Valentine’s Day 1989
14 February 1989 began almost like any ordinary Tuesday. The sky, as so often at that time of year, was grey and heavy with clouds. Fine sleet fell on the city’s rooftops in an uncertain rhythm. In the workshop, not far from Erfurt’s Anger square, I sat at my sewing machine. As I worked, my eyes kept wandering out towards the street, where the early daylight was slowly breaking through the winter grey.
It was around eight o’clock. The breakfast break was approaching and, as I often did, I went to my locker to get changed. I wanted to pop into the KONSUM shop to buy a few things for breakfast. As I stood by my locker, my department manager approached me. He asked whether I could bring him something too. I said yes — of course — almost without thinking. And because he had a little time himself, he walked part of the way with me through the stairwell.
Downstairs, by the back exit, two men in dark suits suddenly stood before me. They seemed out of place in this workshop setting. One of them looked at me and asked:
“Are you Mario Obst?” I nodded and said yes.
Then came the words I will never forget:
“Come with us. Get into the car. If you try to escape, we will shoot.”
Without another word, they took me to a greyish-brown Wartburg waiting outside the state-owned enterprise. Two men sat beside me; another drove.
Destination: Domplatz. Address: Andreasstraße.
