Page 36 - Excerpts from the diary

Now we have moved out and are waiting on the bank of the Spree—we will cross.

Events change so rapidly that the imagination does not always have time to grasp them, and at times it is so difficult, but necessary, to
record the strongest moments in my life that I am ready to forget everything else especially for this.

The day before yesterday, in the outskirts of Berlin, riding a bicycle—by the way, the day before that I learned to ride this remarkable
machine, as it seemed to me—I met a group of German women with bundles, suitcases, and packs. They are returning home, I
thought—local residents—and, after making two circles on the road, I tried to look at them more closely. But suddenly they all rushed
toward me in tears, explaining something to me in German that I did not quite understand. I decided that it was hard for them to carry
their things and offered them the use of my bicycle. They nodded, and suddenly such emerald eyes looked at me, looked so devilishly
sharply, that somewhere deep in my heart a spark of passion pricked me, and I convinced myself that it was necessary to find out the
reason for these women's suffering. They talked for a long time and explained a great deal, and their words merged and melted into rapid
German speech that I could not catch at once. I asked the German women in broken German where they lived and why they had left their
home, and with horror they told me about the grief caused them by the men of the forward units on the first night after the Red Army
arrived here.

They lived not far from the place where we were staying and where I rode my bicycle, so I could easily go to their home and find out the
whole story in detail, especially since I was most strongly drawn by the wonderful girl who, so accidentally and so unexpectedly for
herself and her parents, had become the cause of so many experiences. I went with them.

I will interrupt for a minute. Dozens of toothy Bostons rattle in the air, accompanied, it seems, by our fighters. They are flying toward the
center of Berlin, and this whole melody of victory—the threatening singing of the Katyushas, the drone of airplanes, the roaring of
many-voiced guns—combines so harmoniously with my state of mind. But I will continue my story.

They had lived well. A huge two-story house with luxurious furniture, magnificent interior decoration, and painted walls and ceiling. The
family was large. When our soldiers came, they forced everyone into the cellar. And the youngest of all the adults, and perhaps the most
beautiful, they took with them and began to abuse her.

“They stuck it in here,” the beautiful German woman explained, lifting her skirt, “all night, and there were so many of them. I was a girl,”
she sighed and began to cry. “They ruined my youth. Among them were old men, pockmarked men, and they all climbed on me, all of
them stuck it in. There were no fewer than twenty of them, yes, yes,” and she burst into tears.

“They raped my daughter in front of me,” the poor mother added. “They may come again and rape my girl again.”

At this everyone was again seized with horror, and bitter sobbing passed from one corner of the cellar to the other, where the owners had
brought me.

“Stay here,” the girl suddenly threw herself toward me. “You will sleep with me. You can do everything you want with me, but only you
alone! I am ready for ‘fick-fick’ with you, I agree to everything you want, but save me from a mass of people with such c....!”

She showed everything and spoke about everything, not because she was vulgar. Her grief and suffering had exceeded shame and
modesty, and now she was ready to undress naked in front of everyone if only they would not touch her tormented body, would not touch
what could have remained untouched for years and what had been so suddenly and roughly [violated].

Her mother begged me together with her.

“Don't you want to sleep with my daughter?! The Russian comrades who were here—all wanted to! They may come, or twenty new ones
may appear in their place, and then my grief will be complete!”

The girl began to embrace me and beg me, smiling broadly through her tears. It was difficult for her to persuade me, but she tried to use
everything there is in a woman's art and played her role not badly. I, inclined toward everything beautiful, could easily be attracted by
shining eyes, but military duty is above everything, and I decided, first, to make use of the situation, and second, to help the people.

28.04.1945
The streets of Berlin are noisy and crowded. The Germans, all as one, are wearing white armbands. They are no longer afraid of us and
are walking freely through the streets. There are many events, and they are so strong and impressive that it is difficult to put them into
words.

General Bazarin, my army commander, has been appointed commandant of Berlin and has already issued an order-address to the local
population in which he demands that peaceful life be established and work resumed.

The Allies have joined our troops and cut the enemy forces in two in the city of Torgau.

The three heads of government, in a special address to their troops, made this known to everyone, with a call to direct their efforts toward
the final blow against the enemy.

I have just been in the underground. Very interesting! Underground corridors extend in several rows-levels. On the second level down,