The May sky is dreary today. The cold doesn’t want to go away. I sit hunched on the stool in front of our stove, which is barely kept burning with all sorts of Nazi literature. Assuming everyone is doing the same thing – and they are –
I just polished off a pan of cracklings, and am giving myself a thick spread of butter, while the widow paints a black picture of my future. I pay no attention to her. I don’t care about tomorrow. I just want to live as well as I can for now, otherwise I’ll collapse like a wet rag, given our recent way of life. My face in the mirror is round again.
Today the three of us discussed the future. In his mind Herr Pauli is already settling back at his desk at the metal works; he forecasts a huge upturn in the economy with the help of our conquerors. The widow wonders whether she could land a job there herself as a cook, in the factory cafeteria; she’s pessimistic about the modest annuity from her deceased husband’s insurance, and is afraid she’ll have to look for work. And me? Well, at least I’ve studied a number of things; I’m sure I’ll find something. I’m not afraid. I’ll just sail blindly ahead, trusting my little ship to the currents of the times; up to now it’s always managed to carry me to green shores. But our country is despondent, our people are in pain. We’ve been led by criminals and gamblers, and we’ve let them lead us like sheep to the slaughter. And now the people are miserable, smouldering with hate. ‘No tree is high enough for him,’ I heard someone say of Adolf this morning at the pump.
A number of men showed up in the afternoon, German men this time, from our own building. It felt very strange, once again being around men you don’t have the slightest reason to fear, men you don’t have to constantly gauge or be on guard against or keep an eye on. They recounted the saga of the bookseller that is now echoing throughout the building, the tale of how this Bavarian, a gnarled stump of a man, really and truly yelled at a Russian. It all happened right outside the couple’s door, when an Ivan grabbed the bookseller’s wife as she was coming back with water. (She won’t let her husband go to the pump because he was in the party) The woman shrieked, and her husband came running out of the apartment, making straight for the Ivan and shouting, ‘You damned bastard! You prick!’ As the saga has it, the Russian piped down, shrivelled up and backed off. So it can be after all. The Russian’s barbarian-animal instinct must have told him that the bookseller was capable of anything at that moment, that his rage had blinded him to all consequences – so the soldier simply relinquished his booty.
It’s the first time I’ve heard of one of our men responding with that kind of red-eyed wrath. Most of them are reasonable – they react with their heads, they’re worried about saving their own skins, and their wives fully support them in this. No man loses face for relinquishing a woman to the victors, be it his wife or his neighbour’s. On the contrary, they would be censured if they provoked the Russians by resisting. But that still leaves something unresolved. I’m convinced that this particular woman will never forget her husband’s fit of courage, or perhaps you could say it was love. And you can hear the respect in the way the men tell the story, too.
But they didn’t come just for conversation, they’ve made themselves useful. They’d brought a few boards, which they sawed off size on the kitchen table and nailed up diagonally across the jambs of the back door. They had to work quickly so as not to get caught by some Russian. As payment we handed out cigars from the ample supply the major brought yesterday. We really are quite rich.
After the entire doorframe was boarded up, a Russian appeared on the back stairs. He kicked hard at the boards, tried to break in, but without success. That was a relief. Now we won’t have strangers barging in night and day. Of course, they also come to the front door, but that has a good lock and is made of solid wood. As it is, most of the people who know us call up from outside, just to reassure us:
