It was good to have a concrete task to work on, and after a day or two I began to feel more settled. I liked having the office to myself, and I enjoyed the freedom of working away without anyone bothering me. I started to get into a routine of getting a coffee at 9 and 11 and then another one after lunch, which I ate at the bakery around the corner. It was nice to have rituals.
As if that wasn’t enough, I even enjoyed the actual work. The texts were just difficult enough to make translating them a challenge without being impossible, and it was good to finally use the skills I had learned at university in a work context. And I liked having plenty of time to check everything and polish the English versions so they sounded as good as I could make them.
I ran into Markus in the corridor now and again. We stopped to chat, a pleasing distraction. On the Thursday we went for lunch together at a little Italian café near the office. Over canneloni Markus told me about growing up in a small town near Zwickau and his decision to move to Berlin a couple of years before the Wall came down. “I couldn’t face working in the Trabant factory like everyone else I went to school with,” he said with a grimace. He had managed to get a university place at the Humboldt — no small matter in the East, apparently — and then got a job at the Verlag after it was taken over and the new owner embarked on an expansion drive. I enjoyed his company and I hoped we might become friends.
I kept an eye out for the Professor, who intrigued me. He wasn’t like any of the other staff, with his elegant clothes and his air of intellectual authority. The other workers were mostly either defeated middle-aged East Germans or chirpy young Wessies; neither group paid much attention to me. The fact that the Professor had been a prominent academic in the GDR gave him an exotic air, and his secretive habits added to the fascination. His door was always closed and I seldom saw him in the corridor, even though I often loitered outside my office in the hope of running into him. I only passed him in the corridor once that week, when he gave me a nod and a quick, professional smile. For some reason I had the feeling that he was keeping on polite terms with me until he had decided if I could be of use to him or not.
But then I ran into him again on the Friday afternoon, just before I was about to leave. I had handed my translations into Markus, who had glanced through them and pronounced himself favourably impressed, and I was looking forward to officially ending my first week of work. I had a glow of satisfaction inside me and a sense of anticipation at the weekend ahead and the gig I was going to that evening. I had found it in Zitty, the Berlin listings magazine I had bought on Markus’ recommendation. Three local bands were playing in a bar not far from my flat. I thought it was a good way to socialize without knowing anyone. Best of all, admission was free — a godsend on my budget.
I was just passing the Professor’s office when the door opened. It was as if he had been waiting for me, although I didn’t know how he could have seen me coming with his door closed.
“Do you have two minutes?” he asked in his well articulated German. He had a conspiratorial air, as if he was keen that nobody else saw us talking.
“Natürlich,” I said after a moment’s hesitation. I was surprised that he wanted to talk to me, and I felt intimidated by him. But I wanted to find out more about him, so I couldn’t refuse.
He ushered me into his office and closed the door behind us. “Take a seat,” he said, indicating a metal chair in front of his desk.
While he searched through the papers on his desk, I sneaked a look around his office. There were even more piles of books and papers than I had thought. Bookshelves lined the walls, full of reference works, journals and academic tomes. Framed academic degrees and awards hung on the one free wall section. Some of them appeared to be in Cyrillic. In the corner of the room was a table with a brand new, state-of-the-art Apple computer on it.
The Professor finally found what he was looking for and sat down opposite me. He still seemed to be sizing me up. He flashed me a smile which I had to admit was charismatic. I had the feeling he had used it on a lot of people before. Except I noticed with a shudder that some of the enamel had come off one of his front teeth, revealing a deep brown-coloured depression, and spoiling the effect somewhat. It was horrible to look at, but also strangely complelling. During the course of that and later conversations, I would continually find my eyes drawn towards it. I had to force myself to look away.
“So Herr Wilson,” he began — he would never address me by my first name — “I understand you are from Scotland. Is that correct?”
“Yes,” I said, wondering where this was going. Feeling that I should offer some more information to be polite, I added that I was from Edinburgh.
He nodded approvingly. “An excellent city. The Athens of the North” — he said the phrase in accent-free English — “and the cradle of the Enlightenment. I have always been an admirer of David Hume.”
“Me too,” I said — not entirely convincingly, I felt. I hoped he didn’t start talking about Hume and expect me to have an opinion on him. University lecturers were always expecting people to know about things, I had found — especially things about which I knew nothing.
Fortunatly he was keen to get down to business. “Now, Herr Wilson, I understand you are an intern here. I wonder if I could ask you to do me a small favour? Feel free to say no — I’m sure you have plenty of other tasks to do and I don’t want to over-burden you.” He flashed me his winning smile again.
He had put the question so diplomatically — and so charmingly — that I could hardly say no. Besides, I didn’t actually have anything else to do, and I already found myself wanting to help the Professor, because — as I realised later when I reflected on our conversation — I wanted him to like me. “I’d be happy to help,” I said.
“Wonderful!” he exclaimed, in a tone which appeared exuberant but which was a little too practised to be completely spontaneous. He handed me the page. “This is the abstract of a book which we will be publishing soon. Although the book is in German, we need an English abstract for our international catalogue.” (He had a mannered way of giving instructions, I noticed — presumably the legacy of years spent explaining things to people of limited intelligence.) “Could you perhaps check my English for me? I admit it is poor — I am somewhat out of practice — and I would appreciate it if you, as a native speaker, were to glance over it.”
“Certainly,” I said, taking the sheet. To my relief I saw the text was only a couple of paragraphs long. I wondered why he had asked in such an elaborate fashion when the work involved was so small. Maybe it was just because of what Markus said, that the pace of work in the publisher was slow and even a trivial task gained an exaggerated importance.
“Shall I check it for you now?”
“If that’s not too inconvienient, that would be wonderful. Take your time. Tea?”
It took me a moment to realise he was offering me a cup of tea. “Yes please.”
I watched him out of the corner of my eye as he poured water from a large bottle into two identical white mugs, which were sitting on a small table in the corner of the room, and then placed a tiny electric element into first one cup, then the other, until the water in both was hot enough. Then he measured out loose tea from a caddy into two paper filter bags, which he placed in the mugs. He glanced at his watch and then stood looking out the window while the tea brewed.
By the time the tea was ready, I had finished checking the text. His English was of course excellent and I had only made a few very minor corrections, more polishing the style than anything. I went through my changes with him, explaining each one. I was flattered that he listened attentively while I spoke.
“Wonderful,” he said again when I had finished. “Your changes have vastly improved my text. I can see you have a talent for language.”
“Your English is very good,” I said, trying to be modest but pleased by his compliment.
“It is kind of you to say so. Now, would you mind if I asked you for help again in the future, should I require it?”
“I’d be delighted to help,” I gurgled, basking in the glow of his approval.
“Splendid,” he said. “Of course, I would be more than happy to help you with anything in return.” He gave me his smile.
After a moment, I realised the smile was my signal to leave. I said I should be getting back to work and stood up, my tea untouched on the desk. He escorted me to the door, thanked me again, then quickly opened the door to let me out before closing it behind me.
Walking back to my office, it occured to me that the proofreading task had been a test.
But Markus was from the East!