Marion Kummerow - From the Ashes

Georg’s brown eyes became pensive. “I could ask my cousin. She’s living in the American sector and I’m sure she would receive your friend. But I have to warn you, her place is in a shambles.”

“Which place isn’t?” Marlene asked, her heart suddenly much lighter.

“Even by war standards it’s an awful place to live in.” They had reached the hospital and he opened the heavy door for her.

“I’m sure Zara won’t mind. As long as it has a roof and four walls she’ll be fine.”

“Then let’s go and tell her.”

Marlene flinched. “Shouldn’t you ask your cousin first?”

“No. She’d never turn down someone in need and Zara’s a friend.” Georg’s smile brightened the place and warmed Marlene’s soul.

She instantly loved his cousin. And him by affiliation.

The friendship with Georg was getting along as planned. In fact, Werner liked the other man a lot. Georg was intelligent, a good conversation partner, had humor, loathed the Nazis and possessed natural authority.

Although they were the same age, Werner often saw his younger self in Georg, before disillusion about the upcoming proletarian revolution had taken possession of him. Compared to the idealistic Georg, Werner was but an ancient cynic.

He shrugged. Realist, not cynic. The revolutionary heat of the youth has to be guided by real life experience. Catching up to his inner dialogue, Werner broke out into a fit of hilarious giggles. What kind of man is telling himself party propaganda -- and expecting him to believe it? He shook his head, preferring to occupy his thoughts with Georg rather than with his own deficiencies.

The other students looked up at Georg for guidance. With just a little re-education, he’d be a valuable asset to the long-term plan of molding a unified communist student board. Because, whatever Norbert and the others still might believe about Stalin’s wish for a demilitarized and democratic Germany, Werner had come to the conclusion that it was nothing but a midsummer dream. Too big were the cultural differences between the Soviet way and the Western way. A peaceful coexistence wasn’t possible.

Several days later, he and Georg were on their way back to university after visiting with an American education official in the American sector.

“It went quite well, the meeting,” Werner said, when two visibly drunk Russian soldiers approached a German Fräulein with the words Komm Frau. Instinctively Werner turned his head, as he wanted nothing to do with their shameful behavior.

But Georg elbowed him, “They are going to rape her. You need to do something.”

“There’s nothing I can do,” Werner said, hot waves of shame coursing through his body. Both of them knew that as a German citizen Georg wasn’t allowed to interfere with an Allied soldier, whereas Werner technically belonged to the occupying force.

“But you are a Soviet government official!” Georg exclaimed.

“I may be, but I am not a Red Army member. These men obey only orders from above.” Werner looked away as the two Russians grabbed the girl by her arms and dragged her across the pavement into a nearby building. At least they wouldn’t do their ghastly business out in the open where everyone could watch and humiliate the poor woman even more.

“You measly coward! I won’t stand by and watch.” Georg yelled at Werner and ran off. Despite knowing better, Werner rushed behind his friend. After about a block Georg came across a group of Americans and shouted breathlessly, “Rape. Russian. There.”

Unfortunately, the GIs were quite accustomed to such occurrences and despite Georg’s bad English, it didn’t take them longer than a few seconds to react and run in the direction Georg indicated.

Werner pointed wordlessly at the building where the Russians had taken their victim, but preferred not to follow them inside. He argued with himself whether he should stay and wait or quietly disappear. Nothing good ever came out of getting involved.

While he pondered the best course of action to take, several shots rang through the air and made his predicament even more precarious. Damn Georg for getting the Americans involved.

He certainly didn’t want to be caught up in a diplomatic turmoil and furtively glanced around, before he took his leave and disappeared into the next underground station. The entire way home, he had a nagging feeling that this incident would have consequences. Since he couldn’t risk being connected to a Russian encroachment in the American sector, he needed an alibi. The first-best thing he could think of was the Café de Paris.

The smoke-filled nightclub was buzzing with uniformed men. Werner was glad of the crowd. His eyes narrowed as he peered around, looking for a familiar face to back his alibi. Beautiful women abounded, and the unattached females tried to vie for a position on the arm of an officer or a gentleman, especially one as handsome as this tall blond man who had just entered the room.

Werner was not interested when they zeroed in on him, and he continued to scan the place for someone he knew. There was a resounding sound of applause for the singer who stepped onto the small stage. In the glare of a spotlight, Werner spied Captain Orlovski with a group of officers and squeezed through the crush of bodies, making his way over to their table.

“Ah, Comrade Böhm, you’re not leaving, are you?” Orlovski asked.

“I’ve been here for almost an hour, but my colleagues needed to attend another party,” he lied.

“Their loss. The evening has just begun, please sit with us,” Orlovski said.

“Thank you, Comrade Orlovski, it would be a pleasure,” Werner fell into one of the plush seats next to Orlovski who introduced him to his two colleagues. The singer on the stage was announced as “the amazing chanteuse Fräulein von Sinnen”.

The moment she began her first chanson, the teeming place fell completely silent, every man in the room mesmerized by her beauty and her impressive voice. When she ended the song, deafening applause filled the place. During the short break, a young waitress arrived, “Champagne?”

“Yes, please.”

One of the officers in his group guffawed. “The pansy’s saying please, hear that? The Fräuleins here prefer a more hands-on attitude.” To emphasize his words, he squeezed the waitress’s ass.

Werner dutifully joined into the rowdy laughter, despite the nagging voice inside scolding him for being such a sycophant.

After her performance, the singer stepped down from the stage, gracefully accepting the thundering applause and throwing kisses into the crowd. Her figure-hugging green gown with delicate fine straps clinging to her smooth shoulders turned heads as she came directly toward their table, dismissing over-eager men with a simple raise of her brow and a scathing glance.

“Bruni,” Orlovski stood up, his eyes shining with pride as the singer kissed him on the cheeks and graciously accepted a glass of champagne. “May I introduce you to Werner Böhm, responsible for education and culture in the city administration.”

She stretched out a perfectly manicured, slender hand. “It’s my pleasure, Herr Böhm.”

Werner dutifully stood up and kissed the back of her hand, “I’m impressed by your talent. You have a voice one will not easily forget.”

She smiled at him and then took her place next to Orlovski, leaving Werner wondering just how intimate the two of them were.

“How’s that university doing?” Orlovski asked, pouring more champagne into the half-empty glasses.

“Going along well, thanks to your kind intervention.” Werner looked at Fräulein von Sinnen and said, “the captain here rescued me from quite the predicament.”