The feverish dreams occurred every morning as he prepared to cross the threshold from sleep to wakefulness, so vivid as to seem entirely real. He could smell the scent of her hair, he could feel the softness of her skin as he pressed up against her, feeling her gentle curves against his solid body. He could hear her quiet, contented sigh as she snuggled closer, rubbing against him.
Was it innocent or intentional? He was never certain.
He could hear his name on her lips, her voice groggy but sweet, and he could feel her warmth. He could feel how ready she was for him, always prepared to sate his desires, how snugly her body fit his own. There was nothing more wonderful, to wake up next to his beloved wife, the woman he had chosen to be his comrade and lover, the keeper of his home.
He jerked awake with a kick, shocked out of the semi-lucid reverie. No crisp sheets, no beautiful woman curled against him, no peaceful home, no warmth, no love.
All he had was a corner of a godforsaken Russian barn, a dirty uniform, and a new, telltale stain tarnishing his standard issue wool blanket.
Someday, though…
Training her to be his good Nazi wife
What does a German woman do?
She is a comrade and a helpmate to her husband. She bears several children. She raises her family in a happy and efficient home.
What does a German man look for in a wife?
He seeks a woman with a clean racial heritage. A sense of thrift. A love of children. A passion for domesticity. Cheerfulness. Patience. A nurturing personality. A woman who will support him but ultimately submit to his authority.
What is the goal of a German woman?
She aims to use her feminine gifts to contribute to the well-being and build the future of her Volk and her Reich. She partners with her husband to be the softness to his strength, the gentleness to his hardness, the creator to the defender, the giver of life to the bringer of death.
The silly essays she had once written at the behest of her BdM troop leader sounded trite now, but their concise summaries of what was expected of her served as a vague guide. She was a wife now. Soon she would become a mother. The moment she had put on that white dress and accepted the bread and salt and the ring that Heinz had given her, her life had changed forever.
The reality of the essays, now that she had a bit of experience in marriage, would have more accurately read as follows:
What does a German woman do?
She wakes before dawn to begin the day’s work. She eats a potato for breakfast to save the bread for her husband. She racks her brain to think of something creative to do for supper despite the rationing. She listens to the radio and worries about her loved ones. She sews blankets and swaddling cloths for the firstborn child she is expecting. In the evening, she greets her man at the door and brings him a drink. She listens to his comments on her cooking and her housekeeping, his criticisms that reveal he understands nothing about running a household. At night, she falls into bed, exhausted and uncomfortable, and yet she receives his affections without hesitation, because that is what is required of her.
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