V Alexander - The Taster

“Frau Weber!” He shook my shoulders until I looked at him in horror.

“He’s dead?” I repeated the question over and over until it became a violent protest.

“Yes! I must ask you to compose yourself.”

I steadied myself against the chair and held on tightly to its wooden seat. It rocked underneath me like a boat in a tempest.

He returned to the dossier. “Regarding the death of your husband, I can tell you his body was found in the outer perimeter of the Wolf’s Lair yesterday. A note was found nearby. Captain Weber was a suicide. His body was taken away for burial.”

A dark veil of tears formed in my eyes. “Where was he taken? How did he die?”

He took off his glasses and put them in the case. “Unfortunately, that is all I can tell you. The matter is closed. You may return to your duties.” He stood and with a stiff voice said, “Heil Hitler.” I heard the door open and close and he was gone.

I cupped my face in my hands and cried until I felt a gentle touch upon my shoulders. Cook sat across from me and held on to my arms until my eyes were devoid of tears and only dry, heaving sobs remained. She took my suitcase and led me across the grounds to my old dormitory. There, Dora and Else waited for me. I collapsed like an iron weight upon the bed. I heard them talking, but what they said made no sense. I didn’t care. Nothing mattered anymore. My husband was dead.

My period was late and I suspected I was pregnant. But one morning a sharp pain struck my stomach and I rushed to the bathroom. When I lifted myself from the seat, I looked inside the toilet. The water was cloudy with blood and a whitish fluid. Karl’s prediction had come true: I had carried his baby; but I lost it after his death.

If one can live like a corpse, I did so for the next four months. It was deep in the fall before I experienced my days and nights as something other than a morass of pain. The business of living returned slowly like a picture formed by a jigsaw puzzle, constructed day by day, hour by hour, piece by piece. On some days I could see through the haze that floated through my head; on other days I was overwhelmed by depression and tears.

I came to hate the routine at the Wolf’s Lair, and, frankly, I didn’t care whether I would be poisoned. Cook tried to cheer me up with her jokes and her lighthearted banter about food, but I remained a joyless soul. Most nights, as I tasted the Führer’s dinner, I wished for death, some blessed relief from the monotony of my useless existence.

I dreamed about Karl and what must have happened to him. Rumors circulated throughout the Wolf’s Lair about his suicide, but most people were too kind to speak of it. I knew when something was being said about me—the hushed voices, the eyes turned away, those actions indicated gossip. Even Dora, who I suspected knew the most about Karl’s death, remained silent.

One evening in late September, outside the movie theater, as the wind blew fiercely through headquarters, two SS guards stood puffing on cigarettes. They smiled as I passed, the wind fanning the smoke from their nostrils. One of them mentioned my name, so I ducked around the corner of the building hoping to hear their conversation. Their words carried on the swirling air and I made out “land mine,” “pieces of his body,” “coward.” I waited in the shadows until they were gone; then I went back to the dormitory and confronted Dora. She lay on her cot, reading a book, her long frame barely fitting the mattress.

I threw my coat on my bed. “What happened to my husband?” She looked at me as if she couldn’t believe I’d asked the question. “I’m sure you know. Everyone in headquarters knows but me.”

She rose on her elbows. The only noise in the room was the infernal swoosh of air through the vent. She shook her head. “Are you sure you want to hear the answer? Most war widows don’t want to know how their husbands died.”

I sat on my cot and stared at her. Dora was no friend, nor would she be an ally. “I deserve to know,” I said. Since we had little invested in our friendship, I suspected she would tell me the truth.

Dora put her book aside and sat up. “Very well, I will tell you what I know, but if you mention this to anyone I will deny I told you anything.”

I nodded.

“Captain Weber blew himself up with an explosive pack in the outer perimeter.”

I cringed at the image in my mind, but I retained my composure. I also knew the land in that area was dotted with mines. “I can’t believe it,” I said.

“It’s true. I received a firsthand report.” Dora leaned forward. “Cook found out, but I don’t know how. She was afraid to tell you. Of course, no one should speak of such matters.”

“My husband would never do such a thing. I know Karl. He would not kill himself. Is that why I heard officers whispering he was a coward?”

“Most likely. He took the easy way out. Are you so certain he wouldn’t commit suicide? What if your husband was implicated in the plot to kill the Führer?”

“Impossible.”

Dora dropped her voice to a whisper. “I only know what I’ve been told. It seems the Colonel was blackmailing officers, whether or not they were involved in the bombing. That’s why he was taken away. He cast suspicion on many men—and a few women. I assume he tried to get you to confess, but failed. The Gestapo, of course, must investigate every possible lead.”

I shook at her words. “The Gestapo officer indicated there was a note. Do you know what it said?”

“I never saw it, but your husband proclaimed his innocence—and yours as well. Apparently, he knew he was in for a rough time. To be accused is as damning as the deed itself.”

I didn’t have to think hard to figure out what atrocities might occur at the hands of the secret police.

Else came into the room and offered her cheerful smile. She greeted us, but neither Dora nor I answered. When Else perceived our sour moods, she undressed for bed, crawled under the blanket and closed her eyes. Dora returned to her book while images of Karl ran through my head. I had kept his hope for our future close to my heart. That was why it was so hard to believe he had killed himself. I wondered how I would spend my remaining days at the Wolf’s Lair.

The first snow fell in late October. Cold, damp air weighed down the day. First, the rain came, turning the tree bark black with wetness. Ice pellets followed for several hours before the snow fell powdery in the gray dusk.

Cook came to me that morning and asked for my help. Of all the people at the Wolf’s Lair, I considered her the one person I could trust—a friend of sorts. We went to her office to review food inventories. We stepped inside and she closed the door.

I looked at the journals on the desk. The ink ran in lines over the pages like waves. I rubbed my eyes and said, “I think I’m going crazy. Time away from the Wolf’s Lair would do me good.”

Cook sighed and put her hand on my shoulder. “We would all be better off away from here.” She sat near me and grinned. “Would you like some vodka? I keep a bottle hidden, but you must never reveal the secret of my small stash. The Führer would not be pleased if he knew his cook had a drink now and then.”

I chuckled. “I’ve only had it once before—at a birthday party. The host gave me a small glass.”

“Well, that’s all you’ll get here.” She reached into a cabinet I’d opened many times before. She shuffled boxes and books around and then lifted a piece of wood, like removing the cover to a secret panel. Glass glinted in the dim light. Cook reached in and pulled out a bottle of Russian vodka. “Contraband. Imagine having this in the Wolf’s Lair as our mortal enemies approach. One could get strung up for having a bottle, but I don’t worry too much. I wipe off my fingerprints. If someone asks, I’ll answer, ‘How would I know how it got here?’” She took two small glasses from the cabinet and poured the vodka. “To us.” She tipped her glass against mine and poured the liquor down her throat in one gulp. I took a sip. The drink burned on my tongue and my first response was to cough it up, but I forced it down and a fuzzy, warm ball settled in my stomach. “You grow to like it,” Cook said, “especially on a cold night.”