President Boris Yeltsin arrives in Germany on Wednesday, for a trip that will be partly a sealing of friendship, and partly an attempt to prevent an outbreak of diplomatic quarreling, in the immediate lead-up to the final Russian withdrawal from east Germany in three months' time. For both Yeltsin and his host, Helmut Kohl, a good relationship between the two countries is crucial. The relationship is warm, if not intimate. Partly, that is because Germany has never quite recovered from its love affair with Mikhail Gorbachev -- a dalliance which began early in the perestroika era, and climaxed in the dramatic days of 1989 and 1990, when the collapse of the Berlin Wall was quickly followed by German unity. To an even greater extent than in other Western countries, the adoration of Gorbachev meant that Yeltsin, the troublesome rival, was rebuffed and ignored. The old passion can never quite be forgotten. Indeed, an opera opens in Bonn next month, called simply "Gorbachev." The premiere will be attended by Gorbachev himself, who will once more be among friends. Germans remain grateful to the man who removed the fear of war that they had lived with, on the front line of the West-East confrontation, for four decades. And they are still more grateful for that fact that he allowed unity to take place without a shot being fired. Gradually, however, Germany has not only become accustomed to Gorbachev's successor in the Kremlin, but has even grown fond of him. Helmut and Boris now indulge in "sauna diplomacy" -- naked sweat in the banya, in pursuit of international warmth. Kohl will this week repay that gesture of intimacy by inviting Yeltsin to his native Oggersheim, where he will be treated to such local specialties as pig's stomach, to which Kohl is famously devoted. An invitation to Oggersheim implies elevation to Kohl's most select guest-list. Gorbachev, Fran?ois Mitterrand and Margaret Thatcher have been previous recipients of the Oggersheim treatment (Thatcher was unimpressed; she seemed convinced that the enjoyment of simple pleasures could only detract from her gravitas). Now, it is Boris' turn to receive the baptism of pig's innards and local wine. Even if he does not enjoy the pig's stomach, Yeltsin will be grateful for Kohl's support. Germany, the largest and most powerful member of the European Union, is an obviously useful ally. Germany has already put more money into Russia than any other Western country. That is the result of a mixture of high-minded "moral duty" (an important strand in German foreign policy), gratitude (for German unity) and making amends (continued guilt for World War II). But it is also a question of pragmatism. Germany is perhaps more conscious than any of its NATO allies of the dangers for Europe of an unstable Russia. The threat posed by ultranationalist Vladimir Zhirinovsky is more acutely felt in Germany than elsewhere -- not least because of the dread sense of recognition from Germany's own history books. One powerful analysis of Zhirinovsky's role, in the leading weekly Die Zeit, was headlined simply "His Struggle" -- "Sein Kampf." Thus, on the big political questions, Yeltsin can expect to be in friendly company this week. Bonn is almost as keen for Yeltsin to win his battles as it once was eager for Gorbachev to survive unscathed. But there will be irritations, too. Russia is desperate to hold its head high -- or at least to pretend to do so -- when the last of its troops leave east Germany this summer. Russians want to be part of the joint party that will be held when the Western allies -- the Americans, British and French -- hold farewell celebrations in September. Yeltsin and his colleagues see this as yet another issue of Russian "dignity." The Russians are keen to draw a line under the past, and do not wish to be held responsible for what happened during the Soviet era. Today's democratic Germany, by contrast, explicitly acknowledges collective responsibility for the crimes against humanity of the Nazi regime. In the words of General Matvei Burlakov, commander of the Russian forces in Germany, "The effects of the war are now at an end. We should mark that event, together." Many in Germany are unimpressed. After all, it was the Russians who tried to blockade West Berlin into surrender, while the Western allies organized the airlift which saved the city -- and which is remembered with gratitude, 40 years on. It was the Russians, too, who imposed on East Germany the totalitarian system that it suffered until five years ago. Many Germans are not eager for the stranglers and the saviors to be treated on equal terms. After the last goodbye to the Russians at the end of August, the Germans and Western allies want to have their final celebrations all alone. Despite Yeltsin's best efforts, that seems unlikely to change. The residual guilt in Germany means, however, that few want Yeltsin or the Russian forces to be obviously snubbed. There is sympathy, too, for the Russians who are leaving Germany, for an uncertain future. Germany is putting billions of Deutsche marks into providing accommodation for the returning troops -- though the overall effect is little more than symbolic. Four years ago, there were more than 300,000 Soviet troops in Germany. Now just a few thousand are left, clearing up and clearing out. Every day, trains depart from the station of Wunsdorf (Russian timetables, Russian announcements, Russian trains) to Moscow, taking the troops of a crumbled superpower domoi -- whatever "home" now means. As one Russian soldier commented this week: "The place where we're living is nice. Where we're going -- there's nothing." Steve Crawshaw, Bonn correspondent of the London Independent, is author of "Goodbye to the USSR" (Bloomsbury). He contributed this comment to The Moscow Times.