Marion Kummerow - From the Ashes

The Soviets diverted most everything needed, including coal and steel from the Ruhr area, to Russia, letting the industry bleed out every day more. Supposedly the Western Allies had put a halt to the blatant robbery called reparations, at least in their zones, but oftentimes train wagons sent to Poland with agreed upon reparation materials never returned, and continued eastward with or without their valuable freight.

Understandably the British, to whom the Ruhr area belonged, refused to send more coal if the train cars weren’t returned first, and thus the Soviets staged a propaganda war on radio about the thieving and lying imperialists and stopped material going into Berlin in revenge. Living on an island amidst Soviet territory truly was a position between a rock and a hard place.

Marlene was so deep in thought, that she didn’t notice the car speeding down the street and would have walked under its wheels, if it weren’t for someone holding her arm.

“Are you weary of life?” a familiar voice scolded her.

She turned around, spitting with madness. “You! Get the hell out of my way!”

Werner’s face took on a hurt expression, and he pursed his lips as he said, “Shouldn’t you rather thank me for saving your life?”

“Are you spying on me?”

“No, I’m not, I was on my way to the university. But despite your obvious hate for me, I couldn’t well let you walk under a car.” Werner looked worried, haunted even and she wondered whether he felt the increasing tension as well. But that wasn’t her problem anymore, he himself had asked her never to talk to him again.

“Don’t make it a habit to save my life,” she said in the most scathing tone possible.

“Please, Marlene, can we talk for a moment?” he begged her.

She couldn’t resist the trustful expression in his eyes. As much as she wanted to despise him, there was no way she could pull through with her plan. She nodded and followed him into a nearby bakery, where he ordered coffee for both of them.

“Forgive me, but it was the only way to…” he stopped midsentence, and gave her a vague smile. “Understand my situation, I was so overwhelmed by my emotions that I panicked. I’ve been a bachelor for such a long time, I got scared. But I never meant to hurt you…” She sensed he was lying, was making up an excuse to protect her. She needed to know the truth.

“Did you know about the raid that night?” she asked.

Werner flinched. “This kind of action isn’t divulged to people outside the police department, and I’m not even involved with the university anymore.

Her blood boiled at the half-hearted attempted to deny his knowledge and before she could stop herself, she hissed, “You are a despicable coward, a beast. Man up and at least admit your involvement. And stop defending the communist terror.”

“All I ever wanted was to protect you, Marlene,” he persisted.

“Why me? Why not all the others? Do you think they deserved to be roughed up by the people’s police?” Marlene could barely keep herself from shouting out loud.

His face fell. “I tried to warn them. You can’t imagine how often I urged Georg to stop antagonizing the administration.”

“The Soviet puppets, you mean?” She emptied the coffee cup, her hands trembling with barely suppressed fury.

“Let’s not get into semantics. You know full well that I’m on your side, but there are greater powers that neither I nor anyone else can influence. The student board didn’t heed my warnings.” Werner rubbed his hands, seemingly unsure how to continue. “When people violate the rules, they have to bear the consequences for their actions. This is an omnipresent principle of any state structure.”

“How can you still defend the communists? They’re worse than the Nazis.” She knew she should keep her mouth shut, but his slick, two-faced behavior irked her to no end.

“If you believe that then I’m afraid you have a lot to learn,” Werner shrugged. “At least thank the Soviet army for ridding Germany of the Nazis and bringing peace and stability to this country.”

“I’ll thank these communist thugs, rapists and murderers for nothing and I’ll be the first one to cheer when they leave Berlin for good,” she said in disgust. “And you know what? You’re enabling the Soviet death grip on my city and therefore I hate you!”

For a moment he looked truly sad, but then he schooled his features again and answered, “I guess you should. I’m not worth your attention.”

Werner left the bakery in a very sour mood. Marlene had called him a despicable beast and a coward, but that wasn’t the worst. What really got to him was that she was right. In a dozen years in the Soviet Union he’d learned to always toe the party line, never utter an independent or – God forbid – critical thought.

He’d looked away when his parents had fallen victim to the purge, had defended Stalin’s regime when some of his best friends ended up in Gulags for minor transgressions, had empathized with veterans of the Spanish Civil War and Lenin’s comrades in arms who’d fallen in disgrace with Stalin.

He sighed. It wasn’t something he was especially proud of, but sometimes the greater good required sacrifices. Individual hardships were inevitable during the transitional period until a truly socialist community was formed. The student board leaders were such individual fates that couldn’t be avoided, because their agitation might otherwise threaten the entire reform process of the German population.

The next morning, he got up in a much better mood and looked out of the window. The day looked promising with the sun shining resolutely through the cloudy sky. He hoped it wouldn’t rain, since he hated the rain that made everything damp and filled the roads with puddles that were deceptive to drive through.

He arrived at his office in the Haus der Einheit, and sat down to work. Around noon, a knock on the door tore him from his concentration. “Come in!”

A uniformed Russian entered the room. “Comrade Böhm?”

“Yes, how can I help you?”

“General Sokolov expects you in Karlshorst. I’m here to drive you there,” the man said briskly.

Werner sat in stunned silence for a moment, until the gravity of the order finally registered. A summons from the general was quite unexpected. It also augured unpleasantness, and with a sense of foreboding, Werner wondered what was in store for him.

“Certainly,” he said and got up to grab his hat and coat before he followed the Russian to the black car waiting outside. Just when they left the building, the rain came pouring down. The wipers frantically waved backwards and forwards and still couldn’t keep the windscreen clear.

Werner peered through the clouded glass, happy it wasn’t him at the steering wheel trying to stay on the road which was flooded by the sudden deluge. Inching along, and hitting every pothole, Werner finally arrived at the headquarters to meet his fate.

Throughout the journey he resisted the urge to try and ask the Russian about the reason for his summons. He wouldn’t know anyway. At last the car stopped in front of the impressive SMAD headquarters. Long used to not being told what was going on, his mind still was in turmoil and his heart pounded.

It seemed the delegation had been waiting exclusively for him, because the moment the car stopped, the doors opened and Paul Markgraf and an NKVD officer squeezed into the backseat.

“Comrade Böhm,” the police chief greeted him.

The tiniest sigh escaped Werner’s throat. As long as they still called him comrade, things couldn’t be that bad. Despite knowing better, he asked, “Where are we going Comrade Markgraf?”