Onwards, no end of zinc. Finally even our two overseers grew bored. We know them pretty well by now We call one ‘Teddy’ and the other ‘Squint’. Today they weren’t as strict as usual; twice they even shouted the lovely word ‘Break’. Squint went so far as to risk a dance with one of our girls while the rest of us clapped time. Both soldiers suddenly disappeared around 5 p.m. But just because they were off duty didn’t mean we were, unfortunately. All at once the whole place was unnaturally quiet – no shouts driving us on, no chatter, no moaning, nothing at all. Only the grating of our feet and the occasional weak cry of ‘Watch out’ when one of the women dozed off. And of course someone was always asking what time it was.
Word came from the basement – where the women were also on their feet all day – that the masses of zinc ingots still stored there were inexhaustible. Around 7 p.m. we heard a rumour that we were done for the day, but that proved false. Zinc, zinc and more zinc… Finally, at 8 p.m., a Russian showed up and waved us over to the canteen. We gulped down the rich soup and trudged home. I was keeling over, my hands were dark grey. When I washed up, the water was full of thick grey flakes. I lay down for a bit and let the widow pamper me with tea and cake.
The electricity is back on as of yesterday. The time of candles is over, now people can ring instead of knocking – the quiet has come to an end. The Berlin station is broadcasting on the radio, generally news reports and disclosures that reek of blood, corpses and atrocities. They say that millions of people – mostly Jews – were cremated in huge camps in the east and that their ashes were used for fertilizer. On top of that everything was supposedly carefully recorded in thick ledgers – a scrupulous accounting of death. We really are an orderly nation. Late in the evening they played Beethoven, and that brought tears. I turned it off. Who can bear that at this moment?
Back in the laundry. Today our Ivans were in particularly high spirits. They pinched and pawed us and repeated their standard offer in German: ‘Bacon and eggs, sleep at your home,’ and then, just to make sure we understood, they rested their heads on their arms like Raphaelesque angels.
Bacon and eggs – we could certainly use those. But delicious as the prospect was, there were no takers as far as I could see. And rape seems pretty much out of the question, here in the wide-open factory yard in broad daylight with so many people milling about. People are busy everywhere you look, there’s no quiet corner to be had. That’s why the boys add the bit about where they’ll sleep – what they want are willing, bacon-craving girls who’ll take them home. I’m sure there are plenty who fit that description here in the factory, but they’re also afraid and fear is an effective damper.
Once again we washed tunics, shirts, and handkerchiefs, one of which turned out to be a little rectangular bedside-table cover, hemmed in red and embroidered with the cross-stitched words, ‘Sleep Well’. For the first time in my life I was washing handkerchiefs sneezed in by strangers. Was I nauseated by the enemy snot? Yes, even more than by the underwear – I had to struggle not to gag.
Evidently my fellow launderers didn’t have the same reaction – they went on washing with great vigour. By now I’ve come to know both of them fairly well. Little nineteen-year-old Gerti, gentle, reflective – half-whispered a confession involving all kinds of amorous mishaps. One boyfriend left her; another fell in the war… I steered the conversation to the end of April. Finally, her eyelids lowered, she described how three Russians had hauled her out of the basement into a stranger’s apartment on the ground floor, threw her on a sofa and had their way with her – first one after the other, then in no particular order. Afterwards, the three of them turned into pranksters. They rummaged through the kitchen, but all they found was some marmalade and coffee substitute – in other words, the typical pantry fare at that time. Laughing, they spooned the jam onto Gerti’s hair, and once her head was covered they sprinkled it generously with coffee substitute.
I stared at her as she told the story, quietly ashamed, speaking to her washboard. I tried to picture the horrible scene. No one could ever invent such a thing.
Our taskmasters spurred us on all day with cries of,
