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"I run and knock on the door of the isba, I enter. Russian soldiers, armed, red star on their caps. I have the rifle and I watch them, they are eating. They take with a wooden spoon from the communal soup pot, they stare at me with the spoon suspended in the air... “Mnié khocetsia iestj” – “Give me something to eat.” A woman fills my plate with milk and millet, I take a step forward, put the rifle on my shoulder, I eat... The Russians watch me, no one utters a word. Only the spoons. "Spaziba" "Pasausta" They watch me leave without having moved. …that’s how it went in February 1943, during the Retreat from Russia. And today thinking back, it doesn’t seem strange at all. I entered, I asked for permission… At that moment we weren’t enemies..."
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