Marion Kummerow - From the Ashes

Almost six weeks after the election and the new city government was still unseated. The despicable Russians kept the old SED-dominated administration in place, while allegedly investigating some of the new candidates for Nazi crimes, and there was nothing Dean could do about it.

For three weeks after the night when he had dropped Marlene off at her home, Werner persisted, taking every opportunity to meet with her and using his charm to woo her. Eventually, she relented and they became a couple, meeting clandestinely two or three times each week

He should be happy, but a nagging sorrow ate at him. The party would never approve of their relationship, because Marlene was not a trusted communist and he, well, he was one of the highest SED functionaries in Berlin.

Every so often he toyed with the idea of defying the party. But then, menacing old memories resurfaced and drowned out the thought. He knew better than to challenge his superiors since such a move would mark the end of both Marlene and him. He certainly didn’t want to share the same mysterious fate as Captain Orlovski. Yet, there was no way he was going to give up Marlene either.

He thought up a solution and the next time they met, he said as casually as possible, “Why don’t you join the SED?”

“What?” she glared daggers at him and before she could scratch out his eyes, he raised his hands in a placatory way.

“Please, hear me out. It would be much better and we could openly show our love.” He showered her with the charming smile that always made her purr like a kitten.

Not today.

“Better for whom?” She said with a scathing voice. “And why? Do you have to get approval from Comrade Gentner or General Sokolov on who you’re going out with?”

Not exactly. Although he did have to follow the party line, and that didn’t include a romantic relationship with a woman who wasn’t a trusted comrade. “Don’t be silly, Marlene. Of course not, but in the current political climate it wouldn’t be beneficial for me to be seen fraternizing with members of the opposition.” Werner explained gently. At the sight of her furiously shimmering eyes he hastily added, “and it might tarnish your good name.”

“Member of the opposition?” she exclaimed. “I’m not even a party member.”

“No, you’re not, mein Liebling,” he replied, kissing her cheek. “I suggest this move only because it’s in your best interest. Both of our best interests. Your anti-Soviet stance has been noted. If we want to be together, we cannot be on opposite sides, the SED won’t stand for it.”

“Surely one is allowed to have opinions?” Marlene said hotly.

Actually not. At least not when they deviate from the official party line. He inwardly cursed the SED leaders for their stupidity. For everyone but Norbert it was clear that the catastrophic loss in the elections last year had been due to the SED’s reputation as being the “Soviet party”.

But instead of changing course and insisting on an independent socialist way for Germany, blockheaded Gentner and his closest cronies had stuck their noses way up into the Soviet asses.

“Of course, you are entitled to your own opinion, and the SED leaders together with the Soviet occupation power wholeheartedly supported the free and fair elections in Berlin. But in our case, it is like one person trying to build a house, while the other person tries to knock it down.”

He pondered whether to muzzle her protest with a lengthy dialectic lecture about the philosophical background of Marxism-Leninism, but opted against it. It would only help to enrage her more. Since Marlene wasn’t a schooled and trained party official, she reacted to theoretical lectures like most lay people did: rolling her eyes and outright refusal to even consider the truth behind his words.

“What a terrible analogy,” Marlene gasped. “Now I’m the one obstructing the rebuilding of Berlin when in fact these hideous Russians disassemble what’s left right from under our noses.”

Werner sighed. He didn’t approve of the demolition for reparations either, he’d even tried to talk to Norbert about this. But in his arrogant manner Norbert had simply stated that the topic wasn’t to be discussed. Ever. Again.

“I know, it seems unjust, but we always have to remember how much our Russian friends suffered at the hands of the Nazis—”

“They’re not my Russian friends,” Marlene scoffed, turned on her heel, and walked out on him.

He stared at her, angry about her insolence, but at the same time envious. He wished he could do the same, just once, and walk out of yet another ludicrous party meeting where the comrades tried to outdo each other in kissing Moscow’s ass. Then he startled at the critical thought. Had his discontent with the party evolved so far already? Despite the many things he disliked about Stalinism, he still harbored the highest hopes for a new and better way in Germany.

But the future looked bleaker and bleaker.

Georg, Marlene, Lotte, and Julian were butting heads in a heated discussion at Georg’s place,

“I tell you we need to be more aggressive,” Julian said.

“That’s not a good idea, you heard the Board of Directors. The administration unfortunately cannot give in to our requests, because their hands are tied.” Georg took the voice of reason.

“Their hands are tied? Don’t make me laugh! The SED is high up the Soviet asses, fearing for their privileges and pajoks if they say a single wrong word.” Julian’s eyes shimmered with rage. While the rest of Berliners suffered hunger and lack of housing, clothes, even paper and pens, the SED functionaries lived in nice villas requisitioned from former Nazis.

Marlene had never been to Werner’s place, but she knew that he’d chosen a more modest four-room-apartment that he shared with another bachelor. At least Werner also disapproved of the blatant disparity between Berliners, party members and party officials. According to him, that was in direct opposition to Marx’s teachings.

The pajoks were regular weekly or monthly boxes filled with all the goods, food and others one couldn’t buy on the open market, or even on the black market. Werner had often given her the ingredients of his box, since he got to eat at the canteen in the SED headquarters, the Haus der Einheit.

“How do you know about the pajoks ?” Marlene asked, since they were never officially mentioned.

“Everyone knows, despite the Soviets’ intention to keep their bribery a secret,” Julian said.

“They’re not bribes, they’re a system to help the most hard-working people who are needed for the rebuilding of our city.” Marlene felt the need to defend Werner, even though he wasn’t personally accused. “These people simply don’t have the time and energy to queue up for rations.”

Lotte rolled her eyes. “You don’t really believe this yourself, now do you? Or why are these pajoks handed out based on rank and honor in the supposedly classless Soviet system? Why aren’t they given to the hard-working industrial workers? Or the construction workers who rebuilt the railway tracks the Russians have dismantled?”

“Can we please get back to the topic at hand?” Georg called them to order.

“I say, we need to let those goons know that we’re not willing to live under the Soviet thumb. This is Berlin, not the Soviet occupied zone,” Julian exclaimed.

“We could ask the other Allied powers for help maybe? Since they govern us quadripartite…” Lotte suggested.

Julian scoffed. “The Western Allies are useless, all they do is bow to the Soviet antics in some misguided effort to appease them. And… since when are the Americans our friends?”