“The dog was rescued for you, Mein Führer.” The major steps closer to Adi.
Adi is pleased. It’s the best gift he could get, better than my wedding dress. A hint of sadness glistens at the sides of his eyes as he fears the dog has lived a terrible existence running frantically from one bombardment to another. An animal can’t know what the shells and fire mean. The poor creature is without national thoughts. The major deserves to be rewarded. What would he like? Boots? Special food?
“I wish to spend a weekend with my wife and children.”
The Führer calls for Bormann who writes up a special order from the stacks of endless forms on his desk.
Adi wishes to see a picture of the major’s family and out comes the photo from his pocket. Holding two blond children in her arms is a mother with blond braided earmuffs.
“Tell your children…” Adi begins.
“Yes, Mein Führer?”
“Tell your children…”
Adi suddenly turns and enters the map room holding Renate, closing the door softly so as not to startle her.
“I’ll always remember what he said.”
“Was is das?” I ask.
“That he thought of my children, even at the end.”
Kissing me on both cheeks, the major leaves with the wonderful pass clutched in his hand. And there’s still the mummified prize in the car.
I go to my room to smooth out my dress, wash my hair and savor each glorious minute before my wedding. If only Renate could witness me marrying the Führer.
My mother! If she could see the rapturous face of her daughter getting married to the Führer. Mother was impressed when I gave my fur coats to the military—for the freezing men on the Russian front. Even Adi was overwhelmed by my gesture, so much so that he had Bormann arrange to get me another fur coat. It was taken from a Jewish woman in the northern city of Kiel. I felt bad about it until Bormann told me that the woman went to a warmer climate. My new coat was delivered to me by ambulance.
24
BORMANN KNOCKS. I can tell his short official raps. If he’d just quickly push the door open! His hand lingering on the knob is distressing as I’ll feel his touch when I go out.
“Here is the agenda.” Bormann has a grating over-used voice and doesn’t smile. I’m wearing a robe and my feet are bare. His little squinting eyes look at my toes. “They’re painted.” he remarks.
“It’s my wedding day.”
“You know the Führer doesn’t like nail polish.”
“A woman must do as she wishes on her wedding day.”
Placing the agenda on my bed, he exits with quiet stiffness. I give a second coat of red polish to my toenails.
The wedding will take place after midnight with a justice of the peace, Walter Wagner, to marry us. Goebbels is the witness. A short party will follow, then the bride and groom retire to the Führer’s bedroom. In the early morning, Mr. and Mrs. Hitler will kill themselves.
Magda taps on my door three times in imitation of the three raps when the curtain rises at the Comédie Française (using sophistication gained from our Paris occupation). She appears in a long white towel. Her thick legs show. “Dr. Morell has given me my grape injections, and I feel wonderful.” Pins hold up her stiff blond hair. She’s wearing a red dress to the wedding assuring me it’s a soft red along with a hat of crimson ribbons. Magda may be able to buy “fashion” but she can’t buy “style.”
“Josef, the children, and I will follow you both,” she says pulling the towel closer to her body.
I have an instant fright that Magda and family wish to follow us into our wedding bed.
“In what way?”
“We’re done for.” The amber spots in Magda’s eyes are gleaming.
“What are you talking about?”
“I’ve told the Führer. We have his blessing. We don’t want to go on. Any of us.”
“Adi did tell me…”
“What did he tell you?” Magda faces me eagerly. Those puffy red lips pucker in anticipation. “What?”
“That… you would… would…”
“Die with him?”
“Not with him. That’s my place, Magda.”
“I know that, silly Eva. But we do intend to follow shortly afterward.”
“Why does it have to be this way?” I moan. “It would be better if thousands died rather than the Führer be lost to Germany.”
“Of course. But we must deal with now.” Her head is down and she is unable to look me in the eyes. “Six chocolates filled with the drug Finodin are prepared by SS Doctor Ludwig Stumpfegger. It puts the children to sleep and helps me ease my babies out of this life. Dr. Kunz will give the children morphine to deliver them gently into eternal sleep for they belong to the Third Reich and to the Führer.” She pauses, then stammers: “The only thing that worries me is that… I will weaken at the last minute. I fear a stupid acrobat of emotion.”
I stare at her pale hands that now look like claws.
“There are two glass cyanide capsules set aside for Josef and me,” she adds. She looks up at me sternly. “Eva, you must help me. I wish to see the Führer alone one last time. Just for a few minutes. But he refuses.”
Magda is asking me to intercede for her. I feel the power of becoming a wife.
“What is there to say?”
“There’s everything to say.”
“We have so much to do before the wedding.”
“Eva, I’m here to help you in any way I can.”
Magda is fawning. Magda is requesting a favor like a servant.
But she’s clever enough to know there is something she can do. I’m nervous. I need unusual experiences. I want to be special.
“I can’t believe a poor girl from Simbach in Bavaria would know much of love. Am I right?” Magda asks eagerly.
“There are men in Bavaria. Handsome men. I was never without one.”
“Eva, you’re with the Führer. A man who spins his marvelous cocoon and pupates.”
“Haven’t I been in his bed? But tonight—tonight is different, Magda. Tonight, he’s released from Germany. Tonight he’s my husband, all mine. What we do in bed will take me into ecstasy.”
“The important matter is a good rousing romp. With a crashing climax.” Magda touches my damp hair that I washed with the last piece of soap. “I must talk to him. If only for a minute. Alone,” Magda pleads.
I look at Magda’s towel. Behind it is the mystery I seek, all her men, all those ardent Berlin nights, all those SS Stallions. Even the ones who like men never refuse Magda.
I promise to arrange a five-minute meeting with Adi just before the wedding.
She opens the towel and draws me into her cave, into the familiar womanly bond of soft flesh. It’s breast against breast, furry mound against mound.
“It’s all so simple, my Bavarian Fräulein,” she whispers, “it’s all so simple.”
Magda begins to lick my neck.
“The tongue?” I say. “Is that it?”
“Quatsch. What rubbish.” She puts a fleshy finger in my ear.
“Fingers? Is that it?”
“Of course not.” She pulls her finger away.
Magda’s navel opens and closes as she moves. Her skin is not soft but elastic, a creature’s hide from a warm languorous climate. It’s a cruel and grimy skin that breathes me in, takes hold of me by all its greedy lynx pores, a pelt that throbs, billowing into every fold of my body.
“Listen closely,” she whispers in my ear, her tongue lingering there. “Throw away the Russian-shirt-nightdress we made. Get up a sweat and wear only your stinking skin. Put your hair up under a worker’s cap.” She rips a folded factory hat pinned to her towel, a souvenir from Josef’s marching days, and throws it dramatically on my bed. “Sprinkle dust under your arms. Make sure there’s vinegar on your breath. Don’t you know, Eva, the only thing he ever wanted was to gain the heart of the German workers.”