“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.”
Chapter Twenty-Four
Albert Speer University, Berlin
7 August 1985
If Horst had been genuinely interested in rooting out dissidents, he would have filed a whole series of complaints about the ‘transfer students’ he was forced to supervise. They were laughably underprepared for their roles; indeed, they fitted in so badly that he couldn’t help wondering if his superiors had deliberately intended to make their watching eyes so noticeable that even a rank amateur would have spotted them before they opened their mouths. Maybe their real goal was to divert attention away from Horst and his fellow agents, the men and women who actually blended into the university’s population… it was, he felt, the only explanation that suggested his superiors weren’t terrifyingly incompetent.