And the days passed like beads on a string—sunlit, golden and warm. Each morning the sun rose burning yellow over the edge of the horizon, and each evening it sank reddish-golden behind the partisan mountains. The maize fields turned yellow, the grapes ripened, and the apples on the trees took on rosy cheeks.
The partisans were no longer given a second thought—once guard duty was over, the men lived a lordly life. They slept in their tents at night and lounged in the shade during the day, and their clothing was reduced to the bare minimum.
In addition to the daily ration, the soldiers bought food from the peasants with their pay. It was mostly chickens and ducks, but sometimes even turkey appeared on the menu.
In groups, purchases were made, and in groups food was fried and roasted. It was interesting when poultry and vegetables were prepared. It was exciting moments when the fire flared up and the soup bubbled in the pot or meat sizzled on the spit while a particularly skilled man turned it.
And it was a solemn moment when each man came forward with his cooking pot and the group leader distributed the portions, but the peak was only reached when we sat around the fire, smacking our lips and telling each other how delicious it was.
It did happen that chickens which had not been obtained in a regular manner found their way into the soup pot, but they did not taste any worse for that. However, this was rare, for it was strictly forbidden to “organise” such things and the punishment was severe—but it did happen.
After long experimentation, I had found a dish that found favour with B…’s palate: equal parts leeks, cucumbers, tomatoes, celery, carrots, and corn cobs—added to smaller portions of horseradish and green paprika. Everything is cut into small cubes and mixed with mashed potatoes. Meat and fat are added as desired.
The whole is boiled for a suitable time and served hot—wine and schnapps should not be missing.
“I believe I know most edible dishes on this earth,” said B…, visibly impressed, “but I have never seen such an Eintopf as this—the colour is appealing, but it is impossible for me to say what it tastes like!”
Our relations with the population were cordial, and Lieutenant B… and I often visited the various homes—mostly to taste the farmers’ wine and slivovitz (a brandy made from plums).
As we gradually got to know the villagers, we tended to go especially to those places where the wine stores were largest and where the best slivovitz was brewed.
Despite the language difficulties, it was remarkable how well we understood each other—once the first bottle of wine had been emptied, conversation flowed easily and freely, and by the second bottle we spoke Croatian like natives, while our hosts conversed with us in German?
There was not much to be had in the way of girls in Rastovichza, and all the married women were decent and beyond reproach.
There was, however, a widow in our sector who treated the sixth commandment somewhat frivolously. She was neither young nor pretty, nor particularly clean, but nevertheless had quite a bit of attention—soldiers are not very demanding.
She has a devilish temper, one of her many lovers confided to me, and at the same time I received a detailed description of her many other well-concealed advantages.