Fast forward to the postwar debates between the grownup son and his father, in Angela Clark's superb, flowing translation:
The teacher in Father...
"As opposed to the other conquerors and occupying forces, the Russian has a great big heart, as big as a cartwheel. A Russian isn't Russian unless, before he sticks the knife in your back, he kisses you on the cheek, explains to you why he, poor soul, has been forced, cursed and condemned to do it... and there you go, in the twinkling of an eye. But you can be sure he will be the one to suffer the torments of hell. God chose him for this kind of work: to help you, to liberate you, to teach you, to give you the shirt off his back today, because that shirt was yours anyway, yesterday..."
"I think you're exaggerating," I said.
"Listen, I hope from the very bottom of my heart that I am exaggerating..."
from My Childhood at the Gate of Unrest
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