I'm a Profiteer in Cold War Germany

"All sorts of Western luxury goods. Coffee makers, radios, cosmetics, you name it." Mrs. Schmidt deliberately lowered her voice, creating a sense of mystery. "And the quality is absolutely guaranteed. They’re all original imports."

"Radios?" A young woman’s eyes lit up. "My son has been wanting a good radio. He says he wants to listen to music and learn English."

"What a coincidence!" Mrs. Schmidt feigned excitement. "I happen to have that merchant’s contact information. However..." She feigned hesitation. "His goods are quite expensive. They are imported products, after all."

"That’s fine. As long as the quality is good, price is no object," the ladies chimed in.

Among the privileged class of East Germany, money was not the most important consideration. They cared more about face and taste.

Owning a Western radio signified an improvement in one’s quality of life, and it was also a symbol of social status.

"Then I’ll contact him tomorrow," Mrs. Schmidt said with satisfaction.

That night, she called Werner. "Mr. Betelich, more business has come your way. Tomorrow, four ladies will be wanting radios. Are you ready?"

"Of course I’m ready," Werner said from the other end of the line. "Three o’clock tomorrow afternoon. The usual place."

After hanging up the phone, Werner looked at his little ledger, which was densely packed with client information.

In just one week, he had already sold over a dozen radios, with a net profit exceeding three thousand Marks.

He walked to the window and looked out at the streets of East Berlin at night. The streetlights were dim and yellow, pedestrians were few and far between, and the whole city seemed bleak and desolate.

But Werner knew that beneath this seemingly dead land, a tremendous desire to consume was surging.

The people yearned for Western goods, for freely available information, and for a different way of life. And he was the bridge to satisfying those desires.

Radios were just the beginning. Werner was already considering his next business venture. Perhaps cosmetics, perhaps fashion, or perhaps even more specialized goods.

In any case, in an era full of opportunities, his business would only grow larger.

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

Spring sunlight filtered through thin clouds, dappling the stone-paved road, but the air still carried that familiar smell of coal smoke.

The streets and alleyways were plastered with slogans like "Build a Socialist Germany." The white characters on a red background were particularly jarring against the gray building walls.

He carried a canvas bag containing medicine he had procured from West Berlin—aspirin, sulfa tablets, and some rubbing alcohol.

These medicines were scarce goods in East Germany. Their quality was far better than that of the locally produced versions, and they were several times more expensive.

Today, he was going to Saint Mark’s Church to discuss a deal with Pastor Weber. The Church needed medicine for its charity events, and this was an excellent sales opportunity.

Just as Werner was calculating how to price his goods, the system suddenly displayed a notification:

[New Intel Acquired: Church charity event may involve a higher-value secret transaction.]

Werner stopped and leaned against a utility pole to think.

’A Church charity event...’ He knew that several churches in East Berlin held regular free clinics and relief activities, mainly to help the struggling lower class.

’On the surface, these activities seemed perfectly normal. But if the system made a special point of notifying me, it means there’s definitely some unknown secret behind it all...’

’What does it mean by a secret transaction?’

’What kind of transaction would need cover from a religious institution like the Church?’

Werner thought of the medicine in his hands, and his eyes lit up. ’The Church needs medicine for charity, and I just happen to have a supply. This is the perfect chance to get a closer look at the situation.’

The medicine business was profitable, but it was all small-time stuff.

If there was a truly big business opportunity hidden behind the Church, he absolutely could not miss it.

Werner quickened his pace, hurrying to the church for his scheduled appointment with Pastor Weber.

Last week, he had contacted Pastor Weber through John and learned that the Church needed a large quantity of medicine for its free clinics every month. The two had agreed to discuss the specific details of their cooperation today.

"Mr. Betelich, you’re right on time."

George emerged from a side door of the church to greet him. He was Pastor Weber’s assistant and wore a somewhat humble smile.

"Pastor Weber is waiting for you inside. He’s very interested in your medicine."

"You know the quality of the medicine. It’s absolutely genuine West German product." Werner patted the canvas bag in his hand.

"I believe that, but regarding the price..." George trailed off. "The Pastor said the Church’s budget is limited, so he hopes you can be understanding."

Werner nodded.

It was normal for a charitable organization to be tight on funds. However, if the system’s notification was true, then the price might not be the most important issue.

Pushing open the heavy wooden doors, Werner walked into Saint Mark’s Church.

The afternoon sun streamed through the stained-glass windows, casting colorful patterns of light on the stone floor.

The air was filled with the scent of candles and incense, a stark contrast to the pungent smell of the industrial city outside.

In East Germany, the Church’s situation was actually quite delicate.

On one hand, guided by its ideology, the East German Government theoretically opposed religion, believing that "religion is the opiate of the masses."

But on the other hand, the government didn’t dare to completely ban religious activities, for complex reasons. First, a large portion of the East German population, especially the elderly, still held religious beliefs.

Forcibly shutting down the Church would cause serious social unrest and could even incite public resistance.

Second, the Church played an important role in social welfare, especially in the fields of healthcare and charity. The government’s resources were limited, and it needed the Church to fill the gaps.

Finally, international image was also a consideration—completely suppressing religion would make East Germany appear overly extreme in the eyes of the international community.

Therefore, the official strategy toward the Church was one of "tolerance under surveillance."

The Church was allowed to exist and conduct religious activities, but its every move was under the strict surveillance of the Stasi.

This ambiguous relationship, in turn, gave the Church a special status—it neither belonged entirely to the official system nor was it a full-fledged opposition force. It existed in a gray area.

"Mr. Betelich, welcome."

A gentle voice spoke.

Pastor Martin Weber emerged from behind the altar. He was in his early fifties, with graying hair, but his eyes were still bright.

He wore simple black clerical attire, with a plain cross hanging from his neck.

"Pastor Weber, thank you for taking the time to see me," Werner said with a polite nod.

Pastor Weber gestured for him to sit, and the two sat facing each other on a wooden pew in the front row.

George tactfully stepped aside.

"John said you have some good-quality medicine?" Weber’s voice was soft, but it sounded exceptionally clear in the spacious church.

"Yes." Werner opened his canvas bag and laid the medicines out one by one on the pew. "These were all procured from West Berlin. Aspirin, sulfa tablets, rubbing alcohol, and some anti-inflammatory powder."

Pastor Weber picked up a bottle of aspirin and examined the packaging carefully.

Werner noticed that the pastor’s gaze was very professional—he could accurately distinguish between medicines from different origins and even noticed subtle differences in the packaging.

"The printing on the packaging is exquisite, and the list of ingredients is quite detailed," Weber said softly. "This is indeed made in West Germany. The quality is much better than our locally produced versions."

"You know a lot about medicine?"

"You learn things after doing charity work for a long time," Pastor Weber said with a faint smile. "Our Church organizes two free clinic events every month."

Werner began to test the waters on pricing. "According to the current market price, aspirin is about 5 Marks a bottle, sulfa tablets are 8 Marks, and rubbing alcohol is 4 Marks. But considering it’s for charitable use, I can give you a 10% discount."

Pastor Weber pondered for a moment. "Mr. Betelich, your prices are indeed fair, but they’re still a bit of a stretch for us. Our monthly charity budget is only 200 Marks, and besides medicine, we also need to buy food and other daily necessities."

"Then what price would you consider appropriate?"

"If you could give us a 30% discount, we could establish a long-term partnership," Weber said, looking Werner in the eye. "Of course, I know that at this price, your profit margin won’t be high, but the Church can offer compensation in other ways."

’Other ways?’ Werner’s heart skipped a beat. This was probably the key to the system’s notification.