Winter of the World

They went to the Kurfürstendamm, a street of theatres and shops, always called the Ku’damm. Most of the good German film-makers had gone to Hollywood years ago, and the domestic movies were now second-rate. They saw Three Soldiers, set during the invasion of France.

The three soldiers were a tough Nazi sergeant, a snivelling complainer who looked a bit Jewish, and an earnest young man. The earnest one asked naive questions such as: ‘Do the Jews really do us any harm?’ and in answer received long, stern lectures from the sergeant. When battle was joined the sniveller admitted to being a Communist, deserted, and was blown up in an air raid. The earnest young man fought bravely, was promoted to sergeant, and became an admirer of the Führer. The script was dire but the battle scenes were exciting.

Werner held Carla’s hand all the way through. She hoped he would kiss her in the dark, but he did not.

As the lights came up he said: ‘Well, it was terrible, but it took my mind off things for a couple of hours.’

They went outside and found his car. ‘Shall we go for a drive?’ he said. ‘It could be our last chance. This car goes up on blocks next week.’

He drove out to the Grunewald. On the way, Carla’s thoughts inevitably returned to yesterday’s conversation with Gottfried von Kessel. No matter how many times she went over it in her mind, there was no way she could escape the terrible conclusion all four of them had reached at the end of it. Kurt and Axel had not been accidental victims of a dangerous medical experiment, as she had at first thought. Gottfried had denied that convincingly. But he had not been able to bring himself to deny that the government was deliberately killing the handicapped, and lying to their families about it. It was hard to believe, even of people as ruthless and brutal as the Nazis. Yet Gottfried’s response had been the clearest example of guilty behaviour that Carla had ever witnessed.

When they were in the forest Werner pulled off the road and drove along a track until the car was hidden by shrubbery. Carla guessed he had brought other girls to this spot.

He turned out the lights, and they were in deep darkness. ‘I’m going to speak to General Dorn,’ he said. Dorn was his boss, an important officer in the Air Force. ‘What about you?’

‘My father says there’s no political opposition left, but the churches are still strong. No one who is sincere about their religious beliefs could condone what’s being done.’

‘Are you religious?’ Werner asked.

‘Not really. My father is. For him, the Protestant faith is part of the German heritage he loves. Mother goes to church with him, though I suspect her theology might be a bit unorthodox. I believe in God, but I can’t imagine He cares whether people are Protestant or Catholic or Muslim or Buddhist. And I like singing hymns.’

Werner’s voice fell to a whisper. ‘I can’t believe in a God who allows the Nazis to murder children.’

‘I don’t blame you.’

‘What is your father going to do?’

‘Speak to the pastor of our church.’

‘Good.’

They were silent for a while. He put his arm around her. ‘Is this all right?’ he said in a half-whisper.

She was tense with anticipation, and her voice seemed to fail. Her reply came out as a grunt. She tried again, and managed to say: ‘If it stops you feeling so sad . . . yes.’

Then he kissed her.

She kissed him back eagerly. He stroked her hair, then her breasts. At this point, she knew, a lot of girls would call a halt. They said if you went any further you would lose control of yourself.

Carla decided to risk it.

She touched his cheek while he was kissing her. She caressed his throat with her fingertips, enjoying the feel of the warm skin. She put her hand under his jacket and explored his body, her hand on his shoulder blades and his ribs and his spine.

She sighed when she felt his hand on her thigh, under her skirt. As soon as he touched her between her legs she parted her knees. Girls said a boy would think you cheap for doing that, but she could not help herself.

He touched her in just the right place. He did not try to put his hand inside her underwear, but stroked her lightly through the cotton. She heard herself making noises in her throat, quietly at first but then louder. Eventually she cried out with pleasure, burying her face in his neck to muffle the sound. Then she had to push his hand away because she felt too sensitive.

She was panting. As she began to get her breath back she kissed his neck. He touched her cheek lovingly.

After a minute she said: ‘Can I do something for you?’

‘Only if you want to.’

She was embarrassed by how much she wanted to. ‘The only thing is, I’ve never . . .’

‘I know,’ he said. ‘I’ll show you.’

(iv)