Berlin blood

From the depths of her eyes he was torn out by volleys of fire and a strong roar. Gunther flinched and abruptly threw the girl to the ground, covering her body with his. It seemed to him that bursts of machine guns were coming through the entrance, and he even closed his eyes, thinking that death had found him again. But after some time, Gunther, still feeling alive, still feeling the girl beneath him, listened and realized that the fire had died down again. Gunther looked at Frau and stood up from her, seeing how much she was trembling, and her eyes were filled with fear. “Now,” said Gunther, “we are going back to the bunker.” And don’t you dare contradict me. What were you doing there anyway? “The man asked indignantly, but the girl was silent and shook even more. Gunther sighed and stood up from the dirty floor where children once ran around. He and the girl hid in one of the private schools, now destroyed by bombs. Richter stuck his head out into the street, turned it from side to side, and then, turning to the girl, said: — Everything seems to be clean. Let’s go. They quickly covered the distance from the school to the bunker, and Gunther even managed to become out of breath with excitement. As soon as they were in a safe place, the lieutenant colonel took a cigarette and a lighter from a battered pouch attached to the belt of his trousers, lit it and asked: — Tell me, what is your name? The girl, like a hunted sheep, was breathing heavily, but still answered: — Ilsa, Ilsa Becker, and you? “She asked in response, and Gunther looked at her point-blank, drowned in her eyes again and could not put his thoughts together, but still said automatically: — Gunther Richter. And in continuation of the conversation, he asked her the previously voiced question about what she was doing while standing in the open space and who she was, in general, and what she did in life. Ilsa, straightening her short hair of a noble blond color, ignoring the first question, said that she lives in a bunker and works as a servant. And only at that moment Gunther noticed that she, like other people of her profession, was dressed in a special uniform. Silence fell between them. Gunther finished smoking his cigarette, and Ilse looked thoughtfully at her savior. “Okay,” Gunther said after a few silent seconds, “and yet, I’m curious, what were you doing out in the open?” “The girl’s face became too serious, and she clearly did not want to answer this question. However, fate was on her side, and another girl in the same servant uniform saved her from answering. “Ilsa,” squeaked a thin voice, “here urgently.” “The second servant beckoned Ilsa with her hand, and Ilsa, darting her gaze towards Richter, nodded briefly to him, saying a quiet thank you and then saying goodbye and leaving. *** — Gunther, do you understand the situation? “The general asked clearly and quickly, standing in the crowd before the next meeting. Gunther thought about his question. Yes, he perfectly understood the state of affairs, because he again came under enemy fire, again hung on the brink of death, and again remained in her debt. How many times could he die and not die, how many times was he saved by chance or luck? Gunther has already lost count. He, like any other soldier, knew that he was just a weapon in the hands of politicians. But who cared? When the war ends, no one will look at this. For the enemy, he is an enemy and will remain an enemy. He will not become good in their eyes, nothing will return to normal, he knows what will happen to him. One desire to make the world clean has crossed out millions of human lives. And even a peace treaty will not save either him or his living comrades. As he looked at the ruins of the city and country, pictures of his youth involuntarily surfaced in his memory. For example, how he ran along these sunlit streets with dozens of strolling couples in the evenings. Gunther remembered laughing faces, satisfied smiles, remembered how happy he was in these places and believed in miracles, and was in a hurry to live. What an idiot he was then when he wanted to quickly become too old. Looking back, he now understood that the ages from fifteen to nineteen were the most beautiful and the best. Gunther remembered how naively he reasoned that at thirty he would have everything, that he wanted to quickly see this figure in his documents. But the older he became, the more clearly he understood that not everything was as simple as he thought. When he did not get what he wanted, his enthusiasm waned and then disappeared completely, and then war came to his country. And now he was the long-awaited thirty years old, and all he could do was obey orders and smile so as not to incur the wrath of his masters. The man emerged from his memories and again found himself in a cold reality, pulling him to the bottom. The general’s adjutant died under fire, and Richter temporarily occupied this position, and it seemed to him that he, too, would not last too long. “Yes, I understand,” Gunther answered in an even voice, as if he had not thought about death a minute ago. “How long do you think,” the general asked again, “how long can we hold out?” Gunther thought for a moment and replied: — No more than a month, even less, I think, even less. The general nodded. “I think the same, Gunther.” “It even turned out to be somewhat sad.” “We have no choice but to follow the Fuhrer’s order and go to our own death or shoot ourselves in the forehead.” — He grinned. Gunther thought that this emotion was out of place. “The Fuhrer doesn’t want to hear from anyone.” He is a madman with a delusion of victory. — Yes, he is crazy, Gunther. You’re right, you’re damn right, my dear friend. The madman whom we once allowed to power, handed it to him on a golden platter, and now we are complaining. He may be completely crazy, but Gunther, please stay alive if I’m gone, and tell everyone who will listen to run anywhere as long as they can get away from here. This is the blackest and most terrible hell. We always thought that hell was deep underground, but no, hell is much closer, it is here, and it cannot be denied that we are all paying back to God for our disobedience. And most importantly, Gunther, save yourself. “After his words, the general walked a good distance away from him and started a conversation with another high-ranking official. Gunther looked after him, sadly understanding the meaning of his words. While everyone was gathering at the round table, Gunther asked for water, because his throat was so dry from such excitement that even his head felt sick. He had drunk almost half the glass when his eyes again caught the girl he saved yesterday. But now she is not a stranger, he knows her name. Ilsa. What a nice name and how it suited her. Gunther wanted to talk to her, and he did not deny himself this pleasure. Richter covered the distance that separated them and began a dialogue: — Hello. The girl visibly flinched and turned around, but Gunther saw that she recognized him and immediately relaxed. — Hello. “She answered him very quietly and barely smiling. He hesitated, not knowing how to continue the conversation and what to say, and did he need to say anything at all? Ilsa looked at him, he at her. They froze for only half a minute, without breaking eye contact, but this time was enough for Gunther to feel calm within himself. — Why are you looking at me like that? “Ilsa still couldn’t stand it first. — How so? — Gunther put on a mask of surprise, as if it was not about his views. Ilsa confused him with her question. He couldn’t admit to her that she attracted him like a magnet. “I look at you absolutely normally, as I look at many people.” — He lied. “I’m just curious, what is it like for you here, among all this crowd of motley soldiers?” Ilsa raised her eyebrows. The question surprised her. “Like any servant, it’s hard for me.” “She answered him with some caution. Gunther nodded. He guessed that the poor girl had a lot of work to do. — I understand you. “He answered in order to at least somehow support this wonderful girl. Ilsa sighed and was struck by revelations: “Many people don’t take us into account.” But such is the role of servants: a huge amount of work can be dumped on us without even bothering to find out whether there are free hands for these tasks. And no one hears us. We asked to take a couple more girls to help, because over the last month there have been many more generals, which means there has also been more work to do. But no one heard us. “Then why are you here, Ilsa?” — Richter asked the obvious question. — And you? — Beckett answered the question with a question. “Well,” Gunther drawled and scratched the back of his head. “I am a soldier, a pilot, and I am forced, like any officer, to be here.” Although, looking at all this,” the man waved his hand around the conference room, where the next meeting will begin any minute, “I don’t even know where it’s worse. Either at this table, or on the front line. Ilsa shrugged. — Everyone decides for themselves where it is worse for them. I don’t think that on the front line they supply water at will. “She chuckled, clearly alluding to the half-empty glass in Mr. Richter’s hand. Richter cleared his throat and repeated his persistent question: — And yet: why are you here? — From the outside it might seem that the man was arrogant and persistent, but in fact Gunther was simply interested in learning at least something more about this girl. “I didn’t really have a choice.” The question of work became acute and there was nowhere else to go except as a servant in this bunker. In 1943, my sick father lived here, and I looked after him until his death, and then I decided to stay here, since I have no one else outside the bunker. But here at least there is a feeling of security, they pay money and feed three times a day. “She paused and looked at Gunther. -You are judging me. — She said confidently. “You think that being a servant is too humiliating a profession.” Gunther shook his head and began to speak passionately: — God bless you, Ilsa. Who am I to judge a person by his profession. Everyone came here for something, for their own reasons, be it hopelessness or their own desire. I understand perfectly well that because of the war, life was not sweet for many. Do you think I’m here of my own free will? I was called, and I did not dare to contradict. Did I have a choice, do I have one now? Ilsa grinned. Only the smile came out sad. — Did it ever take place? — Good question. I think that everything was decided for us a long time ago. Tell me, Ilsa, if it were possible to just take it and run away, to be transported back to the past, to a time when we were happy, would we value that life, knowing in advance that it would be taken away from us? That the sky will become hostile? That a bullet will fly from any pillar? Ilsa thought for a second, then said: “I think there would be those who would remain dissatisfied.” We humans are complex creatures. We complicate where there is no need to do so, and we simplify where it is necessary to complicate. Gunther rubbed his chin. Ilsa’s words carried meaning. — We are fickle and changeable even in our own choices, where are we from the ideal? Ilsa twitched the corners of her lips. “People always have to run forever, so why do we need eternal life if we don’t value what we have in this period of time?” “Ilse…” Gunther said tenderly, surprised at the intonation in his voice. — Tell me, what do you intend to do next after our defeat? “It was important for him to hear her answer, because Gunther himself did not know what kind of life was in store for him after the act of surrender. “I don’t know,” Ilsa shrugged, and the lace on her uniform jumped funny, “probably just to live.” Despite everything. “This is…” Gunther didn’t have time to finish: the door opened behind them, and the Fuhrer entered the hall. His whole appearance was angry and annoyed, and his lips insisted that everyone around him was complete idiots. *** Every day the ranks of the warriors emptied. Some killed themselves, some were removed by order, others ran away and found their death in designated places. Ilsa, along with others, sat in a small servants' room and waited in the wings. She knows that no one will be left alive. They will all be considered traitors. But she was not afraid of death, in truth, she was waiting for it, like an old friend. And she almost met her there, in the open air, but Gunther, that sweet officer in a black uniform, saved her and became her guardian angel. Various thoughts and memories visited her. She thought about those happy days when, together with other children, she had fun and frolicked through the fields and meadows, how she sat in her grandmother’s courtyard in one of the villages on the outskirts of Berlin, how she ran through the wet grass, how she swam in the river until she got goosebumps and blue lips, how she returned to a warm home, to her family. And everyone was alive. And everyone was happy. It seemed to her as if she heard her own girlish laughter in the back of her mind, in the alley of her memory, and it seemed to her that it went beyond the limits of her mind, that it echoed throughout this small room of the bunker, which became her refuge and which never will become her home. Ilsa distantly thought that she was going crazy. She didn’t want to hear her laughter in her head, but wanted to erase these bright memories that only caused pain. And she involuntarily began to think about repeating her crazy act. Suddenly she was brought out of her thoughts by the voice of her colleague. A girl named Clara, barely a little older than Ilsa herself, asked not to feel sorry for her when she decided on a desperate act that would end her life. Others said that everything would be okay, they talked about the value of life, but Ilsa understood that all this was in vain. Clara has already made up her mind, it’s only a matter of time. The conversation was interrupted by a loud explosion and the lights went out in the room. Ilsa didn’t even move, she had already gotten used to it after so many years, because this happens too often here. A minute, two. And the light was turned on again. Their leader, Molly, came into the staff room and ordered Ilse to bring coffee for the Fuhrer’s important guests. Beckett sighed, pushed away all her unnecessary thoughts and got to work.