V Alexander - The Taster

I dissolved into tears as he pressed my head to his chest and stroked my hair.

“I was worried sick,” he said. “I had no idea whether you or your family was alive. I knew your neighborhood had been bombed because Göring’s generals informed us in the situational conferences with Hitler. He is furious about what is happening in Berlin and places the blame squarely on the air force. Göring is in deep trouble.”

“Karl,” I said, sobbing, “my mother is dead.”

He squeezed me tighter. “I’m so sorry, Magda. How cruel this war is.” He put a finger to my lips. “Weep, but be strong. It’s the only way we can survive.”

I pulled away from him—my inability to control our circumstances stoked rage within me. “I don’t care who knows,” I cried out. “Hitler, too. My mother is dead and my father is homeless. In Berlin, thousands are dead and hundreds of thousands are without homes. I’ve seen the destruction with my own eyes. For what? His Reich?”

Karl pulled me off the path past a stand of bare trees. We stood concealed behind them. “Please, Magda, think before you speak. The operation is in place. I’m not sure when it will occur, but you must be patient. When it’s over, Germany will be a free nation again.”

I stepped back, ready to fight anything blocking my fury, including Karl. “I would kill him now, if I could.”

“Think of your father—think of the innocents who would die because you killed the Führer. It’s a delicate operation that has to be planned. The Wehrmacht has to fall in line behind us. The officers have to support us; otherwise, we are lost. Please understand how complicated this has been… and if one man betrays us…” His eyes grew cloudy and their edges turned pink with tears. “And what would I do without you? How could I go on? Please, don’t do anything rash. I couldn’t stand to lose you, like Franz lost Ursula.”

His words calmed me enough that I considered what he was saying. He kissed me again and I welcomed his touch. “Come to my room at ten.”

“What about the other men in your quarters?”

“I have the room to myself tonight. Would you like to be alone with me?” He brushed his fingers against my cheek.

I nodded and we embraced. Large snowflakes began to drift down through the trees, falling lightly upon our shoulders.

“It’s cold,” Karl said. “I don’t want you to catch your death. We should go inside.”

We walked hand in hand to my dormitory and then parted. “Until tonight,” he said.

I couldn’t forget. I kissed him and wondered whether it was wise to go to his room. I barely had time to ask myself the question before my heart answered. Yes. I wanted to make love to Karl. Time was running out and I was unsure how much happiness the future held for either one of us. My mother was dead. My father, I thought, would be proud of my decision to fight Hitler. My love for Karl deserved to be fully expressed. I could no longer deny what few moments of joy were within our grasp. Damn the consequences. When I returned to my room, I knew my love for Captain Karl Weber would be consummated.

I met him on the path to his quarters at ten. We tried to avoid other officers, but we passed a few outside. They gave me a sideways glance and then looked away. The officer corps was a tightly knit organization. Apparently, it had become well known across headquarters that Karl and I were a couple.

His bed was turned down and a candle burned on his desk. Its yellow light flickered and spread ochre shadows across the room. We said little. He told me to sit on the bed and then he kissed me. We took off our clothes piece by piece until we were naked on the sheets, a blanket spread across our shoulders. Karl asked me if I was a virgin and I told him, “Yes.” I think he was pleased to know I’d not been with another man. I asked him if he had ever been with a woman. He told me he had, several years ago, and had paid for her services. He swore it was the one and only time. My hymen had broken years ago while participating in girls’ athletics, but I felt no need to explain that to Karl. He wouldn’t have minded either way.

He put on a condom, entered me and made love in slow thrusts until we both relaxed into a natural rhythm. We swayed as our bodies clung to each other, molding ourselves as one, until we were consumed and spent by our mutual passion.

We lay in bed, nestled against each other, until early the next morning. We dressed and Karl escorted me back to my dormitory. Neither of us expressed any regret for the evening, but we knew we had to be cautious. Making love every night, even every week, was impossible. Hitler wanted those he had paired, in his wisdom, to be married for the benefit of the Reich. Sexual intercourse without marriage was akin to an act of treason. Our sexual relationship was a danger to the state. Both of us knew we must forsake our mutual pleasure—too much was at stake.

The fall days dragged by as thoughts of revenge consumed me. I kept them to myself, not even sharing with Karl because I knew he would never allow me to act on them.

In early December, I received a letter from my father. He had been released from the hospital, returned to work and taken a spare room in the home of a co-worker, a man with a wife and two children. The family had doubled up its sleeping arrangements, allowing my father to rent the room. Housing and incomes were scarce in Berlin. He wrote little about my mother, but his grief came through the letter in a somber and stoic tone. Still, I was happy to hear from him and learn that he was safe.

A week later, Cook informed me that Else, four other girls and I would be transferred to the Berghof for the holiday season, possibly longer. No one ever knew the length of Hitler’s stays; sometimes he remained until spring or early summer before returning to one of his other headquarters. I was disappointed until I learned that Karl was coming as well.

That night, with the others, I boarded a train headed south-west to the Berghof. Else and I chatted on the long trip and played cards, but it took three days to reach Berchtesgaden because we traveled mostly at night. Hitler, ever fearful of Allied bombings, ordered the trains to roll under cover of darkness. The second night, I was invited to have dinner with the Führer. I had to hide my feelings of revulsion as he sat there in his appointed seat in the dining car. How I wanted to end his life there. I trembled at the thought of thrusting an insignificant weapon, a dinner knife perhaps, into his heart. As usual, his conversation was about anything but the war. Cook had warned me that any mention of it was met with a stern look and dismissal from the dinner table. Instead, he talked about art and culture and bombarded us with stories about his youth before returning to one of his favorite topics.

During dinner, he continued to proclaim his disdain for meat eaters. “Do you realize how meat comes to the table?” he said with the air of a pontificate. “Corpse upon bloody corpse strewn across the ground. You can’t how imagine how disgusting it is until you’ve seen it.” He reached down and patted Blondi, who lay at his feet, and then lectured us about the slaughterhouse.

I lost my appetite because of his graphic descriptions and the hatred in my heart for my host.

Else was awed by the majestic vistas of the Alps when we arrived in Berchtesgaden. She’d never been so far south. After we’d climbed into the entourage of cars waiting at the train station, we motored up the mountain road. Soon Hitler’s retreat loomed ahead of us, luminescent under the brilliant December sun. After passing through the guardhouse, the car pulled into the entrance I’d first seen half a year before. In a strange way, I felt as if I had come home after an abysmal absence. The sun, the beautiful morning light, the mountain air, revived me after the oppressive stay at the Wolf’s Lair. The atmosphere here was much more relaxed than in Rastenburg. Else also noticed the difference immediately. She said her cares seemed to drop away—she might not even mind continuing on as a taster here. I showed her to our room with the view of the Untersberg, the same room that Ursula and I had shared. That small part of my history seemed a lifetime ago.