Sabine stared across the expanse of the factory, trying to convince herself that this job wasn’t so bad. Unfortunately, her mind didn’t buy it and dissatisfaction seeped into her soul like bitter medicine. In fact, she hated working at the factory, but then again, she recognized the futility of any form of protest.
The Arbeitsamt had assigned her to work there and like any good citizen, she’d obeyed. While her current station was monotonous, the work was easy and not physically demanding. As far as jobs went, there were much worse positions out there and she had no desire to experience any of them personally. Like cleaning the rubble from the streets after the air raids. Although, to tell the truth, she suspected such hard labor served as some kind of penal assignment. The people doing it looked awfully like prisoners in their striped uniforms.
She side-glanced at the empty station right next to her. The woman working that station hadn’t shown up for work two days ago and no one seemed to know her whereabouts. Sabine wondered whether she’d been killed during a bombing or maybe taken away by the Gestapo. Those things happened, although they obviously were seldom confirmed.
Her hands busy assembling rifle parts, she noticed one of the supervisors heading in her direction and ducked her head, keeping her eyes focused on the task. She’d made it a habit to make herself as invisible as possible, and rarely socialized with her coworkers.
Women who irritated the supervisors never fared well. They usually got moved to stations with a higher risk of injury or physically hard work.
“Frau Mahler,” her superior’s voice interrupted her musings.
“Yes?” She looked up at the old and well-fed man.
“This is your new coworker, Frau Klausen. I want you to show her the ropes.” He stepped aside to give way to an older woman standing behind him. Frau Klausen had graying hair, and the wrinkles lining her face testified as much to her age as to the privations every Berlin woman had to suffer on a daily basis. The somber black dress that peeked out from under the ugly grey-blue protective apron spoke of the hardships of more than five years of war and clothing rationing.
“Of course, Herr Meier.” Sabine groaned inwardly. Teaching Frau Klausen the ropes would set her back in reaching her own quota, which was never a good thing.
Herr Meier disappeared, leaving a shell-shocked-looking Frau Klausen standing next to Sabine. Sabine couldn’t help but feel sympathy for the older woman.
“Thank you for teaching me, Frau Mahler,” Frau Klausen said. “This is the first time in my life I’m required to work outside the house, but I promise I’m a quick study.”
Sabine nodded, but then thought better of it and gave her a smile. “You’ll get the hang of it pretty soon. Here, I’ll show you.” She proceeded to show her new coworker the motions needed to assemble the standard-issue Karabiner 98k.
Frau Klausen looked even more shell-shocked when she noticed what emerged from under Sabine’s hands. As promised, Frau Klausen was a quick study and didn’t need much handholding. Sabine especially appreciated her quietude. The older woman didn’t chat on incessantly about fashion, gossip or men like some of her younger coworkers did.
Throughout the morning Sabine kept an eye on her coworker, giving her tips on how to work faster or with more accuracy. But apart from this, she kept her distance, as there was no reason to become friendly with anyone.
As the gong sounded to indicate lunch break, Sabine rubbed her hands across the rough material of the protective apron. She set the rifle parts down to walk to the small rest area, where she’d earlier stored her lunch. She’d already taken a few steps away from her workstation when she looked back to see a completely out-of-her-depth Frau Klausen.
“Did they give you a tour of the factory yet?” she asked.
“Not yet. I suppose I’ll have to figure things out on my own,” Frau Klausen said with a tired smile, rubbing her back and stretching her shoulders.
Sabine sighed. “Come with me. I’ll show you where everything is.”
“Thank you. That is very kind of you. Have you worked here for long?” Frau Klausen asked, falling into step beside her.
Sabine shrugged her shoulders. “Long enough to know this is not my dream job, but it helps the war effort so…here I am.” They arrived at the break room where the women had the opportunity to heat up their lunch or buy something with their ration cards. Most of them, though, just ate some lukewarm soup brought in a thermos, or a hearty sandwich.
Another coworker, Elise, approached them. Sabine involuntarily ducked her head, because she feared the inevitable.
“Hi, I’m Elise. What’s your name?”
“Frau Klausen.” The older woman seemed as unwilling to engage in random chit-chat as Sabine herself.
“How come an old lady like you works here?” Elise asked, and Sabine inwardly cringed.
But Frau Klausen took it in stride and answered with a pleasant voice, “My husband is a prisoner of war in Russia and our four kids are all grown and don’t need me anymore, so the Arbeitsamt decided I could best serve the Fatherland working here.”
“Oh yes, isn’t it exciting?” Elise jumped up and down, clapping her hands. “We’re helping the Führer to win the war. Assembling rifles. That’s such an important job to do for a young girl like me, don’t you think?”
“Your enthusiasm is admirable,” Frau Klausen said with a voice entirely devoid of the enthusiasm she’d just praised.
“Yes. Obviously, I would have loved to work for the Propaganda Ministry, typing up all those wonderful speeches Goebbels and his employees are giving. But my typing speed was too slow…and you know, I never was really keen on school. I always thought I’d marry by eighteen and have a handful of children…but my sweetheart left for war, and so here I am doing my bit. It’s such important work. Can you even imagine, that one of the rifles I assembled may be given to a brave German soldier to kill those depraved Russians?” Elise’s face brightened the room like anti-aircraft searchlights at night.
Frau Klausen’s lips pursed at the gush of words from the young woman and she bit into a piece of bread with heavenly-smelling cheese.
“So, what are your children doing?” Elise asked.
“My only son is a Wehrmacht soldier, currently somewhere in occupied Poland. He might be carrying one of your rifles—”
“Oh yes, isn’t that exciting?” Elise blurted out and started another monologue about the greatness of war in general, and Hitler in particular. Sabine had long ago decided to tune out the exuberance from Elise and some of the other girls. She might have been like them five years ago, but ever since she’d had two miscarriages she valued life a lot more. And war meant taking lives. Her stomach clenched. Two years had passed since the last miscarriage, and she still threatened to break out in tears every time she saw a pregnant woman.
Thankfully, the bell announcing the end of lunch break tore her from her morose thoughts.
“Lunchtime is over,” Sabine said, standing up and smoothing her hands over her hair, to make sure the rolls and curls were still in place. At work they weren’t allowed to wear their hair down due to the risk of injury, so she’d ingeniously invented a special hairdo that had all the elegance of the hair down, combined with the required work safety rules. She secretly called it the Sabine Roll.
“Thank you for showing me around and eating lunch with me,” Frau Klausen said on the way back to their workstations.
“You’re very welcome.” Sabine increased her work pace to make up for the time lost demonstrating Frau Klausen the tasks, and spent the remainder of her shift thinking about her new coworker.
It was obvious that the woman missed her husband and son very much. Although she hadn’t exactly said so, the longing on her face had given her away. Sabine knew she herself was privileged, because Werner’s work made him exempt from service, and she could only wonder how she would cope should he be sent away.
She loved him so much that just imagining something happening to him tore at her heart. Even after five years of marriage she felt the same butterflies and wobbly knees as on the day he first kissed her. A smile escaped her expression of concentration. Tragedies like the loss of their unborn babies could tear a couple apart or bond them tighter together. In her case the latter was true.