Once I was certain I had not been seen, I undid my pack, put on my shoes and overcoat, strapped on my belt under the suit jacket and slid my precious Luftwaffe watch into my pocket. Carrying my walking stick, I then glided under the railway bridge and up Krautstrasse.
I needed to get undercover as quickly as possible, and soon located a workshop and store on Mark Strasse that had suffered some damage but was largely intact. I entered through the damaged area and found a hiding place among large coils of cables and other electrical items. The cable looked like the type used in overhead power networks and, as such, would be classed as valuable military material. This was not a good hiding place.
I spent a miserable night shivering in my wet clothing, not daring to remove anything in case I needed to make a rapid exit. I hoped that the next day would be fine, to give me a chance to dry out. Just before dawn I left the store and silently stole back to Krautstrasse. Walking north, I slipped into the first open door I found in an apartment block. The entrance lobby was still too visible from the street, so I softly climbed the stairs and sank into a dark corner. I felt safer here than I had in the cable store.
How long I stayed there I have no idea, but when I climbed to my feet I could hardly move, I was so stiff from sitting hunched up. As I stood stretching and bending, one of the apartment doors opened a crack.
“Who’s there?” a female voice whispered.
“Sorry,” I said quietly, “I didn’t mean to disturb you. I was just sheltering.”
The door opened wider and a young woman, perhaps in her late twenties, stood in the doorway gazing at me. She was wearing a simple print dress and was very thin with unkempt blond hair hanging on her shoulders. Her eyes seemed to be set deep and were rimmed with dark shadows. Even so, there would have been a time when she was beautiful.
“I was just leaving,” I said lamely.
She shook her head. “You had better come in. You look a mess.”
As I stepped into the room, the woman took a step back and threw her hand up to cover her mouth and nose.
“My God!” she exclaimed. “… I’m sorry, but you stink. You smell like a dead man!”
“Funny you should say that,” I replied laconically, “you should have smelled me before I went for a swim in the Spree.”
She looked at me quizzically. “What are you talking about?”
I tried to smile but without much success. “I took these clothes from a man who had been dead for some time, and last night I swam across the river. The clothes are still damp. I think that makes them smell worse.”
Her look was now one of astonishment. “Why didn’t you use the bridge? Some of them are crossable.”
“I … I didn’t want to be questioned.”
She narrowed her eyes and moved closer. “Yes, I can see why. You’re a young man, aren’t you? A soldier?”
I nodded. “Fallschirmjäger.”
“Oh my God!” she said, covering her face with her hands. “What have I got myself into? Have you any idea what the Russians would do to you if you were captured?”
“Thanks, but I don’t need reminding. Look, I can leave.”
“You’ll do no such thing! You’re safe here until five this afternoon, but you need to leave by then,” she said with finality.
“What happens at five?”
She dropped her eyes and spoke quietly. “The Russians might come back in the evening.”
“Come back?” I asked incredulously. “They’ve been here before?”
“Twice,” she said without looking at me.
“Why?”
She looked up at me, her deep, shadow-rimmed eyes full of sadness, then looked down at herself before facing me again. “Am I so ugly that you have to ask?”
The implications hit me like a thunderbolt. “They … they raped you?”
“Twice so far, but who’s counting?”
I was seething with anger and slammed my clenched fists down on the table. “Didn’t you fight them?” I cried.
She flared up, her pale face flushed and her eyes alight. “Yes, Fallschirmjäger! I knocked two of them out with right hooks, broke the leg of a third, but the fourth one overpowered me!” Her voice was full of scorn. “Of course I didn’t fight them, do I look stupid? Furthermore, I’ll tell you something, Oberführer or whatever you are, I’d rather have a Russian on my belly than an American bomber over my head!”
I was so taken aback that I was lost for words. Her face softened. “What’s your name?” she asked quietly.
I hesitated. “Horst … Horst Manteufel,” I stammered.
“Sit down, Horst,” she said and indicated a chair at the table. As I sat, she sat down opposite me and took one of my hands in hers. “The first time they came, I knew what they were going to do, and I knew that no matter what I said or did, they were going to do it, so I climbed up on the bed and let them. I didn’t struggle, I didn’t plead and I didn’t scream. I just lay there. Yes, I felt disgusted and violated, and after they finished, I felt so very, very dirty, but I was alive! And I wasn’t beaten to a pulp. They didn’t hang around, and after they left, I washed myself and dressed, and tried awfully hard to get on with life. And can you believe, the next morning there was a parcel of food outside my door. My first reaction was to throw it away in disgust, and then I thought, why shouldn’t I have it and use it? They used me! Why take my spite and
