Marion Kummerow - From the Ashes

Late in the evening after processing several dozen prospective students, he finally took his hat and briefcase and locked the door behind him. Just as he stepped onto the street, a car was stopping at the curb and Norbert stepped out, which was quite unusual.

“You weren’t already leaving, were you?” Norbert asked.

Werner sighed. The Russians habitually turned night into day and rarely woke up before noon, but he adhered to the German nine-to-five schedule, although in his case it more often than not was nine-to-nine. “In fact, I was because I interviewed prospective students for the past twelve hours.

Norbert didn’t address the issue and instead said, “Get into my car.” Once both of them settled in the back of the car, Norbert ordered the driver to take them to the Café de Paris and then said, “About Georg Tauber, he’s a great find. One-hundred percent anti-fascist and hates the Nazis with a passion. He believes in a social democracy and has the potential to become a great leader.”

Werner’s soul warmed with pride. Tauber was his find, and if he became an asset to the communist party, it would strengthen Werner’s own position.

“…but his Christian affiliations might pose a problem. You know how Stalin thinks about religion.”

Naturally, he did and nodded.

“So, I want you to become friendly with him, keep an eye on him, make sure he knows which loyalties are in his best interest.” Norbert looked utterly pleased with himself. Werner, not so much. Befriending a German wasn’t usually encouraged by the Soviet administration, after all they were the underlings.

“If this is your wish, I will certainly befriend him,” Werner said, suddenly feeling a heavy burden on his chest. Thankfully, they reached the Café de Paris within minutes and he decided to follow the Russian model and drink himself into oblivion.

Zara had fully recovered and Dr. Ebert told her she couldn’t stay at the hospital any longer, because the bed was needed for other patients.

“What shall I do?” she asked Marlene.

“I’m so sorry. You know that I can’t offer you to stay at our place, because my parents would never allow this.” Marlene wrinkled her forehead in deep thought. “We could ask Bruni.”

“Bruni? Over my dead body! She’s living with a that Russian captain, right?” Zara was trembling with fear.

Marlene looked at her friend with empathy. Zara had yet to overcome the traumatic shock. “She’s not living with him… but he’s visiting on a regular basis.”

“I will not set foot into the same apartment with one of those depraved monsters,” Zara said, pressing her lips into a tight line.

“I’ll ask her if she knows of another place for you. You know Bruni, she has connections everywhere.” By Zara’s helpless shrug Marlene knew that she didn’t like the idea, but wasn’t in a position to be too proud to ask Bruni for help.

After finishing work, Marlene rushed off into the French sector, where Bruni lived. Her friend opened the door, dressed in a glittery, full-length gown other women could only dream about. Marlene’s mouth hung agape and for a moment she couldn’t form a single word.

“What a surprise!” Bruni hugged her, expensive perfume lingering in the air. “How are you?”

“Couldn’t be better,” Marlene replied with a shrug. Complaining about the awful living conditions in Berlin made them only worse.

Bruni laughed out loud. “Sweetie, I’m running late for work. Come with me? Then we can chat.”

Marlene agreed. Together they walked to the Café de Paris. Marlene had never been inside a nightclub, but she’d heard plentiful rumors. It wasn’t a place for decent women to go. Her heart beat faster and involuntarily she closed the buttons of her coat despite the warm evening.

Bruni picked up on her uneasiness and said, “Don’t worry about it. You’re safe with me.”

Sometimes Marlene wondered where Bruni got her exceptional self-assuredness. She was so different from everyone else, and while many people found her selfish and superficial, Marlene knew her to have a big heart for her friends.

They entered the nightclub and went backstage to the dressing rooms. As soon as Bruni settled in front of the huge brightly lit mirror and used an eyelash curler on her long lashes, Marlene blurted out, “Zara needs a place to live.”

Bruni left her arm hanging mid-air, before she continued her beauty program and stared at Marlene through the mirror. “You’re not expecting me to take her in, are you?”

“Actually, this was what I was hoping for.” Marlene didn’t mention that Zara had already declined this possibility.

“Not on any account. Feodor would never approve.” Bruni completed her eyelash-curling and continued with painting her plucked eyebrows into a perfect curve.

“You need his permission to have a friend stay over?”

“Of course, I don’t. But he’s arranged for the apartment, so I’d rather not upset him. Besides, how would we go at it with Zara around?”

Marlene felt the blood rushing to her face. She still couldn’t wrap her head around the fact that Bruni was basically selling her body for food, shelter and clothing.

“Just for a few days, until I find something else. Please,” Marlene begged.

“Wasn’t her father commandant at Mauthausen?” Bruni pursed her lips to apply a bright red lipstick – another remnant of a more glorious past not many women in Berlin possessed.

“Yes, but what does this have to do with her?” Marlene was getting angry.

“It’s just, she wouldn’t be safe at my place. Not if Feodor finds out. The Russians strongly believe in clan liability and would whisk her away to a prison faster than you can blink. And before you cry murder, there’s nothing Feodor can do about it. He’s just a captain.” Bruni made a sad face, as if suddenly regretting her choice of male companion, then she smiled into the mirror and blew a kiss. “But I’ll ask around.”

Marlene sighed.

“Don’t look so sad. Why don’t you and Zara visit my performance one day? I promise, we’ll have a lot of fun.”

“Thanks, Bruni, we’ll certainly stop by.”

“If you ever change your opinion about morals, I can introduce you and Zara to a couple of handsome officers,” Bruni generously offered.

“Thanks. But no thanks.”

“You’re missing out big time. I gotta go.” Bruni laughed and finished the make-up on her face. “See you soon.”

Marlene shook her head. As much as she loved her friend, she hoped Bruni would one day grow up and take life seriously. Maybe if she found a man who truly loved her, she’d stop using them for her own advantages. On her walk home, Marlene grew increasingly desolate. What should she do if she couldn’t convince her parents to let Zara stay with them?

As she had feared, her parents would hear nothing of it. How mother was adamant and her father ended the discussion with one sentence. “I will not allow this woman to enter my house ever again.”

Marlene was close to tears. Wasn’t there any kindness left in this world?

That night she was plagued by nightmares and woke up in the morning, feeling like she had been run over by a train. She snatched a piece of bread from the small table they used as a kitchen and fled from the oppressive presence of her parents, whom she didn’t understand anymore. Couldn’t fathom their transformation from caring people to the whining stonehearted complainers they had become.

Two blocks from the hospital, she met Georg and grumbled, “Morning.”

“Hey, Marlene, you look awful,” he said.

His honest remark made her laugh despite herself. “That’s because I slept like hell. Dr. Ebert has said Zara must leave the hospital, but she has nowhere to go. Even my parents refuse to let her stay with us.”