Little Marlene

Marlene didn't speak a word of the people downstairs—not directly. Her body was rigid, almost frozen in place. Her nervosity matched her husband's; his fingers drummed against the table. Both of their facial expressions were emotionless, but their eyes gave them away. Fear and uncertainty clouded the blue skies. 

They sat at opposite sides of the dining room table. Martin gazed out the window, into the dark night that shielded the world from his gaze. He wasn't sure what he was looking for, but his gaze traveled up and down the street. Perhaps sweeping for headlights, a car that didn't belong to their street, or a lone stranger. Or maybe nothing at all. Marlene stared at the rows and rows of pretty intricately painted or carved cups and glasses.

Neither of them spoke for a long while. 

Marlene broke the silence, unable to bear it any longer. 

"When you go to Strassburg-."

"If I go to Srassburg," Martin muttered in correction.

"I'll be home alone with the children. What am I to do if men show up at the door like they did tonight?"

"You'll open it and let them inside."

"And what if they search the basement and find..."

"You're going to have to be careful, Marlene. You've helped me this entire time and we've never..."

"I know." She said bluntly. "But I'm afraid."

"So am I," Martin admitted. He felt terrible. Not only was he going to leave her here—the woman who was Franz's wife—but he was also leaving her in a dangerous situation. He was sure that Franz would have been sure of what to do, and even if he hadn't been sure, he'd have been able to comfort her or crack a joke and ease the tension.

"I'm going to burn the letters, Franz." She said. There were tears in her eyes. She looked at him with a pleading expression. "Don't be angry Franz, please. But I don't feel comfortable with boxes of...letters...what if they search the rest of the house? I'm a woman, Franz, I don't think they'll treat me like they treated you. I can stand my ground but if they...if there's five of them..."

"Marlene, I understand." Martin cut in. "If you need to burn the letters then do it. I'd like to," he didn't just want to, he needed to, "read them again. First. But if I take the position for the Ahnenerbe, I promise to take care of all the...of all the things. Alright?"

"Yes, Franz." Her eyes glistened with unshed tears, but now gratitude showed through them. "Thank you for understanding."

"I'm the one who's leaving, Marlene," Martin said quietly. They sat there in silence for a few long moments. "If you want me to stay, I will."

"No, darling," she said softly, "I want you to go." She stood up and crossed the room until she was standing in front of him. "I want you to go." She repeated. "Strassburg is beautiful, and I'm sure...I'm sure you'll be able to help."

"Help who?" Martin asked gloomily. 

"Does that matter? I just want it all to be over, darling." She climbed onto his lap and locked her arms around his neck. She rested her head on his shoulder and closed her eyes. "Thank you for not being so...radical anymore. I hated it when you were."

"I still am, Marlene," he whispered, "I want us to win." In that moment Martin felt his control slip away. In the suspense of their discussion and of the Gestapo's visit Franz's body had been ruled by muscle memory and fear - things connected more to the physical and unconscious self than to the conscious mind. For a moment it was as if Martin was only a spectator, who could feel what Franz touched but couldn't control his movements. Franz kissed his wife on the cheek and pulled her closer. "I want us to win." He repeated, "And we will. I promise." With that said the SS-Hauptsturmführer scooped his wife into his arms and stood up. He gazed at her with a mixture of longing and sadness - he was going to miss her. He'd thought serving in the war would be the last time he'd be away from her. Why hadn't he died? Wasn't death better than being forced to part again and again? "I love you, Marlene." He said softly. 

"Please don't go to Strasburg." She begged. 

"I have to go, darling."

"If you go-."

"When I go."

"Oh, Franz."

"Vor der Kaserne vor dem großen Tor,*" He began to sing. His voice was beautiful and comforting. He'd used to sing the song often before the war, especially late at night, when the children were already in bed, when the cars prowling the streets made way for the black cats who took their place in the dead of night, "Stand eine Laterne, und steht sie noch davor. So woll'n wir uns da wiederseh'n. Bei der Laterne woll'n wir steh'n. Wie einst Lili Marleen, wie einst Lili Marleen." Marlene succumbed to his voice and the feel of his arms around her.

Neither of them thought about Strassburg or the Gestapo that night. And - for once - Franz's mind was quiet from Martin's whispers.

...