Only after the door slammed shut after him did Johann allow himself to break into soft sobbing.
Of course he cared for his wife and children. He cared so much that not a day went by that he didn’t think of them. Thoughts of Mina were the only thing that got him through days and nights which morphed into one never-ending nightmare when memories of her sweet face and loving arms became the only salvation from this terror around him. On certain days, he was afraid that he would break. He was always afraid that Rudi would come to visit him during such moments of weakness. But no, so far, it was only the Russian commissar and it was rather easy to say no to him.
They took him back to the “fascists” barracks eventually and a few more months passed in the same routine. Work◦– sleep◦– interrogations in between, with Rudi and the Russian altering their roles. Soon, Johann didn’t even care which one was saying what.
It was worse in the accountant’s office on mail days, when the former SS camp fellow would break into a rare smile and even go as far as showing Johann a picture of his family.
“My youngest is two already! Look how big he has grown! A little man…” He always smiled fondly after turning the picture back to himself. “And here’s my Alma. She wrote me a letter, all by herself, imagine that? She’s five. She writes, Papa, come back soon, we all miss you very much. How about that? My little sweetheart.”
That’s when the solitude became unbearable.
Today, it was a Rudi day. He seemed different, agitated for some reason.
“Here.” He quickly thrust something into Johann’s hand. “Read it but fast! If someone finds out I gave it to you, it’ll be off with my head.”
Johann stared at the familiar handwriting in utter disbelief before tearing into the paper like a starved man tearing into a loaf of bread.
“Dearest Johann! We’re all fine here. Gerd and Willi are fine too…”
Johann quickly wiped a tear.
“Your parents and Harald are sending their best regards and hope for your return…”
They’re fine as well◦– thank God! Everybody’s alive… Johann quickly read the rest◦– simple, ordinary life which seemed so distant, so unattainable now. Reluctantly, he handed the letter back to Rudi, who quickly lowered it into his pocket, offering Johann a sad, apologetic grin. Only now did Johann notice that he was holding another piece of paper in his hand. A scowl creased Johann’s brow.
“Just sign this paper, and you will be out of here.” Rudi tilted his head to one side, almost pleading. “You’ll be home with your family in just a few days.”
Even that was a ploy. A little glimpse of human kindness, for which Johann mistook as real. That sly move was a mere sham like everything else here.
“What do you want me to sign?” He rubbed his forehead tiredly.
“First of all, your confession that you, as part of the German Army, maliciously attacked the Soviet Union and committed war crimes during your service. It’s a mere formality,” Rudi interrupted a protest that was ready to fly off Johann’s lips, “nothing more. Just to appease them. And then, you’ll sign your agreement to work for the air force in Eastern Germany. Don’t you want to go back to flying?”
“I do.” Johann nodded. “But not like that.”
“What’s the difference?”
“There’s a big difference. I don’t want my name to be associated with any war crimes! You know perfectly well that I’m not a war criminal! I never did anything wrong besides doing my duty before my country. I shot at the enemy aircraft just like they shot at mine. I never wronged any civilian and never abused a single prisoner of war. I will not confess to something I didn’t do.”
“But it’s a mere nothing!”
“It’s my good name and honor. The only things I have left.”
They fought with him for three more years, with pretty much the same results. Then, at the beginning of 1950, a big announcement came. Some of them would be repatriated in the course of the next few weeks.
“Your name can be on that list too.” It was the camp commandant this time, with his usual kind smile. “In case you change your mind, you know where to find me.”
Johann watched the men depart longingly but never walked into the commandant’s office except for delivering the accounting books.
There was a handful of them, who remained, obstinate asses. They managed to cheer each other up by reminiscing about good old army days and by trading stories when nothing else could be traded. It was bearable for the most part, but then a rare letter would arrive and the smile on a prisoner’s face would drop slowly and morph into a death mask worse than those that Johann had seen on actual dead men’s faces.
“No, I don’t blame her, really,” the prisoner would sigh, his shoulders drooping. “Five years is a long time. And she’s a young woman, of course… That all is understandable too…”
Those “unofficial divorce letters” were much worse than starvation, than all the hardships and all the commissars put together. It had a horrible effect on all of them, for even the ones who had never gotten such dreadful mail, would start tormenting themselves with thoughts of their wives and girlfriends, left behind. Five years! Who would blame them for not waiting?
The commissars appeared to catch onto that too.
“Your wife is asking you for a divorce.” The familiar Russian waved a letter in front of Johann’s face one summer day. “Would you care to sign?”
“You’re lying. She wouldn’t leave me,” Johann replied calmly, hoping that the commissar wouldn’t see his knuckles turning white as he clasped his hands on his knee.
“She found herself a new husband,” the commissar continued, his eyes following the lines in the letter. “She says, his name is Karl, he works in the police and he’s very good with children. She’s asking you to forgive her and hopes that you won’t hold it against her. She simply had to think of her family. The children needed a provider.”
Johann didn’t reply to anything. Lies. It’s nothing but lies, he kept repeating to himself like the most ardent of prayers.
“You see what you achieved with your obstinacy, Brandt? You could have gone home anytime you wanted but you chose to be stubborn for no reason. Look where it got you! Now, you’ve lost your wife, together with your children. And all because of your pigheaded attitude.”
Johann kept staring straight ahead of himself.
“Don’t you have anything to say?”
“Can I go back to work?”
“Yes, you can go back to work.”
Without seeing anything in front of himself, he stumbled back into the accountant’s office and fell into the chair, a heap of bones and broken hopes. A new accountant sat at the table; the SS fellow had gone home to Germany two months ago.
The Gulag. Autumn 1951
The commandant moved a paper toward him in a familiar gesture.
“Sign here.”
No preamble this time.
Johann had just opened his mouth to protest when the commandant spoke calmly. “It’s your release form. You don’t want to sign that either?”
Johann stepped forward and looked at the paper. It was in Russian, but by now he spoke it well enough to understand that it was not the usual NKVD garbage. I hereby state that I was not mistreated in any way during the time of my incarceration…
Could it be true? Were they indeed releasing him?
“Sign, sign, don’t fret! It’s real.” The commandant laughed. “You’re going home, Brandt. Congratulations.”
He signed under his name and shook the commandant’s outstretched palm. Together with about fifty prisoners, he was herded into showers and then given some roughly sewn clothes◦– much too baggy for their emaciated forms that resembled scarecrows much more than human beings. He still didn’t believe it when an old bus took their sorry lot to a train station. He still looked for some malice in it even when the train started rolling westward, taking them further and further from the place of their imprisonment. Only when they crossed the border with Germany did it dawn on him that he was home at last… only was there anyone home waiting for him? He thought about it long and hard and decided to go to his parents’ house instead of Berlin.