“Couldn’t you move away?” I asked.
“Where do you suggest, the Adlon Hotel? This is my apartment—my home—and I won’t be driven out. Do you want me to find some disgusting little rat-infested cellar where I can slowly rot and end up smelling like you? No! This apartment holds many happy memories for me. The Russians can implant some unhappy memories, but they can never remove the happy ones. They’re forever.”
“What happens when your husband comes home?” I knew as soon as I asked it that it was not a good question.
Her eyes misted over and her voice broke. “He won’t be coming home anymore. You don’t get leave from a military cemetery. He was one of the first.” She volunteered, “Poland.”
I mumbled my condolences.
She sprang up with a brave smile. “I expect you are hungry?” I didn’t need to answer; the look on my face was enough. “I have some leftover soup from yesterday, mainly vegetables but with a little canned meat. While I’m warming that up, you see that door? That’s the spare bedroom. You’ll find some towels on the bed. Take off all of your clothes, underwear included if it’s damp, wrap some towels around yourself, then go into the bathroom and clean up. Then, and only then, you can eat. I’ll sort out your clothing later.”
“But I need to get on …” I started to say.
“Not until you’ve had a good meal and have some dry clothing. That’s my final word!”
I did as I was told. When I emerged, a good deal cleaner and dressed in two towels, I could hear her singing softly in the little kitchen, accompanied by a hissing noise which I couldn’t place. Curious, I popped my head into the kitchen. She was standing at the stove using a plumber’s blowtorch to heat the soup pan. She looked towards me and smiled.
“No electricity or gas. I hope the Russians get it sorted soon, it’s a real nuisance.”
“Lucky you had that blow torch.”
“I didn’t, but when the bombing started to get serious, I went to the local hardware store and bought it, along with as much fuel as I could manage. I could see the writing on the wall after the first power failure.”
She brought the soup out in a large dish, along with a sizable chunk of bread.
“Eat!” she said curtly. And eat I did.
While I was doing so, she was busily mopping the suit with a cloth dipped in some evil-smelling substance, which I assumed was disinfectant. At the same time, my shirt and underwear were soaking in the sink.
“Your overcoat is okay,” she called, “a little dusty, that’s all. I’ve given it a good shake and a brush. It will be fine.”
“You are truly kind … er … em … You didn’t tell me your name?”
“It’s Gretel, but I’m not the dreamy little girl in a Grimm story. This Gretel is a big girl, firmly anchored in the real world, here and now.”
“I have to go out now to get bread,” she added. “Go into the spare bedroom and stay until I get back. Don’t worry, the Russians have already searched this building and cleared it, they won’t search it again. You’ll need to stay the night to allow your clothes to dry. There’s an empty apartment on the top floor—you’ll be safe there.”
As my clothing was now hanging from an improvised line in the spare room, I didn’t feel as if I had much option.
The afternoon meal consisted of slices of tinned meat covered in breadcrumbs made from stale bread, fried in margarine, and served with a vegetable puree seasoned with a generous drizzle of ‘Maggi’. A sort of mock schnitzel, and it was delicious. After a very weak coffee and a kiss on the cheek, I was given my marching orders.
“Go to the very top floor, turn left and the apartment is the one facing you. The door is unlocked. Use the main bedroom, there is a mattress in there but no bedding so you will need to use your overcoat. And promise me something …”
“Anything,” I said.
“No heroics! I don’t want some Teutonic knight riding to save his damsel in distress. This particular maiden is perfectly capable of looking after herself.”
I nodded.
“Promise!” she demanded.
“I promise,” I said reluctantly.
She drew me close and embraced me. “I want you to survive this night, and more importantly, I want to survive it. The Russians are not a threat to me. You, on the other hand, are a very serious threat. Remember that.”
With that and another kiss on the cheek, I was sent upstairs, my overcoat buttoned as best I could to hide my nakedness, carrying my belt and weapons.
When I entered the apartment, I discovered why it was empty. The roof section above the living area had been severely damaged and was open to the stars, however the bedroom was sound, albeit with not a single pane of glass remaining.
The following morning, I listened carefully at the door before opening it a crack. It appeared all clear, so I opened it up further. On the floor in front of the door, clean and neatly pressed, were my suit, shirt and underwear, and resting on top, my walking stick.
I made my way down to Gretel’s landing and paused, unsure whether to knock. As I stood there, the door opened a few centimetres. “Good luck!” she breathed, and closed the door.
Home
By the time I reached the end of Krautstrasse, I had changed my mind about the route. It had been my original intention to make for the Friedrichs-Hain Volkspark and walk through the trees, but in order to get to the park, I would need to pass close to the police HQ. It was probably now a Soviet security unit. Also in that vicinity was the Horst Wessel Hospital. I assumed that it had now been
