No, she is not really crying, it is more like a tiny, voiceless whimpering. The only reason tears were still streaming out of her swollen eyes was that her small, rounded body dressed in the bloodied, white kitchen apron was permanently shaken by an invisible power which immediately pressed even the smallest tear appearing behind her lids out of her eyes.
And although Pauline had been cowering in front of her grey metal locker in the windowless dressing room for kitchen help all the time, she was not able to take off this abominably dirty kitchen apron or to wash the sticky tomato paste off her face.
Mind you, the Lower Austria State Government’s canteen kitchen had been tidied and made ready for tomorrow a long time ago. All her colleagues had left hours ago and she was sure nobody was left in the building except the security people.
But she – only sat there whimpering, wiping her eyes and staring into space.…
She was terrified of the way home! On the other hand, she refused all help: she had said she could do it, although she had known well enough that she would have to walk all the way. Even in the terrible state she was in today. Nothing else was even possible.
After all, during the last months of this miserable year of 1945, there was hardly any electricity in the Russian occupation zone of Vienna. So the tram was not an option. And even if the tram came, it would not be faster than walking, since it had to drive through the heap of rubble that was the fourth district. Starting from the first district, where she worked, even she with her dog tracking walk was faster to reach the fifth – British – district than the tram.
And regardless of having to walk she still usually carried leftovers of food home with her – it was the least she could do, wasn’t it? – and distributed it to the poorest in the house. But today, she was sure that her strength would not be enough to take anything home with her. In fact, she had to be happy if she herself managed to get home at all.
And if it had not been early October now, when the Russians had taken over their monthly assignment for the first district, this drunken Russian soldier would certainly not have sneaked into the empty kitchen.
Appearing from nowhere, he seemed to suddenly stand in front of her: gigantic, wearing an untidy, dirty uniform, the hood far back, underneath which two angry eyes and a broad, fear-inspiring smile with hideous, broken front teeth had leered at her.
Pauline was shocked – and cried! And already he stood next to her, grabbed her by the neck like a rabbit, shoved her onto the only chair in the kitchen and pressed his second smelly paw over her mouth.
”Nix schreien/No cry – Mamuschka“, he hissed into her face, exuding an abominable smell of schnapps, so that she could hardly breathe. Frightened, trembling and moaning, Pauline moved like a snake in her death struggle in a frantic attempt at freeing her mouth. But her helpless attempts at pulling at his animal paw only seemed to amuse this terrible Russian: he found it hilarious to take turns pressing her neck and her mouth and nose. And the more her face turned blue, the more amusing he found it.
Suddenly, he seemed to be distracted and let go! Pauline gasped for air. She hardly dared to feel her painful neck and sore mouth with her numb fingers.
Some way or other, the Russian seemed to have changed his mind!
All of a sudden, he looked at Pauline without malice, mumbled something about hunger and ‚nix essen/no eat’ and staggered through the tidy kitchen searching for food.
But nothing was here – everything edible was in the cooling chamber.
Since neither he could understand her, nor she him, Pauline just shook her head and pointed towards the locked cooling chamber door while he rampaged the cutlery cupboards. Pauline was incapable of saying anything or uttering a single syllable.
At that moment, the Russian was unfortunate enough to stumble over the unmentionable five-liter bucket of tomato paste the clumsy Maria had not stowed away. The bucket fell over and the Russian fell down. Nonchalantly, he opened it, reached into it with his fingers, tasted it and looked at Pauline – who moved from side to side on her chair and was as white as chalk – with a smile on his face.
It was almost like she had seen it coming. Suddenly, he took up the bucket, grumbled ”Tomaten/tomatoes – Wangen rot/cheek red – Mamuschka“ and simply held the entire bucket of tomato paste to her mouth..
”Du trinken/you drink – Mamuschka- viel trinken/much drink…“
Pauline struggled. She turned her head away as much as possible and pressed her teeth together; but this monster pressed the bucket against her lips with such force that they split and started to burn. She had no choice but to swallow at least some of it. And then some more and some more, and still some more. …
Again and again, she tried to push the bucket away in order to breath. Each time she did this, the red tomato brew ran over her chin and neck and into her blouse and down the kitchen apron. Bellowing, the monster ripped open her blouse and put the bucket down. But as soon as Pauline had had a little rest, the Russian was again there, pressing the bucket between her teeth even more ruthlessly. And Pauline swallowed and gasped and felt herself sinking deeper and deeper into the sour tomato brew.…
Suddenly, the Russian stopped!
As fast as lightning, he pressed the bucket between Pauline’s feet, ran squeaking to one of the sinks, let himself fall to the ground and then returned to Pauline with a devilish grin on his face. Between his fingers, he proudly dangled a fearful and struggling mouse by its long tail.
Paralyzed with terror, all that Pauline registered was how he laughed and dangled the shrieking mouse over his open mouth as if about to swallow it. But then he immersed it in the tomato paste in front of her feet until it stopped moving. Visibly content, he held the mouse up, tumbled back to Pauline and then pushed her head back by the hair with his other hand, before moving the dripping and quivering mouse closer and closer to her mouth …
Then – there was a thundering order in Russian and a cannonade of abuse! Four hands grabbed the monster and dragged it away with the quivering mouse. Pauline moaned and struggled for air with wide open eyes. The remaining Russian soldier, wearing an immaculate Russian uniform and saluting her asked if there was anything he could do to help her…
Pauline, dripping tomato paste all over the place, mechanically shook her head no.
The Russian apologized in broken German and said you could find pigs everywhere – unfortunately also in the Red Army. But he himself had a Mamuschka in Moscow and knew how she felt. He was going to get help.
He quickly saluted before returning to his comrades who had already disappeared along the corridor, while Pauline spat and spat and gasped and was sick again and again in quick succession.
And then she was finally able to sob. …
KH
(Translated by EG)
Picture: Martina Roth, Mystisch, Acryl auf Leinwand, 64 x 45 cm
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