Page 39 - Excerpts from the diary

At the “Grand Hotel” I ordered hot tea and drank a great deal. When I left the next morning they charged me for seven pots and twelve
marks.

My weight on 17.10.1945: 66 kg.

22.10.1945
At ten in the evening I was at the station. I began asking Germans which train I should take and where I would need to change. Some
advised going through Oranienburg and then in the morning to Kremmen; others, the majority, recommended Hennigsdorf. I had traveled
both routes before. The first was longer but simpler—only one change. I followed the majority and went the other way.

The journey was long. The train was dark and packed with people. We were squeezed together in the darkness and crowd, but the mood
was cheerful. Residents of Berlin’s suburbs chatted about lard, butter, chocolate. Then the conversation turned to politics. Some woman
shouted, “You’ve adopted Russian habits! Du wie Russe!” The words stabbed me straight in the heart, and I decided not to let them pass
unnoticed.

Addressing all the passengers at once, I asked, “Are Russians really so bad? Are their habits worse than yours?”

Everyone looked askance at the woman who had made the careless remark. Some, hypocritically for my benefit; others out of fear of me;
and perhaps some sincerely. There were even people who placed Russians culturally above Germans, not without justification, and gave
examples and arguments. The conversation did not stop until Kremmen and continued with no less intensity after we left the train. I did
what I could to create in the Germans a better opinion of my Motherland and my people, to inspire respect for our culture. I do not know
how well I succeeded. In any case, they were reluctant thereafter to speak badly of Russia.

Only one old woman, smiling ingratiatingly and looking servilely into my face, said quietly, “And in my apartment, Herr Lieutenant, the
day before yesterday your ‘comrades’ robbed me,” and disappeared into the crowd along the road.

In Kremmen everything was as before, except that there had been changes in the apartment. The captain who had been quartered there
with me was gone, and a sergeant from the political department had taken his place. I had to spend the night on the floor.

The next morning I spent the entire day moving suitcases. I expected my scheme involving the political department to fail and prepared
myself, just in case, to return either to the battalion or even to a replacement regiment. I had greatly overstayed my assignment, arriving
two days after the stated deadline, and therefore from the very beginning had failed to justify the confidence of the authorities here. They
could respond in their own way.

29.10.1945
Today, however, fate decided to turn its face toward me and smile slightly with its playful smile.

The assistant chief of staff wrote a resolution on my certificate placing me on the ration list, and I received ration coupons through the
end of the month. I have just found an apartment in town and been assigned work in the transport department of the brigade—as a
dispatcher. A weight has lifted from my heart. Tomorrow morning I begin work. The immediate chief seems a warm, ordinary man; his
assistant seems a decent fellow too. I think this may bring the tiresome story of finding a position to an end.
One more good event: I sent a parcel to Mother and freed myself of seven and a half kilograms of baggage. On top of that, the “friends”
with whom I lived stole half a liter of vodka from me. That too is something for which to thank fate. Once again it has shown me how
harmful it is to trust the people around you.

Half past eleven at night.

Yesterday I watched a performance by German actors in the local drama theater. One general quality characterizes the whole style of the
modern theater here: vulgarity. Especially characteristic was a number performed by one of the actresses, “The Woman Washes.” Not
only did she display every part of the female body, but, to the indescribable delight of the audience, she several times bent over and
passed a towel between her legs, trying to reproduce the way a woman dries her genitals after washing. Earlier, in Berlin, a dog on stage
approached a bouquet of flowers presented to it with cool dignity, turned sideways to the bouquet, and raised its leg. It remained in that
position for perhaps ten minutes while the audience reacted wildly, applauding and squealing with pleasure and delight.

Another characteristic of the German spectator is a love of cheap effects and easy, indiscriminate laughter. That is why an actor’s
grimacing and clowning is more readily understood by the public than a serious, thoughtful performance.

XX.12.1945
Kremmen. Twelve noon.

I had noticed the girl long ago, during my stay here with the brigade as a “candidate for political work.” I happened to see her in the town
hairdressing salon and from then on became a frequent visitor to that undistinguished establishment. It was always full of people, so
talking was impossible. During my fleeting visits I could catch only a quick smile and a glance that crept into my heart.

She was an apprentice working with permanent waves, or curls as they call them here. She had a young face and a beautiful, velvety look
in her eyes, but her hands, probably from overwork, were polished smooth and covered with pimples.

About three days ago I was lucky enough to meet her in the street, learn her name and age, and even walk her home. On the porch where