Yes, this was the main difference between the present and the years he had spent in prison as a young man: in those days he had been able to understand and love everything about his friends and comrades, while the least word or thought of his enemies had seemed alien and monstrous; now, however, he would sometimes glimpse in the thoughts of an enemy what he had once found important himself, and discover something strangely alien in the thoughts of his friends.
'I must just be getting old!' he said to himself.
5
The American colonel had an individual cell in the special block. He was allowed to leave the hut during the evening and was given special meals. Rumour had it that the King of Sweden had intervened on his behalf, at the request of President Roosevelt himself.
This colonel had once given Major Nikonov a bar of chocolate when he was ill. He was very interested in the Russian prisoners-of-war and was always trying to start up conversations with them about German tactics and the causes of the disasters of 1941.
He would often talk to Yershov. Sometimes he looked into his bright, thoughtful eyes and forgot that he couldn't speak English. He found it hard to believe that a man with such an intelligent face could fail to understand him – especially when what they were saying was of such consuming interest.
'I can't believe it!' he would say. 'You really don't understand?'
And Yershov would answer in Russian: 'The old sergeant had a fine command of every kind of language – except foreign ones.'
Nevertheless, in a language composed of smiles, glances, slaps on the back and ten or fifteen words of atrociously mangled Russian, French, German and English, the Russians were able to discuss comradeship, solidarity, fellow-feeling, love of one's home, love of one's wife and children, with people from dozens of different countries.
There were also several Russian words –
[…] [5]+
The Soviet prisoners-of-war were unable even to agree among themselves: some were ready to die rather than betray their country, while others considered joining up with Vlasov. [6] The more they talked and argued, the less they understood each other. In the end they fell silent, full of mutual contempt and hatred.
And in this silence of the dumb and these speeches of the blind, in this medley of people bound together by the same grief, terror and hope, in this hatred and lack of understanding between men who spoke the same tongue, you could see much of the tragedy of the twentieth century.
6
The conversations of the Russian prisoners-of-war were particularly sad on the evening after the first snowfall. Even men as energetic and self-disciplined as Colonel Zlatokrylets and Brigade Commissar Osipov had fallen into a gloomy silence. Major Kirillov was sitting beside Mostovskoy; his shoulders were drooping and his head was nodding slowly up and down. The whole of his vast body seemed filled with melancholy. As for his dark eyes, they were like the eyes of someone with terminal cancer. Looking into such eyes, even a man's nearest and dearest would hope that his sufferings would soon be over.
Pointing at Kirillov, the ubiquitous Kotikov whispered to Osipov: 'Either he's about to hang himself or he's going to join up with Vlasov.'
Mostovskoy rubbed the grey stubble on his cheeks and said: 'Listen, cossacks! Everything's fine! Can'tyou see that? Every day that the State created by Lenin continues to exist is a death-blow to Fascism. Fascism has no choice: it must either destroy us or perish. The hatred Fascism bears us is yet another proof- a far-reaching proof-of the justice of Lenin's cause. The more the Fascists hate us, the more certain we can be of our own Tightness… And in the end we will defeat them.'
He turned to Kirillov.
'What's the matter with you? Don't you remember that story of Gorky 's? How he was walking up and down the prison courtyard and a Georgian shouted out: 'Hold your head up! You look like a bedraggled chicken!' '
Everyone burst out laughing.
'And he was quite right! We must hold our heads high! Just think -the Soviet State is defending the ideals of Communism! Do you think Hitler can get the better of that…? Stalingrad is still holding out. It may have seemed before the war that we were going too far, that we had really tightened the screws… But now even a blind man can see that the end justifies the means.'
'We certainly did tighten the screws,' said Yershov. 'That's for sure.'
'We didn't tighten them enough,' said General Gudz. 'We should have gone further still. Then Hitler wouldn't have reached the Volga.'
'It's not for us to give lessons to Stalin,' said Osipov.
'True enough,' said Mostovskoy. 'And if we perish in prisons or damp mines, then that's that. We must just think of something else.'
'Such as?' asked Yershov loudly.
Everyone exchanged glances, looked away again and fell silent.
'Oh Kirillov! Kirillov!' said Yershov abruptly. 'The old man's quite right. We should rejoice that the Fascists hate us. We hate them and they hate us. Right? But just imagine being sent to a Russian camp! That really would be hard. But as for this…! We're stout-hearted lads! We'll give the Germans a run for their money!'
7
General Chuykov, the commander of the 62nd Army, [7] had lost all contact with his troops. Most of the wireless sets had gone dead and the telephone cables had all been severed.
Sometimes it seemed as though the gently rippling Volga was something fixed and stable, and that the quaking earth was huddling against its still margins. From the left bank, hundreds of pieces of Soviet heavy artillery kept up a constant barrage. Round the German positions on the southern slopes of Mamayev Kurgan, the earth whirled into the air like smoke. These clouds of earth then passed through the sieve of gravity, the heavier lumps falling straight
