quite admirable. Elisa wished she could have the same confidence in her brother-in-law.

“I understand if you do not wish to risk your daughter’s life like this, Elisa,” Sofia said. Liesl looked like she was trying to hide disappointment.

“Aber,” Konrad continued for her, “we also understand that Liesl needs a life where she can walk down to school without the fear of stepping out of line to the Soviets and Grenztruppen! A life of freedom!”

Sofia kicked him under the table, silencing him.

“Do you have any idea what you’re saying?” she whispered. “You could get yourself killed with speech like that!”

Their son, Jakob, paled. At sixteen, he knew perfectly well that it wasn’t far from the truth.

Konrad was quiet, but his face was red with rage. Elisa knew that it was out of love for his family that he was so bold.

Jochim looked at her, almost pleading her to say yes.

Elisa glanced at Liesl and asked, “Do you want to go?”

Liesl looked like she wanted to answer but was afraid that it might not be what her mother wanted.

“It’s alright,” Elisa said, resigned. “Be honest.”

“Ja, I do,” Liesl answered slowly. “But only if it’s alright with you.”

Elisa’s heart was breaking, being torn in two with every beat.

She looked at Jochim, who nodded.

“Alright,” she said.

Pain engulfed her, and she tried her very hardest to hide it. Somehow, she knew that the next month would be the hardest that she had ever lived. Either being separated from her daughter by a wall, or by a barrier between Heaven and Earth.

⎻⎻⎻⎻⎻⎻

June, 1968 — One month later

The night before, Konrad, Sofia, Jakob, and Liesl had left for west Berlin. The next morning, their deaths were in the newspaper.

Elisa felt that heart-wrenching sobs were the only sounds that she would ever make again. Jochim had sat in the wooden chair at the table, hard as stone, staring at the paper. Neither of them could eat.

Every room in the house had something that reminded her of Liesl. Everything. The couch where they had snuggled in front of the fire, the kitchen where they had cooked dinners together, and worst of all, Liesl’s room. Elisa could not walk upstairs knowing that her daughter would not be in her bed, reading or drawing with the glow of a flashlight.

So she slept—intermittently—at the kitchen table, sitting in the wooden chair beside Jochim, knowing that eventually she would have to become used to loss.

⎻⎻⎻⎻⎻⎻

April, 1972 — Four years later

“We must leave,” Jochim said desperately. “We cannot stay here any longer, mein liebling. It has been almost eleven years since the wall has gone up. We keep hoping that it will fall, but each year passes and it is still standing.”

Elisa sighed. She knew he was right, but every time the Death Strip caught her eye, she was reminded of Liesl, Konrad, Sofia, and Jakob. And just a year ago, her sister, Teresa, and her husband, Rolf, had attempted escape as well. And failed.

But at least if they did not succeed, they would see their family again. But that didn’t comfort Elisa in the slightest.

Jochim looked at her, pleading like he had when they had decided that Liesl would escape East Berlin.

“You know exactly why I’m hesitating,” she said.

“Ja, and I miss Liesl and my brother just as much as you do, but for all we know, we may grow old and die here, imprisoned, before the wall is taken down. And I’d rather take my chances than stay here as captives for the rest of our lives.”

He was just like his brother, bold and ready to risk his life for the chance of freedom.

And he was right. They did need to leave.

She sighed and asked, “What do we need to escape?”

⎻⎻⎻⎻⎻⎻

September, 1981 — Nine years later

“Elisa, are you alright?” Susanne asked.

It was another day where all that Elisa could stand to do was stare out the window and feel utterly useless. Twenty years of the wall. Twenty years since living in Berlin with Liesl and Jochim, not worrying much about their freedom.

She sighed. “Ich bin nicht sicher.”

She wasn’t sure.

Susanne got up to leave. “Hopefully it will fall soon enough. You seem so sad some days. I hope we can get you back to Berlin eventually.”

“So Gott will,” was all Elisa said.

God willing.

⎻⎻⎻⎻⎻⎻

November, 1989 — Eight years later

Elisa sat there, staring at the television screen. Could it be true? The wall was gone?

Twenty-eight years of division in Berlin—was it all really over?

Well, there it was. The camera zoomed in on the crumbled wall. She couldn’t believe it. She could finally go back. Finally go home.

⎻⎻⎻⎻⎻⎻

January, 1990 — Two months later

Susanne walked in the room, carrying the mail.

“There’s something for you!” she exclaimed, and handed Elisa an envelope.

Elisa opened it curiously, and read through the whole thing slowly.

Dear Elisa,

I hope you have made it to a safe place. The wall has indeed fallen, and Jörg, Friederic, Ilse, and I are quite happy. Mother and Father have moved in with us a couple of years ago, and we’ve all been so worried about you. We hadn’t felt it safe to send you anything, as I’m sure you can understand.

Although we’re all rejoicing, we do have sad news. Up until now, we had thought that both you and Jochim had crossed, but now we know that it was just you. Es tut mir su leid, Elisa. We found out recently that he did not make it quite as far as you did, and was shot the night you attempted to escape.

Elisa nearly dropped the paper. Even though deep down, she had known he was gone, it was a blow to read it, knowing for sure.

We do not know what they’ve done with him, but we hope to find out for your sake soon.

Sending all my love,

Ana

Elisa covered her mouth with her hand. It was wonderful to hear from her sister, but she had hoped that it would be a cheerful message. Instead, there was the fact that Jochim was dead.

⎻⎻⎻⎻⎻⎻

March, 1959 — 31 years earlier

Four-year-old Liesl was scribbling on the sketchpad she’d received for her birthday, explaining that it was a hippopotamus with a bow.

Jochim grinned when he saw it. “Gute arbeit, mein kleiner engel.”

Good job, my little angel.

Indeed, if she looked at the picture from the right angle, Elisa could see what looked a bit like a hippo with a bow, and she smiled.

Liesl glowed in the praise, and flipped to another sheet of paper for a new picture.

“Jetzt zeichne ich dich!” she declared, and studied her mother’s face, imitating a fine artist.

Elisa laughed and struck a pose. Liesl got to work and scribbled over the page. She looked so content with her new pencils and pad.

Elisa was drawn to thoughts of her own childhood, growing up in a smaller town in Germany not too far away from Berlin. She remembered the war, and the fear of invasions quite often. But now, the fire in front of them was warm and comforting. She had lived through hard times, and she knew right then that no matter what came, they would be alright.