V Alexander - The Taster

“You must never tell anyone what you’ve told me,” I said firmly. “Keep your politics to yourself, and don’t stir the pot. I, too, have heard rumors, and I know things I can’t tell you. Believe me, there are people who want to end this war for the good of Germany.”

He smiled and his eyes showed a spark of life for the first time since I’d arrived. Perhaps I had given him the small hope that things might change for the better.

“I want to breathe in your words,” he said. “There is so little for me to believe in.” He reached across the table and clutched my hands. Outside the window, the world looked sunny and cheerful, but like everything else, the pleasant weather was illusory, a distraction from the truth. He gripped my fingers. “Please be careful.”

I assured him I would, but my father’s fears infected me. My small respite from Hitler and the Berghof felt like a deceit. We were trapped in a make-believe world propagated by the Reich while all around us battles were being fought, troops slaughtered and innocents butchered. Our sense of well-being and safety was shrinking, and only a fool would believe that our way of life could continue. However, there were many fools still to be convinced. The Reich was doing its job well. People still believed in Hitler and his fiery rhetoric—to fight for Germany to the end, until the last man, woman and child had died for the Reich. I couldn’t hold on too long to that thought, for I felt the world might collapse around me.

My father kissed me and my mother good-bye and left the apartment. My mother and I sat at breakfast and, as my father predicted, we talked about the things in life that got her through the day: food, laundry, housecleaning, growing a garden. In normal times, these were innocuous but pleasant subjects. However, our days were far from normal. Conversations about food and rationing took on monumental importance.

With my father’s sense of a collapsing Germany closing in on me, I said farewell to my mother in the afternoon and boarded a train for the Wolf’s Lair in East Prussia. She, also, shed a few tears as I departed. I told her I would return when I could, but I had no idea what lay ahead. As I boarded the train, I wondered whether I’d ever see my parents again.

Ileft Berlin about five in the evening bound for Rastenburg. The conductor awarded me a sleeping car when he saw my “in service to the Führer” identification papers. The overnight trip was uneventful except for one long stop in the middle of Poland when the train halted because of a threat from Allied bombers. The night porter knocked on every door and explained the situation. I lifted the blackout curtain in my car and wondered how any bomber could target the train on a moonless night. Black woods surrounded us; we were no longer rolling through the fertile plains of eastern Germany. I slept fitfully, with one eye open the rest of the night, despite the train’s concealment by the deep forest.

We arrived about nine in the morning. It was a rather desolate station surrounded by trees and little to recommend it in the way of scenery or pomp. I gathered my suitcase and descended the steps to the platform. Two other young women stood nearby, looking as lost as I did. Both had dark blond hair, but one was taller than the other and seemed to be in control of her shorter companion. The taller one craned her swan-like neck, as if looking for something. I barely had time to put my bag on the ground when a stout SS officer strode toward me, grim and composed.

“Fräulein Ritter,” he said in a commanding tone.

I was surprised he knew who I was.

“The cooking staff is expecting you,” he continued. “You will take the courier train to the Wolf’s Lair.” He left me and then addressed the two young women on the platform. He directed us to another train on a railroad siding, and, after a few minutes’ wait, it pulled away into the forest. I introduced myself to the women who sat across from me, for on this train the benches ran along the side of the car. The taller woman was named Minna; and the shorter, Else. They were new tasters from Berlin and had been chosen for service with Cook by the SS, with the approval of Hitler.

Minna settled against the brocade seat with an air of authority and smoothed her skirt with her hands. Her lips shone slickly through bright red lipstick and her eyebrows were penciled in severe dark lines—far more dramatic than most women would require. Cruelty emanated from her full mouth. She would be trouble, a woman who hung on every word spouted by the Reich and more than willing to die in service to the Führer. On the other hand, Else was pretty with round eyes, a petite mouth and a shy demeanor. Whether she intended to, she looked upon Minna as her guide. Else, I decided, would follow anyone who made up her mind for her—a perfect candidate for the position of taster. If the Gestapo asked her to swallow poison, she probably would.

“What is he like?” Minna asked with a sideways glance of superiority.

I did not want to coddle her. “I’ve been asked that question many times. You’ll be lucky to catch a glimpse of him, let alone have a conversation.”

Minna glowered. “I’ll talk to him. In fact, I’m certain I will know him quite well.” She swung one well-shaped leg over the other.

She had no idea about Eva Braun and Hitler’s relationship. I wanted to laugh, but I felt I would be giving away too much. Instead, I sat back and tried to enjoy the forest scenery as it passed by in dark green patches of pine, birch and oak.

Else asked, “Are you scared when you taste?”

Even though I had only been in the job a few months, I could at least trumpet my seniority. “It’s a dangerous job. I was nervous at first. You never know which meal will be your last.”

Else gulped and stared at me. Minna laughed and then smiled in a high-handed way.

“Don’t be silly, Else,” she scolded. “You will never have to worry. From now on you will lead a charmed life. You will enjoy the best rooms, secure and safe from harm. You will eat the best meals, with no fear of being poisoned because who would dare raise a hand against the leader of the Third Reich? You will revel in the company of the Führer himself. What woman could ask for more? We will live like queens while the rest of Germany defends the Fatherland. If the Wehrmacht falls, we will be protected by the Führer. Let the German people eat cake, as Marie Antoinette would say.”

Else, afraid to contradict Minna, stared at her companion like a scared puppy. A slow fire burned within me and I wanted to slap sense into this boastful woman. But I could not in any way betray my feelings. I had bigger worries—Karl, my parents, the lingering specter of death—to be concerned about than that of a braggart consumed by pride and stupidity.

Soon our journey ended at a little station in the woods. The portly SS man who had taken us to the train appeared in the door and instructed us to depart. I stepped onto the platform. I knew we were at the Führer’s headquarters, but no buildings were visible. Another train sat on a siding nearby. The station was surrounded by a thicket ripe with trees and bushes. Bugs swarmed around our heads in the clammy air. The officer led us down a wooded path where small bunkers and huts, hidden by camouflage, appeared among the vegetation. In a few minutes, we reached a checkpoint where a young guard asked the SS man for a password. The guard then studied our identification papers, told us to drop our bags and turn in a circle. We did so and he seemed satisfied. I imagined he was looking for bulges in our clothing where we might conceal a weapon. He searched our purses and bags. Confident that we had no weapons, he handed us a small passport for the Wolf’s Lair and ordered us to keep it with us at all times. Then we passed through the gate of an electrified fence.