V Alexander - The Taster

As soon as she left, I ran to the woods behind the dormitory, an area safe from mines. The words from Karl’s note raced through my head. He was a hero, a man to respect and love. Although no stars were visible through the trees, my eyes swam with them. A strange, giddy excitement overtook me and I walked briskly, oblivious to the mosquitoes hovering around my head. Then the dark closed around me. How could I fall in love with a man who wanted to die? He wanted me to live, but how could I go on without him, shattered by his death? Despair and euphoria fought to control me. I shuddered to a stop near a rock outcropping, frozen in place, and listened. The night insects buzzed in my ears. I opened the lighter and the pungent odor of naphtha wafted into my nose. I brushed my thumb against the wheel, the flint sparked and a yellow flame split the darkness. I held the note with two fingers and lit the bottom edge. The paper curled in a brown wave and was consumed so quickly I dropped it on the rock. The letter burned to shards of gray dust. I took the ashes in my hands, dropped them on the muddy earth and crushed them into the ground until they disappeared. I was certain no one would find them.

I crept out of the forest, making sure I hadn’t been seen. When I arrived back at the dormitory, I washed my hands, returned to the library and stared at the bound volumes stacked so neatly in the cases. I couldn’t force myself to read. Neither education nor entertainment could satisfy my heart as I sat curled in my favorite chair. Slowly, the excitement of Karl’s admission left my body and I wept over our uncertain future—a future that might include death.

One thought consumed me: Our fate is sealed.

Hitler loved to take Blondi for a walk in the morning. Sometimes his valet took the dog, but usually the Führer walked her around the wooded area near his bunker.

Like a cancer invading my brain, I began to think of ways to kill him, speculating about his walks with Blondi, or how it might happen during a meal. These insane thoughts centered on me saving Karl. I wanted to die in his place.

Then my mind would calm and I would convince myself I was being foolish. How could I bring down the head of the Reich? I couldn’t poison him without poisoning others who might be innocent. And what if I was captured? I would be killed and my parents probably arrested. I had no pistol to shoot him, and what would it matter if I did? Karl was right. With Göring, Goebbels, Bormann or Himmler leading the state, Germany might be worse off. I’d become a madwoman, with murderous thoughts buzzing in my brain. I thought my head would burst.

Near summer’s end, Hitler invited Karl and me to evening tea. When I’d first met Hitler, when he was walking Blondi, he had made that suggestion. The invitation came to me through Cook one night after tasting. Nothing could be done about it. One did not decline tea with the Führer, but I couldn’t help but be wary of what was to come.

Franz was waiting for me when I stepped out of the dormitory one morning. I hadn’t seen him since the night in the woods when he told me he was being sent to the Eastern Front. I greeted him and he walked beside me. He withdrew his cigarettes from his jacket and tapped one against his gold holder. Sunlight split the leafy canopy above and he squinted at me. He lit his cigarette and said, “I hear you’ve been invited to tea with the Führer.”

“Yes.” I was happy to see Franz, but uncomfortable at the same time. A sense of carefree danger always seemed to surround him and meeting like this reinforced that feeling. “I thought you’d been sent to the Front.”

Franz chuckled. “I’ve been called back, so I can brief Hitler on the state of our war machine. It’s in sad shape. We’re losing ground and morale is low. Some of the troops are beginning to wonder what they’re fighting for, but too many of them still believe the propaganda spewed by their officers.”

I looked into his face, now thinner and creased with lines. “Why are you here? Do you have a message for me?”

He grabbed my arm and forced me to a stop. “I did what had to be done to Minna. You must be pleased about that. I saved both your lives.”

“We should keep walking.” I continued on the path. We walked past the mess hall and toward the field where Karl had intended to deploy the bomb. “Of course I’m grateful,” I whispered. “Minna was a fool. But our position is too precarious and I want—” A lump formed in my throat.

Franz put his hand on my arm. A group of officers passed us, but none gave us more than a greeting and a glance.

“You love Karl, don’t you?” Franz asked.

I nodded.

“Then you’ll be happy to know his position within the group has been reassigned. Von Stauffenberg knows what you did in the kitchen, how you tried to poison Minna at great risk to yourself. He and the others, including myself, are grateful. In fact, I think your little stunt completely befuddled the SS. Otto got the blame.”

No one was around, so we stopped.

“Karl had his chance and, lucky for you both, von Stauffenberg got in the way,” Franz continued. “The timing wasn’t right. With these things you never know what will happen.” He puffed on his cigarette. “Karl’s been ‘retired,’ so to speak. He’s to focus on reconnaissance here at the Wolf’s Lair and at the Berghof. Von Stauffenberg is taking over in every aspect. That’s what I was sent to tell you.”

Relief flooded through me; however, it faded quickly as I considered our circumstances. Far too many fears filled my head. I thanked Franz. We shook hands and then he turned and headed back the way we had come. As he disappeared from view, I thought how much he had aged in the few months I had known him. His blond hair seemed darker; his wide, bright smile had narrowed; his creased face showed the stress of battle. One thing I knew for certain: Von Stauffenberg would now figure prominently in the life, or death, of Adolf Hitler.

Karl and I had no chance to talk before meeting at Hitler’s for tea. I made my way to the bunker, after freshening up from the evening’s tasting. An SS guard on patrol stopped me and asked for my papers. When I told him I was having tea with the Führer, he walked with me. I knew he was only doing it to verify my story. Karl was standing near the door when we arrived about ten. The guard left after Karl had talked with him.

The Führer’s bunker was more impressive at night than during the day. It sat like a black monolith on the sodden earth and, even though it was not as large as some of the others on the grounds, it rose up like a derelict Mayan temple covered by the forest surrounding it. A single bright light shone over its iron door. Karl greeted me formally and then spoke to the armed men at the entrance. They escorted us through the narrow opening into a large corridor lined with doors where we were met by a valet. I recognized him from the Berghof, where he had also been in Hitler’s service. Tall, with a broad chin and thin lips, he was solidly SS: upright, strict, formal, a man’s man, obsequious to the Führer. He led us farther down the corridor until we found ourselves in a cramped tearoom furnished with a round table that seated about six comfortably. Several painted landscapes adorned the walls. Two rustic lamps in the corners shone a warm light through their beige silk shades. One couldn’t get over the feeling, however, of being in a bunker, no matter how hospitable the atmosphere. The fans whirred overhead. I fought the feeling that the walls were closing in around me. We said little to each other because we didn’t know if our conversation might be overheard.

I’d chosen a simple black dress, black shoes and two small gold earrings for the evening. I could never be another smartly dressed Eva Braun for Hitler.