The German Wife(5)

That was the kind of girl I was, once upon a time.



3


Sofie

Huntsville, Alabama
1950

Right up until they tumbled into bed just after sunset, Gisela was clingy with Jürgen and Felix was terrified of him. It was going to take time for us to reconnect as a family. As I took a shower to freshen up, I reminded myself that, surreal as it was, we were in America to stay, and one thing we had plenty of was time.

Freshly bathed and in clean nightclothes, I joined Jürgen at the dining room table. The house contained only essential furniture, plus a lonely bunch of flowers on the dining room table that Jürgen purchased to “warm the place up” for me.

He opened a bottle of wine and was reading some paperwork as he waited. Had he noticed the strands of silver at my hairline, just as I noticed that his hair was thinning a little at the crown? Jürgen closed the folder and pushed the documents away as I sat beside him, then poured two glasses of the wine.

“Right up until today, when I saw you on the bus, I was terrified you’d change your mind.”

“I did have second thoughts. Constantly,” I admitted, accepting a glass. “Berlin is a mess, but it’s home.”

“Why did you decide to join me?”

“You, mostly,” I admitted. Jürgen set down his glass and took my hand. He’d been touching me all afternoon—brushing my hair back from my face, cupping my cheek, hugging me. After five of the loneliest years of my life, I was basking in the attention. “Germany is still in ruins, and the wreckage of the national psyche and the culture is even worse. But I’d have stayed there, lamenting everything that happened, feeling broken about it all, probably for the rest of my life.”

A sudden shame sprang to Jürgen’s gaze. I knew he was thinking about the millions of souls injured or killed in our name...on our watch. I did that too, constantly cycling through memories and facts, as if this time when I played them through my mind, I could change the outcome. “I spent the first few years after the war focused on surviving and it was hard enough to get through each day. It was like I’d been sleepwalking, and when your letter arrived and I learned you’d survived, I suddenly woke up. Despite everything that has happened, the crisis is over and now there has to be an after. I don’t know how we move on from the war, but I do know that Gisela and Felix and I have the best chance of finding happiness with you. That’s why I’m here—to be with you, to build a future with you, to do good here with you.”

“But...” Jürgen said carefully. “No Laura?”

I already had plans to write to tell our eldest daughter about Huntsville and to send her a photograph of us with Jürgen in case that softened her heart. On some level, I knew that such efforts would be pointless. I just had no idea how to let her go.

“A few months after the war ended, I had an especially miserable day. It was hard to find food, the electric was still out...and I was heavily pregnant with Felix,” I admitted sadly. “I wondered aloud if we’d ever know what happened to you. Laura told me that if you wrote and she found your letter, she would burn it. I knew she meant it, too—she’d been collecting the mail every day and I thought it was a good sign that she was trying to be helpful. To this day, she is more loyal to the Nazis than she is to her family. When I tried to convince her to come with us to be with you, she ran away...to be with him instead. I haven’t seen her since.”

“I find it so hard to imagine Germany after the Nazis, finding its soul again and rebuilding in a kinder, healthier way,” he said, shaking his head. “I’m less surprised to hear children like our Laura are struggling to move on. She was force-fed that poison through the most impressionable years of her life.”

“I know there was a point along the way where the outcomes could have been different, but I can’t figure out where that was.”

“I still ask myself that question constantly too,” Jürgen said, his gaze steady on mine.

“Is it safe to talk here?” I asked, instantly unnerved at the thought of the conversation veering near contentious subjects. He gave me a sympathetic look.

“Yes, my love.”

“There are no listening devices in this house? You’re sure?”

“I’m certain.”

“It’s just...we thought that the last time.” I knew how small those devices could be—how cleverly they could be hidden.

“We are safe here. I remember how difficult it was for me to get used to that, but I promise it’s true.” His expression suddenly softened. “You must have so many questions. Let me try to answer them before you even have to ask.”

A few days after Berlin fell to the Soviets, Jürgen and I were lying in our bed, holding one another as we planned his surrender. A knock came at the door just after dawn, and he opened it anxiously, expecting to find Soviet soldiers to take him in. But these men were Americans—miles ahead of the rest of the US forces, on a covert mission to retrieve my husband. He went willingly. I watched him walk down the path, and then for over three years, I had no idea what became of him. I gave birth to Felix and celebrated three birthdays with him before I could even tell Jürgen we’d conceived a fourth child.

Life grew more and more difficult in Berlin over those years. Jürgen and I lived in a large villa in the suburb of Lichterfelde West, and we’d inherited the building next door, including the small, now-vacant apartment that had once been Jürgen’s aunt Adele’s home. We had existing tenants in her building, but they were all out of work, and that meant no one was paying their rent. I couldn’t evict them—not only would Adele have come back to haunt me if I tried, but any new tenants would have the same problem anyway.