All right, ladies and gentlemen,' called the director from the river bank. 'Come on, children, time to shoot the bathing scene.'
Not with me, Theo,' called the chief cameraman from the slope.
'What's the matter, Erwin?'
The cameraman pointed to the opposite bank. 'Oh, nothing much, just a Russian tank on course for the Greater German movie industry. Adios, amigos, I'm off' He settled his peaked cap firmly on his head and disappeared over the far side of the slope.
Now they could hear the drone of a diesel engine and the rattle of tank tracks. A T34 came slowly into view on the other side of the river. 'Come on, this way.' Erik rolled down the slope and dived into the reeds. Karin clutched her shoulder bag and followed him. She was wearing trousers, a sweater and stout shoes, because the screenplay had provided for a hiking scene before the river-bathing. She landed beside him. In single file, they waded kneedeep through the mud. They clambered back on land once they were past the next bend in the river.
Erik pointed to a hayrick. 'We'd better dry off a bit there before we go on. I have an aunt in Nauen. We can stay with her until the proud victors have finished running riot.'
No, Erik, it'll be better if we part company.' She hugged him. 'See you at four-thirty after the war.'
Going by roundabout ways, Karin reached Berlin ahead of the Russians, and spent the final days of the war in the cellar with the other tenants of her building. When the firing finally died down outside, she picked up her small suitcase. 'Hey, where d'you think you're going?' snarled Herr Krapp. He was a Party member and air-raid warden, and very full of himself.
'Up to my apartment to celebrate the final victory,' she replied.
'Better stay here, Frau van Bergen,' Dr Seidel the dentist warned her.
'I've been hiding long enough.' Karin opened the cellar door.
'Nobody leaves this shelter without my permission,' barked Herr Krapp.
'Oh, shut your big mouth, Krapp, and you'd better take your helmet off,' Seidel said. 'Your headgear might give our liberators the wrong idea.'
She climbed the stairs to the second floor. Apart from a little damage caused by shell splinters, her apartment was intact. She went into the kitchen, where she could look down on the Hohenzollerndamm through a chink in the boards nailed over the window frame.
There were troops who looked like Mongolians in the street, with horsedrawn, tarpaulin-covered carts. The soldiers were shouting and pushing a naked young woman back and forth, and finally pulled her into one of the carts. One by one they clambered up under the tarpaulin. There were at least twenty men standing in line. The screams of their victim rose up to Karin. Then they turned to whimpering, and soon died away. You'll be next, she thought. Everything within her rebelled against this dreadful idea.
She remembered the chrome-plated pistol, a prop from one of her films, which Conrad Jung had given her at the premiere as a souvenir, with its magazine full. 'In case a bad man comes your way.' he had joked. She took the little weapon out of its hiding place and put it in the pocket of her track suit. She'd account for at least one attacker before she ended it all.
A dirty jeep braked sharply. The officer beside the driver rose to his feet and shouted an order. Reluctantly, the Asiatic soldiers obeyed. They climbed into their carts, cracking whips. The shaggy little horses moved slowly on. The raped woman was thrown out of one of the covered carts and landed in the road, where she lay with her limbs skewed awkwardly. Her vulva was nothing but bloody mush. The officer jumped out of the jeep, drew his pistol and signed to the two soldiers in the back seat to follow him. Bending low, he ran to the door of the building and disappeared from Karin's view.
The driver got out. He aimed his sub-machine gun at the naked, lifeless piece of humanity. The victim's body arched under the force of his salvo, and then collapsed.
Karin heard them searching the apartments. First the ground floor, then the first floor. All front doors had remained unlocked during air raids, to make fire-fighting easier, so there was nothing to bar the intruders' way.
Standing very straight, she waited for the three Russians in the doorway of her apartment, holding the small gun in her pocket. Instinctively, the officer raised his pistol. Very well, thought Karin, shrugging.
The soldiers pushed past her. Next moment they reappeared. One of them said something in guttural tones, obviously reporting that there was no one else in the apartment. The officer put his pistol in its holster. A brief command, and the soldiers went away.
Karin looked at the man opposite her. He was tall and lean, with grey eyes and a firm chin. He wore the clasp of some decoration on his dusty uniform tunic, and broad epaulettes. Closing the apartment door behind him, he took his helmet off, revealing a well-shaped head and wiry fair hair. He took a cigarette case out of his breast pocket.
'Like a cigarette?'
She didn't smoke, but this wasn't the moment to decline the offer. 'Yes, please.' She took one.
He gave her a light. 'The first few days will be the worst,' he said, apologetically. After that things will gradually calm down.'
'You speak German,' she cried in surprise, and coughed. She had only just registered his fluent, educated German.
'You're not used to smoking. I guess?' He laughed. 'We people from the Baltic speak many languages. Pure self-defence. I'm Major Maxim Petrovich Berkov.'
'Karin Rembach.'
'Nazi?'
'I'm an actress. I'm not a Party member, if that's what you mean.'
'We Russians like art and artists. Will you wait a moment? I have bread, sausage and vodka in the vehicle. Close the door behind me.'
When he came back she was wearing a lightweight if crumpled summer dress, much more suitable for this warm May day than her tracksuit. His glance penetrated the thin material. With an unexpected, quick movement he drew her close to him and raised the skirt of the dress. Then he had the little pistol in his hand. Karin had put it in the elastic waistband of her panties. 'Better this way, I think.' He smoothed her dress down again. 'Nasdrovye.' He handed her the vodka bottle.
She drank only a little, but devoured the smoked sausage and coarse wholemeal bread. She hadn't had anything proper to eat for days.
'You'll stay with me,' he said suddenly. 'I like you.'
His decision matched her own wishes. She needed a protector, and this one had made a civilized impression on her. Karin was a realist. He could have taken her by force and then left her to his men. The question wasn't whether she wanted him but whether she could keep him long enough, until the worst was over.
'Come here, Maxim Petrovich.' Her voice promised him what he was waiting for.
It was a sensible arrangement, and the whole building profited by it, although some of the women sniffed in a superior way. The major was interpreter to General Bersarin, who had just been appointed city commandant. He stationed a tanker of drinking water and two guards outside the corner house of Karin's street. He brought food, which Karin shared with the other people in the building, and had glass put into the windows of her apartment. He was a passionate and a thoughtful lover.
On 1 July 1945 the Western Allies moved into Berlin. There was water in the mains again, although it was highly chlorinated, the transport system was more or less up and running, and the theatres were putting on more and better performances than they had for the last twelve years. The building on the Hohenzollerndamm on the corner of Mansfelder Strasse was now part of West Berlin. Maxim Petrovich Berkov did not come back.