Berlin blood

The morning greeted Ilsa with coolness and fog. Going out onto the streets of Berlin, Becker realized that the city had become alien to her. The occupiers, in the form of the British and Americans, treated the Germans carelessly, behaved disrespectfully and humiliated their nation. Ilsa once again tried to keep a low profile, so as not to incur the wrath of these supposed liberators. The Soviet soldiers treated us much better, but now there are many fewer of them in the city. Ah, if Gunther were next to her, Ilse would be calm. All their dreams of escape collapsed overnight, but Ilsa, like a brave warrior, was not going to give up. Even though Gunther wrote that he might not get out of captivity, Ilse believed that they would meet again. And she was ready to help by hook or by crook in order to achieve the release of Gunther Richter. Ilsa walked past the Reichstag, on the dilapidated dome of which the red banner of victory, belonging to the army of the Soviet Union, fluttered in the wind. Russian songs sounded in the distance, loud laughter was heard, and for a second Ilsa thought she heard the clink of filled glasses. For three months now she had been living alone, coping with everything herself and waiting for at least some good news from Gunther. Ilsa reached the newspaper counter, behind which stood a young girl, and asked: — Did you bring anything fresh? “The girl nodded and took out a new issue of the local newspaper from the top shelf. Ilsa handed over the money for it, and then asked in a whisper: “Is there anything for me personally?” “The saleswoman shook her head negatively, and Ilsa, sighing, thanked her for the newspaper she sold and walked back towards her shelter. On the way, she unfolded the newspaper and began to read the latest news. On the front page it was written that the trial of prisoners of war would take place tomorrow in Nuremberg. The girl’s heart began to pound, and her throat immediately went dry. “So that’s where Gunther will be taken,” Becker thought. She immediately folded the newspaper in half and threw it into the nearest trash can, because now this piece of paper was no longer interesting to her. Her legs quickened her pace, and in a matter of minutes Ilsa found herself in the very shelter from which she and Gunther were supposed to leave three months ago. She gathered her modest belongings, took the remaining money and hurried to the station in time to buy a train ticket to Nuremberg. It was noisy at the station, and Ilsa even for a split second got lost in this hubbub and too huge crowd of people. Living in a bunker, and then in solitude in a small room, Becker completely forgot what it was like to be in the thick of things, in this hopeless human stream. She managed to buy a ticket for the next train and considered herself incredibly lucky: after all, the next flight to Nuremberg would not be earlier than in two days. The train was leaving in fifteen minutes, and Ilsa, having bought herself a small bun to satisfy her hunger, went to the platform. Having found the right carriage, she showed the ticket and fake passport to the inspector and, after checking, slipped into the carriage with her small travel bag. There were only seats in her carriage, and Ilsa made her way through the rows, trying to find a more private place. She saw that there were many women with sad faces sitting in the carriage and decided that they were also going to court to see their husbands, brothers, friends, lovers. She sat down in the very corner and was pleasantly surprised that no one started talking to her. Sometimes it seemed to Ilse that during the time spent in the bunker, she had completely forgotten how to communicate on abstract topics and had gone wild, and only Gunther made her want to talk. Perhaps she should have talked to someone, but this needed a better time. The train started at exactly ten, as expected, and Ilsa, leaning back on the hard seat, began to watch the landscape quickly passing behind the slightly stained glass window. Time passed slowly and the train made too many stops. At almost every one of them, inspectors came in and asked time after time to take out documents and show tickets. By the end of the journey, Ilsa was pretty exhausted and already on the platform she was thinking that she was ready to lie down on the nearest bench just to rest. People around her were in a hurry: some were pulling struggling children behind them, some were carrying a small dog under their armpits, some were dragging huge suitcases, as if they could fit the whole house. Ilsa just stood there and thought about what she should do next. So she arrived in the city where her love was imprisoned in one of the prisons, and she couldn’t even imagine how she would save Gunther from the fate of being executed or convicted, but she knew one thing for sure: she would try to do it. The sun was in the second half of the sky, and its rays spread across the city. It no longer burned as hot as in summer, but still warmed the air to a warm temperature. Ilsa left the station and walked along the houses, looking for stands with advertisements for renting a room for a few days. The city turned out to be beautiful. The small houses with roofs made of red tiles were pleasing to the eye, and there was a feeling that life here was completely different. It was different, not the same as in Berlin, which smelled through and through of rot and blood. Even the air here was cleaner, and I wanted to breathe it in as often as possible. After walking a few blocks, Ilsa came across a sign for a cafe and decided to go inside to rest a little and perhaps ask the locals about rooms for rent. She opened the door to an almost empty room and walked to the far table that stood near the window. Sitting down behind him, she felt her legs humming gratefully. However, her solitude did not last long. Suddenly, a young, thin man in a raincoat and hat, like some detective, who looked not even thirty years old, sat down next to her. — Ilse Becker? — He asked with a very strong accent. Ilsa panicked within herself. And she shook her head negatively. The man grinned and suddenly took out a crumpled ticket from his raincoat. He placed it in front of Ilsa and said: “Ten minutes ago you threw it in the trash.” Judging by the data, it belonged to Ilse Becker. — Who you are? What you need? “Ilsa said a little hysterically. — So it’s you. “The man nodded to himself and took off his hat. — What you need? — Ilsa repeated her question. She was already thinking about escape routes in case this man wanted to arrest her. — I’m Andreas, an acquaintance of Gunther’s. He and I served together at the beginning of the war. — And what? “Ilsa crossed her arms over her chest and tried to calm down. “Gunther asked me to find you and help if anything happens.” We agreed to meet after the war in a certain place, but I learned that he was captured before you could leave Berlin. Ilsa was still wary of this man. “Why weren’t you taken then?” And why do you have such a clear accent? “I’m French,” Andreas answered her, “I owe my life to Gunther.” He saved me from death. As for why they didn’t take me, I don’t think it’s that important. Something else is important now, Ilsa. “He leaned forward slightly. “I learned something about how the trial will proceed.” Ilsa brought her eyebrows to the bridge of her nose. — How do you know that I came here because of the trial? Have you been following me? — Come on, Ilsa. — The man waved his hand. — Nuremberg is not such a popular city, but today there are crowds of women here. It’s not hard to guess where they all arrived. But yes,” he sighed, “I have been following you.” I wanted to show up earlier, but I decided that this would be the perfect place to show all my cards. —Have you seen Gunther? Andreas shook his head. — The last time we met was in April. That’s when he decided to escape with you. Gunther is a very good strategist in life. He knew everything in advance and began careful preparations for your retreat long before the Soviet victory. We have thought through all the situations and ways to solve them. Ilsa nodded, gradually beginning to believe this man who appeared at such an opportune time. “Okay,” Becker said slowly, still uncertainly, “what about the trial?” — The trial will take more than one day. Each prisoner will be tried in several stages. Gunther will most likely be judged after the generals and the rest of the top. I hope he is not sentenced to death. In my opinion, Richter could be given either life or twenty, maybe fifteen years in prison without the right to appeal. We all put on our uniforms and were forced to serve our country. I’ll let you know when his hearing starts, okay? Ilsa nodded. — I’ll wait for him, Andreas. I didn’t come here just like that. He is my love, my life and without him I would be lost. Andreas twitched the corners of his lips. “Your feelings are mutual, Ilsa, rest assured of that.” — You think so? “If it weren’t for love, Gunther would hardly have bothered about you and your well-being in case he was captured.” I have never seen him so concerned, but he made me promise several times that not a single hair would fall from your head. Ilsa’s breath caught. She never thought she could mean so much to someone. — I rented a room in a hotel. Let me take you there and we’ll book a room for you too. And together we will follow the news, and it will be easier for me. So at least I will know that you are behind the wall and that you are safe. Fine? — Yes OK. Thank you, Andreas. He took her to a hotel, which turned out to be cozy, and Ilse even felt somehow calmer inside. Andreas paid for her room and walked her to the door, saying that he himself would be at the beginning of the corridor, behind door fifty-one, and that she could turn to him for help at any time. Ilsa thanked her savior again and went to rest. Entering the room for one person, Ilsa first washed herself, and then changed clothes and fell onto a soft bed, on which she had not lay for a long time. The beds in the bunker were hard, like the bed in her temporary shelter, and therefore the body immediately relaxed, and sleep did not take long to come. Closing her eyes, Becker plunged into the realm of dreams. She dreamed of the Champs Elysees in France and how she walked along them with Gunther on her arm. It was quiet and calm around, and Ilsa believed that this was the kind of life they deserved. But at the same time, she understood that this life was so far from reality, so unreal, and this realization made her feel a painful pain in the chest area. She understood that no matter where they were, the past would not let them go. It will always be inside them, and all they have to do is just come to terms with it.