The Wall of Trees

As winter dusk settled over West Berlin last week, Mayor Willy Brandt threw a switch. Instantly, 400 Christmas trees lining the 25 miles of the hated Communist-built Wall burst into twinkling lights--beacons of freedom for the sullen population of East Berlin.

A few hours later, three young men crept into West Berlin's Jerusalem Street, cut in half by the Wall, and planted a bomb. The explosion tore a jagged nine-foot hole in the bricks, shattered nearby windows. Before any lucky refugees could make their escape. Communist Vopos rushed to the gap, threatened the West Berlin crowd with submachine guns. "Get away!" snarled a Vopo, snapping the bolt on his gun. A West Berliner replied ironically: "And a Merry Christmas to you."

Purple Rinse. Away from the Wall, prosperous West Berlin seemed almost carefree. Bundled in overcoats, citizens jammed the outdoor cafes for hot coffee and rich pastry, while their feet froze and their necks blistered from the heat of overhanging radiant coils. Along the broad Kurfuerstendamm, young art students collected rent money by drawing colored chalk reproductions of the madonnas of Giorgione and Fra Angelico. In the fairyland of the big department stores, late shoppers were snapping up collapsible 6-ft. Christmas trees, black lace nightgowns from Paris, Guardsmen neckties from London. Retsina wine from Greece.

East Berlin resembled the weather--leaden grey skies, bone-chilling wind, a damp slurry of mud and snow. The city was dark, and the shops were sparsely stocked. Only sign of the holiday season was the Weihnachtsmarkt (Christmas market) set up near the Sportsplatz. Here a seedy collection of carnival rides attempted gaiety to the music of a prewar Harry James record. Pathetic crowds surrounded the few booths selling candied apples or thin bits of herring on hard rolls. Missing was the pungent smell of broiling sausage, for an epidemic of foot-and-mouth disease has made meat, and especially beef, scarce in East Germany. Across the street from the carnival, a lone, scraggly Christmas tree shared its place with the huge model of a Russian rocket.

Thousands of West Berliners had hoped that they might visit relatives and friends in East Berlin during the holidays. Their hopes were dashed with the breakdown of negotiations on a trade agreement between East Germany and West Germany.

In exchange for a softer policy on travel across the Wall, the Communists were demanding huge money credits from Bonn. A woman in the American sector said wanly, "Nobody here is hoping any more. My daughter and grandchildren are in East Berlin, only five minutes' walk from here. But I haven't been able to speak to them since September 1961." Though the reunion of families is banned. West Berliners did have some mild cause for rejoicing. A year ago, the Communists were talking noisily of an imminent separate peace treaty with the Soviet Union, with its implied threat to Allied access to West Berlin. But last week there was no mention of another Berlin blockade. In the wake of the tough U.S. stance in Cuba, East Germany's Red Boss Walter Ulbricht was now having to pass delicate hints to his people that all the promises to throw the West out of Berlin would have to wait until East Germany's economic woes were eased.

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