PARTISAN REVIEW
But the troops were still living with the Germans. What kind of
people were these Russians? Had they been so totally demoralized by
years of campaigning, that they forgot all the so-called civilized ways
of behavior? Or did they come from Russian regions so backward that
any comparison with Western standards was at once unfair and im–
possible? With surprise and contempt the Berliners watched the at–
tempts of Russian soldiers to drill a hole in the wall in the hope that it
would spout water just as ·the faucet did over the kitchen sink. They
were amazed by the readiness of the Russian soldier to exchange an ex–
pensive wrist-watch for any old alarm clock just because it was so
much bigger. They were disgusted to see their living-room changed into
a butcher-shop as the Russians dragged animals up the stairs to be killed
on the carpet. They did not understand their persistence of using the
bathtub for a toilet and the toilet for washing their faces. They could not
help laughing over the disappointment of the Russian who washed his
potatoes in the toilet-bowl only to see them disappear as he pulled the
lever. They saw with regret the wrecked automobiles and bicycles littering
the streets, demonstrating the Russians' great love and little aptitude
for things mechanical. They learned to know the Russian's great fear of
his superiors: to make a misbehaving soldier run, it was only necessary
to shout "Commissar" at the top of one's lungs. They witnessed Rus–
sian soldiers marched off to prison, heavy ropes around their bodies, the
point of the bayonet between their shoulder blades, like in an old war–
picture of a hundred years back. They experienced day by day the
wide gulf that still separates the East from the West, as yet unbridgeable
by any ideology, crossable only by armed forces, and haphazardly kept
together by the permanence of terror.
Order was re-established in Berlin. Russian soldiers had been buried
where they had fallen, on the sidewalks, in the center of the streets.
Their graves had been lovingly cared for. Little white fences had been
plated around them. Flowers, and often the picture of the deceased,
were planted on the heap of earth covering them. Their remains were
now dug out to restore the streets to their original function, and were
placed into mass-graves at more appropriate places. Barriers were placed
on every important street corner. Smart Russian women in uniform,
white gloves, their bosom pushed up to the neck, regulated traffic by
lifting or lowering toll-bars for vehicles and individuals alike. Like other
regulations modeled on the Russian village, these traffic disturbances
disappeared with the entry of the Allied troops.
With order restored, pillage was now directed from headquarters.
The factories lost their machinery, the warehouses all they contained.
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