I'm a Profiteer in Cold War Germany

Werner sensed the probing nature of the other man’s words and smiled faintly. "Sometimes, friends help each other out."

A glint flashed in Schiller’s eyes.

As someone from the Ministry of Foreign Trade, he knew exactly what "helping each other out" implied.

"If..." Schiller lowered his voice. "If I wanted a Leica camera, could your friend help?"

Werner feigned difficulty. "Well... that depends on the model. The border checks are strict right now. You can’t bring just anything across."

Hearing this, Schiller’s heart tightened, and his tone grew urgent. "Would a Leica IIIf be possible? My daughter is getting married next month, and I want to give her a proper gift."

Werner looked at the earnest expression on Schiller’s face, seeming to be moved by his fatherly love. His own expression softened slightly.

He paused for a moment. "A camera... should be fine. It’s just that the price might be quite high. The risk isn’t small, after all."

Schiller quickly waved his hand. "Price is not an issue! In our Ministry of Foreign Trade, everyone knows Western goods are better, but we just can’t get our hands on them. If you really have a way..."

Werner casually took a sip of his coffee, then said lightly, "I can try."

"Oh, right," Schiller suddenly remembered something, an embarrassed look on his face. "My wife is also very interested in Western cosmetics, but we’ve never found a reliable way to get them. Comrade Betelich, your friend..."

"He can get anything," Werner said with a faint smile. "As long as the price is right."

Schiller glanced around, confirming everyone else was engrossed in discussion, before leaning closer and lowering his voice. "Comrade Betelich, if it’s convenient, could you come over to my place? I’d like to discuss this in detail."

Werner nodded impassively, maintaining a polite smile. "Of course."

Schiller nodded in satisfaction, a flicker of excitement in his eyes.

He glanced at his watch and added in a low voice, "Tomorrow at five in the afternoon, I’ll be waiting for you at my home. The address is Karl Marx Street 47, third floor."

"Alright, I’ll be there on time," Werner replied politely.

Schiller said his goodbyes to the others and hurriedly left the tea room.

Werner watched his figure disappear through the doorway, then sat back down in the discussion circle, pretending to listen intently to the others debate Schopenhauer’s philosophy.

But in reality, the cultural salon’s discussion had faded into background noise for him.

Werner’s thoughts were completely consumed by their conversation. He was running a quick calculation in his head. ’A Leica camera costs 1,000 West German Marks in West Berlin. Smuggled into East Germany, it could sell for at least 3,000 West German Marks on the Black Market, and it’s an extremely scarce luxury item.’

’Just as I thought. If I can find the right buyers, the camera business is incredibly profitable.’

’And if I can really establish a connection with the Ministry of Foreign Trade, the profits will be far greater than just this...’

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

The next evening, Werner walked along the stone-paved road to Schiller’s home, carrying a black briefcase.

The setting sun stretched the shadows of East Berlin’s old apartment buildings. The street was lined with typical Bauhaus-style architecture—squarish and simple.

Schiller lived in a residential area designated for mid-level cadres.

The doorman downstairs was reading the *New German Newspaper*. He looked up when he saw Werner and asked, "Who are you looking for?"

"Comrade Schiller, third floor," Werner answered politely.

The old doorman nodded and went back to his paper.

Werner noticed the front page of the newspaper reported that industrial and agricultural production quotas had been surpassed, accompanied by a picture of a group of workers celebrating with raised fists in front of a steel mill.

Climbing the narrow staircase, Werner knocked lightly on the wooden door of Schiller’s apartment.

The door opened quickly. Schiller was wearing a casual gray sweater and dark trousers, a slightly nervous smile on his face.

"Comrade Betelich, please, come in!" Schiller greeted him warmly, while discreetly glancing down both ends of the hallway to make sure no neighbors were eavesdropping.

Werner stepped into the living room and quickly scanned its layout.

Unlike the home of a high-ranking official like Mrs. Schmidt, Schiller’s apartment had the typical decor of a middle-class East German family: dark wooden furniture, beige wallpaper, and on the wall, a portrait of Engels alongside a few family photos.

"Please, have a seat!" Schiller pointed to the sofa. "I just made some coffee. Please, try some."

Werner took the coffee cup and had a small sip.

This wasn’t the bitter coffee substitute commonly found on the East German market, but real, aromatic coffee brewed from Arabica beans.

"Good coffee," Werner complimented.

A flash of pride crossed Schiller’s face. "A gift from a friend, a gift from a friend."

Werner raised his cup, sipping slowly, and waited for Schiller to speak.

Schiller sat down on the sofa, his fingers unconsciously fiddling with the handle of his own cup. He hesitated for a long while before finally looking up. "Comrade Betelich, to be honest, I’ve worked in the Ministry of Foreign Trade for many years. I’ve seen so many fine goods come and go. Perfume from France, watches from Switzerland, silk from Italy..."

He paused, then gave a bitter smile. "But people like us, ordinary cadres, we can’t even get our hands on them."

"Oh?" Werner set down his cup, feigning curiosity. "Why is that?"

Schiller sighed. "Because everything is allocated according to the plan. High-end goods are either supplied to senior cadres, exported for foreign currency, or sold to foreigners in foreign trade stores. As for us junior clerks..." He shook his head self-deprecatingly. "We can only feast our eyes on the import and export manifests."

Werner deliberately showed sympathy. "But your benefits should be quite good, shouldn’t they?"

"Benefits?" Schiller let out a soft laugh, but his eyes were filled with helplessness. "An extra few pounds of sugar each month, a few bags of coffee beans, and if you’re lucky, maybe you can buy a bottle of domestically produced cosmetics. That’s what passes for good benefits."

His voice grew heavy. "My daughter is getting married next month. As her father, I want to buy her a decent gift, but I’ve searched all over East Berlin and can’t find anything satisfactory."

Werner put on a thoughtful expression. "It’s true, who doesn’t want nice things? But from what I understand, these kinds of channels are hard to find, and..." He paused intentionally. "...they come at a high cost."

"A high cost?" A flicker of curiosity appeared in Schiller’s eyes.

"The price, I mean," Werner clarified. "And the risk. After all, it’s not a legitimate shop. If something were to go wrong..."

Schiller nodded, but the light in his eyes didn’t fade. "The risk does exist. But I think if you have reliable people and a safe channel, these problems can be solved."

He paused, looking at Werner tentatively. "For example, if someone... who both understands the market and has certain conveniences due to their job... couldn’t they... make things... go more smoothly?"

Werner keenly picked up on the key information. He set down his cup and leaned forward slightly. "Are you saying that your job at the Ministry of Foreign Trade could..."

Schiller quickly waved his hands, but his eyes held a trace of expectation. "I’m just giving an example. Of course, if such an opportunity really existed, it’s perfectly normal for friends to help each other."

"What kind of help?" Werner pretended not to understand.

Schiller mulled it over for a moment before continuing, "You mentioned risk earlier, didn’t you? I think the biggest risk is... the question of origin. But if someone could get advance knowledge of certain market conditions, or get access to some official documents..."

He paused intentionally, observing Werner’s reaction, then continued, "For instance, if someone... could know in advance which products will have their quotas changed, or could get their hands on some standard import documents, wouldn’t that make things... smoother?"

Werner feigned a thoughtful expression, his fingers tapping lightly on the coffee table. "That does sound reasonable. But who would have that kind of information and access?"

Schiller took a deep breath, as if having made up his mind. "Comrade Betelich, we’re both intelligent men. Let’s not beat around the bush."