“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.”