A Woman in Berlin

MONDAY, 28 MAY 1945

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, ‘Davai, pustai, rabota, skoreye!’ ‘Move, get on with it, work, faster!’ All of a sudden they’re in a tremendous hurry. Maybe they’re planning to leave soon.

One problem for us washerwomen is how to use the toilet. The place is so awful you can barely set foot inside. We tried cleaning it out with our laundry water the first day, but the pipes are clogged. Moreover there are always Russians lurking around. So now two of us stand watch at either end of the corridor while the third uses the toilet. We always take along our soap and brushes, since otherwise they disappear.

At noon we spent an hour lingering at our upturned-drawer dining table, enjoyed the sun, ate rich soup and took a nap. Then we went back to washing, and washed and washed. We were soaked with sweat by 7 p.m. when we headed home, once again sneaking out of the side entrance.

A bath at home, a nice dress, a quiet evening did some good. I have to think about things. Our spiritual need is great. We’re waiting for some heartfelt word, something that would touch us, some declaration that would bring us back into the stream of life. Our hearts have run dry, they’re hungry for what the Catholic Church calls ‘manna for the soul’. I think I’d like to find a church next Sunday, if I get the day off and if they’re having services. I’d like to see whether churchgoers are finding manna like that. Those of us who don’t belong to any church have to suffer alone in the darkness. The future weighs on us like lead. All I can do is brace myself for what’s to come, and try to keep my inner flame alive. But why? What for? What task awaits me? I feel so hopelessly alone.