V Alexander - The Taster

A horrible thought struck me and I rose up on my elbows.

“The women I left behind,” I said. “They need a doctor. Someone must go for them. I’ll tell you where they are.”

Cook shook her head. “It’s impossible, Magda. Every available physician is here at the bunker, aiding wounded soldiers and the people who are defending the city. Besides, no doctor could make his way to the neighborhoods now. It would be suicide. They would be cut down by the Red Army.”

“I made it.”

“You were lucky. You had a much better chance coming west to the Chancellery than those trying to travel east. The enemy is drawing closer by the hour. Our casualties increase by the minute.” She paused and then dropped her voice to a whisper. “There’s something else… .”

I stared at her.

“Dr. Haase says you will never be able to have children. Too much damage was done.”

I lay back on the bed as tears gathered in my eyes. But there was more going on in my battered body than sadness. A red-hot anger surged through me.

“Where is he?” I said to Cook.

She looked at me as if I had lost my mind. Perhaps I had.

“Who?” she asked.

“Hitler.” I spit out his name and didn’t care if anyone heard my blasphemy.

Cook stared at me, horrified. “Magda, you’re ill. I’ll get the doctor.”

“I’m not ill! He’s the cause of all this! He’s the one who should be punished!”

Cook leaned over and put her hand on my forehead. “You’re not making sense. Calm yourself.”

I pounded the cot with my fists and pulled against the leg straps until I thought my feet would snap off. Hot stabbing pain shot through my abdomen. I held on to my stomach and thrashed on the bed until I couldn’t move. Exhausted, I melted into tears.

The doctor did not come, but a nurse came with a sedative. She administered the shot and the light above me turned hazy and weak until it faded to blackness. One thought filled me as I slipped into unconsciousness: No matter what it takes, I will kill Adolf Hitler .

The next few days slipped from my memory. I wasn’t sure how many hours had passed. I recalled doctors and nurses observing me, changing the bedding on the cot, my gown, my dressings, Cook feeding me although I wasn’t hungry.

Then, like a patient emerging from a prolonged fever, I felt better, well enough to get up on my feet. I took small steps around my room and stuck my head out in the corridor. A few people said hello to me. Others gave me a glance and then looked away. Cook and I talked when she brought me my meals; however, she never mentioned my ravings about Hitler or wavered in her steadfast friendship. She told me Berlin was about to fall—everyone knew it and was making plans to flee the city. Hitler, she said, was not convinced and planned to stay to the end. She and several members of the staff, including Hitler’s valet, wanted to remain as well.

I asked her if a doctor had been sent to Irmigard’s. Cook shook her head. I could tell from her expression that as much as I wanted them to be saved there was nothing Cook or I could do.

The hours droned by in synchronicity with the hum of the generators. If there were bombs falling, rockets smashing into the Chancellery, we didn’t hear them. There could have been hand-to-hand fighting in the garden above. We wouldn’t have heard it. It was as if we lived in a tomb sealed from the world with no hope of finding our way out.

One evening, I felt strong enough to take a meal in the canteen. The room was next to the kitchen in the Vorbunker and, as I was eating, I spotted a woman I recognized from the Berghof. At first I thought my eyes might be playing tricks on me, as if the lingering effects of my medications had affected my vision, conjuring a ghost before me. She wore a plain blue dress with long sleeves and glided around the kitchen in her usual breezy manner, smiling and talking to the staff. I recognized her voice immediately. The woman was Eva Braun.

I was dressed in a surgical gown. Cook was trying to find clothing for me, but dresses were in short supply.

Eva spotted me and walked toward me with a friendly look. She pulled out a chair from across the table and sat down. She grasped my hands. “It’s so good to see you, Magda. I heard about your misfortune. I’m glad you’re feeling better.”

I didn’t know what to say. How could she engage in small talk when her world, indeed our world, was crumbling around us? But Eva always blithely ignored reality in favor of clothes and parties. She was the fiddler while Berlin burned. I was surprised to see her in the bunker because she usually spent her time away from Hitler at her home in Munich. Her face was more careworn than the last time I’d seen her. The opulent jewelry and clothes of the past had disappeared in favor of a more modest appearance.

“How long have you been here?” I asked.

“For a few weeks,” she said, and looked at me with a piteous smile. “Why don’t you come to my room? I have a few dresses I can give you. The gown doesn’t suit you.”

I finished my meal while Eva talked about her parents and her sister. When I was done, she led me out of the canteen to a passageway door that led to a rectangular flight of stairs. These steps descended even deeper into the earth until we came to an SS checkpoint. We were in the Führer Bunker. The atmosphere was similar to the Vorbunker, only more claustrophobic. One heard the constant whir of the generators, the passageways were garishly lit, the ceilings were low, a series of small rooms branched out from the corridor. A dog barked from what seemed a great distance away. I heard the muffled whine of puppies.

“Blondi,” Eva said. “I keep my dogs away from her. I would never allow them to mix.”

“Blondi has puppies?” I asked.

“Oh yes, he had her bred. I think there are five. I don’t pay that much attention to them.”

We stopped in the narrow corridor between two doors. The scent of diesel oil and disinfectant hung in the air. “Everything is within walking distance here,” Eva said, and tried gamely to smile. “The closet is next to my bedroom. Unfortunately, so is the bathroom.” She opened the closet door and peered inside. The light was on. There was room inside for a small chest of drawers and a rack for her dresses and furs. She thumbed through the rack and said, “Pick out a few. I’m sure I won’t need them all.”

“Really, I shouldn’t.”

She touched me on the shoulder. “Magda, we all know what’s happening. Let’s make the best of it. Take them as a gift. If they don’t fit, I’ll have them altered. Believe it or not, I can even work a needle if I have to.”

I thanked her but felt guilty looking at her clothes. I stepped inside and peered at the rack. Ten beautiful dresses, mostly navy and black, were gathered on hangers. They were all monogrammed with an EB on the collar. I inspected them one by one until I got to a beautiful white gown, the one she had shown me at the Berghof.

“You can’t have that one,” she said. “I’m wearing it soon on my wedding day.”

I jumped back as if I had touched fire. “You’re getting married?”

Eva laughed and her voice sounded like sparkling champagne. “He held out as long as he could, poor thing. Now he has no choice but to marry me.” She giggled like a schoolgirl. “You must come—be a witness. Perhaps my Matron of Honor.”

I shook my head, astounded at the thought.

“No, really, you must. Who can I ask here? One of the women in his SS guard? They all have faces carved from concrete. A nurse? One of his private secretaries? They’re just as bad as the SS.” Cupping her hand over her mouth, she stifled a laugh. “I shouldn’t make fun.” She grabbed my hands and squeezed them. “Please tell me you’ll consider it. My wedding would be incomplete without a Matron of Honor.”