She felt a sudden flicker of envy. Kurt could refuse, if pressed; he didn’t have an obligation to listen to his parents when it came to choosing a wife. He had a career, he had a life… he could marry a whore from the brothels if he wanted and no one could say no. But Gudrun herself? She had to listen to her parents when it came to getting married.
“I will,” Gerde said, briskly. “And…”
She looked up as her husband returned, his face very pale. Gudrun took one look and knew what he’d been told. Volker Schulze looked like a man who had been punched in the belly, repeatedly.
“Konrad is in hospital,” he said, numbly. “He’s not expected to survive.”
Gerde gasped. “How? Why?”
“There was an ambush, apparently,” Volker Schulze said. He sounded shaken; Gudrun watched with growing concern as he walked over to the cabinet, produced a bottle of expensive imported whiskey from Scotland and poured himself a glass. “Konrad was badly wounded. They did what they could to keep him alive, but… but there was apparently some brain damage. He’s not expected to survive.”
He swallowed the whiskey in one gulp and poured himself another glass. “Gerde, I…”
“My son,” Gerde said. “Where is he?”
“I couldn’t find out,” Volker Schulze said. He downed the second glass of whiskey and refilled it once again. “My contact couldn’t open the entire file. It seems that certain parts of Konrad’s dossier have been sealed. They don’t want anyone to know where he is.”
“He may already be dead,” Gudrun said, shaken. How long had it been since she’d seen his torn and broken body. “They…”
“They’d have listed him as dead and closed the file,” Volker Schulze said, sharply. He stared down at his glass, but didn’t drink. “Konrad… they should have told us.”
“Then the leaflets are correct,” Gudrun said. “Konrad isn’t the only soldier to be wounded or killed in South Africa.”
“They told us it would be a walkover,” Volker Schulze said. He glared at the radio as if it had personally offended him. “That only a handful of soldiers would be killed in the fighting.”
“And if they lied about Konrad,” Gerde added, “how many others have also been killed or wounded?”
Gudrun looked at her. “So what do we do about it?”
“You do nothing, young lady,” Volker Schulze snapped. He swallowed the whiskey, then returned the bottle to the cabinet. “You cannot, obviously, marry my son. I wouldn’t expect you to honour your commitment, such as it was, under these circumstances. I shall speak to your father and inform him that the arrangement has to be cancelled.”
“He isn’t dead,” Gudrun protested. She’d come to the same conclusion herself, but somehow, having it put so bluntly hurt. “I could still…”
“He is a cripple with brain damage,” Volker Schulze snapped. The raw anger in his tone shocked her to the bone. She’d never seen Konrad’s father drink before, let alone lose his temper. “He is certainly no longer capable of fathering children. You would be condemning yourself to life as a permanent nursemaid, assuming he could ever be taken off the machine and go home. I would not ask you to marry him under those conditions.”
He looked down at the empty glass in his hand. “I may have to ask them to turn the machine off and let him die,” he added, sadly. “What sort of life could he have after… after…”
Gerde rose and embraced her husband, holding him tightly. Gudrun looked away, torn between embarrassment and guilt. She’d stripped away the lies they’d told themselves, the hopes they’d clung to… and now, Volker Schulze was drinking and his wife was crying. It was her fault.
But they would have found out sooner or later, she thought, as she rose herself. They would have guessed the truth after Konrad remained silent…
She could feel her own eyes tearing up. If she’d allowed herself to cry for Konrad earlier… she pushed the thought aside. She’d avenge her boyfriend if it was the last thing she did.
“I will speak to your father,” Volker Schulze said, stiffly. “And it would not be proper for you to visit again.”
“Volker,” Gerde snapped.
“I understand,” Gudrun said. As Konrad’s girlfriend, she could go to his house even when he wasn’t present; as an unmarried girl, it wouldn’t be proper for her to visit. “Please tell Liana that I am sorry I won’t be able to speak to her again.”
“You can talk to her outside the house,” Gerde said, sharply. She made a visible effort to calm herself. “If you want to sit here for a while, you can…”
“I’d better go,” Gudrun said. She had no idea what she’d started. What would Konrad’s parents do, now they knew their son was a brain-damaged cripple? Volker Schulze was a stubborn man, one experienced in the ways of the SS. What would he do? “And… I’m sorry.”
“So are we,” Gerde said. “You would have made a good daughter-in-law.”
Perhaps, Gudrun thought. Or perhaps you would have found me a tiresome girl who wanted a career of her own.
She pushed the thought aside as she strode out of the room and out onto the streets, silently grateful that Liana was nowhere in sight. Gudrun wasn’t sure she could have faced Konrad’s sister, not now. And to think Gerde wanted to try to marry Liana to Kurt! Was there a reason they wanted to marry their daughter off at such a young age? What age had Gerde been when she’d married Volker Schulze?
Gudrun was so wrapped up in her thoughts that she was barely aware of her surroundings until she was standing in front of her door, fumbling for the key. Her mother opened the door before she could get the key into the lock, then pulled Gudrun into a hug. Gerde must have called her, Gudrun realised, as she allowed her mother to hold her tightly. Her father probably wouldn’t be home from the station until the evening, unless he came home especially for her. It didn’t seem likely, somehow.
“I’m sorry,” her mother said, as she helped Gudrun into the living room. “I know you loved him.”
Gudrun shuddered, feeling tears welling up in her eyes. “He… he deserved so much better,” she said. “I loved him. We were going to marry and…”
“I know,” her mother said, wrapping an arm around Gudrun’s shoulders. “You and he would have been good together.”
We would have been better than good, Gudrun thought, miserably. She’d bottled up her tears, knowing she dared not cry without a reason she could tell her mother, but now she let them flow freely. Konrad wasn’t dead, yet his life was effectively over. We would have lived together, built a life together and…
“Hey, cry-baby,” Siegfried called, peering into the room. “What’s…”
“Get up to your room and wait until your father gets home,” his mother snapped. Siegfried recoiled in shock. Their mother rarely told off her youngest child. “He’ll have more than a few words to give you.”
She turned back to Gudrun as Siegfried fled up the stairs. “I do understand, my darling,” she whispered into Gudrun’s ear, rocking her like a baby. “Cry all you like. Let it out. There’s nothing else you can do.”
But there is, Gudrun thought, bitterly. The leaflets were just the beginning. We can make the state pay for what it’s done.