Werner put a warm hand on hers, but the concern in his eyes increased. “That’s not what I’m talking about. I’m worried about his safety.”
“His safety?” Marlene felt like a retard, too slow to understand the world around her. What had Werner to do with Georg’s safety? And why should he be worried?
“See,” he sighed, obviously uncomfortable with the topic. “It’s just, he’s been voicing his criticism about the Soviets so adamantly, people have noticed. Powerful people.” His eyes bored into hers, willing her to understand. “While suggestions for improvement are welcome and necessary, constant nagging isn’t. I personally believe he’s doing this with the best intentions, but others are not so benevolent in their judgment. There’s even the suspicion that he’s been hired by enemies of the people to undermine the successful functioning of the university and thus deny education to the German people.”
Marlene’s jaw dropped to the floor and she sprang up. “No, no, Georg would never…he’s the most honest, upright and incorruptible person I know. Did you know that the Nazis sent him to Mauthausen, because he criticized them?”
“I certainly do.” Off course he did. It was said the Soviets had a file on every person in Berlin. “And as I said, I have nothing but the highest opinion of Georg. But he needs to tread careful and avoid further annoying our Soviet benefactors.” She didn’t think the Russians were benefactors. “Will you please tell him to tune down his opposition, at least for a while? Until things have calmed down?”
She squinted her eyes at Werner and a terrible suspicion stabbed deep into her heart. Her eyes blazing with anger, she spit out the words. “So, the coffee, the book, the first name, all of this was a ruse to get me to help you deal with a critic of your glorious communist ideology?”
“No…” He looked at her with so much hurt, she almost doubled over. But this couldn’t deter her from giving him the cold shoulder.
“I should leave. I have homework to do. Good night, Herr Böhm,” she said with the iciest tone she could muster and quickly left the office, her head raised high. Only when she’d left the long hallways behind and stepped out on the street, did she notice she was still carrying his book. Damn him !
Chapter 18
Werner was flummoxed. He might have a way with words, but understanding a woman was way above his capabilities. Shaking his head, he returned to his desk, wondering what he’d done wrong. Shouldn’t Marlene be pleased that he looked out for her friend?
The ringing telephone interrupted his thoughts and he answered it, “Werner Böhm.”
“Hey, Werner, it’s Norbert. You haven’t forgotten the party invitation from the Americans, have you?”
Shoot . “Off course not.” Werner glanced at his wristwatch. The party had already started. “I called at your office,” he lied, “that I’m running late, but I’m on my way as we speak.”
“Hurry up, you’re missing out,” Norbert laughed and hung up.
Nothing was further from his mind than chatting and drinking with rowdy men he’d never seen before. But in post-war Berlin invitations and return invitations by the four victorious powers came hard and fast. While the Germans suffered from food shortages, the allies certainly were intent on bathing the city in vodka, champagne, beer or tea, according to their national preferences.
Norbert was already in a discussion with several allied officers at the time Werner arrived, one of them Dean Harris, the American Commandant in Berlin. Werner quite liked the man, because he was intelligent, listened intently and had a sensible, laid-back attitude. Werner suspected that beneath the cool surface lay a hot temper, but he’d never once seen Harris explode in public, unlike General Sokolov who was famous for chewing out the asses of his own men and deluging the Western members of the Kommandatura with obloquy.
Sokolov especially disliked Harris and had given him several unflattering nicknames he liked to use in press releases and on radio, among them Brute Colonel, Enemy of Democracy and Beast of Berlin – his current favorite.
Werner usually cringed at the general’s unstatesmanlike behavior and often wondered what Harris thought about the insults. Did he even take his Russian counterpart seriously when Sokolov used name-calling like a toddler throwing a temper tantrum?
For obvious reasons he never once voiced his concerns, or his secret admiration for the American colonel who always took the abuse in his stride.
Norbert had noticed him and waved him over. “There you are.”
“Comrade Norbert, Kommandant Harris, I must excuse my late arrival, I had business to attend to at the university,” Werner said.
“No worries, this is a party, not a work meeting,” Harris replied and waved at a waitress to bring Werner a beer. The group engaged in harmless small talk, and he relished the opportunity to practice his English language skills.
Back in Moscow he had studied at the Institute for Foreign Language in the department of English. In the beginning of the occupation he’d been told to listen in on the conversations of the Americans without speaking himself, but they’d soon discovered his mastery of their language and guarded their tongues when he was nearby. Which was a situation, he actually favored, because the deceiving work of a spy for the Soviet High Command wasn’t something he enjoyed.
After some time, Captain Orlovski walked up to Werner and said, “Can I talk to you for a minute?”
“Will you excuse me please,” Werner said to Harris and turned to leave with Orlovski. Despite sincerely enjoying the company of Harris, a wave of relief flooded his body. It was never good to appear too friendly with a foreigner, even though they were supposedly allies.
“I take it you have heard about the upcoming city council elections?” Orlovski asked.
“Naturally.” Werner nodded. Sokolov had done his best to resist the foolish idea of free elections at such an early point in time, since it was a known fact that the German people were not yet ready for self-government and too much freedom would only lead to disaster. But in the end, he’d had to succumb to the insistent nagging of the Western Allies, spearheaded by Colonel Harris.
“I’m in charge of the logistics and Sokolov suggested I enlist your help with agitation and propaganda.”
A suggestion by Sokolov was actually an order that Werner couldn’t refuse. “Certainly, whatever you need.”
“Let’s get together in my office tomorrow around noon and discuss the tasks,” Orlovski said, before he bid his goodbyes.
Werner gazed after him for a long time. Both of them knew it was essential to win the elections. Otherwise the communists would lose their stronghold over Berlin and possibly over all of Germany.
Their carefully installed control was slowly slipping away, especially after the stubborn Social Democrats had refused to join the newly founded SED, the Socialist Unity Party. Werner himself was dealing with the consequences of this brazen attempt to splinter the unity of the working people.
He cursed the involvement of well-known Social Democrats like Kurt Schumacher, who had visited Berlin to agitate against the best interests of his compatriots. Without them, the unification of the KPD and SPD would have passed off without a hitch. And without this precedent of rebellion the university students wouldn’t have dared to present their audacious demands for academic freedom.
He came to the conclusion that helping Orlovski influence the elections in favor of the communists was actually time well spent, because it would at the same time solve Werner’s own problems with the dissenting students.
The next day Norbert relieved him of his duties at the university and Werner fully immersed himself in preparations for the elections. Usually, he arrived at his new office at the Haus der Einheit, the house of unity, well before everyone else and stayed long into the night.
Despite working fifteen to sixteen hours a day, he missed seeing Marlene, missed her bright smile and the excitement in her eyes when she looked at him. But that was a thing of the past, because on the rare occasions when their paths c
rossed, she turned her head away. It stabbed his heart and he threw himself even deeper into work.
The eyes of the entire world rested upon Berlin, because for the first time in more than a dozen years there would be free elections in the city. Sokolov had many times emphasized that these elections would decide the political landscape in Europe for decades to come. A landslide victory of the SED was expected, and Feodor Orlovski and Werner both knew their own fates were intrinsically connected with these elections.
Werner wouldn’t take any chances on the outcome and devised a plan that included generously doling out pens and notebooks to schoolchildren, soup kitchens for workers, and augmented food and coal rations – for Berliners living in the Soviet sector.
Money was not an issue, as he’d been given a free hand to use any and all resources of the Soviet occupied zone in Germany. Werner secured dozens of volunteers to canvas for the SED and deviated food transports destined for Dresden, Leipzig, Chemnitz, Jena or Magdeburg to the capital. He equipped the SED with as much paper, pens, paint, and cloth for posters, pamphlets and banners as needed, while at the same time denying these resources to the other political parties.
Every single one of the benevolent actions came with a clear message about where the goods came from and how much more pleasant a life under communist rule would be than under the imperialist oppression.
But as time passed, it became clear that the strategy of dangling carrots would not prove sufficient. At one of their strategy meetings, a member of the polling committee said, “Comrade Böhm, I’m afraid the Berliners don’t know what is good for them. Despite all our efforts, the polls seem to favor the other parties over the SED.”
Werner all but doubled over by this punch in the pit of the stomach. He was out of ideas.
“We have to make sure the SED comes out on top,” Orlovski blurted out desperately. “There will be dire consequences unless this happens. I’m sure you know what I mean. Our current prospects are not acceptable.”
Silence fell over the room, because everyone knew what Orlovski was talking about. Werner had an unwelcome flashback to the time of the purges in the Soviet Union. The time when one by one, his parents, his teachers, his neighbors, and even his classmates had been arrested by the NKVD and vanished into oblivion.
Normally he buried thoughts of his parents deep down in his heart, too painful were the memories. And too much shame he felt when thinking of how they must have suffered in some Siberian camp while he was enjoying his life. For a long time, he’d grappled with the injustice of their arrest. They were innocent, he knew. His sweet, caring mother had never been a vicious spy, abominable traitor to the Soviet people and doggish agitator for the imperialist West. Neither had his stern but correct father.
But his personal fate hadn’t deterred his belief about the greater good. Certainly, the NKVD knew more than he did, or perhaps some innocents inevitably got caught in the net together with the righteous criminals. He shrugged. Going down that lane was a futile waste of time.
Into the uncomfortable silence, a member of the loyal communist-installed Markgraf police took the floor. “Comrades, if I may suggest something.”
“Go ahead, Comrade Dante,” Werner encouraged the young policeman. He’d never thought the man to be of the bright sort, more the bully, pushing others around, but if he had an idea Werner wanted to hear about it.
“Since showing the voters all the good our party offers them doesn’t work, maybe we should try it the other way round and let them experience what exactly dissenters can expect.”
“My department can’t condone the use of violence.” Werner did not want to hear any more suggestions.
But Orlovski gave him a cold stare. “My orders are to win us this election at any cost, and your task is to help me, just like I helped you with the university.”
Hot shudders ran down Werner’s spine. Orlovski was collecting the favor, and there was nothing Werner could do to extricate himself from this nasty situation. He bowed his head to show his acceptance.
Orlovski encouraged the other man. “We certainly need more drastic measures, so what do you suggest?”
Dante rose to his full height of close to six feet and a smug smile appeared on his round face beneath a bald head. “We can easily organize squads to break up meetings of opposing parties, obstruct whatever activities they plan and give a good beating to those who don’t succumb to our threats.”
Werner shook his head. “We have agreed to free elections, the Americans will cry wolf if they find out.”
“Let them cry,” Orlovski said. “If the electorate isn’t amenable to words, they must find out that their traitorous behavior has consequences. I say, give the Markgraf police a free hand.”
Dante gave a vile grin and wrung his hands in giddy anticipation. “We can pay some of the candidates a social call and let’s see if they still want to be nominated for election.”
“Isn’t that a bit extreme?” A young woman in charge of the soup kitchens asked.
“Yes, it is,” Orlovski growled at her. “But extreme situations require extreme measures. We need to alter the composition of the electorate. Disenfranchise everyone known to be a dissenter. Attack polling stations in primarily imperialist areas, hinder people from turning up to cast their vote. Kidnap key candidates, threaten them and their families to keep them out of the race. If the only way to beat the cheating and lying Western Imperialists is to rig the election in any way we can, then we must do it. It is our patriotic duty to secure a victory for the SED.”
Frenetic applause surged through the room. Werner kept quiet. He couldn’t condone such a heinous strategy, but neither could he refuse. Glancing at the men present he recognized deep-rooted fanaticism in the eyes of each one of them, apart from the young woman who’d spoken up earlier.
The renewed enthusiasm about the new direction their campaign was taking was palpable in the room. He had never felt more ashamed of his comrades – and of himself – than at this very moment.
“Well then it’s decided. Everything is allowed, as long as it ensures our victory. Go out and do your work,” Orlovski said, concluding the meeting.
Chapter 19
As much as Marlene avoided Werner, she secretly longed to see him. But since the Kommandatura had announced the elections to the City Council this coming October 20th, he rarely showed up at the university.
The times she saw him, she quickly looked away and pretended not to notice, despite having waited for this one glimpse for days. Her emotions were infuriating. Despite her best intentions she’d started reading Anna Segher’s novel, especially after she’d found comments in his handwriting on the pages.
His remarks were so thoughtful and showed so much concern for the general wellbeing of the people, she found it difficult to reconcile with the calculating behavior he practiced these days.
In spite of his pleas, she had not relayed his warning to Georg, since she refused to become a stooge for the communist cause. And nothing had happened either, which only proved her point. In fact, due to the upcoming elections, the student board members had diverted their focus to helping their preferred parties, in the certainty that with a new city council other things would change too.
Almost without noticing, summer break had sneaked up on them and Lotte said, “It’s kind of sad not to come here for the next weeks.”
Marlene laughed. “What’s sad about not having to work, attend classes and study twenty-four hours a day plus running errands and doing chores in the night?”
Lotte joined her laughter. “You’re right. Working only one job will be a reprieve, but I will miss seeing my friends.”
“Why can’t you see your friends?” Marlene asked, slightly confused. “Are you traveling?”
“As if anyone could travel these days.” Lotte moved her head the same way Marlene always did when she threw her hair behind her shoulder. It was a peculiar and forlorn gesture, since Lotte wore her hair almost as short as a man’s.
“Why did you cut your hair?” Marlene asked without thinking.
“Because…” The happy laughter fell from Lotte’s face. “…it was the right thing to do.” Her curt answer clearly indicated that she wouldn’t discuss this topic any further and Marlene wondered what lay beneath the funny, witty, tough, impulsive and caring surface of her friend.
Lotte rarely, if ever, talked about her past and the only thing Marlene knew was that she’d spent some time in a concentration camp. Her entire body shivered at the thought. Two of her new friends, Lotte and Georg, had been camp inmates during Hitler’s reign, while she had never given a single thought to what really happened inside the barbed wire fence.
She’d unquestioningly believed the story told by her parents, teachers and the press, that those were prisons to re-educate the workshy, homosexuals, asocials and other elements that posed a danger to the German people.
Now that the truth had been unearthed, all the little signs here and there made sense. The skeletal people in striped prison garb cleaning the rubble after each air raid, the hollow eyes begging for food, the…
“Hey? Are you okay?” Lotte asked, grabbing her arm. “You’re suddenly white as a sheet.”
Marlene shook her head to disperse the troubling images. “I’m fine, really.”
“You sure, you don’t want to sit down?”
“Yes. Let’s go outside, I probably am just overtired,” she lied. Because, what should she tell her friend? That she felt guilty and ashamed for not having noticed? For not having paid attention? And if she had…what would she have done? Looked away like everyone else? Another icy shiver ran down her spine and filled her legs with jelly.
With her last ounce of strength, she pulled herself together and followed Lotte outside into the sunshine.
In front of the university, hundreds of workers, mostly women, were busy clearing rubble from a ruin. They formed a long chain from the top of the rubble mountain all the way down to the street where a truck was parked, eager to gobble up all the demolition waste.
From the Ashes Page 11