V Alexander - The Taster

For an instant, I pitied her and wanted to reach out. I understood how she must feel; however, my concern vanished almost as quickly. How could I pity a woman who was infatuated with a tyrant? Eva insisted on traveling the dangerous path she had chosen. She might have been blinded by Hitler, blissfully unaware of what was going on in the world, but she also chose to ignore the war and its horrors for the sake of a man she loved. Was she also in love with the promise of power?

She called for one of her servants. A middle-aged woman well schooled in deference entered the apartment. She bowed to us and took my measurements upon my host’s orders. The dress was to be sent to Munich for alterations. Eva seemed in a better mood by the time I was ready to leave.

“Before you go, I have something to show you.” She pointed to the cedar chest at the foot of her bed. She knelt before it and opened it carefully, with reverence, as if she was revealing a secret. I looked inside. Eva lifted a gorgeous white wedding dress that lay atop leather-bound diaries and a silverware case. She held the silky ruffled bodice against her and looked in the mirror. “This is what I’d look like as a bride. Do you like it?” She nodded her head and laughed like the Eva I had known before.

She did look lovely, her oval face and brown curls set off by the dress. “It’s beautiful,” I said. Again, I pitied her but wondered how she could continue to live so blithely in her fantasy, unable to see the truth of what was going on around her. She was like a horse with blinders on, unable to see beyond its own narrow vision. I was certain the Führer would never marry her, but I couldn’t say that. Instead, I said, “May the man you wish to marry recognize your beauty.”

She kissed me on the cheek. “I seek nothing more.” She carefully folded the dress and replaced it in the chest.

I thanked her and left her apartment feeling as if I had spent my time with a ghost. Hitler would never marry Eva. She would die as lonely as the day she came to the Berghof.

The morning of our wedding a British bomber flew over the Berghof, and, for a time, we believed our afternoon ceremony would have to be delayed. Hitler was alerted and he ordered the fog machines to be activated. A thick haze covered the residence and its surrounding buildings for several hours. Everyone dutifully took their place in the bomb shelter. Hitler stood at the top of the stairs looking into the milky sky while the rest of us waited below. No bombs were dropped and the all clear was sounded.

Karl and I were married at four in the afternoon on June 14 in the Great Hall. After the artificial fog cleared, the sun shone gloriously on the Obersalzberg. Puffy white clouds, their wispy tails catching on the mountaintops, traversed the blue skies. Hitler ordered the Hall’s gigantic window lowered so the lovely Alpine air could flood the room. About one hundred guests attended our civil ceremony: Cook; workers from the kitchen and greenhouses; quite a few of the SS officers, including the Colonel, who I knew still didn’t trust me. He stood off in the corner, sizing up the attendees, looking like a disgruntled bulldog. Hitler, smiling and shaking hands, greeted many of the guests. The only other notable Party dignitary who attended was Speer, who looked reserved but handsome in his suit and leather boots.

Karl and I stood at the south end of the Hall near the large fireplace. We looked over the guests toward the spectacular view of the mountains, whose colors shifted in the afternoon sun. The couches and chairs had been cleared from the sitting area so we could stand above the guests seated below. A Party judge officiated our simple Nazi ceremony, which made no mention of God or religion. We were marrying under the auspices of National Socialism. Eva, looking radiant, stood to my right while Hitler stood to Karl’s left. My handsome soldier wore a proud smile, mirroring the love I felt for him. Nothing mattered to Karl except our vows. From the corner of my eye, I saw the Reich’s leader smile and nod as the ceremony proceeded. He was like an amiable doting father.

Karl and I kissed, a brief promise of what was to come, and our marriage was sealed. The nuptials had taken twenty minutes.

On Hitler’s orders, a table for frosted cakes and iced champagne had been set up near the west wall. Valets dressed in white tuxedos served the chattering guests. Everyone agreed that our wedding was the most festive event at the Berghof since we had returned late last year. Such compliments gave me little comfort, but I tried to act like the happy bride, despite my knowledge that our lives were in danger and that our future was tenuous at best. I greeted everyone with a smile and a kiss. I even made my way to the Colonel, who sulked in the corner. His eyes were fixed and cold, but I extended my hand and he shook it. “Congratulations, Frau Weber,” he said with frost in his voice. I smiled and kissed him on the cheek, all the time feeling revolted by my actions.

Hitler didn’t stay long. Eva was by his side the whole time, snapping photos when she could. Even Hoffmann, Hitler’s portly photographer, was there taking “official” snapshots.

Karl saluted as Hitler approached. The Führer kissed me on both cheeks and then shook Karl’s hand. He gave us congratulations and presented us with two engraved silver wedding rings inscribed inside with his name. He left us with these words: “Long life, my son and daughter. May you have many children for the Reich.” Eva dabbed at tears as they walked away. Karl and I looked at each other as they departed, aware that the rings were a beautiful token given by a brutal dictator. Neither one of us, I was certain, wanted our feelings for Hitler to spoil what little happiness we might have on our wedding day.

That night, we moved into a small married couple’s apartment away from the Berghof and the SS dormitory. As darkness fell, we made love as if it were our last night together. We knew our joys were fleeting and our life together might end at any moment.

In about a month, we left for the Wolf’s Lair. The routine was the same—traveling by train at night, arriving in Rastenburg in the morning. Hitler was ensconced in his private train with a few of his senior officers, adjutants, valets and security staff. The cooking staff and other workers followed in a second train. Eva was not aboard either one. I assumed she would stay on at the Berghof for a time before returning to her home in Munich.

Karl and I traveled in a separate sleeping compartment, which was cramped and uncomfortable. He tossed and turned and kept me awake during most of our travels. I asked him what was wrong, but he wouldn’t tell me. Only when we arrived at the Wolf’s Lair did he feel free to talk. He spoke to me as we walked to our small room near the west end of the compound away from Hitler’s security zone.

“It’s happening soon,” he whispered.

I walked on as if his words held little importance, although they’d shaken my world. “Valkyrie?”

“Yes.” Karl kept his focus on the residence in front of us. “We won’t be able to talk once we get inside. It’s dangerous to talk anywhere now. We think the Gestapo knows.” He grabbed my elbow. “Slow down a little.”

I did as he asked, my heart beating frantically in my chest.

“It could be any day now—circumstances may change, but for now it’s been decided.”

My feet stopped as if mired in cement. I had to keep my wits about me. “This week? What are we going to do?”

Karl took my suitcase and lowered it to the ground. He placed his beside mine. “Let’s act like we’re in love. Give me a kiss.”

I smiled, but said, “This is no time to joke. I do love you.”