I had continued to butter my bread roll and eat it during this long litany, and this seemed to annoy him. Now that his description had finally ended I looked up at him and nodded.

'Then of course there is the river,' said the guard.

'Why are you telling me all this?' I said. I drank some coffee. I desperately needed a drink, a proper drink, but the coffee would have to do.

'You might as well understand that your friend will not be corh^ said the guard. He watched me. My hand trembled as I brought tv cup down from my mouth and I spilled coffee on the tablecloth.

'What friend?' I dabbed at the stain.

'We've seen your sort before,' said the border guard. 'I know why you are waiting here at the Golden Bear.'

'You're spoiling my breakfast,' I said. 'If you don't leave me in peace I'll complain to the Tourist Bureau.'

'Walk west in future,' he said. 'It will be better for your health. No matter what your doctor might prescribe.' He grinned at his joke.

After the guard had departed, the proprietor's son came over to me. 'He's a bastard, that one. He should be 'over there', that one.' Drüben; over there. No matter which side of the border it was, the other side was always drüben. The boy spread a tablecloth on the table next to mine. Then he laid out the cutlery. Only when he got to the cruet did he say, 'Are you waiting for someone?'

'I might be,' I said.

'Nagel. That's his name. Oberstabsmeister Nagel. He would make a good communist guard. They talk to the communists every day. Do you know that?'

'No.'

'One of the other guards told me about it. They have a telephone link with the border guards on the other side. It's supposed to be used only for river accidents, floods and forest fires. But every morning they test it and they chat. I don't like the idea of it. Some bastard like Nagel could easily say too much. Your friend won't try swimming, will he?'

'Not unless he's crazy,' I said.

'Sometimes at night we hear the mines exploding,' said Konrad. 'The weight of a hare or a rabbit is enough to trigger them. Would you like more butter, or more coffee?'

'I've had enough, thanks, Konrad.'

'Is he a close friend, the one you're expecting?'

'We were at school together,' I said.

Konrad crossed himself, flicking his fingers to his forehead and to his shoulders with a quick gesture that came automatically to him.

Notwithstanding Oberstabsmeister Nagel's warning, I strolled along the river that morning. I was buttoned into my trenchcoat against the ceaseless rain. It is flat this land, part of the glaciated northern lowlands. To the west is Holland, to the north an equally flat Denmark, to the south the heathland of Luneburg. As to the east, a man could walk far into Poland before finding a decent-sized hill. Except that no man could walk very far east.

Near the river there was a battered enamel notice: 'Halt. Zonengrenze.' It was an old sign that should have been replaced a long time ago. The Soviet Union's military-occupation zone of Germany was now fancifully called the German Democratic Republic. But like Werner I could not stop calling it the Russian Zone. Perhaps we should have been replaced a long time ago too.

I walked on through grass so high that it soaked the legs of my trousers right up to the knees. I knew I would be no nearer to Werner out on the river bank but I could not stay cooped up in the Golden Bear. The Elbe is very wide here, meandering as great rivers do on such featureless terrain. And on both banks there are marshy fields, bright green with the tall, sharp-bladed grass that flourishes in such water meadows. And, although the far bank of the river had been kept clear of all obstruction, on this side there were young willow and alder, trees which are always thirsty. From across the river there came a sudden noise: the fierce rattle of a heron taking to the air. Something had flushed it out – the movement of some hidden sentry, perhaps. It flew over me with leisurely beats of its great wings, its legs trailing in the soft air as a child might trail its fingers from a boat.

A light wind cut into me but did not disperse the grey mist that followed the river. The sort of morning when border guards get jumpy and desperate men get reckless. Only working men were abroad, and working boats too. Barges, long strings of them, brown phantoms gliding silently on the almost colourless water. They slid past, following the dredged channel that took them on a winding course, sometimes near to the east bank and sometimes near the west one. All communist claims to half the river had faltered on the known difficulties of the deep water channel. Even the East German patrol boats, specially built with shallow-draught hulls, could not keep to the half of the river their masters claimed. There were West German boats too; a police cruiser and a high-speed Customs boat puttering along this deserted stretch of river bank.

I spotted another heron, standing in the shallow water staring down. It was absolutely still, except that it swayed slightly as the reeds and rushes moved in the wind. 'The patient killer of the marshland' my schoolbook had called it – waiting for a fish to swim into range of that spearlike beak. Now and again the wind along the water gusted enough to make the the mist open like curtains. On the far bank a watchtower was suddenly visible. An opened window – mirrored to prevent a clear view of the gunmen – flashed as the daylight was reflected in its copper-coloured glass. And then, as suddenly, the mist closed and the tower, the windows, the man, everything vanished.

When I reached the remains of the long-disused ferry pier I saw activity on the far side of the river. Four East German workmen were repairing the fencing. The supports were tilting forwards, thy foundations in the marshy river bank softened further by the heavy rain. While the four men worked, two guards – kasernierte Volkspolizei – stood by with their machine-pistols ready, and looked anxiously at the changing visibility lest their charges escaped into the mist. Such 'barracks police' were considered more trustworthy than men who went home each night to their wives and families.

More barges passed. Czech ones this time, heading down to where the river crossed the border into Czechoslovakia. Sitting on the hatch cover there was a bearded man drinking from a mug. He had a dog with him. The dog barked at a patch of undergrowth on the far side of the river, and ran along the boat to continue its protest.

As I got to the place at which the dog had barked I saw what had attracted its attention. There were East German soldiers, three of them, dressed in battle order complete with camouflaged helmets, trying to conceal themselves in the tall grass. They were Aufklärer, specially trained East German soldiers, who patrolled the furthermost edge of the frontier zone, and sometimes well beyond it. They had a camera, they always had cameras, to keep the capitalists observed and recorded. I waved at their blank faces and pulled my collar up across my face.

I walked for nearly two hours, looking at the river and thinking about Stinnes and Werner and Fiona, to say nothing of George and Tessa. Until ahead of me I saw a dark green VW Passat station wagon parked. Whether it was Oberstabsmeister Nagel or one of his associates I did not want to find out. I cut back across the field where the car could not follow and from there back to the village.

It was lunchtime when I arrived at the Golden Bear. I changed out of my wet shoes and trousers and put on a tie. As I was polishing the rain spots from my glasses there was a knock at my door. 'Herr Samson? Konrad here.'

'Come in, Konrad.'

'My father asks if you are having lunch.'