From the Ashes

by Marion Kummerow

  Marlene jumped on the new topic like a drowning person on a lifeline and said, “That’s wonderful. Tell us all about it. Is the French cuisine as delicious as they say?”

  Food was a predominant topic among the Berliners, especially the shortage of it. Talking about French delicacies was almost as good as actually eating them, and it eased the tension between the three friends.

  When they finally parted, they hugged each other tightly. Despite their different outlooks on life, their friendship was deep and strong, and Marlene knew she could always count on Bruni and Zara.

  Chapter 16

  The moment Werner entered the lecture hall where the student board met, he felt a wave of hostility directed toward him. Looking into the discontented faces of the members he realized the mood was about to boil over.

  It didn’t come as a surprise, because he’d observed the growing dissatisfaction for several weeks now and sensed the students were up to something. He just hadn’t expected the revolt to come so soon. After the glorious inauguration students had believed in a bed of roses. But with the promotion of communist propaganda being disseminated throughout the departments, rumblings among them had increased daily.

  Werner had discussed this issue with Norbert, but as always, the answer had been rehashed lines of party wisdom, rather than substantial advice he could use in practice.

  He sighed, some days he felt so disheartened. Deceived even. His aspirations for a democratic socialist rule in Germany, as touted by Stalin and his followers, had turned out to be nothing but illusions. Communism has let you down. He quickly shook his head. Traitorous thoughts like this transported a person to a Gulag faster than he could blink.

  “Quiet, please,” he called out as he took his place at the professor’s podium. His gaze wandered across the members of the student board. It consisted of one dozen communist hardliners and another dozen carefully screened men and women from other parties. Three each were Social Democrats and Christian Democrats, one girl belonged to the Liberal Democrats and the rest had no party affiliation, but all of them were considered fervent anti-fascists. None of them had ever belonged to the NSDAP, and some, like Georg, had even been victimized at the hands of the Nazis.

  A part of him could understand their plight, but of course he couldn’t let them know this. Norbert had been clear in his instructions to nip the threatening revolt in the bud. The noise ebbed away and he said, “May the chairman of the student board please speak up?”

  Georg stood, his brown hair tousled from desperately running his hand through it. It was a gesture Werner had observed in the other man many times, when he disliked a situation. “We are here to officially protest flying the Soviet flag atop our university. We’re not a Soviet institution.”

  Werner sighed with relief. This would be a lot easier to appease than he’d feared. “This is only temporary. The flag was raised to celebrate the upcoming first anniversary of the liberation of Berlin. All of you should be grateful for the great sacrifices of the Red Army to return freedom to their German brothers.”

  Looking into the faces of the students, he realized that his argument wasn’t having the intended effect. He needed to present a different angle. “In fact, everyone in this room should be proud,” he let his eyes rest on each of them before he continued, “for your contribution to bring down Hitler’s fascist regime.”

  Several of the communist students clapped their hands as if on cue. Werner suppressed a smile. “But seeing that your own efforts haven’t been sufficiently appreciated, I’ll suggest to General Sokolov to fly the German flag besides the Soviet one in united friendship.”

  There was a low murmur in the lecture hall, but nobody dared to openly oppose his peace-offering.

  Georg raised his voice again, “We also protest the political indoctrination in all fields of study.”

  This accusation was much more difficult to counter, and Werner thought for a moment. Georg was a bright young man and would easily see through the usual distortion of facts used by the propaganda department.

  He decided to revert to a proven tactic and said, “There must be some misunderstanding. The Soviet Commandant personally has endorsed the reopening of Berlin University with great personal, material and financial effort. The best professors have been chosen to teach the fields of natural sciences, philosophy, medicine, veterinary, agriculture, law and theology.”

  He paused for effect and once again met the eyes of each individual in the room. “You are the brightest men and women of your generation, destined to continue the fight against fascism and the …” he caught himself before saying imperial West and opted to omit the dig against the class enemy. “…plutocracy. United we stand strong and can overcome a dozen years of unlawful Nazi-regime. This is the very reason why the Soviet Union, and we, the new democratic Berlin administration, place such great emphasis upon education.”

  But Georg didn’t relent. “There is no misunderstanding, Herr Böhm. We are displeased at the amount of propaganda promoted at this university. We are students of our relative disciplines, none of us signed up for politics. The Soviet misinformation has permeated our subjects and become part and parcel of the arts and sciences we study. In this way, incorrect data is included in subjects and distorts the truths of our topics. It is also noticed that any printed material that is considered undesirable is being redacted and eliminated, and replaced with communist dogma to ensure that the Soviet ideological spin is put on every published item.”

  Werner had the strongest foreboding that Georg wouldn’t end well. Too eager was the young man to stand up for his beliefs and defend the newly acquired liberties of the German students. But he shoved the nasty feeling aside and concentrated on the task at hand.

  Right now, it was of paramount importance that he quieten the rising discontent before it became uncontainable. From his own experience he knew that the decision makers in Moscow weren’t squeamish in their treatment of perceived dissenters. Couldn’t these students understand that for their own sakes it was best to keep their mouths shut?

  “I trust you have evidence to back up your accusations,” Werner asked, and Georg held up a fat file in response.

  “Rest assured, we have discussed these unnecessary inclusions thoroughly, and demand an immediate stop to this insidious, destructive scheme to turn us into a generation of communists. We students are questioning whether the Soviets really want a democratic Germany.”

  “Yes, of course this is what we want for Germany. Surely our praise for our system is being misconstrued,” argued Werner, desperate to defuse the current of discontent. “We are all going through a transitional phase. This university is a prime example of the Soviet initiative to rebuild your nation. Quality, free education is being imparted here. Where else will you find such commitment and generosity?”

  Since his arrival in Berlin almost a year earlier, so many things had happened and bit by bit had chipped away at his belief in Stalin’s infallibility, but that didn’t mean that Werner had stopped believing in the superiority of the socialist way. Once the transition period was over, everyone would accept that Socialism was the only system giving its citizens liberty, wealth and participation and was certainly preferable to living under a totalitarian capitalist regime.

  “Incidentally, the Americans are offering to sponsor a university in their sector,” a spunky redhead called Lotte Klausen said.

  Werner perked up his ears. It was the first time he had heard of plans for such a bold transgression of the quadripartite agreement. He made a mental note to inform Norbert about the newest American atrocity, before he fixed his gaze on the young woman. “I would advise the exercise of extreme caution when dealing with Americans. Their country is a bastion of imperial oppression, an evil and corrupt reigning class in the death throes of capitalism.”

  “More Soviet propaganda!” a tall, skinny man with blond curly hair shouted from the back. Werner recognized him as Julian Berger, a student of chemistry.

  He
raised his hand to stop the hecklers, all dying to voice their viewpoints. It was time to stop the charade. Any further deviation from the dictates of the official doctrine would merit a trial, and if he couldn’t contain the subversive remarks within this room, there’d soon be blood on the walls.

  “I will certainly look into the matter and consult the Board of Directors who will, I’m sure, investigate and put a stop to any issues that distract from the peace and good intentions of the institution. This meeting is over. Thank you for your time and interest,” Werner said with a tone that left no doubt this was his last word on the matter.

  Almost by a miracle the students left the lecture hall, peacefully, yet grumbling. But this was a problem for another day. First, he had to alert Norbert about the American plan to open up their own university.

  Chapter 17

  Marlene adapted to the grueling daily routine of working at the hospital, queuing up for rations, and running errands on top of attending classes and studying at home. In the first weeks, she’d fallen to bed exhausted every night, but slowly her body seemed to overcome the need for sleep and she could do mostly with a few hours a night. To everyone concerned about her health, she jokingly said, that she could sleep all she wanted once she was dead.

  The main reason why she jumped out of her bed every morning with unmatched energy was the prospect of seeing Werner. She still didn’t admit to anyone – even herself – that she had feelings for him, but simply the hope of catching a fleeting glance at him in the university hallways made her entire body shiver with anticipation.

  He seemed equally eager to see her, because he often happened to walk past the doors of her lecture hall at the precise moment when her class ended. Usually he wouldn’t say a word, but his charming smile always warmed her heart, despite knowing that it was wrong to fancy a convinced communist like him.

  She’d been more or less indifferent to the Nazi propaganda at the beginning but had come to hate the oppression, brutality, distortion of facts and, most of all, the crippling hatred for anyone who was different, as the years passed.

  Now she saw the Soviets for what they really were. They hadn’t come as the liberators they liked to call themselves, but as oppressors, and their ultimate goal was to install another totalitarian regime in Germany. She never believed the honeyed words of General Sokolov and his cronies who said one thing and then did another one.

  One day she left civil law lecture together with her fellow student Lotte, a quick-witted redhead with a sharp tongue. The two of them had quickly become friends and spent plenty of time together to study and compare notes. Other students often commented that a pair of girls couldn’t be more different than the two of them.

  Lotte was impulsive, driven, outspoken and assertive, where Marlene was composed, cautious, careful and kind. They even studied law for different reasons. Marlene wanted to help people, while Lotte wanted to fight for justice. But despite their differences they hit it off right away. Marlene liked the other girl for her inner strength to stand up for herself, but she also felt the need to care for her, because she often looked so sad.

  “I gotta run, my sister is waiting for me. See you in the morning?” Lotte said and turned on her heel to rush off.

  Nostalgia wound its way into Marlene’s heart. Both of her brothers were still in captivity. Kurt somewhere in France and Albert had been shipped to America. Her eyes to the ground she walked down the hallway, suddenly feeling lost, when she all but bumped into another person.

  “I’m sorry,” she mumbled. Looking up she stared into Herr Böhm’s face and straightened her back. “Herr Böhm, please excuse me, I wasn’t paying attention.”

  “Nothing to worry about. This is a pleasant surprise, actually.” He rubbed his clean-shaven chin, looking more like an insecure boy than one of the leading men in Berlin.

  Marlene stood frozen in place. She didn’t move and they must have stood like this for an entire minute, while other students passed by until the lecture hall had emptied and they stood alone in the hallway.

  Towering over her by almost one foot, he said, “Why don’t we have a cup of coffee in my office instead of standing in this drafty corridor, Fräulein Kupfer, since I’d like to make a proposal to you.”

  A proposal ? Her head whirled and she barely managed to nod. Her feet automatically falling in step with him, she scolded herself for having completely inappropriate thoughts. He’d never even touched her apart from the formal kiss on her hand. How on earth did she dream about a white dress? She almost laughed out loud at the hilarity of her train of thought.

  His secretary Frau Busch cast a questioning look at Marlene but didn’t say a word. She probably realized that keeping her job meant never to question her boss’s moves.

  “Bring us two cups of coffee, please,” Herr Böhm said without further explanation and held his office door open for Marlene. He motioned for her to sit in front of his desk. The only other time she’d been in his office was during her admission interview, but then a guard and Professor Ebert had been present as well. Being alone with Herr Böhm in the same room unnerved her.

  He walked over to one of the bookshelves overflowing with four-ring binders, folders and all kinds of books and she wondered what exactly he wanted from her. The tension raised her neck hair, and while listening with one ear to the noises Frau Busch made cooking coffee, Marlene scrutinized his office.

  It was by far the nicest room in the entire building. Fresh white paint adorned the dilapidated walls and covered up the damaged plaster. The huge oak desk prominently stood in the middle of the room with a throne-like armchair for Böhm. She had heard of the intimidating experience of him staring down on the visitor who sat on a much smaller metal chair in front of the desk. Suddenly she felt small and vulnerable.

  He walked over with a book in his hands at the same time as Frau Busch entered the office with two cups of coffee – real coffee – on a tray.

  “Thank you, Frau Busch, you may leave for today,” Böhm dismissed his secretary without further explanation. When she closed the door, Böhm handed Marlene one cup and instead of retreating behind his monumental desk to stare down on her, he leaned against it and smiled. “Do you take sugar?”

  “Sugar?” Marlene shrugged. What kind of question was this? Where she was concerned, sugar had long ago ceased to exist.

  “In your coffee?” His lips tipped into a smile and Marlene observed with amazement how the color of his eyes changed from a cold gray to a most inviting warm green.

  “Yes, please.”

  He took the cup from her, added a spoonful of sugar, stirred it and handed it back to her. “Now, please taste.”

  She took a sip, her brain not quite comprehending what was happening, except for the fuzzy warm feeling spreading through her body. Her taste buds exploded with the bittersweet aroma filling her mouth and she all but moaned, “Delicious.” How wonderful it would be to take such luxuries for granted as she once did all those many years ago.

  His smile increased, as did the butterflies in her stomach. Marlene couldn’t help thinking that maybe Bruni was right and encouraging the handsome, well-groomed, charming, intelligent, and likeable man wasn’t a bad thing. Why did she want to miss out on the way he made her feel, just because she hated the Soviets? What did politics have to do with feelings?

  “I’ve been wanting to give you this book,” Böhm suddenly said with his deep well-modulated voice. “It was one of my favorites at grammar school.”

  Marlene looked at a worn-out copy of Anna Segher’s novel Aufstand der Fischer von Santa Barbara, Revolt of the Fishermen of Santa Barbara, and gasped. She remembered all too well the event when students of the same university she attended now had burned thousands of books banned by the Nazis, Anna Segher’s novel one of them.

  “There’s nothing to be afraid of. Hitler is gone and with him the time of tyranny and fear. Please, I want you to read it. It will help you understand how the revolution of the working class will finally lea
d to prosperity and happiness for all.” He pressed the book into her hands.

  “I…I don’t know what to say. Thank you so much, Herr Böhm,” she stammered. The book must have been dear to him and giving it to her was such a thoughtful, generous gesture. She was moved beyond words. Whoever said that Böhm – or Werner, as she secretly called him – was cold-hearted and cruel certainly hadn’t taken the time to look behind his façade.

  “May I call you Marlene, please?” his voice was soft and throaty, as if caressing her.

  She nodded, surprised. “Certainly.”

  “And please call me Werner, will you?”

  Her eyes widened. It wouldn’t be appropriate at all to call a member of the Berlin administration by their first name. The only persons at the university who did this were the communist members of the student board, and Georg. Her dear friend and Böhm – Werner – had become fast friends and Georg had been propelled into a prominent position thanks to his mentor.

  “You don’t have to, if it causes you chagrin,” Werner said.

  “No, no. I’d love to, but wouldn’t it be inappropriate to do so here at the university? I mean, I’m just a student and you’re…”

  He gave a chuckle that reverberated through her bones. “Not at all. Your worries are founded in the traditional class system, but under the socialist ideology all people are equal and there’s no need to distinguish social rank by using last names.” Seeing that she was still wavering, he said, “But if it makes you feel more comfortable, you can still address me as Herr Böhm when we’re in public.”

  Her heart stopped beating. His answer implied that he envisioned meetings in the future with only the two of them present.

  He looked at her, happy and sad at the same time, before he raised his voice again, “I’m worried about your friend Georg.”

  Her eyes snapped wide open. That man certainly had a talent for ruining a romantic moment. “About Georg?” the stupid question was out of her mouth before it dawned on her. He must be jealous of the other man, he might even assume Georg and Marlene were walking together. “No…there’s no reason…I mean he and I are just friends.”