When I came in, Stana was sitting at a desk, her head in her hands, staring at the desktop. She barely replied to my greeting. The floor was littered with books and papers, and an open notebook lay on the desk in front of her. One of several verses written in Boris's handwriting stuck in my memory:
....
.... Comrade Stalin, here's long life to you,
.... May your years be many, and victorious, too,
.... May you conquer all the countries on our Earth
.... Spreading progress, peace, prosperity, and mirth.
....
.... "They took Boris away last night," said Stana in a low voice. "They found Boris's poems about Stalin. Here, look at this, how can they arrest people because of these lyrics, when only yesterday they would have sung them, too? Luckily, they didn't find this notebook; they took the same songs, to be sure, but they were on duplicated sheets."
.... Several days later Stana was called before the Committee.
.... "Comrade Stana, the comrades believe you didn't know about Boris's view of the Resolution of the Information Bureau, that you are a decent and honourable comrade and loyal to our Party. You can prove this by the way you behave in future. Many comrades whose husbands have betrayed our Party have applied for a divorce. Think about it and come back in a day or two."
.... For two years we had no news of Boris.
....
.... I was bent over the tub, scrubbing some dirty linen on a wash-board made of galvanized corrugated metal sheeting in a beechwood frame; my hair was falling over my eyes, and beads of sweat were dripping from my face into the tub. My back was stiff, and I straightened it from time to time to ease the pain. There was a knock at the door. I hurried to open it, I was expecting Robert home from school. There was a gaunt, unshaven man at the door. I started back in alarm. Boris!
.... At first Boris wouldn't talk about the time he had spent on Goli otok*
.... ----------
.... * The Naked Island, a bare, rocky island off the Adriatic coast, on which there was a prison.
.... ----------
.... . They had had to promise they would never mention it to anyone. It was a burden that was hard to bear. And then one day he drew his chair closer to mine, as if to come close enough to prevent anyone overhearing us:
.... "When they arrested us, they took us to the basement in the Committee building. There they interrogated us for hours about our view of the Resolution of the Information Bureau. They said we were conspiring with the Russians against our Party. I heard accusations of things I knew nothing about. As soon as anyone dared to say a word in explanation, they yelled and threatened him. We had to listen to unfounded accusations, serious charges, in silence. And then one night they handcuffed us in pairs and bundled us into cattle trucks. We stood there, crammed together, unable to sit down on the floor. As soon as the train moved, pandemonium broke out, because when the engine started, people stumbled and some were crushed. Moans mingled with curses. We started to sweat because there was no air, they had nailed boards across the little windows, and the stench of sweat became unbearable. I was standing next to the little boarded-up window, so from time to time, with a great effort, standing on tiptoe, I was able to peer through the narrow cracks between the boards, trying to catch a breath of air, and to make sure that the world outside this hell still existed. We hurtled through small stations without stopping. On the sidings there were convicts at work - Germans. They were attacking the stone embankment with picks. How I envied them then, I would have given anything to be there, in their place... The journey went on and on, and then the inevitable happened: calls of nature, first passing water, we passed water all over each other, shouting and pushing, because everyone wanted his neighbour to pass water somewhere else, and not on him. And then the other thing, even worse, some prisoners took down their trousers and emptied their bowels, others didn't even bother to pull down their trousers. A vile stench spread through the truck, which had been unbearably smelly anyway. Hunger and thirst, which had seemed so bad before, now seemed like nothing compared to that hell... After an endless ride, the train stopped and the clang of the door, which seemed to have sunk into oblivion, roused us from our lethargy. We were taken on board a ship, still handcuffed in pairs, and found ourselves in front of an opening in the deck, into which those in front of us disappeared. At the edge of the opening we hesitated, but someone pushed me in the back, and I fell into the opening, pulling my comrade in after me. We fell on to something soft, someone underneath us moaned, and I moved aside instinctively. At almost the same moment the next pair of prisoners came crashing down. Moans and cries for help filled the dark space below deck, one man had a broken arm, another a broken leg, blood was flowing from mouths, noses, heads. When the ship set sail, pandemonium broke out again. Many men, handcuffed, had got entangled with others and, unable to sort themselves out, were lying on the floor higgledy-piggeldy, one on top of the other, cursing, moaning and groaning. Even at the start of the voyage some men were seasick, and then it all started again, with us vomiting all over one another. I thought they were taking us out to sea, and that when we got well out to sea they would throw us overboard. At first I was horrified, and then it seemed to be a blessing. But worse was to come. When the hatch-cover opened, a stentorian voice shouted from above, 'Get out!' Two men jumped in among us and started hauling people out. The moans turned into howls of pain, you felt they would pull your arm off, because we had all got entangled in the chaos and were unable to move. The guards yelled angrily and kicked us in the ribs, tugging at our arms, and a pair of prisoners here and there was disentangled. We managed to get out on to the deck somehow and our gaze fell on our lovely blue Adriatic bathed in sunshine. Up on the shore stood a group of people, waving and shouting something. Were these the comrades who had arrived here before us, greeting us? They were dressed as convicts. Our handcuffs were taken off and we set off down the path. When we came closer to that group of people, we saw they were standing in two rows, holding sticks in their hands. We were greeted by these two long lines of convicts with their clubs. They were shouting angrily, 'Come here, you thieves, you traitors, I'll break your bones...' We had to pass through that angry mob. They beat us frantically, as if they were keen to do a good job and distinguish themselves. I ran as best I could, and when the comrade in front of me fell, I stopped, but I was roused by a blow, I jumped over my comrade and started running again, shielding my eyes with one hand, and my neck with the other, because if someone hit me on the neck, I knew I was done for. The men who had fallen were being kicked in the kidneys by the convicts' heavy boots. I never thought a man could long for death as I did then. And what lay in store for us when we arrived? If I had really been guilty, it might have been easier for me, I might have felt the defiance that helps you put up with things. This way it hurt me more deeply; was this what I had fought for, was this why I had charged dugouts, risking my life, so that all those wonderful ideals of freedom and justice could be realized? Justice?! Look what had happened to me, and I was completely innocent! We had to labour on that rocky ground, come rain, come shine. You didn't know which was harder to bear: the blistering glare of the sun, or the rain. The worst of it was that there was not enough drinking water. Our mouths were full of stone dust that parched our throats. We waited for rain as a gift from heaven, but when it fell and your clothes got wet, you felt as if you had cold compresses on your body, soothing at first, but soon becoming clammy and cold, and you had nowhere to dry your clothes. Regardless of the difficulties, it was best to keep your mouth shut, because that way there was a chance you wouldn't be noticed. If you said anything at all, you were accused of stirring up rebellion. Their "Kapos" were also convicts. You thought they might be more lenient, since we were all in the same boat, but they were worse than the worst of the policemen. They hit you for every trifle, often for no reason at all, because the more they beat you, the better it was for them, they were establishing their status at the expense of the others. They were venting all their fury and hatred on their former comrades, their fellow-warriors... Some looked for a way out by throwing themselves off the cliff. It was a true deliverance for them: there would be no more heat, cold, or painful blows with a club. One courageous leap and that was the end. We walked to the edge of the cliff, took off our convict's caps and gazed down. Away down there, at the bottom, lay our comrade peacefully, as if asleep. The peacefulness of his body and the depth of the drop were enticing. There, all you had to do was to bend forward, and in a moment everything would disappear. I don't know whether it was fear or a ray of hope that held me back, and so I went on standing there, gazing into the depths, dully and listlessly. Then I turned back and set off down the path leading to our grim quarters... When I found out that Stana had applied for a divorce, I was sorry I wasn't down there, on the rocks. I would have jumped then fearlessly and without a second thought. Stana had been my support and my last hope, my mainstay. That night I slept badly, and my brief spells of sleep were haunted by dreadful nightmares. Part of the night I lay awake. I fell asleep only as dawn was about to break and had a beautiful dream: I was a little boy again, sitting high up on the branch of a chestnut tree, very pleased with myself; I was looking down, and you were standing there. You said quietly, with fear in your voice, 'Be careful, don't fall!' In the morning I promised myself I would be careful not to fall off the cliff. In the evening, coming back from work, I was lost in thought and I lagged behind a little. The "Kapo"'s voice broke in on my thoughts, 'Come on, you idle bastard, hurry up, you're not on holiday here.' I obeyed him somehow more promptly, I even hurried up. My defiance evaporated, I became compliant, doing my best to keep out of trouble. 'A song!' yelled the "Kapo". Some men started singing out of fear. It was then that, for the first time, I quietly joined in the singing."
....
.... * * *
....
.... "Hello, Robert. Where's your satchel? Why are you crying? They sneered at you because you are a "Hun" again? You hit Marko? You shouldn't have hit him just for that. Then they hit you back, and a proper little war breaks out. It's nothing. All children have quarrels from time to time, and sometimes they fight. Yes, yes, we were like that too, when I was your age. What he said about you being a "Hun" wasn't anything bad. Our ancestors came here from Germany, and all the people who are ethnic Germans by origin are called "Huns" here. There, there, stop crying now, wash your hands and we'll have dinner. And then we'll go and get your satchel. You left it in school again, didn t you? Maybe you'll want to know what we're having for dinner... There, you see, you're my big boy again. You should be laughing, not crying. We're having plum dumplings for lunch, or, as your grandma used to say, Zwetsckenknodel; it's as if I'd known my little warrior was coming home from a big battle tired and hungry. It's just what you like. There, you see, you ought to be laughing."
.... "Mummy, the boys never want to play at anything but war. I don't like playing at war any more because they make me be the German every time. Marko always wants me to be killed, and he wants to be the one to kill me. He says the Germans killed his dad, and that's why he has to kill me every time. Mummy, did my daddy kill Marko's daddy?"
.... "No, of course not. Don't fight just because of that."
.... "Am I supposed to stand there quietly while they hit me?"
.... "Well, all right. Come on, wash your hands and let's pitch into those dumplings before they get cold."
....
.... * * *
....
.... I stayed on a little longer to finish off the contracts that had to be sent out to our clients. I could overhear a conversation between Boris and his parents. The conversation got louder and louder. I was dismayed to hear that Boris wanted to get married. Why should that upset me? In a few days he would graduate from University and be his own master.
.... "You can marry anyone you like, but not her!" Boris's mother said, almost shouting. "It would be a disgrace for you and for our whole family. We couldn't live with her past. We would lose our clients and end up as paupers. And the authorities will look at us askance if you marry a girl with a Hun bastard. She should have thought about what she was doing before she did it. We loved her like our own daughter, but this is something we cannot and will not accept. Take care you don't do something rash, because there's no going back. If you don't listen to us, it will be your own fault."
.... So I was the girl with the Hun bastard.
....
.... I ran from that house, wishing never to enter it again. I lay awake all night. I was thinking about how I could drop out of sight along with Robert. The words Boris's mother had spoken rang in my ears: "We gave her a helping hand, and she pays us back by wanting to ruin our son. There's not a spark of decency in her, not to mention gratitude."
....
.... I didn't go to work, I couldn't go back any more. In the Saturday issue of the Official Gazette I read an advertisement for the post of assistant or managing clerk with Mr. Shvalek, a lawyer in Zagreb.
.... The door was opened by a middle-aged man, not very tall, sturdily built and balding a little. He was holding a pair of spectacles in his left hand, and he gave me his right:
.... "I'm Dr. Shvalek, come in, Mrs Miller."
.... I entered a long corridor with chairs for the clients. I wanted to know who his associates were, what my colleagues would be like. He probably noticed me looking round discreetly.
.... "Ah, I'm on my own at the moment. My managing clerk is ill, just at the moment when there's so much to do. That's why I advertised. I can't get all this business finished on time by myself. And even when the clerk is here, we both have our hands full. Sometimes we have to work in the evenings. But don't worry, we'll work faster when there are three of us. And I would like you to know at once, if you have to stay late, you'll be paid extra... Come in, Mrs Miller, here by the window so we can see each other better. You say you're alone, I mean as regards your husband; you live with your father and have a lovely little boy. That's nice. That's something in your favour. You know, married women have more obligations, and their husbands are often jealous. My business can't wait. If necessary we stay on, as I said, late in the evenings. If the trams have stopped running, I give my clerk a lift in my car. If the worst comes to the worst, which doesn't have to be so bad, someone can sleep overnight on the ottoman in the office... Your husband was not, I hope, one of those who are looked at askance these days, I mean an Ustasha? You know, they keep tabs on me, too. It's difficult to get a private lawyer's practice. It's much easier to lose it. That's why I have to be careful. You understand, don't you? You must be interested in the salary? Of course, that's what a person works for. Money is no object. It's all up to you."
.... Mr Shvalek got up slowly, went to the cupboard, opened it, and approached me holding a wad of notes in his hand. He offered me the money as an advance. He gazed at me with his eyes wide open, putting his left hand on my shoulder. He spoke of his loneliness, of the boredom of married life, of his wife, who spent all her time reading romantic novels, and who gave him so little love that he had felt for a long time that their marriage was a mere formality. His wife blamed him for being absorbed in his papers all the time, saying that she had to console herself for the lack of love she got from him by looking for compensation in the paper love of novels.
.... I got up and took my leave in a hurry. As I left, I said coldly, "Good-bye, doctor!"
....
.... "Hello, Comrade Miller. First let me thank you for your promptness. I mean for your help with the rail deliveries... As for your daughter, I can't say anything for certain yet. You know, she's not a Party member, and the curriculum vitae is a little vague. Yes, I've heard that you didn't give away some comrades who worked on the railway during the war, but that was you, and your daughter is, after all, a different person. Besides, there are some rumours about her past from that time. I can't give you much hope. Call me in a few days, and we'll see."
....
.... "Hello, Comrade Miller. Yes, we've looked at the applications, but so many young people have applied, the chances are not very good. I'm sorry, we've hired a candidate who hasn't graduated yet, it's true, because of the Communist work she's been doing, but she has only two or three exams still to sit."
....
.... "The curriculum vitae, Comrade Miller. There are rumours that your daughter has an illegitimate child by an officer of the Wehrmacht. You know, one can't help thinking that your daughter is still emotionally involved with the father of her child, and perhaps she still has some hopes in that respect. A person like that would find it difficult to fit in with our new social trends. However, get your daughter to take an active part in voluntary community activities, and perhaps after a time people will come to think well of her. Her qualifications do her credit, but we have to make sure we employ people who will do all they can to achieve the goals set for us by the Party, and we have to nip in the bud anything at all dubious. Our enemies are beginning to raise their heads, and we have to be careful. There are still people who would like to see a return to the old system. Well, that's how things are, Comrade Miller, I hope you understand. Oh, here I am, talking my head off, and you're still standing. Well, our talk is over now, anyway."
....
.... "Oh, it's you, Comrade Miller. I'm glad to have this chance to thank you for helping with the rail deliveries. Only, your little girl should have come herself, she's not shy, is she? Then it might be easier to solve the problem of finding her a job. I hope you don't believe the rumours about me concerning young girls applying for a job. People are spiteful and say all sorts of things. And tell me, Comrade Miller, is it such a deadly sin if a healthy man desires a pretty young woman? Still, the rumours about me are grossly exaggerated. Don't be afraid to send your daughter to me."
....
.... "Hello, Comrade Miller. So you've come on your own, without your daddy, that's right. You're not a little girl any more, who has to be led by the hand by her father. Well, we'll try to do something for you. It would be a pity for such a pretty comrade to be shut up at home, sitting in the inglenook. Let's have a look at your case. I see you were a good student, you graduated in a relatively short period of time, although law is not an easy subject to study. I feel that myself now, I'm in my second year, I'm taking the courses, but I have no time to sit the exams. What can you do, it's hard to be active in the community and study at the same time. I am one of those people to whom, due to circumstances, community work comes before personal interests. The interests of the community come first, and then personal interests... Would you like a glass of liqueur? I still have some, the imported kind. For special guests, of course. You don't drink at all? That's a pity; some of our female comrades are rather fond of the bottle. On the 8th of March, International Women's Day, we always have lots of fun and stay on, singing, long into the night. Well, you'll see for yourself... Here I am, talking my head off, and you're on tenterhooks, I can see that. We'll settle everything right away, let me just have another look at your papers. You know, I come from Nish, that's in the heart of Serbia, but they sent me here because they need people they can trust, the comrades said, we have to keep an eye on what the people here are thinking and doing. There are, unfortunately, people, even some in positions of responsibility, who are still hankering after a return to the old system. You never know with the Croats. There are still some, even in high places, who are dreaming of a free Croatia, as they say, although they would be better off if they forgot all about it.... Well, here I am, talking my head off again, and you're impatient. We'll settle it in a jiffy. I see you've had some experience; a B.A. in law, training in a lawyer's office, we don't have many like that. Very nice. So, comrade Elizabeth, if I can call you by your first name, I think you have very good qualifications and that there should be no problem. But, you know what people are like, there are all sorts of rumours. We could leave the second part of our interview until later. I haven't got much time now, I have other things to do, I have two more appointments this afternoon. After that I'm free. I suggest we combine business with pleasure, as the old adage says. In short, I'm inviting you to dinner. We can have dinner at my place, in my flat, I'm a bachelor and no-one will bother us... Come on, you don't have to frown like that. We could go to a quiet little place out of town. What? You won't? You're turning down my invitation? That's never happened to me before. I've done many girls a favour, and not one has complained so far. All right, Comrade Miller, I'll have a look at your documents, and I'll send you a written reply, since you don't seem to fancy talking to me."
....
.... There was a soft knock at the door. Boris! We said hello, but I didn't look at him. I felt ashamed after what I had heard his parents say that evening. He knew I had heard it all, he had caught sight of me leaving. He begged me to be understanding and talked of his serious intentions. He would leave home, he would become independent, and we would pay no attention to what his parents thought.
.... I couldn't accept his offer of marriage because that would mean his losing any chance of taking over his father's well-established lawyer's practice. Another reason I didn't want to consider marrying was that I was still hoping Alfred would come back.
.... After Chancellor Adenauer's visit to Moscow there were rumours that negotiations were under way to release German prisoners. After ten years of imprisonment, they would be sent back to their homeland. That meant they would be released the following year. If he was alive, Alfred would surely get in touch with me.
.... "All right, Lisa, I'll wait, no matter how long. You don't have to say anything now, only please don't say 'no'. Leave me at least a little hope," Boris said, and continued, "I used to think that, as far as we were concerned, everything was cut and dried, we grew up playing and studying together. I felt it was something natural, something self-evident, and that that was how it was always going to be. Then Alfred came along. Tall, distinguished, in an officer's uniform, with a tall officer's cap, with an iron cross on his breast and a charming smile, and my little friend was taken as booty. Don't be angry, I'm just trying to make a joke."