A Woman in Berlin : Eight Weeks in the Conquered City: A Diary by Marta Hillers

Author:Marta Hillers [Hillers, Marta]
Language: eng
Format: epub
Tags: Autobiography and memoir
Publisher: http://c3jemx2ube5v5zpg.onion
Published: 1945-01-28T16:00:00+00:00

Looking back on Friday, 4 May. Recorded on Saturday, 5 May

The major showed up around 11 a.m. He gathered that Anatol was back in the area, and wanted to know if I had... I said no, that Anatol had just brought his men over for fun and drink. but that he’d had to hurry back into town. The major swallowed it. I felt rotten. Sooner or later they’re going to bump into each other. What am I supposed to do? I’m nothing but booty, prey - that has to stand back and let the hunters decide what to do with their game, how to parcel it out. Still, I very much hope that Anatol won’t be coming back.

This time the major brought all sorts of sweets, Luftwaffe provisions, concentrated foodstuffs. We ate some for dessert, just the three of us, because the major couldn’t stay long. He didn’t know whether to laugh or get angry when I told him about his Uzbek and the offer of stockings.

Finally he decided to laugh. He promised to return in the evening. There was an edge to his voice, and he gave me a sharp look. Now I’m not so sure that I can control him, I have to watch myself, and not forget that they’re our masters.

Herr Pauli and I are eating like there’s no tomorrow, much to the annoyance of the widow. We spread our butter fingerthick, are extravagant with the sugar, want our potatoes browned in fat. Meanwhile the widow is counting every one of those potatoes. And she’s not entirely wrong to do so. Our small stock pile is dwindling. We probably have one more basketful of potatoes in the basement, but we can’t get to it. A group of residents took advantage of the quiet hours between five and seven in the morning and barricaded the entrance with a mountain of rubble, chairs, spring mattresses, chests and wooden beams - all lashed down with wire and rope. It would take hours to undo - and that’s the whole point. No plunderer would have the patience. We won’t dismantle it until ‘afterwards’, though no one can say when that will be.

What a crazy day! Anatol turned up after all, in the afternoon, this time on the passenger seat of a motorcycle. He showed me the bike, which was waiting downstairs along with the driver. He claimed that this really was his last visit, that he was being transferred out of Berlin along with the general staff. Where to? He wouldn’t say. Was it a German city? He just shrugged his shoulders and grinned. It’s all the same to me; I only want to know for sure if he’s going to be far away. The widow’s greeting amicable but measured. She sees things in terms of the larder, and prefers the major, who leaves more of a mark on her cupboard shelves.

I sit with Anatol on the edge of the bed and have him tell me all about ‘his’ motorcycle -he’s very proud of it.

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