In the adjacent dining area, Mr. and Mrs. Rausching, a middle-aged couple, and their son, Karl (named after the Führer), age 11, and daughter, Carin, age 16, were sitting down to eat supper.
Dr. Hoffmann and Wayne entered the house.
“Perfect timing, Lisa,” Mr. Rausching said.
“How wonderful — you invited a guest to dine with us,” Mrs. Rausching said. She prided herself as a good cook, and always had extra despite the occasional lack of funds.
Dr. Hoffmann would have rather skipped the meal. She couldn’t afford to arouse suspicions by skipping it, however, because she always ate with them.
Wayne noticed to himself how Aryan looking the family was, with their stark blond hair and deep blue eyes. He felt out of place with his black hair and brown eyes. Most people pegged him as an Italian, and he appreciated that face at the dinner table.
The talk during dinner was normal table chatter. Mr. Rausching spoke of his day at his job at a building materials company. Karl spoke of his day at school and how he did well on a recent test while Carin spoke of trying out for the school track and field team. Dr. Hoffmann had explained how her guest had suddenly come down with a case of laryngitis. The family members did speak to Wayne, but he was able to answer their simple questions with a nod. Carin reminded Wayne of Lauren. It was not that she looked like Lauren, but she had the same type of look, as far as her facial features and long, curly blond locks. Wayne tried to avoid gazing at the teenaged girl, but probably did so more than he should have. He marveled at how much she reminded him of his girlfriend and wished that it was Lauren sitting there with him instead. When Mrs. Rausching passed the main course, Raucheraal, around the table, Wayne forced himself to smile as he put some of the eel on his plate.
After dinner, Wayne and Dr. Hoffmann joined the family in the living room to watch television. A soccer match was being televised.
Soccer is the most popular sport in the Reich and every citizen closely keeps up with the goings on in the National German Soccer League. On the first Sunday of each October, the final NGSL championship match takes place in Berlin, all activity in the Reich comes to a standstill. The Führer customarily invites the winning championship team to the Chancellery to personally congratulate the players.
The boy, Karl, was excited because his favorite team, the Munich Stars, was playing that night. A Munich player kicked a goal to break the tied game with only seconds remaining on the clock. Mr. Rausching and Karl cheered.
“Now children,” Mrs. Rausching said, “it is time for the National Pledge, then time for bed.”
The family members stood in front of the painting of the Führer, each member placing their right hand above their heart. Dr. Hoffmann did this, too, and nudged Wayne to do the same. Wayne did so, though reluctantly.
The Rausching family and Dr. Hoffmann began to recite the Reich National Pledge, “Führer, my Führer, bequeathed to me by the Lord, protect and preserve me as long as I live…”
Wayne could not believe the crap that he was hearing. The television was still on. He looked at the screen. The soccer players on the field also held their right hands above their hearts and were reciting the National Pledge.
“…Thou hast rescued Germany from deepest distress…”
Wayne turned to Dr. Hoffmann and whispered, “I don’t get it. Who’s the guy in the painting?”
“Quiet!” she whispered back and continued to recite the pledge with the family, “…Abide thou long with me, forsake me not, Führer, my Führer, my faith and my light. Heil, my Führer!”
Carin and Karl kissed their parents good night and proceeded upstairs to bed. Mr. and Mrs. Rausching invited Dr. Hoffmann and her guest to join them for fresh brewed coffee. Dr. Hoffmann explained that it was getting late and that she and her guest needed to get some work done. She thanked Mrs. Rausching for a wonderful dinner and excused herself and Wayne from the living room.
Dr. Hoffmann led Wayne upstairs to the guestroom. It was a small cubicle that consisted of nothing more than a small bed and a lamp. Wayne had seen bathrooms that were bigger than the room.
“It’s not exactly the Hilton,” Wayne said.
“I will be back in a moment,” Dr. Hoffmann said. “Rest yourself.”
Wayne, his body sore and throbbing with pain, lay down on the firm mattress of the bed. He wanted to go to sleep, and wake up to find out all that had happened to him had just been a terrible nightmare. Before he could doze off, Dr. Hoffmann walked in, holding first aid supplies. Wayne slowly sat up.
“Take off your shirt,” Dr. Hoffmann instructed Wayne.
Wayne removed his shirt, revealing his badly bruised back, on which large welts had formed. “I want you to tell me something — what was that unidentified meat that passed for dinner?” he asked. “I hope it’s not what it looked like.”
“That delicious dish was raucheraal. It is always a treat.”
“What exactly is raucheraal, if you don’t mind me asking? Please don’t say that it’s snake.”
“Smoked eel.”
“I think I’m going to be sick.”
Dr. Hoffmann rubbed an ointment on Wayne’s back.
“That feels good,” Wayne said. “By the way, who was the pudgy guy in the painting?”
Dr. Hoffmann replied, “Karl Göring, the Führer. He is the son of Hermann Göring.”
“I can see the resemblance,” Wayne said. “What was with that pledge? Do you believe all that garbage you were saying? Heil, my Führer, my faith and my light! Give me a break!”
“Please, Wayne, be careful with what you say. You never know who might be listening,” Dr. Hoffmann warned. She started to place bandages on the welts on Wayne’s back. In a soft tone, she said, “I have always thought, ever since I first learned the National Pledge in grade school, that it was an inadequate one. It is a vow of loyalty to a person, the Führer, when it would be more logical to pledge allegiance to our country, Germany. But I am required, as are all Germans, to state the Pledge once per evening before bedtime.”
“Well, I saw the way the kids said it,” Wayne observed, “from their hearts. They sure brainwash them young.”
Dr. Hoffmann finished the bandaging.
“Thank you,” Wayne said appreciatively. “Now, I’ve been thinking about what we can do. On January 30th, 1933, at precisely 8:35 p.m., Hitler drank a cup of champagne that I laced with something to stop his heart. Now, you send me back to that night at exactly 8:35 p.m., and I’ll use modern techniques to start his heart again so that he lives. That way, with Hitler in charge of the German armies, there will be a World War Two, but the Krauts will definitely be the losers”
“There is a problem with that,” Dr. Hoffmann said.
“What?” Wayne exclaimed. He stood up, and felt like pacing, as was his habit when he had nervous energy to burn, but the room was too small to do any of that. “It’ll work. It’s the only chance we’ve got.”
Dr. Hoffmann sat down on the bed. “I cannot run my time machine without Gadolinium crystals to power it and I haven’t any. The time machine hasn’t even been tested yet.”
“If it’s not working, how then did I arrive back in 1995?” Wayne wanted to know.
“You were sent only temporarily back to another point in time,” Dr. Hoffmann explained. “Even without a time machine, the matter that comprises your body would have been pulled back to its original starting point eventually. It simply did not belong in another time frame. A time machine would have only sped the process up. I, Dr. Hoffmann, American with a working time machine, became Dr. Hoffmann, German without a working time machine, the moment Adolf Hitler died. That is why your arrival back to 1995 was delayed. With no existing time machine to speed up the process, your organic matter was naturally brought back to its original place in time.”