I'm a Profiteer in Cold War Germany

"Like what?" asked Mrs. Schmidt.

"Like photography magazines, art albums, and even some less sensitive literary works," Werner replied.

"Photography magazines?" Mrs. Wagner asked with interest.

"Magazines like *National Geographic* or *Life*, which are full of landscape photos from all over the world," Werner explained. "They are very helpful for understanding the social conditions in capitalist countries."

"That sounds like it has great... research value," said Mrs. Schmidt. "What are the prices like?"

"Depending on the content and rarity, they range from about thirty to eighty Marks," Werner quoted.

"If you could provide a regular supply of this... research material... that would be wonderful," said Mrs. Bergman. "We could establish a long-term... academic partnership."

Werner was ecstatic, but he maintained a professional demeanor. "I would be honored to provide these cultural research materials for you ladies. However, due to the special nature of my channels, I need to take pre-orders. It usually takes two to three weeks."

"No problem," Mrs. Schmidt said. "We can create a long-term plan. We’ll order a few different types of... materials each month."

Just then, the clock in the living room chimed five times.

"It’s already five o’clock!" Mrs. Wagner glanced at her watch. "I have to call home and tell them I won’t be back for dinner tonight."

"I need to make a call too," said Mrs. Fisher.

Mrs. Schmidt stood up. "You all go make your calls. I’ll arrange for dinner. We’ll spend tonight thoroughly ’researching’ these cultural materials."

While the ladies were on the phone, Mrs. Schmidt walked over to Werner and said in a low voice, "Comrade Betelich, you’ve been a tremendous help. To be honest, living in this environment can be very oppressive sometimes. Having these beautiful things to brighten up our lives is truly precious."

"I understand how you feel, Madam," Werner said sincerely. "Beauty should never be suppressed."

Mrs. Schmidt gave him a deep look, then nodded. "You’re right. While we must support the construction of socialism, we cannot completely lose our pursuit of beautiful things."

She walked to her desk and took out some more money. "This is for today’s magazines, plus an advance for the next order. One thousand Marks in total."

Werner took the money, calculating in his head. ’Six thousand for the coffee machine, five hundred for the magazines, and a one-thousand-Mark advance. That’s seven thousand Marks in total! That’s nearly two years’ income for an average worker!’

"Thank you for your trust, Madam," he said with genuine sincerity. "I promise I will bring you the best... cultural research materials."

The other ladies returned one by one after their calls, their faces alight with excitement and anticipation.

"All arranged," Mrs. Bergman announced. "We can have a good ’study’ session tonight."

"Wonderful!" Mrs. Fisher clapped her hands. "I can’t wait to get a closer look at those clothing styles!"

"Remember, this is academic research," Mrs. Wagner reminded her, though her own voice was filled with excitement.

Seeing the ladies’ irrepressible joy, Werner decided it was time for him to leave.

"Ladies, since you’ll be conducting... in-depth cultural research tonight, I won’t disturb you any longer. I will visit again in two weeks with new materials."

"Wait a moment," Mrs. Schmidt stopped him. "Those professional journals you mentioned... I think my husband might be interested. He’s been researching Western cultural policies recently. If you could find some relevant materials..."

Werner’s eyes lit up. "Of course. I can keep an eye out for those kinds of magazines, as well as professional journals on economics and sociology."

"That would be excellent," Mrs. Schmidt nodded, satisfied. "As for the price..."

"Professional journals are more expensive than fashion magazines, probably a hundred to a hundred and fifty Marks per issue. After all, this kind of material is much scarcer, and... its research value is higher."

"No problem," Mrs. Schmidt said without hesitation. "Order some for me. My husband will be very pleased."

The other ladies chimed in, saying their husbands might also need some professional materials.

Werner could hardly believe his luck. Not only had he broken into the high-end market of officials’ wives, but he might also gain access to the officials themselves!

"Then I shall take my leave," Werner said with a bow. "I will be back in two weeks, right on time."

"I’ll see you out," Mrs. Schmidt said, personally escorting him to the door.

In the entryway, she spoke to Werner in a low voice, "Comrade Betelich, about today..."

"I understand, Madam," Werner nodded. "This was just a normal cultural exchange."

Mrs. Schmidt smiled in satisfaction. "You’re a smart man. I believe we’ll have a very good partnership."

Stepping out of Mrs. Schmidt’s apartment building, Werner took a deep breath of the fresh outside air. He was overjoyed—today’s haul had far exceeded his expectations.

Seven thousand Marks in direct income, and more importantly, he had successfully tapped into the gold mine that was the circle of East German officials.

These people had money, needs, status, and the ability to protect themselves. More crucially, the more their desire for Western culture was suppressed by the political climate, the stronger their purchasing power became.

********************

In East Berlin during the winter, the sky turned completely dark before four in the afternoon. Werner had gradually grown accustomed to this rhythm of life, so different from his previous one.

It was just past four o’clock now, but the streets were already shrouded in deep night. The streetlights had been lit early, their orange halos flickering in the cold wind.

Werner walked home, observing the myriad lives of this divided city.

Outside the state-run store, people stood in long lines, waiting to buy their rationed bread.

The line snaked out of sight, and every face was etched with weariness and helplessness.

A middle-aged woman held a child in her arms. The child was crying for food, and she could only gently pat its back, her eyes filled with tears.

"Did the price go up again?" someone in the line complained.

"Who knows," another voice replied. "I heard it’s because of the economic sanctions from the West."

"Bullshit!" a man in a worker’s cap spat angrily. "It’s those officials, stuffing their faces while they make us common folk tighten our belts!"

The people around him quickly fell silent, looking around nervously. In East Germany at this time, if someone reported you for saying such things, you’d spend at least a few years in prison.

Werner was already used to this oppressive atmosphere. Beneath the veneer of unity was a pervasive fear and suspicion. Anyone could be an informant, and any sentence could become evidence against you.

But this was also his opportunity.

The scarcer the goods and the more oppressed the people, the more the Black Market thrived.

Werner quickened his pace, his mind already planning the future.

Fashion magazines were just the beginning. Next, he could expand into more areas: photography magazines, art albums, professional journals, and even some less sensitive Western literary works.

And through these ladies’ husbands, he might come into contact with even higher-ranking officials.

’Imagine: the Director of Culture, the Deputy Minister of Economics, the director of a hospital, an official from the Ministry of Construction...’ How many resources and how much power did these people hold?

More importantly, he had discovered a crucial psychological principle: in a political environment like East Germany’s, the higher a person’s rank, the more they craved things that were forbidden or restricted.

This craving wasn’t just for material goods; it was a thirst for spiritual freedom.

And he, Werner Betelich, was becoming the sole channel to satisfy that craving.

Back home, Werner sat at his desk, took out his ledger, and began to record the day’s earnings:

"Mrs. Schmidt Circle Client Files:

Mrs. Schmidt: Wife of Director of Culture, purchased coffee machine for 6000 Marks, magazine subscriber

Mrs. Bergman: Wife of Deputy Minister of Economics, pre-ordered coffee machine, magazine subscriber

Mrs. Wagner: Wife of Municipal Hospital Director, pre-ordered coffee machine, magazine subscriber

Mrs. Fisher: Wife of Ministry of Construction Official, considering coffee machine, magazine subscriber

Estimated Monthly Income:

Fashion Magazines: 4 clients × 10 issues × 50 Marks = 2000 Marks/month

Professional Journals: Potential 4-8 issues × 125 Marks = 500-1000 Marks/month

Coffee Machines: 2-3 units × 6000 Marks = 12,000-18,000 Marks (one-time)

Risk Assessment: Low. Client base has high political status and self-protection capabilities."

After finishing his entry, Werner leaned back in his chair and gazed at the night outside his window.

At this very moment, in Mrs. Schmidt’s home, four elegant ladies were gathered together, sipping coffee from Switzerland and flipping through Western fashion magazines. While they verbally criticized the "decadent life of the bourgeoisie," in their hearts, they envied the beautiful clothes and elegant lifestyles in the magazines.

This contradiction, this suppression, was his greatest business opportunity.

Werner took out a pen and paper and began to formulate his next plan.

Besides continuing to serve this circle, he had to find a way to reach more similar client groups.

Doctors, engineers, university professors... anyone with knowledge, status, and purchasing power was a potential customer.

And border personnel like Matthias were becoming more and more important to him.

As political tensions rose, border controls would likely become stricter. He needed more insiders like him to ensure the security of his smuggling channels.

Thinking of Matthias, Werner decided he would go thank him for his help today and further solidify their relationship.

’Some Western cigarettes, chocolates, and maybe a good bottle of wine... These investments are completely worth it.’

In this seemingly dull and oppressive country, he was quietly weaving a vast web of wealth and connections.

Each new client, each successful transaction, made this web stronger and more complex.

And as the international situation grew more tense, as the antagonism between East and West continued to intensify, the value of this web would only increase.

On the day the Berlin Wall was actually built, when East and West Berlin were completely separated, he would become the most valuable, most irreplaceable person in this divided city.

By then, whether it was coffee machines, fashion magazines, or any other Western goods, they would be a hundred, a thousand times more precious than they were now.

And he, Werner Betelich, would be the only one controlling the flow of these precious resources.

Just then, a familiar knock came from the door—three long, two short. It was Eva’s signal.