Marion Kummerow - From the Ashes

Marlene laughed. Even before considering her parents’ reaction, she decided the lure of feeling safe at night was too much to resist. “Okay, then.”

Lotte hugged her, jumping up and down. “Let’s go and get your things right now.”

“Are you afraid, I’ll change my mind?”

“One can never be too sure,” Lotte said and Marlene nodded.

While it didn’t come as a huge surprise, when the call came to summon him to the SMAD in Karlshorst Werner was visibly shaken.

As the vehicle stopped in front of the building, he stepped out with trepidation. Werner had been here many times and always found the building impressive, but today it looked dark and threatening. He suppressed a shudder and walked inside, where he was told to wait.

Several minutes later, a soldier came and said, “General Sokolov is ready to see you.”

Sokolov sat at his monumental desk, looking down the table with six chairs in front of him. Five chairs were already occupied: chief-of-police Markgraf, SED head Gentner, two men from the NKVD and Kurt Lang, Werner’s successor at the education department.

An acute awareness took hold of Werner and he felt his pulse ratcheting up. The setup promised a rather unpleasant meeting.

Sokolov cut right to the chase, “I must congratulate Comrades Markgraf, Gentner and Lang for the efficient and swift handling of a problem that might have blown out of proportion should we have let these misguided students continue on their path.”

Werner’s breath stuck in his lungs and he dared not breathe. His name hadn’t been mentioned. That was a bad sign and he could already hear the rattling wheels of the train destined for banishment.

After some more compliments, Sokolov turned toward Werner. “You may wonder, why I invited Comrade Böhm to join our meeting.”

The tightening noose around Werner’s neck fell from his shoulders. If the general still called him comrade, he hadn’t fallen from grace – yet.

“There’s a taint to the entire action, because we couldn’t get hold of one woman.” Sokolov’s alcoholic-red face turned into a deep purple.

Markgraf visibly flinched and promptly stood up. “Comrade Sokolov, our police arrived at her house as planned, but she wasn’t there.”

“I know that already! Tell me something I don’t know!” Sokolov yelled, his face turning into a pained grimace.

His ulcers are tormenting him again. Now he’ll chew our asses until we feel the same pain he does, Werner thought.

“Yes, General, of course.” Markgraf looked like he’d throw himself to the floor and literally lick Sokolov’s boots. “We have immediately investigated the whereabouts of this woman. She was seen leaving the French sector in the morning, where she’d spent the night in a hotel with a French private called Etoile.”

“Was the man questioned?” Sokolov asked, his stare furious and his voice intimidating.

Werner institutively ducked, even though he wasn’t at the receiving end of the general’s wrath.

“Comrade General, we… the German police are not allowed to question Allied personnel,” Markgraf replied, his limbs shaking.

Werner glanced at Norbert, somehow expecting him to come to Markgraf’s help, but the other man didn’t even blink. A sudden anger rose in Werner, the whole raid had been Norbert’s idea, but now he let Markgraf pay for it. Bootlicking, cruel, power-craving sycophant Markgraf certainly deserved it, but somehow Werner was still annoyed at Norbert’s betrayal.

It showed him very clearly his own position in this political game. Despite being a high-ranking SED official, he was nothing more than a dispensable pawn. One wrong step and he’d be taken off the playing field and tossed aside.

Markgraf continued talking “…if you wanted to investigate the Frenchman, you’d have to file a formal request with the Kommandatura or wait until he enters the Russian sector and then your people could…”

“Stop! Useless louts! Why is it that I have to do everything myself to get it properly done?” Sokolov raged.

It was a rhetorical question, but the police chief nevertheless answered it, “Because we can’t compete with your unmatched wisdom and foresight.”

Werner wanted to retch on his shoes – or better on Sokolov’s for Markgraf to lick them clean again.

One of the NKVD sitting nearest to Sokolov whispered something into Sokolov’s ear, who wrinkled his brows, but then turned his attention to Markgraf again. “Comrade Markgraf, we’ll leave the matter for the time being.”

Werner’s knees almost gave out with relief, but he’d rejoiced too soon.

“What do you think Comrade Böhm? I believe you know that woman very well,” Sokolov said suddenly.

All blood drained from Werner’s face. Had the entire conversation been set up in advance, meant to give him a false sense of security? What did they know? And what did they expect him to admit to?

He opted to play for time, admit only what they knew anyway.

“Yes, Comrade General, I remember her. She was on the student board, but always kept in the background, rarely said a word. I never identified her as a political agitator, unlike some of the other students.”

“You’ve been seen with her quite frequently,” the second NKVD officer said.

Cold sweat broke out on Werner’s palms, but he resisted the urge to wipe them on his pants. That would give away his nerves. And an innocent man had no reason to be nervous. He forced himself to think quickly.

“Comrade, you are right. I met with her in private a couple of times, because I had the impression she had a soft spot for socialist ideas when not in the company of these agitators. It was my intention to convince her to join the SED.”

“And, did you?” Markgraf scoffed, a sly smirk on his face, and his waxed moustache twitching in merriment.

Werner wondered if he’d been under surveillance all this time. Had they somehow divined his carefully hidden criticism of Stalinism? Was this his final chance to stay in the party lane?

“I believe I did. The last time I saw her she was enthusiastic and eagerly asked me about the nearest party office from where she lives.” Werner looked from one man to the next, thinking how to maneuver him – and Marlene – out of this corner. “But I’m afraid the unfortunate happenings might have scared her. She’s not a very brave or strong woman.” It hurt to say these words, but it was for the best, should they believe she was some easily intimidated girl.

Sokolov made a sharp movement with his hand. “I don’t care either way. We got the ringleaders, and as soon as we have their confessions, this incident will never be mentioned again. She’s not important for us or for the cause.”

Two days later all but three of the arrested students were released. They were badly roughed up and so traumatized by their experience in Russian captivity, that they immediately resigned their positions as student leaders and joined the SED.

“Please tell me about Georg and Julian, why haven’t they been released? What has happened to them?” Marlene asked her fellow students.

“I have no idea,” was the standard reply. She could see that they were terrified and refused to discuss the matter further.

“You should stop asking questions,” one of them advised her. “The Soviets will stop at nothing to get what they want. I for my part, want my family to be safe and alive.”

Marlene’s shoulders slumped. She felt like an awful coward to abandon Georg. Deep-rooted guilt prevented her from attending class today, so she skipped and went into town instead. She wandered around the streets. Most still showed the destruction of war, while some – mostly administrative buildings – had been slowly rebuilt. But while the Berliners were willing to knuckle down and work, there was never enough money or material to repair all the things needed.