Silesian Station (2008) by David Downing Page A

across to join him when a voice over the loudspeaker announced that the tower was being evacuated. 'Move to the lifts in an orderly manner,' the voice instructed. 'There is no cause for alarm.'
    Russell felt a sliver of panic. 'Are there any fire engines?' he asked his son, joining him at the window.
    'No, just police.' A lorry drew up as they watched, and a troop of uniformed Ordnungspolizei climbed out. There was no sign of smoke.
    'Let's get to the lift.'
    There were only three others on the viewing platform, a couple and their young daughter. The man looked worried, and grew more so when a lift took several minutes to arrive. 'It's all right,' he kept telling his wife and daughter, who seemed much less concerned than he did.
    The lift dropped smoothly down to the restaurant level, fifty metres above the ground. More people were waiting here, enough to make a real squeeze for the final descent. As they poured in, Russell could see more Orpo uniforms in the restaurant itself. Several children were crying, one wailing that she hadn't finished her Coca Cola. 'It's some Jew on the roof,' a man said angrily.
    They reached ground level. More vehicles had arrived - half the Berlin police force seemed to be there - and the ground around the tower was littered with leaflets. A rhythmic banging sound came from above.
    'Keep moving,' an Orpo officer insisted, and Russell realized they were being shepherded towards the nearby S-bahn station. 'My car's over there,' he told the man, pointing the Hanomag out. It was the only one left in the parking lot.
    'All right. But leave that where it is,' the officer added, as Russell bent to pick up a leaflet. He shifted his gun slightly to reinforce the order.
    'Whatever you say,' Russell agreed, putting a protective arm around Paul's shoulder and pulling him away.
    'There's someone up there,' Paul said quietly. Looking up, Russell could see the lone figure on the restaurant roof. They were too far away to see the face, but there was an impression of smart clothes, as if the man had dressed up for the occasion.
    The banging suddenly stopped, and several more figures appeared on the roof. As they moved towards their quarry he simply stepped off the edge, falling soundlessly to the concrete below.
    Russell cradled Paul in his arms.
    'Fuck off out of here!' the Orpo officer shouted.
    They walked on to the car, got in, and drove out of the parking lot. Russell headed west, crossing the S-bahn at Heerstrasse and turning south into the forest. A kilometre in he pulled the car up and turned to his son, wondering what to say.
    Much to Russell's surprise, Paul pulled a crumpled leaflet from his pocket. They read it together.
    The headline was 'A LIFE WORTH NOTHING?'; the text beneath explained why the man had jumped. His Jewish wife had been working as a nurse at Wedding's Augusta Hospital for almost twenty years when she was forced out by the Nazis. Earlier this year she had been hit by a tram on Invalidenstrasse, taken to the same hospital, and refused treatment. In the hour it took to reach a Jewish-run clinic in Friedrichshain she had bled to death.
    'Do you think it's true?' Paul asked, his voice quavering slightly.
    'I can't see any reason for the man to lie,' Russell said.
    'But why?' There were tears in his eyes now.
    'Why are people cruel? I don't know. I like to think it's because they don't know any better.' Russell looked at his watch - he was supposed to have Paul home in a few minutes. He put a hand on his son's shoulder. 'That was a terrible thing to see. But the man did what he wanted to do. And at least he's not in pain anymore.'
    'Perhaps he's with his wife again,' Paul said hesitantly, as if he was trying the idea out.
    'Let's hope so.'
    'Well, if there's a God I think He must treat everyone the same, don't you?'
    Russell couldn't help but smile - his son never ceased to amaze him. 'I think it's time I took you back,' he said, putting the car in gear.
    Ten minutes later they were turning