So the men in our building have been eagerly tracking down weapons. They comb one apartment after the next – all men, not a woman among them – they ask for weapons everywhere, but all they manage to dig up is an ancient firearm without a cock. This is the first time in ages I’ve heard German men speaking out loud, or seen them moving with any vigour. They appear downright manly – or at least what we used to think of as manly. Now we have to come up with a new and better word, one that can serve in foul weather as well as fair.
Up to now I’ve always had to start with an update on the previous night. But this time there’s nothing, absolutely nothing to say about last night except that I was able to spend it entirely by myself Alone between my sheets for the first time since 27 April. No major, no Uzbek. This state of affairs led to renewed existential worries on the part of the widow who foresaw doom and destruction and no more butter. As far as she was concerned, the sooner the major showed up with new provisions, the better. I just laughed. He’ll be back. I lay in my fresh bedding the whole night long – it felt so good to stretch out. I got a full night’s sleep and woke up in fine spirits. Then I washed with warm water, courtesy of the widow, put on some clean clothes and whistled a little to myself.
That’s what I wrote at nine o’clock. Now it’s eleven, and everything looks very different.
Some people equipped with heavy scoops called us down to the street, where we shovelled the pile of rubble and manure on the corner, loading it onto a wheelbarrow. Then we carted it to a nearby rubble site: ancient plaster and scrap metal from the air raids had been covered with fresh debris from the recent artillery bombardment, which in turn was strewn with rags and cans and lots of empty bottles. I found two silver bromide postcards, made in Germany, with pictures of nudes embracing – all covered with thumbprints. I was reminded of the time I was in an office in Moscow and I left some German and American newspapers lying about for a few minutes. When I picked them up and went back to reading I noticed some pages were torn – several ads for women’s girdles and bras had been hastily ripped out. The Russians never see ads like that; their newspapers are utterly devoid of sex appeal. So in their eyes even a stupid ad that a man from the West would hardly give a second glance must seem like the most amazing pornography.
They’re bound to be interested in that – all men are. But they can’t get it at home. Maybe that’s a mistake. If pictures like that were available, the men could fill their fantasies with all those idealized figures, and wouldn’t wind up throwing themselves on every woman in sight, no matter how old or ugly. I’ll have to give this some more thought.
When I came back around 10 a.m. for a little ersatz coffee, I found the major in the apartment waiting for me, alone. He’d come to say goodbye. His knee isn’t doing well, so he’s been given two months’ recuperation leave, which he’s supposed to spend in a soldiers’ home not far from Leningrad, where he’s from. He’s moving out this very day.
He’s very serious, almost stern, keeping an iron grip on himself Awkwardly he carefully spells out my address on a piece of paper; he wants to write to me, to stay in touch. I can’t give him the photo he asks for because I don’t have any. My entire photographed past – consisting of one album and a thick envelope – burned during the bombing. And in the intervening weeks I haven’t had a chance to get a new snapshot taken. The major looks at me for a long time, as if to photograph me with his eyes. Then he kisses me in the Russian style on both cheeks and marches out, limping, without looking back. I feel a little sad, a little empty. I think about his leather gloves, which I saw for the first time today. He was holding them elegantly in his left hand. They dropped on the floor once and he hurried to pick them up, but I could see they didn’t match – one had seams on the back, while the other didn’t. The major was embarrassed and looked away. In that second I liked him very much.
Then it was back outside, since I had more shovelling to do. After that we were planning to look for wood. We need something for the stove, all the pea soup we’ve been eating uses up a lot of fuel. Which made me realize that no one will be bringing food, candles and cigarettes any more. I have to break the news to the widow gently, when she comes back from the pump. But I won’t tell Pauli anything – let the widow take care of that.
