Storm Front

Chapter Twenty-Three

Wieland House, Berlin

6 August 1985

Gudrun lay on her bed, staring up at the ceiling.

Her parents hadn’t been particularly demanding, much to her relief, ever since Konrad’s father had called Gudrun’s father and had a long – and private – discussion with him over the telephone. Gudrun hadn’t been sure how her father would react – particularly if he realised that she’d known Konrad was crippled before his father had found out – but he’d largely left her alone, while her mother had only given her a handful of chores to do when she got home from the university. In some ways, it was a relief, but she had a nasty feeling that the Reichmark was about to drop. How long would it be before her father started nagging her to find a husband – or presented her with a list of suitable candidates?

And Konrad was going to die.

She’d known he wasn’t going to recover completely, if he ever made it off the life support machine, but she’d dared to hope that they might have a life together. Now, she could no longer cling to the illusion. Konrad’s father would turn the machine off, once he actually found his son; he wouldn’t leave his son’s shattered mind trapped in a crippled body. It wasn’t fair, Gudrun’s thoughts mocked her; no one had seriously considered telling Grandpa Frank that it was time to die, to go on to the next world, even though he was a disgusting old man. But what had Konrad done to deserve such injuries? He’d been young and strong and the world was at his feet.

And it killed him, she thought, bitterly. How many times had he sat beside her on the bed, sneaking kisses despite the open door? She wasn’t sure she could bring herself to kiss anyone, ever again; she’d practically betrayed Konrad by kissing Horst, even though it had been in the heat of the moment. Konrad did everything right and he was still betrayed by his own government.

She wanted to sit up, she wanted to do something, but she couldn’t muster the energy to do anything more than lie on the bed. There were chores she needed to do, she was sure, and homework she needed to finish before going back to the university, yet it was so hard to focus her mind. If her father saw her latest set of marks, he’d blow a fuse; Gudrun knew, without false optimism, that her grades had slipped badly. And yet, between the knowledge of what had happened to Konrad and her own work with the leaflets, it was hard to focus on her studies. What sort of future did she have if nothing changed?

There was a tap on the door. She looked up. Her father was standing there, looking worried; Gudrun sat upright hastily and beckoned him into the room. She couldn’t keep her heart from pounding, although she was fairly sure she wasn’t in trouble. Her father rarely entered her room unless she was. It was her mother who normally inspected it each weekend and snapped at her to clean up her mess, place clean clothes in the drawers and wash her dirty outfits in the sink.

“Gudrun,” her father said, sitting on the bed next to her. “I am truly sorry.”

“Thank you,” Gudrun said. She wasn’t used to her father being sympathetic – or understanding. Even when he’d bawled out the BDM matron, he’d given Gudrun a look that promised she’d be in hot water as soon as she got home. “Konrad… Konrad meant everything to me.”

“Your mother means everything to me,” her father said, uncomfortably. “But if she died, she wouldn’t want me to just give up.”

Gudrun stared down at her hands. “I’m not feeling suicidal, father.”

“Good,” her father said, dryly. “I’d hate to have to take you to hospital.”

Gudrun flinched. A person who showed suicidal tendencies could be committed to a mental health institution and held indefinitely. Gudrun had heard enough horror stories about what happened behind their locked doors to know she never wanted to step into one, certainly not while there was breath in her body. She had heard of a couple of students who’d committed suicide under the pressure, but it was very rare. Students at the university weren’t encouraged to wallow in self-pity.

“I just don’t want to think about anything else at the moment,” she said, carefully. “He was proud of me, father. I don’t want to let him down.”

“I’m proud of you,” her father said.

You don’t understand me, Gudrun thought. Her father had always gotten on better with his sons, taking them to play football and camping in the hills while Gudrun had stayed with her mother. You would have been happy if I’d been born male too.

“I approved of Konrad,” her father said, after a moment. “SS he might have been, but he was a good lad and would have taken care of you.”

“I don’t need a man to take care of me,” Gudrun snapped. “I’m not… I’m not going to be a housewife.”

Her father gave her a long considering look. “And if you graduate with the highest marks in your class,” he said, “what will happen then?”

“There aren’t enough computer experts in the Reich,” Gudrun said. She allowed a hint of sarcasm to run through her voice. “I may be a weak and feeble woman, father, but they won’t be able to dismiss me because I was born the wrong gender.”

“I hope you’re right,” her father said. “But you do need to consider finding a new husband.”

Gudrun stared at him. It was easy to sound horrified – and tearful. “Konrad isn’t even dead yet!”

“But he will be,” her father said, wrapping an arm around her shoulders. “And even if they keep him on life support, he will not be a suitable husband. He will not be able to father children.”

Gudrun shuddered. She did not want to have that discussion with her father. Her mother had discussed how babies were made when she’d bled for the first time – she remembered that it had almost been a relief, because she’d been convinced she was desperately ill – and the BDM had explained it in clinical detail, but discussing it with her father would be far too embarrassing. She recalled Konrad’s bandaged body, lying in the hospital bed, and shuddered again. His genitals had been blown off by the blast.

She took refuge in anger. “Father, is having children the sole purpose of my life?”

Her father frowned. “You are a young woman,” he said. “The longer you wait before having children, Gudrun, the harder it will be to get pregnant and bring the child to term. If you wait too long, you simply won’t be able to have children.”

“And if I do,” Gudrun said, “I’ll be trapped in the house.”

“Your mother rules the house,” her father pointed out.

“But she is trapped,” Gudrun countered. “She has to look after three little brats who don’t do anything to help…”

“You had your own bratty stage,” her father said, sarcastically.

“That’s not the point,” Gudrun said. “Kurt, Johan and Siegfried do nothing around the house – they don’t even pick up the trash in their rooms. Johan and Siegfried threw a fit when mother told me to clean their room, but they weren’t willing to do it for themselves. And even if mother goes back to work when Siegfried turns eighteen and gets a job of his own, she’ll have given up the best years of her life.”

Her father’s face darkened. “If she hadn’t had children,” he said, “you wouldn’t exist.”

“I know,” Gudrun said. It was true, after all. There was no point in trying to deny it. “But I want to be something more than a housewife and mother, endlessly picking up after my children.”

“You’re a young woman,” her father said. “You were born to be a mother.”

“It doesn’t seem fair,” Gudrun objected. How could she expect her father, the lord and master of the household, to understand? “Why do I have to be a mother?”

Her father gave her a long look. “No one would expect you to go to work,” he said, after a moment. “You are not expected to go to war, or work in a factory, or do anything to bring in money for your family. Your husband, Gudrun, will be considered a failure if he doesn’t ensure you have everything you need. He will be roundly mocked if his wife is in rags and his children are naked…”

“And then he will get drunk and take it out on his wife,” Gudrun said. She’d never seen her father hitting her mother, but she’d known a couple of girls in school who’d had terrifyingly violent fathers. No one had cared when they’d come to school sporting nasty bruises they refused to talk about, let alone show to the matrons. “And the wife has no rights at all.”

She looked down at her hands. The BDM matrons had gone over the responsibilities of a wife in some detail, assuring their charges that a proper housewife was loyal, obedient and never complained, let alone committed adultery. If she did, Gudrun had been told, she could expect to lose custody of the kids, if she didn’t wind up in jail. Gudrun recalled asking just why the husband was allowed to commit adultery, if his wife didn’t have the same rights, and being forced to write lines as punishment. Her mother hadn’t found it very amusing when Gudrun, her hand aching, had been sent home with a note. In hindsight, Gudrun couldn’t help wondering if her mother’s angry reaction had been fuelled by her awareness of her own helplessness.

“That’s not always true,” her father said. “There have been men who’ve defended battered wives…”

“But the wives don’t get to defend themselves,” Gudrun said. Something would have to be done, she was sure. Women’s rights were just another issue for the next leaflets, once they readied themselves to distribute a second set. “They may not be lucky enough to have defenders.”

“You’ll have me,” her father said. “And your brothers. They won’t hesitate to come to your defence.”

“Siegfried might,” Gudrun muttered. Her little brother blamed her for the thrashing he’d received from their father, five days ago. “He hates me.”

“He’ll get over it,” her father assured her. “I thought I hated my sisters too, once upon a time.”

He cleared his throat. “I understand that you are in mourning,” he said, “and I will give you as much time as I can, but you do need a husband.”

Gudrun shook her head, mutely.

“I’m not going to let you run free without a man,” her father said, firmly. “You are young, beautiful and intelligent. You’ll have no trouble finding another boyfriend.”

“Widows get at least a year before they’re expected to remarry,” Gudrun muttered.

“You’re not a widow,” her father pointed out. “And you’re not pregnant.”

Gudrun rolled her eyes, even though she knew it would annoy him. The whole system was strange, at least when she applied logic and reason. She knew she wasn’t supposed to have sex before marriage, but her father wouldn’t have objected if she became pregnant out of wedlock, provided she married her boyfriend before she started to show. No one would be particularly surprised when a bride proved able to produce a child quicker than a properly-wedded wife.

But then, producing the next generation of Germans is an important goal, she thought, recalling the BDM’s lectures. It was their duty, as maidens, to marry, have children and raise them to become good little servants of the Reich. A handful of girls becoming pregnant before marriage, as long as there was a marriage, was hardly a problem. They just want us to have babies and raise them.

Her father gave her a brief hug. “I know this is hard for you,” he said. Gudrun rather doubted that he did understand. “But your time is running out.”

And if I don’t find someone, Gudrun thought nastily, you’ll find someone for me.

Her father rose and headed out the door, leaving her behind. Gudrun shook her head tiredly, then rose herself. There were chores to do, after all, and they would keep her from thinking about her prison. Find a man, any man… or accept her father’s choice. Who knew what sort of young man he’d consider suitable? A policeman? Or a soldier? Gudrun wasn’t sure she could bear the thought of being married to a soldier, not after what had happened to Konrad. What was the point of building a life together if it could be snatched away in the blink of an eye?

Maybe I should ask Horst, she thought, as she headed downstairs. He was smart, after all, and unlikely to be sent into danger. The Reich didn’t have enough computer experts to risk losing one on the front lines. At least he’d understand why I had to keep spreading leaflets around…

“Gudrun,” her mother called. “Can you go clean Grandpa Frank’s room?”

You should go do it yourself, Gudrun thought, rebelliously. Perhaps she’d refuse to take her parents in, once they were no longer capable of taking care of themselves. But she knew her mother wouldn’t allow her to escape the job. You don’t want to handle your father yourself.

Gritting her teeth, she hurried back up the stairs and knocked at Grandpa Frank’s door, then opened it to peer inside. The old man was sitting in the armchair, reading the newspaper; he looked surprisingly active, for someone who drank several bottles of beer a day. And yet, when she started to scoop up the bottles, she discovered they were full. Her grandfather hadn’t drunk any of his ration of alcohol.

“Pour them down the sink,” Grandpa Frank ordered. He sounded sober, too. “Or just stick them back in the fridge.”

Gudrun eyed him. “You’re sober.”

Grandpa Frank gave her a sarcastic look. “Would you rather I was drunk?”

“No,” Gudrun said, after a moment. Grandpa Frank knew. If he got drunk, if he blurted it out in front of her parents, she was dead. Her father would drag her out of university, marry her off to some knuckle-dragging moron and deny he’d ever had a daughter. “But I thought you needed the drink…”

“I find that confession unburdens the mind,” Grandpa Frank said. He put the newspaper down on the table and smiled at Gudrun, rather unpleasantly. “Not that I ever set foot in a church after I returned from the war. I had the impression I’d be violently rejected after everything I’d done.”

Gudrun nodded, although she didn’t really understand. The Reich didn’t encourage church attendance; indeed, families who did attend church regularly could expect to be asked some pretty harsh questions. She knew very little about organised religion, save for what she’d been taught in school – and much of what she’d been taught, she suspected, was outright lies. Had the great Christian, Jesus Christ, really been killed by the evil Jews? Or was there something more to the story? And just what had really happened on Christmas Day?

She finished cleaning the room – thankfully, a sober grandfather meant less mess – and piled the rubbish into a small bag. Her mother didn’t seem to have noticed that her father was sober, although that proved nothing. Gudrun hadn’t been paying attention to much of anything over the last few days. She gave her grandfather a sidelong look, then took a breath and leaned forward. If he was sober, maybe he could answer a question or two.

“Father wants me to marry soon,” she said. “Is there any way I can dissuade him?”

Grandpa Frank shrugged. “You’re a healthy young woman,” he said, after a moment. “It is natural for you to have a husband. Your father won’t be there to look after you for the rest of your life.”

“I don’t want to get married,” Gudrun said. “Not… not like this. I want to finish my education and get a proper job.”

“You could always have four children very quickly,” Grandpa Frank suggested. “You’d be able to apply for a maid once you won the Mutterkreuz. And then you could go back to your studies.”

“I don’t think I’d be allowed to let the maids raise the children,” Gudrun said. Only very wealthy families could afford to hire German maids. “And my husband might start eying the maids.”

“Standards have slipped,” Grandpa Frank agreed, dryly. “Make sure you get the maids fixed before you allow them to sleep in your house.”

Gudrun shuddered. She didn’t want to think about her future husband, assuming she ever had one, sleeping with the maids.

“But you have other problems,” Grandpa Frank added. “Have you done anything else?”

“Not yet,” Gudrun said. The university was buzzing with talk, but most of it was nothing more than talk. “I don’t know how to proceed.”

“You need to make alliances outside the university,” Grandpa Frank told her, curtly. “If there’s just a handful of you, the SS will find it easy to isolate and crush your little band.”

“I see,” Gudrun said. She shook her head. “But every time we try to make contact with someone else, we run the risk of being uncovered.”

“Then make the invitation public,” Grandpa Frank said. “You need to concentrate on leaderless resistance, not establishing a strict hierarchy. That’s what did in the French Resistance.”

Gudrun nodded, slowly. “Thank you, Grandpa.”

Grandpa Frank shrugged. “Bring me some coffee,” he said. He waved his hand dismissively. “And see if you can fill a couple of bottles with water for me.”

“I’ll do my best,” Gudrun said. Coffee was growing more expensive, according to her mother. “At least water is still free.”