We could always hear the Russian soldiers when they used the road in back of Aunt Else’s and Uncle Ewald’s backyard to travel between the Russian Zone and the Russian Sector of Berlin. We saw and heard tanks, automobiles and trucks, lots of horse-drawn carriages and an endless line of marching Russian soldiers. There was still shooting, rape, and killing taking place in the Russian-occupied areas, and we considered ourselves very lucky to be living in the American Sector. We did not see many American soldiers around us, but when we did, they were always friendly to us. They still handed out food and candy for the children. We had learned that the American soldiers were called G.I.s. Wherever a group of them were stationed loud music would be playing. Big bands were playing swing and jazz – the music my dad had loved so much. If only he would come home soon, so we could listen to it together! We would be able to imagine we were in America, the dream we had always discussed.
One evening we had just gone to bed when we heard screaming not very far away. Uncle Ewald went outside to find out what was happening. The small entrance road into the settlement from the road the Russians were allowed to use was only two duplex houses away from us. Some Russians had broken into the comer building where two brothers and their wives lived. One couple had a daughter who was a year or two younger than I was, and she and I had spent time together in the past. Her father and her uncle had been in the German army, and even though both had been wounded, they had been able to get back to their home in Berlin.
Other neighbors had also gone outside to investigate the disturbance. When Uncle Ewald and the neighbors found out that Russian soldiers were responsible, they went and asked one neighbor if he would be willing to try and help. His parents had come to Germany from Russia and he had learned their language as a child. Could he speak to the soldiers and, possibly, persuade them not to hurt the two German families? He said he would try. After a while all the screaming stopped; the soldiers had left and gone back to their road.
Uncle Ewald and a couple of other neighbors went to the corner house to make sure the two families were all right. They were not. All three females, including the young girl, had been raped repeatedly. The two husbands who were already wounded had been beaten into unconsciousness when they tried to stop the soldiers from raping their wives and daughter.
After helping the two families as much as they could, everyone went back to their homes. Uncle Ewald shared with us what had happened and he also mentioned that Boris, the Russian-speaking neighbor was not there to help with the unconscious men. It surprised him since Boris had always helped when anyone was hurt.
We had just climbed into our beds and pulled up the covers when we heard someone calling “Boris!” When the cries continued, we realized that it was Boris’ wife walking around in the neighborhood, searching for her husband. All of us dressed very quickly and went outside to find her. When we found her, she was crying. She explained that he had not come home after the Russians left. No one had seen him after he first approached the soldiers.
Most of our neighbors were now outside looking for Boris. Had the Russians hurt him? Why would they when he was able to talk with them in their own language? We had not heard any shots fired during all the commotion. Did they take him with them when they left? If so, why would they do that? Maybe to use him as an interpreter? Maybe they had locked him up in one of the many wooden sheds filled with garden tools, or maybe they had pushed him down into the air raid shelter and locked him into it. We kept looking for him all night long, we kept calling his name, but we never heard an answer.
When daylight came, we checked all the same areas we had searched in the dark a second time. Then, we walked towards the road which the Russians were allowed to travel. Near the entrance to the settlement we saw a body lying in a huge pool of blood. When we came closer, we saw that it was Boris, and, when we checked his body, we saw that he had been stabbed to death. Not stabbed once or twice; it looked as though there were hundreds of stab wounds allover his body.
We did not know what to do. Uncle Ewald mentioned that we should inform the Americans since the murder had taken place in the American Sector, and while the Russians had permission to use the road adjoining the settlement, they had no permission to enter areas on either side of the road. It was impossible to console Boris’ wife. They had never had any children and now she was all alone. How could we help her? What could we do for her? We all had been so thankful that the war had ended. Why did we have to accept and live with the loss of another neighbor?
Mutti and I walked to the center of Buckow and looked for some of the Americans. When we saw them, we walked up to them and in my best English I told them what had happened: some Russian soldiers had entered the US-occupied Sector of Berlin and had murdered a German citizen. They asked for all the details and directions to the murder scene. When Mutti and I returned to the development, an American vehicle was there to pick up Boris’ body, but his wife, who had been sitting there since we first found his body, did not want to let go of him. Mutti and I talked to her and walked her back to her home.
A short time later an American jeep with four soldiers came into the little village and were asking if anyone couId speak any English. The neighbors sent them to us so that I could speak to them. They asked about Boris’ murder, and I gave them all the information. I explained to them who Boris was, how he was trying to help neighbors who were being attacked by Russian soldiers, and how Boris was dragged towards the entrance to the development, and how he had been stabbed to death.
The Americans explained to me that they would want to have eight G.l.s stay in our area to stop the Russians from entering the American territory again. They wanted them to be together in one place, or at least next door to each other, and they asked if I could help find places where they could stay. When I explained the G.I.’s request to Uncle Ewald and Aunt Else, they immediately offered to have four of the soldiers stay with us. Mrs. Muller, who lived in the other half of the duplex, was delighted to have the other four G.l.s stay with her. We all knew that it was going to be extremely crowded inside, but it was a small price to pay for safety, to be certain that the Russian soldiers would not come near us.
My English improved a lot by talking with the Americans. They shared information about their homes and families and life in America and some of their experiences when they landed in France. They were with the 82nd Airborne Division and had landed with parachutes and gliders.
There was one more reason we were happy to have the G.I.s stay with us. Their food was delivered to them, and they always gave us their peanut-butter sandwiches on very soft white bread. Still having very little food, we appreciated these sandwiches very much.
One of the soldiers spent a lot of time talking with me, and helped me to improve my English by asking me many questions. He asked about our family, our past gatherings, and the good times before the war. He asked me about my dad, and he always shared all the information he had with me so that I would understand why he was so much against Hitler and the Nazi Party. I told him that my dad had always said that we would leave Germany as soon as it would be possible and immigrate to the United States of America.
The soldier’s name was John, and he explained to me that immigrants had to have an American sponsor who would be required to post a bond which would be used for the trip back to their homeland if the immigrant became a “Public Charge.” Some of John’s family members had also emigrated from Germany, and he explained that he was quite sure they would be willing to help us come to America. He came from a very large family, and he felt that many of them would help with the money for bonds as well as tickets for Mutti and me. We had a hard time believing what John was saying to us. A possibility of leaving Germany? A chance of living in America?
Mutti and I talked most of the night, trying to figure out what we should do. We still had no idea about my dad’s whereabouts. Was he walking home like so many other German soldiers? Was he wounded? Maybe he was a prisoner in a camp in Siberia and would be released in the near future.
We came to the conclusion that Mutti would stay in Germany until Dad came home, and then I would find a way of having them come to America, too. Everyone around us said I was much too young to think of leaving Germany by myself, but Mutti and I knew that this probably would be the only opportunity we might ever have to fulfill Dad’s dream of all of us living in America. We had hoped to leave together, but now a temporary separation followed by a reunion was the only way our dream could come true.
We explained everything to John, and he understood and agreed that we were making the right choice. He would work with his relatives to allow me to emigrate from Germany. He was also sure that his family would help me bring my parents to America when my dad returned to Berlin.
Since there had been no more trouble with the Russian soldiers, the G.I.s were planning to leave us in a short time. When we said goodbye to John, it seemed as though we were losing one more relative.
My Father's Legacy 