This woman without a name is a great lady

They are all two Berlin. They are of the same generation. He was born in 1920, she, probably circa 1915. They lived in common events, until the arrival of Hitler to power, but not in the same way. Their paths separated. Ernst Pawel (1920-1994) was the story of the century crossing learn his next death. A way to make the point before the fall final (he does not believe in heaven). The title is bittersweet: "Happy days in the black years" (Flammarion). Pawel is known in France for writing a biography of Kafka (threshold), slightly less for Herzl, the founder of Zionism (threshold), still less to his book on the last years of the poet Heinrich Heine (1797-1856) in Paris (Actes Sud). But it is not known much of him. Pawel belongs to an endangered species: the German Jewish intellectual. He was fourteen years old when his parents fled the Nazi Germany. They settled in a hotel in Belgrade. They expect that "it" happens. This will happen never really. It must be addressed. His father, "reacting against the rise of despair", teaming with another client of the hotel to launch a new brand of toothpaste. In vain. The young Ernst learned Serbian. This will be useful. The refugees are pass by poverty and deportation. At the age of fifteen, Ernst must work, it will be at a Publisher and bookseller. He flirts with the underground communist party, then with the Hashomer Hatzair, the young Zionist left guard. In January 1938, he was able to win the United States. Limping, including reflects a synthesis of the "New York Times" for emigrants in the Balkans. The summer 1942, he entered the marines. The following year, he participated in the landing in North Africa, and Italy. It will be assigned to Naples, Bari, Trieste, while titistes supporters threaten to take the city. His knowledge of the Serbian, there again, bring it to the forefront. The story of Pawel stops with the war. At the time that it can begin to live. There is plenty of humour. Sometimes, it is unworthy. He has worked with men in all situations where they may lose their dignity. His testimony recalls those of his elders Koestler and Malaparte. It is less cynical, more controlled them and never he did tell stories. This feels.

Of it, little is known: neither his name nor his date of birth. She was in Berlin at the entrance of the Zhukov military. She has written his newspaper for two months. She tells the daily for Berliners in a building, often in the cellar. Hungry, cold, promiscuity, dirt, bombing. And fear, fear of systematic rape (according to the historian English Anthony Beevor, 200,000 rapes were committed in Berlin). Itself has been raped, several times. This is why she chose anonymity. It certainly was a journalist. She had gone in the new Russia Bolshevik and she had learned some rudiments of the language. This has been he a little useful to the intoxicated military. His story is terrible, his writing is chiselled, devastating humour. This woman without a name is a great lady.