V Alexander - The Taster

Karl ordered the staff to stay inside, although the whole event could be seen through the Teahouse windows.

Heinrich Hoffmann, Hitler’s gray-haired photographer, rushed up and snapped a few pictures of the body. Hitler stopped the procession and motioned for the Colonel to come to him. With the teapot and cup in hand, he approached the Führer. I couldn’t hear their conversation, but after a short time Hitler turned and said something to the group. Amid looks of astonishment, they retreated and disappeared into the mist.

The Colonel poured out the contents of the pot on the trail and addressed Karl. “You should have better command over your staff, Captain. Get a couple of men to take the body to the doctor’s office for an autopsy.” He grabbed his dog’s leash. The animal wanted to sniff Ursula’s body. “You and Faber—in my quarters in an hour. In the meantime, make sure the Teahouse is cleaned up. No one should eat or drink anything. Keep only the items that are sealed.” He handed Karl the teapot and the cup.

He raised his right arm in salute. “Heil Hitler.”

Karl and Franz came to attention and saluted as well. The Colonel turned toward the Berghof, pulling his dog with him. As soon as he was out of sight, Franz’s eyes brimmed with tears. Karl held his friend back while two SS men took the body away.

“Go back to your room and remain there,” he told me when I approached. “None of us is above suspicion.”

The thought shook me. I took one last look inside the Teahouse with its magical furnishings. I remembered the fairy tales my mother had read to me when I was a child. They were often brutal tales ending in destruction or death. I was coming to realize how much the Reich was like a fairy tale. Death was never far away.

Ireturned to a ransacked room. Ursula’s things had been removed. Our small closet stood open.... Books and papers from the shelves had been scattered about. Shivering, I cleared a place on my bed, sat down and cried.

I cried for myself as much as Ursula. Fear crept over me. Was there no one I could trust? What about Captain Weber? A thought jolted me. What had Karl and Ursula been talking about in the Teahouse when we visited it? Could he have known about the poison? It made no sense to me—how could Ursula have been so foolish? Was Karl an accomplice? My gloomy questions distressed me. Ursula had ended her life and put mine in danger. She was mad to think she could have ever succeeded—but I dared not think about the attempt!

Someone knocked on the door. I wiped my tears and composed myself. I had no time to answer before I heard the key in the lock. The door swung open and Cook stepped into the room. She was in great distress: her face crimped in pain, her hands clenched. She lurched about in the small space between the beds, more agitated than I’d ever seen her.

“Did you know anything of this?” She slowed her steps and paced back and forth near the door like a caged tiger.

“Of course not,” I said, and looked away. I couldn’t imagine she expected me to answer “yes.”

“Look at me! Never avert your eyes when the SS or the Gestapo question you.” Her face reddened. “You might as well admit your guilt. If you give them any indication you’re lying, they will beat you until they have what they want to hear.”

I sobbed at her harsh words. “I don’t know how this happened. How could Ursula do such a thing?”

Cook sat next to me and her voice softened. “I believe you knew nothing of this, but you must prove your innocence. I know Ursula suffered because of her brothers’ deaths—but to attempt such an insane act! How could she be so callous? In an attempt to poison the Führer she has ended her life and dishonored her family. The Gestapo will question all of us.” She wrung her hands. “What a stupid woman.”

I looked at her, not knowing what to say. I had proclaimed my innocence, yet I could tell no one about the powder I saw upon Ursula’s apron. To do so would implicate me.

“Captain Weber has called for a new taster, but she won’t be here until tomorrow,” Cook said. “Tonight you must taste all the food. Be in the kitchen by seven.”

She left and I changed out of my Bavarian costume into my work clothes. In a fury, I threw the Bavarian dress on the bed, disgusted by the event it represented. I wanted to tear it to bits and toss it into the hall as a reminder to Eva of her ridiculous idea.

Soon another knock, loud and firm, interrupted me. I opened the door and was shocked to see the Colonel. He pushed past me, sat on the desk chair and eyed me suspiciously. I took Cook’s advice and looked into his eyes as he questioned me.

At one point, he asked, “Have you stopped smuggling poison into the Berghof?” I caught his trick. Either answer, negative or affirmative, would have incriminated me.

“I never brought poison into the Berghof for her or anyone else. I had no idea Ursula was carrying out such a plan.”

He stared me down and asked where Ursula might have gotten it. I told him I didn’t know; it was absurd to ask me.

He seemed satisfied by my answers, but asked me more questions about my habits. He wanted to know who I knew at the Berghof, what I felt about the Reich.

My stomach turned when I answered questions about the Reich. For the first time in my life, I was lying to save myself. Only anger and pain about Ursula’s death, Hitler and the war filled me. The Colonel told me, from now on, to report any suspicious behaviors directly to him. The kitchen and staff would be under special watch. He said good-bye, stood and saluted the Führer. I had no choice but to do the same.

That night, in the kitchen, two SS guards watched the staff’s every move. I didn’t know them because my contact with the Leibstandarte had primarily been limited to Karl and Franz. One of the guards, a rat-like man with greasy blond hair, observed my tasting. My nerves were on edge. I wondered if Ursula had spread cyanide in the food as well as the tea. The kitchen door slammed and I dropped a spoonful of an asparagus dish destined for Hitler. The SS man was quick to act. He pointed menacingly and commanded me to take another bite. Cook glowered at him, but it did no good. Tensions were running high. I managed to make it through the tastings, but I trembled with every bite as dread shook me.

The next morning, Cook gave me a list of vegetables and asked me to record the number of those plants in the greenhouses. I gathered the inventory books and walked up the grassy slope to the glass and metal structures that glinted in the silvery morning haze. The air felt fresh and dewy against my skin; the sunlight had that magical, ethereal effect, painting the surrounding mountains in muted pastels. It was like walking in a watercolor.

The greenhouses were two tiered, both about 150 meters long. Most of the fresh food for Hitler was grown here. There was also a “mushroom house.” Cook had told me that the Führer rarely ate them, but apparently others did in enough quantity to warrant a special growing area.

I opened the door to the lower greenhouse and stepped inside. Even though the morning was cool, the greenhouse was warm. I took off my jacket and draped it over a metal stand. A patchwork quilt of plants lay on the floor as far as I could see. I grabbed my book and pen and walked past the square plots until I got to a plant I recognized on my list—cucumbers. I bent down and began counting the staked plants festooned with their starry yellow flowers. The door opened behind me.

Karl stood at the entrance. He put his right hand over his eyes to shade them from the light and stared at me. I waved. He called my name and walked quickly toward me. We were the only two people in the greenhouse.