‘Come on!’ she said. ‘Let’s go and eat before the soup goes completely cold. Then we’ll put the children and grandmother to bed. We’ll stay up for a bit longer; I’ve got a feeling that more of them will be coming this evening or during the night.’

‘Fine’, replied Doll, and went back to the supper table with her. As he did so he noted that even his wife’s voice had changed completely: there was none of that bright, vivacious quality it had had when telling of her afternoon adventures. She’s noticed something, too, he thought. But she’s like me — she doesn’t want to talk about it. That’s good.

Later on, he preferred to tell himself that perhaps his wife had not noticed anything, that her voice had only sounded so different because a new time of waiting was then beginning, waiting for more Russian visitors to arrive. Waiting was now definitely the hardest part of life for every German, and they had to wait for many things, nearly everything, in fact — for days, months, and possibly even years to come …

But thanks to the grandmother and the children, a lively conversation did now develop, to which the young wife also contributed. The main topic of interest, of course, was the three visitors, whose motley appearance was something they were not used to seeing in their own German troops (or else they were so used to seeing it, in fact, that they no longer noticed). Later on, they discussed at length whether they would get the boat back, whether the Russians would bring it back …

Doll took no part in this conversation, and didn’t want to talk at all for the rest of the evening. He was feeling far too worked up inside for that. He spoke just once to ask his wife quietly: ‘Did you see the way they looked at me?’

Alma answered him just as quietly and very quickly: ‘Yes! It was the same way the Russian looked at me this afternoon outside the chemist’s shop — as if I was a brick wall or an animal.’ Doll nodded briefly, and nothing more was said about this incident by either of them, either that day or subsequently.

But Doll pictured himself standing there in front of the three men, with a grin on his face, the greeting ‘Tovarich!’ on his lips, his fist raised and his right hand extended in greeting — how false it had all been, and how embarrassing it had been for him! He’d got it all so wrong; right from the start, when he had woken early that morning feeling so cheerful, and then thrown himself into his work on the shrub borders so as to make the path ‘safe’ for their liberators, he had completely misread the situation!

And then he of all people had gone and boasted to the neighbours that he was going to meet the Russians at the door of his house and welcome them as liberators. Instead of reflecting on what his wife had said that afternoon and taking it as a warning, he had simply seen it as an affirmation of his own blind and foolish attitude. Truly he had not learned a single thing these last twelve years, however firmly he had believed otherwise in many a time of suffering!

The Russians had been right to look upon him as a vicious and contemptible little creature, this fellow with his clumsy attempts to ingratiate himself, who seriously imagined that a friendly grin and a barely comprehensible word of Russian would suffice to wipe out everything the Germans had done to the world in the last twelve years.

He, Doll, was a German, and he knew, at least in theory, that ever since the Nazi seizure of power and the persecutions of the Jews, the name ‘German’, already badly damaged by the First World War, had become progressively more reviled and despised from week to week and month to month. How often had he said to himself: ‘We will never be forgiven for this!’ Or: ‘One day we’ll all have to pay for this!’

And although he knew this perfectly well, knew that the word ‘German’ had become a term of abuse throughout the world, he had still put himself forward like that in the fatuous hope of showing them that there were ‘still some decent Germans’.

All his long-cherished hopes for the post-war future lay in ruins, crushed under the withering gaze of the three Russian soldiers. He was a German, and so belonged to the most hated and despised nation on earth, a nation lower than the most primitive tribe of the African interior, which could never visit so much destruction, bloodshed, tears, and misery on the planet as the German people had done. Doll suddenly realised that he would probably not live long enough to see the day when the German name would be washed clean in the eyes of the world, and that perhaps his own children and grandchildren would still be bearing the burden of their fathers’ guilt. And the illusion that they could persuade people of other nations by a simple word or look that not all Germans were complicit — that illusion, too, was now shattered.

This feeling of utterly helpless shame, which frequently gave way to extended periods of profound apathy, did not diminish with the passing months, but instead was intensified by a hundred little things that happened. Later on, when the war criminals were put on trial in Nuremberg, when thousands of shocking details gradually emerged to reveal the full extent of Germany’s crimes, his heart wanted to rebel, unwilling to bear any more, and he refused to let himself be pushed down deeper into the mire. No! he said to himself — I didn’t know that! I had no idea it was that bad! I’m not to blame for any of that!

But then came the moment — always — when he reflected more deeply. He was determined not to fall prey a second time to a craven delusion, not to end up standing — again — in his own parlour as a spurned host, rightly despised. It’s true! he said to himself then. I saw it coming with the persecution of the Jews. Later I often heard things about the way they treated Russian prisoners of war. I was appalled by all this, yes, but I never actually did anything about it. Had I known then what I know today about all these horrors, I probably still wouldn’t have done anything — beyond feeling this powerless hatred …

This was the other thing that Doll had to come to terms with entirely on his own: that he bore his share of guilt, had made himself complicit, and had no right, as a German, to feel that he should be treated like people from any other nation. A man despised, a figure of contempt — when he had always been proud of himself, and had children furthermore, four of them, all still unprovided for, all not yet able to think for themselves, but all expecting a great deal from this life — and now to be facing a life such as this!

Doll understood only too well whenever he heard or read that a large part of the German population had lapsed into a state of total apathy. There must have been many people who were feeling just like him. He hoped that they, and he, would find the strength to bear the burden that had been laid upon them.

CHAPTER THREE

The deserted house

Outwardly, the life of the Dolls changed dramatically in the first few days after the entry of the victorious Red Army.