“He’s like your grandfather,” she said, and I laughed at the thought. “I’ve never seen him mad,” she continued. “Upset, yes, but furious, no.”
The Colonel appeared at the kitchen door, all spit and polish, looking the picture of the perfect SS man.
“See him,” Cook said, and looked his way. “It’s typical for him to show up out of nowhere. He’s watching us now.” She discreetly put a finger to her lips. “Be careful what you say around him. I would never get in his way because I don’t trust him. He protects the Führer better than Blondi. The Colonel has repeatedly told me that if there are setbacks in winning this war, they aren’t the Führer’s fault. The Allies have caused our misfortunes, he says, but I wouldn’t be surprised if he blamed the German people.”
The Colonel walked past us into the kitchen, surveying the sinks, the counters, the tabletops, like they were his own domain. He made me nervous. The rumors circulating through the mountain residence made it seem as if the Berghof were resting on a slowly melting iceberg while everything around sparkled in sunshine.
Hitler always ate about 8:00 p.m. in the dining room. Around seven, Cook lined up the dishes for me to taste, as well as the food for his guests. Ursula had been given the night off to attend to a family matter in Munich. Normally we both tasted the food. The other girls worked at breakfast or lunch or were at the other headquarters. Cook had given me a few more lessons in poisons, including other mushrooms and salts. I studied them as much as I could, but was not convinced of my ability to save the Führer from being poisoned.
Cook placed the Führer’s meal in front of me: a plate of eggs and diced potatoes scrambled together, yellow and fluffy; a thin porridge; fresh tomatoes sprinkled with olive oil and pepper; a green salad with peppers and cucumbers; a plate of fresh fruit sprinkled with sugar. The tomatoes, along with the salad vegetables and fruits, had been grown in the Berghof’s greenhouses.
I looked at the food and thought this could be my last meal. A tight grip of fear shot through my arm as I lifted the spoon. My indecision showed.
Cook’s voice sounded sharply in my ears. “Think what you’re doing! Don’t just taste the food.”
I considered what she meant. “Of course. I’m sorry.” I lifted the plate to my nose and sniffed. The odor was completely normal; the warm, comfortable smell of scrambled eggs and fried potatoes wafted into my nostrils.
“Go ahead,” Cook said. She urged me to action with a sweep of her hands. “We haven’t got all night.”
The other cooks stared at me, as if I were a lunatic. Ursula was used to tasting, but I found it hard to rid my mind of the fear of taking my last breath. Cook crossed her arms, so I steeled myself and put the food into my mouth.
The dish was delicious. There were no smells or tastes out of the ordinary. I relaxed a bit and made my way down the table, sampling the food. The cooks and orderlies returned to their preparations and ignored me. I tasted asparagus, rice, cucumbers, tomatoes, a melon and a piece of apple cake, Hitler’s favorite dessert. Soon I had eaten enough for a meal.
“Now what?” I asked Cook.
“Now you wait.” She said these words simply and without emotion, as clinically as a heartless physician telling a patient she only had a short time to live.
I took a seat at the small oak table in the corner and watched as the dishes were placed on their serving platters in preparation for the evening meal. It struck me that any of the cooks or the orderlies, as they served and delivered the food, could administer a poisonous dose to Hitler. However, only one cook and a few orderlies were allowed to touch the food I’d tasted. This was a form of life insurance. If something happened to the Führer then most of the kitchen staff would be exonerated—only those who had the responsibility of serving would be suspect.
After the last plates were taken away about eight, I was allowed to leave the kitchen.
“See, there was nothing to worry about,” Cook said.
Her blasé attitude concerned me. She didn’t taste food like I did, although I had seen her dip a spoon into dishes now and then. My fate rested in my own hands—more the reason to be prudent when tasting.
I returned to my room, changed clothes, fussed with my hair and tried to read a book.
Karl knocked on my door about ten. My heart fluttered a bit when I saw him. His hair was neatly combed, uniform sparkling and pressed, boots polished to a slick shine. He smiled and then bowed slightly.
I closed the door and placed my left arm through the arch he created with his right. We walked toward the Great Hall, the large sitting room I’d heard about but never been in. Before we reached it we came to a flight of stairs that led downward. “Dinner conversation was dull as usual,” he said. “Eva talked about her dogs and Hitler carried on about Blondi. Then Bormann got to talking about his children.” He rolled his eyes. “That was fascinating. I can outline each of their school careers and his plans for them. It’s so much more pleasant when Speer is here. At least he’s not a boor.”
“Where is the Führer?” I held on tightly to Karl as we descended the stone steps.
“He’s in the Hall with his generals for his evening military conference. Fortunately, I’m not part of that. That will go on until midnight, or later, when we may be called in for tea. That usually lasts until two, sometimes longer.” He put a finger to his lips as if to tell a secret. “That’s why he and Eva sleep so late. The rest of us must tend to our duties.”
“I’m lucky I’m only the taster.”
Karl released my arm and stopped on the stairs. “Your job is important, perhaps one of the most important in the Reich. You stand between Hitler and death. You must always remember that.”
An uncomfortable shudder swept over me as I pondered the immensity of my task yet again. Was I really all that stood between Hitler and death? There were fourteen others who were in the same position. Did they feel as I did? My task didn’t fill me with a grand sense of importance. In fact, in the past several weeks I’d preferred to think of it as only a job. Knowing the Führer’s fate was intertwined with mine was too much to bear. I changed the subject. “What movie is being shown?”
“Gone with the Wind. Everyone is excited to see it. Eva said it’s very romantic. Most American films are.”
He took my arm again and we reached the bottom of the steps. A long hall with several doors on each side stretched out before us. Karl opened the one nearest us and laughter danced on the air. The room was filled with men dressed in suits and women attired in fine dresses. Eva and her friends sat in chairs lined up in the front row on either side of the projector while other guests sat behind them. Negus and Stasi, Eva’s dogs, were nestled at her feet. We were in a small bowling alley constructed under the main rooms of the Berghof. A screen had been placed at the far end of the lanes. Two young men I knew from the kitchen took orders and then returned with trays brimming with drinks.
Karl and I sat near the rear in plush high-back chairs. They were somewhat stiff, and I wondered if they’d be uncomfortable to sit in through an entire movie. When the alley went dark, Karl reached across and touched my hand. Warmth spread through my fingers and up into my arm. The shock touched my heart and I struggled to catch a breath.
“Is something wrong?” Karl asked.
“No,” I whispered. “I tasted tonight for the first time. Perhaps it’s a reaction to the food.”
Karl twisted in his seat and took my hands. “If you’re sick, I will get the Führer’s personal physician.”
I leaned back. “Please, Karl, I’m fine. Let’s enjoy the movie.”