Marion Kummerow - From the Ashes

Bruni gave Böhm a brilliant smile, but as soon as he’d excused himself, she pounced on Marlene. “What’s going on between the two of you?”

“Nothing.”

“So why the silly smitten look on his face – and on yours?” Bruni’s power of observation was sharp as a knife.

“I don’t fancy Werner at all, but—” Marlene tried to form an excuse to satisfy her friends.

“One dance and it’s Werner, is it?” Bruni laughed, delighted by Marlene’s slip up. “Admit it, you’re in love with the detestable Werner Böhm.”

“Stop being ridiculous!” Marlene blushed. “He is a gentleman, nothing more and nothing less. I’ve always admitted that he has impeccable manners. And he really did save us from a most embarrassing situation.”

Zara now joined Bruni’s laughter, because she evidently had been able to dance with Böhm’s friend without flushing like a pumpkin.

“Stop it, will you! Or someone will hear your nonsensical accusations,” Marlene pleaded with them.

At last her friends changed the subject and the time flew by eating their dinner. As soon as they finished, Bruni had to go on stage for another performance and Werner seemed to have waited for just this moment, because he came to their table to ask for another dance.

Marlene agreed, because there was nothing wrong in dancing with him, right? She enjoyed the second dance even more than the first one, feeling already strangely at home in his arms. She didn’t have to engage her mind anymore to follow his lead, it was as if her body already knew the upcoming steps.

When the music paused, she returned to their table, out of breath from the vigorous dancing, but happier than she’d been in a long time.

Zara saw her heated face and said, “Marlene, I shall go home now. I have to get up early in the morning. But you, by all means, should stay and have fun.”

“No way. We came here together and we’ll return home together as well. What kind of friend would I be to send you home all alone this late at night?” Marlene answered and grabbed her handbag.

“Please ladies, allow me to drop you home,” Werner suggested, and seeing the hesitation in their eyes he added, “I have a car at my disposal.”

Marlene reluctantly accepted his generous offer. It’s not that she was afraid of him, but more of herself and her lack of self-control in his presence. He dropped off Zara first and then headed into the Russian sector for Marlene’s home.

Throughout the journey, they didn’t speak a word, but the tension crackled in the car. She was grateful for the darkness that enveloped them and hid her expressions from him.

“Is this your place?” he said, surprise in his voice.

“Yes,” Marlene said in a low tone as she saw the dilapidated building for the first time with the eyes of a man who lived in one of the few undestroyed boroughs in Berlin, a requisitioned apartment in Pankow he shared with another member of the Gentner group.

He walked around the car and opened the door for her. “I’ll walk you to your door, you can never be too careful around here.”

She actually welcomed his company, not because she was afraid of an attack, but because she yearned to prolong the time with him just a bit more.

“Thank you for driving me home,” she said, looking up at him. The keys in her hand began to jingle as she stared into his mesmerizing green eyes. His face looked so young, so innocent, so honest.

“May I kiss you?” he asked and when she didn’t protest, he leaned down and pressed his warm lips on hers.

Against her better judgement, she opened her lips and returned the kiss. A heated minute later, she stepped back and whispered, “I… better should go.”

“Good night, my sweet Marlene.” The words from his mouth caused a myriad of butterflies to flutter in her stomach and she hurriedly unlocked the door and rushed inside.

Damn him! Why did she like him so much?

Dean watched the beautiful blonde by his side. Bruni von Sinnen was really something. Not only did she possess fantastic looks, but she knew how to please in bed. Though the best thing about her was that she didn’t succumb to girlish notions of love, but looked at their relationship for what it was. A pleasant business.

The life of the American Kommandant in Berlin was a lonely one. The Berlin population oscillated between loathing and admiring him. The entire Russian military, spearheaded by General Sokolov, equated him with a beast and called him Enemy of Democracy. He constantly received anonymous death threats and had slept with a pistol under his pillow for the past one and a half years.

Sure, his subalternates respected him, but he could never confide his sorrows to anyone, except maybe at times to his deputy and friend Jason Gardner.

Bruni provided him with much needed comfort and everything else a man needed who hadn’t seen his own wife in almost four years. In exchange, he provided for her, protected her, and allowed her to live a better life than the other Berliner Fräuleins. It truly was a win-win situation.

He kissed her goodbye and slipped out of bed in the dark of the night to return to his own quarters.

In the morning, his deputy already waited for him in his office.

“Morning, Jason, what’s up?”

Jason grimaced. “The Soviets giving us problems.”

“Tell me something new.” Dean settled at his desk and beckoned for his friend to take a place opposite him. “What’s it this time?”

“Sokolov issued an order that none of the members of the Magistrat who were elected last month are allowed to take their position without prior approval of the Kommandatura.”

Dean slammed his fist on the desk with such force that the old wood croaked. “Why don’t I know about this?”

“I just found out,” Jason said. “Since he’s the current chairman he issued the order without consulting the others first.”

Dean’s fist was still hurting or he’d have slammed it on the desk again. “How dare this filthy, lying, crooked asshole! He doesn’t have the authority to issue such orders.”

“Sir, it gets worse,” Jason looked at him, obviously loathing his situation of having to relay more bad news. On Dean’s nod he began to explain, “The newly elected members have complained about communist squads being trucked to the City Hall to beat them up.”

“That must be a joke.”

“It’s not.”

Dean called his secretary, “Get me Sokolov on the line. Immediately.” It was barely ten a.m., so Sokolov would still be fast asleep. “Oh don’t bother,” Dean said, “tell him I’m coming to his office at noon and he better be there or I’ll give him hell.”

“You know there’s not that much you can do, right?” Jason asked him.

He sighed. The City Hall, the Magistrat and the City Council, all of them were in the Soviet sector. Technically Sokolov’s cronies could do to the people in their sector as they pleased and nobody, not even the American Kommandant, could hold them accountable for their crimes.

In the Kommandatura the three Western Allies had made every effort to work with the Soviets. In the beginning, they’d acquiesced to every Russian whim, hoping the other party would see the honest will to cooperate. When this didn’t work, they’d accepted, against better knowledge, unfavorable and crooked terms. They’d appeased the gangsters like an abused wife might appease her husband, all in an attempt to show their goodwill and honest dedication to govern Berlin together – and to prevent another war. That the Soviets might start another war, was the biggest fear of everyone in the West and dictated the odd appeasement policy.

But the daily obstruction of the Soviets took a toll on Dean and more than once he he’d grabbed the phone to ask General Clay for a transfer away from the city of hell, although he never actually completed the call.