TRIBUTE ABDUL - Perdana Library

FRANK SULLIVAN
a man they did not know. He brought them to East Berlin,
haboured them in his house. His wife gave the farmer's wife her
identity card, which is essential to get rations in East Berlin. Early
next morning they locked the farmer in the boot of the taxi; she sat
in front pretending to be the taxi driver's wife, pretending to be ill
and on her way urgently to a special hospital in West Berlin. They
had tense moments at the border check while the police examined
their papers; they let them through. The taxi driver drove the
farmer and his wife to Marienfelde camp, took the identity card
back and returned to East Berlin.
There they sat now being interrogated, the farmer and his
wife. He was calm, confident, occasionally showing cold anger;
she was anxious, worried whether the husband was putting a good
enough case, whether they would be allowed to stay. Once or
twice she tried to interrupt, as if to say, "But dear, you've forgotten
this." He quietly pushed her hand away, and once he
said, firmly, "Don't worry. I know what I want to say; I came
here to say it, and I am going to say it." No, there was no need to
know German; the truth was as plain as their story. They were
asked to leave the room for five minutes, while the Commissioners
conferred. Then they were summoned in again and told they were
free to enter. They told them too they would find a job for the
farmer until they could find him a farm, so he could start on the land
again. The farmer smiled, and drooped in his chair; tears of
happiness sprang into his wife's eyes; the crisis was over. They
bowed and thanked the Commissioners, and then with eyes shining
and shoulders back, his arm around her, they left the room.
That was the human drama which the Tunku saw and heard.
It sounds like a story from a suspense film, but it is a very common
story in West Berlin, where hundreds of people every day seek refuge
in the West. There are hundreds of jobs available for them in
booming West Germany, where they can live their lives in freedom.
That interrogation was an unforgettable experience. What
was happening ? Here were two simple people in a kind of voluntary
trial, not charged with any offence, but merely trying to justify their
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