Page 20 - Excerpts from the diary

nothing except two pieces of bread the first old woman had given me for the road.

Later a major, a doctor, arrived with two sergeant-majors and two soldiers. They all ran about fussing over him as though he were a baron
or a landowner. They waited on him and cooked tasty dishes for him, but he did not want to eat much: he drank tea and ate fritters. No
one offered me anything.

Much later, after dark, the sergeant-majors began coaxing me to give up my bed to the major and sleep on the floor. The hostess had
given me the bed because I had arrived first and because I was ill. The floor was cramped and uncomfortable; the room was packed with
people, and there was hardly space to turn over, especially with my injured hand.

I refused. The major tried to find a place in the neighboring house, but he decided the air there was bad, although there was a good
stove-bench. I explained that I could not sleep on the floor with my injured hand, but they did not care.

“The senior officer is to lie on the floor while the junior one sleeps in a bed? Who has ever heard of such a thing? It is unacceptable.”

The major, a Georgian or perhaps an Azerbaijani, closed his eyes and pretended to be asleep. When he saw that they were getting
nowhere, he opened them wide and said:

“Lieutenant, lieutenant... lie down on the floor. Get out of the bed!”

I felt horribly awkward. I flushed with humiliation and resentment, but in front of civilians I did not want either to be rude to him or to
shame him, or indeed to argue at all with this insolent would-be landowner. I got up and lay down on the floor.

They spread several blankets and a pillow for the major. It was obvious that he was accustomed to comfort and life in the rear. He seemed
to be the chief medical officer of the “Big Two.”

I suffered all night and only dozed off toward morning. But my sleep was broken by orders: “Wake him, wake him!” “Hey, soldier,
soldier, get up!” The sergeant-majors deliberately shook me awake, although they knew my hand hurt and that I even outranked them.
They pulled away the groundsheet that had been spread beside me—I was sleeping next to one of the sergeant-majors—and soon rushed
off.

Dawn came. My hand tormented me. I decided to get up. Suddenly I saw something glinting in the straw. I thought it was my silver
spoon, but it turned out to be a German folding knife. Naturally, I took it and hid it. Such a thing is very useful in front-line life.

The hostess had gone out early. I waited until noon, but she did not return. She had left the children a loaf of bread, and they ate it all. I
ate the little piece of bread the first hostess had given me and otherwise made do with sunflower seeds.

In the neighboring hut I noticed [a missing word in the source] left behind by residents who had gone away after being evacuated from
their native village under the Germans. I took it, put it in my bag, and left.

In another hut the owners themselves offered me zatirka, but without bread—they had none. I ate and went on. At last I came upon this
hut. One soldier from our supply platoon was here. He was looking for the medical battalion to have his teeth treated; his whole cheek
was swollen. Tomorrow we will go together.

The Germans have withdrawn about forty-five kilometers. It is a long way to catch up, but I do not want to leave either.

The weather today is overcast and damp. It snowed in the morning, and now a fine rain is falling. And the people here are so kind. They
shaved me and washed me, and the youngest woman, a mother of four, even washed my hair. As she did so, she kept saying, “My son,”
and told me that she used to wash her husband the same way. They fed me too. And now they have put me to bed. Just like home.

I slept a little, but soon woke up.

The village elder came. They say he had done no harm to people, but he is afraid of malicious tongues. He asked me what he should do.
He stayed behind, although the Germans had tried to take him away. I advised him not to be afraid and to begin restoring the farm,
harvesting the corn, and so on. I especially advised him not to issue flour and other provisions from the common peasant stores to every
passing rogue without first checking his papers, since adventurers might use them to barter for moonshine and spirits. He thanked me.

He wanted to know what would happen to him later and how the authorities would treat him.

It is getting dark. My head aches, my whole body is sore, and my hand twists with a pain that is hard even to describe. Enough writing. It
is difficult.

15.03.1944
There was one pretty girl of twenty-four left on the farm. She had hidden from the Germans and avoided them, and they called her proud.
Several times they tried to get at Tina, but her mother almost scratched their eyes out, and the enemy left her alone. Tina had grown thin
and fallen ill, but she had preserved her virginity; she had not become one of the many girls seduced by the enemy who then left with
them for Germany.