V Alexander - The Taster

The soldier holding the rifle on us lit a cigarette and pointed to the front room beyond the French doors. He seemed to be in command of the others. He talked to the men and they laughed. One of them took a swig from a flask he carried in his pocket. The other four men walked to the front of the apartment and extinguished their torches. They were silhouetted against the windows that allowed a dim light to seep in. Rockets would sometimes hit many blocks away and their flashes exploded through the room like lightning. Slowly, the soldiers took off their breeches, leaving only their shirts on. Their hands moved below their waists, massaging themselves, as they waited for us.

The men wanted Helga first. They made that clear with their calls. Inga grabbed her daughter and wouldn’t let go. She screamed for mercy as the man with the rifle attacked her. The commander struck Inga in the back with his rifle and sent her plummeting to the bed. Irmigard and I attempted to hold him off, but it was no use. He swung his rifle in a deadly arc that would have killed us had we not jumped out of the way.

One of the half-naked men came from the back room and grabbed Helga, calling her a “Nazi whore,” in German. Those were the only words I recognized.

Helga, her eyes wide with terror, fought against them as much as she could, but it was no use. The other soldiers dragged her, screaming and sobbing, away. The men closed the French doors and for a time it was quiet. The commander stood near the doors with his rifle pointed at us. Inga sobbed on the bed.

Then Helga screamed and we heard her cries of pain for ten long minutes before they turned to muffled moans. Irmigard and I looked at the door, unable to do anything but sob. I tried to think of a way out, a plan to get us away from these beasts, but my head was too filled with horror and pain to think.

Then, after another long wait, the door opened and Helga was roughly pushed through the door. Her blouse was torn and blood dripped down her legs. Inga grabbed her younger daughter in her arms. They huddled together on the bed.

Irmigard was taken next.

Then the soldiers came for me.

The French doors closed and it was dark. Rough hands covered me. Teeth bit at my neck. Breath that smelled of cigarette smoke and liquor filled my nostrils. My dress was ripped open on top, the bottom thrust over my waist. Then the night became a haze of blinding red pain. Four of them took me in turns as the others watched. It didn’t take them long, although it seemed as though hours had passed.

When they were through, they shoved me out of the room and I collapsed on the bed with the others. All the time, the commander kept his weapon pointed at us.

A short time later, the four men came out, pulling up their pants, laughing and jeering. “Heil Hitler,” they sang to us, and raised their arms in the Nazi salute. When they were finished mocking us, the five soldiers slung their rifles over their shoulders and fled down the stairs.

“I’m going to kill them,” Inga said. She rushed toward the panel where Frederick’s gun was hidden.

I’d forgotten about the weapon and screamed at her to stop. “What can you do? Kill one of them and the others will kill us. Let them go.”

She stopped, leaned against the half-opened door and cried.

I pulled myself up from the bed and winced in pain. I lit a candle and its meager yellow light spread across the room. “We need medical attention.”

Irmigard stared at me and said, “There’s no doctor in this neighborhood.” She rocked her sister in her arms. Helga’s eyes were vacant and black. She stared at the ceiling and said nothing.

I could only go to one place for help—the Chancellery.

Irmigard and I tended Helga as best we could. We dipped rags in cold water from the wash bucket in order to staunch her bleeding. The bloody cloths turned the water pink. I rested with my friends for a half hour before I got off the bed. At first I thought it might be better to walk to the Chancellery in the morning when I could see the enemy, but after thinking about it I decided to take advantage of the darkness.

I told Inga to get Frederick’s gun, but to use it only as a last resort. I doubted the same soldiers would come back again, but conditions seemed to be worsening by the minute. There was little she could do against armed men. Firing the weapon would likely get her and her daughters killed. I looked out the front windows to see if I could spot any enemy soldiers. I only saw a young man and woman, dark hooded figures, running down the street toward the east, a dangerous direction. They looked like Germans running toward the enemy. I would be heading west.

The view from the window was like a nightmare. Artillery rockets shook the ground as they exploded near us. Many of them buzzed overhead, dangerously close to the apartment. Buildings burned on the horizon; several a few blocks away were engulfed. To the east, a flamethrower split the air with its orange fire. Its powerful stream shattered any window left unbroken. The liquid fire cascaded through the structure like a hellish waterfall. Far off, screams echoed through the night.

It took every ounce of my courage to leave the apartment, even though it offered no real safety. I washed up as best I could and changed into another dress. I threw my things, including my stuffed monkey, into my suitcase. I would have to leave my bag behind because I was in no condition to carry it.

“Wait here,” I said at the door. “I’ll send for a doctor. If you have to leave, don’t go far—at least tell a neighbor, anyone, so I’ll know where you are.”

Helga stared at the ceiling, unresponsive to my words. Irmigard thanked me and blew me a kiss. Inga nodded and said, “Pray for us.”

I closed the door and stared at the dark staircase. I let my eyes adjust to the light and walked slowly down. With every step, my legs and abdomen throbbed. The building’s door was shattered and wrenched open. Anyone could walk in, but not a living soul was in sight. Frederick’s bloody corpse lay in the street, his left arm stretched into the air as if he were reaching for heaven. There was no time for tears. I hoped that Inga and her daughters would not see his body in the morning. Perhaps some kind stranger or German soldier would carry him away before the sun rose.

I ran left down the street. Each step felt like a knife had been stuck in my groin. I had no choice but to walk on, to run if necessary. The Reich Chancellery was several kilometers away; how many I wasn’t sure. I was certain, however, the trip would take me several hours, and, at my slow pace, I would be lucky to get there by midnight. Of course, there were soldiers to worry about, too. The Russians could capture and rape me again. The Wehrmacht might fire at me, a shadowy figure in the night, mistaking me for the enemy.

I passed mountainous piles of rubble and the shattered shells of buildings, which rose like charred, blackened skeletons from the ground. Some were white with ash. I’d only gotten a few blocks away when I faced a barricade of battered trolley cars. I lifted my foot to the step of one of them and grabbed hold of the railing. I could see through the car—blazing ruins and empty streets filled with debris lay on the other side.

I stepped up, but in the process my right leg caught on a jagged piece of metal. A sharp slicing pain cut across my flesh. Instinctively, I reached down and felt for the wound. Warm, slick blood dripped from my fingers.

A hand caught me by the back of my coat and pulled me down from the step.

“Where are you headed?” a Russian soldier said in perfect German. He wore a long coat that brushed the ground. He pushed his cap back with the barrel of his pistol and then pointed the weapon at me. A fiery orange light flickered across our faces.