Chapter 194 - 104: The Secret in the Darkroom

Chapter 194: Chapter 104: The Secret in the Darkroom

Erich’s darkroom was in the basement of the newspaper building, right next to the printing workshop.

The red safelight illuminated the developing trays, and the smell of chemicals was pungent.

Work and safety regulations were posted on the wall, and a few boxes of expired photo paper were stacked in the corner.

It was a cramped, six-square-meter space, but to Erich, it was the place he had been reborn.

When Werner pushed open the door, Erich was developing photos.

"Just a moment." Erich clipped the last photo to a drying line. "That job you gave me—I finished it."

He took a manila envelope out of a drawer and handed it to Werner.

Werner opened the envelope and pulled out several photos.

They were all standard ID photos: white background, front-facing, head-and-shoulders shots, with serious expressions.

But upon closer inspection, the facial features in each photo were slightly different—one had a higher nose bridge, another had larger eyes, and yet another had a squarer jaw.

"Nicely done," Werner nodded. "The alterations are seamless."

All these photos had been altered from genuine ID photos.

Erich had used darkroom techniques to alter their facial features, making one person look like several different people, or several different people look like one. In an era without computers, such a technique required immense skill and patience.

"We also need the accompanying documents." Werner took a stack of forms from his briefcase. "These are blank identification papers from Schier."

Erich took the stack of forms and inspected them carefully. Work permits, temporary travel passes, residence certificates—the texture of the paper, the style of the stamps, the depth of the embossing—everything was identical to the genuine articles.

"Schier?" Erich looked up. "The guy from the underground printing press?"

"That’s right," Werner said. "Once they’re filled out and stamped, they’re as good as real."

Erich stared at the forms, his fingers gently tracing the edges of the paper. A complex look crossed his young face.

"Mr. Betelich," he began, his voice a little tense, "what are these for?"

"You want to know?"

Erich took a deep breath, his gaze turning resolute. "I’ve already guessed. Altered ID photos, blank passes... these things are for creating fake identities. You’re helping people escape, aren’t you?"

Under the red safelight, Erich’s face was pale, but there was a peculiar light in his eyes.

Werner exhaled a cloud of smoke and fell silent for a few moments.

"You’re right," he said calmly. "Some people want to leave East Germany, but they can’t wait for the official channels. They’re willing to pay, and I provide the service."

Erich said nothing, lost in thought.

"That wall," he said suddenly. "The Berlin Wall. That’s why I lost my job."

Werner watched him without a word.

"I took those photos. I took them right after the wall went up. Families separated by barbed wire, old people weeping before the wall, young people shot trying to climb over... I photographed it all. I wanted people to see the truth."

His eyes grew brighter. "But the paper wouldn’t publish them."

Werner slowly walked over and stubbed out his cigarette.

Erich clenched his fists. "I’ve always known. That wall wasn’t built to protect us. It was built to imprison us. All the official lines are lies. The ’Anti-Fascist Protection Rampart,’ ’preventing Western infiltration’—it’s all lies!"

Werner motioned for him to lower his voice. "If you understand that, then you should understand what I’m doing."

Erich looked at him, the anger in his eyes slowly yielding to something else—a complex understanding.

"You’re helping people get over the wall," he said. "You’re helping them escape this lie."

"That’s right." Werner nodded. "I’m no revolutionary, and I’m no hero. I’m just a businessman. But if I can make money while also helping those who want freedom realize their dreams, why not?"

Erich remained silent for a long time.

"If I get caught..." he finally said, "I’ll lose my job again. This time, it might not just be a dismissal. It could be prison."

"It’s possible," Werner didn’t deny.

"My mother needs care. She has a heart condition and needs regular medication."

"I know."

"But..." Erich looked up. "If I do nothing, if I just keep taking propaganda photos and lie to the camera every day, then how am I any different from the people who fired me?"

Werner looked at the young man, a touch of sentiment stirring within him. Erich still possessed a pure idealism, the kind of thing that was becoming increasingly rare in this country.

"You don’t have to decide now," Werner said. "You can take your time to think it over."

"No." Erich shook his head. "I’ve made up my mind. I’ll do it. Not for the money, although I do need it. It’s because... because I want to do something meaningful."

He stood up and walked over to the drying line, which was covered in photos. "You know, Mr. Betelich? I got into photography because I believed it could document the truth, that it could change the world. But now my job is shooting fake propaganda photos—happy workers, bountiful harvests, blissful families. It’s all fake."

He turned around, a light in his eyes. "But if my skills can help those people escape this lie, then at least I’m still doing something real. At least my camera will still have purpose."

Werner offered him a cigarette. "Are you sure? This isn’t a game."

"I’m sure." Erich took the cigarette and drew on it deeply. "I’ve lost one job, I can lose another. But if I don’t do this, I won’t be able to live with myself."

"Even if it means prison?"

"Even if it means prison." Erich’s voice was firm. "Mr. Betelich, do you know why I wanted to photograph the Berlin Wall so badly? I believed that if people saw the truth, they would wake up. I failed, but at least I tried."

He paused. "Now you’re giving me another chance. Not to expose the truth with photos, but to use them to help people escape the lie. That’s just as important, isn’t it?"

Werner smiled. "Erich, you’re an idealist."

"Maybe so," Erich smiled too, though it was a bitter one. "But someone has to believe in something, or this world is just too desperate."

Werner pulled a wad of Marks from his pocket. "This is your payment. Three hundred Marks."

Erich looked at the money, hesitated, then took it. "But I’m not doing this for the money."

"I know," Werner said. "But you still need money to survive. You can’t live on idealism."

"Fair enough," Erich said, pocketing the money. "So, what’s next?"

"Another batch of photos," Werner said. "Official ones. Legal."

Erich raised an eyebrow. "The government is involved in this sort of thing?"

"Have you heard of Lawyer Vogel?" Werner explained. "He’s pushing a project to get East Germany to release political prisoners to West Germany through humanitarian channels. The project requires a lot of documentation—photos, files, testimonies. Your job will be to provide it."

"So the officials know people want to leave," Erich said with a cold laugh. "They’ve just turned it into a business, a political transaction."

"At least it helps some people," Werner said. "Besides, this project gives you a legitimate income and a cover story. If anyone investigates, you can say you’re doing officially sanctioned humanitarian work."

Erich handed the documents back to Werner and nodded. "I get it. So I’ll be making two kinds of photos—one set for the official channel, and one for the private one."

"Correct," Werner said. "But you need to remember, regardless of the channel, the ultimate goal is the same: helping people find freedom."

"And the people using the private channel? Why don’t they just wait for the official one?"

"Because they can’t afford to wait," Werner said. "The official channel can take years, and not everyone qualifies. Some are dissidents, others have political problems—the state won’t let them go. But they long for freedom all the same."

Erich was silent for a few seconds, then said, "I see. So what we’re doing... it’s illegal, but it’s righteous."

"Righteous?" Werner laughed. "Erich, don’t be so absolute. We’re just doing what we believe is right. As for whether it’s righteous... history will be the judge of that."

"Then let history be the judge," Erich said. "At least we’re on the side of those seeking freedom."

He paused, his gaze hardening. "Comrade Betelich, I have a request."

"Speak."

"The people who escape using my photos... if it’s possible, I’d like to know if they make it," Erich said. "I don’t need to know their names or any details. I just want to know... if my work actually helped them."

"I’ll let you know," Werner said. "But you have to remember, not everyone succeeds. Some get caught, some go to prison. That won’t be your fault, and it won’t be mine."

"I understand," Erich nodded. "But at least we gave them a chance, right?"

"That’s right." Werner patted him on the shoulder. "Welcome aboard, Erich."