The hallway was enormous. There was at least 15m between the table where we were seated and the Führer's desk. I would be able to conduct my conversation relatively privately after all. As the others were sipping their cups of coffee, their hands shaking, hardly managing to swallow the bite of cake that was lodged in their mouths, I was staring unabashedly at the Führer. I noticed a very odd psychological phenomenon in myself. I had always been critical, harbouring feelings of extreme aversion towards the Führer, but ever since I had been in Germany and part of the military I could not help but feel a small fraction of respect. One cannot help but feel the influence of what is being said on the radio and in the newspapers. At this moment in time I also felt a strange warm feeling, almost like a childish reverence. I'm sure it had nothing to do with his greeting per se but was more to do with his nuanced delivery. The way he said ‘welcome’ with a long vowel, after which he blew out air from his nostrils into his moustache; all this seemed so familiar and even more disarming. I felt like a child again, sitting at the feet of the Führer. I'm sure I had been there before in a previous, more pleasant life, feeling happy and basking in his admiration. A voice interrupted my thoughts: ‘We will start with the Iron Cross man.’ A giant who towered over me, several feet taller than I was, grabbed me by the elbow and pushed me carefully, as one would handle a small child, in the direction of the Führer. He was the steward, or seneschal, as he was called here. He must have been used to dealing with people who, overcome by the sense of occasion, lose their composure and turn into bumbling idiots. He led me the entire length of the hall, the soft plush carpet swallowing the sound of our footsteps. The man sitting at the immaculately polished table was currently the most powerful warlord on earth. He had a few books, a folder and a pocket atlas spread out in front of him and he pretended to study these intently. It was obvious that it was not a working desk as there was not even a telephone.
The steward pressed me down onto a red upholstered stool. Taking a few steps backwards, he retreated. This was what I had been waiting for for so long.
The Führer smiled, showing a gap between his front teeth, numbers three and four, and his gums – this was by no means perfect dentistry: there should be no visible gap at all. I couldn't believe it! This must be a dream, a bad dream, caused by the days of anxiety and apprehension. Surely the Führer, who was one of the most powerful men in the world, did not have any false teeth, and if he did, they must be the most artful and perfect works of precision constructed by the best of all dental technicians. What I could see before me was a terrible fit, a truly botched job, but what really worried me was that I had seen it before, held it in my own hands. And even worse, it was my own work. It was my very first piece, and although it was a disaster and I was told to destroy the whole thing and start again, I didn’t. It was not meant for a stranger. No, it was for a member of my own family – my Uncle Kassian who was also my foster-father. My uncle had decided to go with it even though it was a bad fit. This was partly so as not to upset me but, more importantly, he was given a special price and interest-free credit. This dental work brought my thoughts back into the real world. The man who had pronounced his welcome with the familiar long vowels, who had breathed so disarmingly into this moustache, this man was none other than my Uncle Kassian. The more I studied him, the more I recognised individual traits. These were his ears, his chin, here was his jaw line. His moustache was completely different and had been trimmed in the Hitler fashion. My uncle's moustache had been blonde and bushy. His hair had been dyed; around the eyes a make-up artist had drawn a few lines to make him look more like an intellectual and less like the farmer he was. With his back to the window and his face in the shade, he did resemble the Hitler I had seen on the many portraits in circulation. Without any doubt to me this was my uncle in the flesh. I had not seen him for at least five or six years. In the village where he lived he was known as the ‘character’, even though hardly anyone knew what a character was. He was known as this because he had his own opinions and did not put up with any nonsense.
We had been an unlikely pair in the past. He, a tall strong man, and I, a sensitive frail boy, but we stuck together like two close friends. I had often imagined what it would be like to see him again in later years. It was a major disappointment to me because it meant that the man I now had a private audience with was not in fact the Führer at all. This was putting an end to all my dreams and it appeared that all my efforts had been in vain. The man opposite was still smiling, all the while repositioning the bridge in his mouth and preparing to speak. I beat him to it.
‘
Grüss Gott
; hello
Onkel
,’ I said. ‘How are you? And how is dear Maltschi these days?’
He showed no surprise, but this was typical of him. He had never been easily rattled.
Without batting an eyelid he responded, ‘Thank you. Maltschi is fine’ – Maltschi was his young and quite attractive housekeeper – ‘Keep your voice down, you rascal. How could you have recognised me? I hardly recognise you myself. You are much taller than I remember. What are you doing in the military? And in the navy at that? You always used to be against the Nazis. But maybe you are not meant to be here, am I right?’
‘You shouldn't be criticising me, uncle. I admit that I'm here in disguise, playing a role I'm not entirely happy with, but what about you? You, here in the Führer's residence? The last thing I heard from my mother was that you were a court usher in the county court of Txx., where all the judges suspended for drinking ended up. I thought you may have gone into early retirement but my mother never told me that you were now the leader of 80 million people!’
We must have forgotten the fact that he was now supreme commander of the army and navy, whilst I was only one of many mere tin soldiers. Perhaps it was the way we were holding our heads together, our regards too familiar, but in short the steward was not happy with the situation and made his way over to us. His voice was polite but there was an undertone of suppressed anger, ‘Does my Führer request to see the next sailor?’
Uncle Kassian looked at him and said loftily, ‘I request to be left alone.’ With a gesture akin to shaking dust from a broom, he waved him off. Taking a few steps backwards the seneschal retreated. We were left in peace and resumed our conversation.
‘That man is due a slap in the face from yesterday,’ my uncle said. ‘He insists on meddling and getting involved in things that have nothing to do with him. He is not even my superior. I am part of the Führer's personal security department not the household division. You know, my lad,’ he continued, ‘it is like this. Regrettably I am only of use in situations where I remain seated. I am around 7cm too tall. I hardly ever get to go in the car as there could always be a situation where I might have to get out and show my full height. But it is quite an honour, don't you think, to be given a talking role, to be used for a social engagement involving a private audience with individuals? Let me check what I was going to ask …’ He looked at his notes, pinned to the cover of the atlas. ‘Where were you born? I know the answer to that one. How long have you been on the U-boat; were your parents pleased with your decoration; are you happy with the catering? Etc. etc. The questions cannot be simple enough, my superior told me. And I have to agree with him. You would be surprised at how many of the soldiers and sailors forget the place where they were born when I start talking to them. They have to think hard before they answer. Thank goodness I do not need to remember or write the answers down. No one is interested. That's right, dear boy, I can see the steward is getting anxious but do not be concerned. I have just decided that he will receive a few slaps in the face when I see him later in the kitchen. I haven't seen you for so long, I want to enjoy our little conversation. The others can wait.’
I said to my uncle, ‘You have a fantastic job. You must tell me more!’
‘The only problem is,’ he continued, ‘when one of the party bigwigs needs to speak to the Führer immediately; having interrupted my conversation, they can see immediately that I am not the real Führer, but they have to play along and demonstrate the usual reverence and devotion. If this happens I have to make sure I don't run into one of them afterwards as they are likely to take out their anger on me. Of course, it is their fault because they should have planned the timing of their visit better. Surely they must have at least twenty secretaries who could have looked into it for them. You see, my boy, I do not have a single secretary and I have to plan everything myself. Sometimes this is difficult for your old uncle but in exchange I am now a civil servant with an attractive pension and have many important connections.’
‘Do you ever see the Führer, uncle?’ I enquired.
‘The Führer? Don't be silly! Why would I want to? I am told he has a foul temper. I am happy with my well-paid post and the extras; the food is truly first class. I have heard that some people are struggling to find decent things to eat but they seem to make an exception here in Berchtesgaden – I cannot complain. You mustn't tell anyone I said this though. I could get into trouble. Your friends are getting impatient, that tall skinny one with the scrawny neck – don't look now, that would be too obvious. He keeps staring at us. If he forgets to breathe he might just keel over and die. Things like that can happen, I tell you. One thing I do want to know before you go: how on earth did you get into the navy? Don't get me wrong, I am very proud of you. It is quite an honour to receive the Iron Cross. But the navy? I remember that as a child you were terrified of water! But we are running out of time, don't tell me now. Be quick, is there anything I can do to help you now that you are here?’
‘Uncle,’ I said, a little dispirited, as everything had turned out wrong. ‘I came here to talk to the Führer in private. I was hoping to convince him to change his mind. Of course, I am very happy to have seen you after such a long time but it was not what I was expecting.’
‘You wanted to convince him to change his mind?’ he repeated.
I nodded.
‘To negotiate peace?’ he enquired further. He was more intelligent than I had thought. I nodded again.
‘You see, my boy, that's what I thought. If you had only said so at the beginning. Now things are more difficult and there is little time to discuss things properly. But listen, I am on good terms with the Führer's hairdresser. He is the chief-reichs-haircutter and an influential person. Every five or six days he cuts his hair and then has the opportunity to talk politics. I will take up your suggestion and see if he isn't able to lead the conversation in this direction and convince him it would be a good idea to make peace. Of course, I wouldn't mention your name. I have heard that there is no point in trying to be too direct with him. If you manage to feed him an idea without being too obvious then there is a chance he may pick it up and take it as his own. Let me make a note of it.’
Restore peace
, he wrote on his white sleeve. ‘I will not be able to let you know how it turns out but if you stay in the navy you should be one of the first to find out if peace has been declared. Then you will know where you are at and if the hairdresser was successful. And now …’ Here he raised his voice a little and acquired a tinny tenor; it was remarkably convincing. I leapt up and stood to attention. ‘My dear petty officer, I thank you for your goodwill and brave deeds. My heart beats in time with the courageous men on the north coast fighting for the freedom of our seas, and winning. Next please!’ This last sentence was read out word for word from his notes.
I clicked my heels, turned around and marched over the soft red carpet back to my friends, passing the sailor whose turn it was next. He was visibly shaking. I sat down next to the Student who was holding his watch in his hands, shaking so hard that the chain and the decorative anchor and buoy were rattling like an out-of-tune jazz band.
‘Gotthold,’ he whispered into my ear nervously. ‘Twenty-seven minutes, do you realise that is how long you were talking to the Führer!’ I pounced on the wonderful coffee and cakes, wolfing everything down and my comrades stared at me, dumbfounded.
Although we were still meant to be talking to each other, looking cheerful and at ease, I didn't feel like talking to any of my friends. I could have whispered to the Student that the Führer was really my uncle. That would have been a great bit of gossip and the Student was one who enjoyed the sensational. But Edgar was keeping a close watch. The atmosphere in the hall was still strained and a little uncomfortable. The expression of the guardsmen, meant to convey a friendly but arrogant superiority, seemed particularly forced, but that must have been an integral part of their daytime uniform. The steward had whispered something into the Führer's ear and after this respectful command, the conversations became markedly shorter. Perhaps the hall was required for a different function?
I decided not to worry about it and continued to eat. It was doubtful that I would be offered such fine cakes again in the near future. There was a huge platter of them in the middle of the table and everyone could take as much as they wanted. How annoying, one of the raisins had lodged itself in my throat; they must have left on a bit of the stalk. I had to cough quite loudly and as a result everyone stared in my direction. Even my uncle stopped listening to what Anton the sailor had to say to him. I wanted to say to Edgar, who was leaning over to see how I was, that I was fine; everything was okay, but it was a stupid idea to try and speak at this critical moment in time. The grape stalk lodged itself deep into my windpipe and I couldn't get any air and turned blue, my eyes bulging out of their sockets. Trembling, I got up and pushed my plate away from me.
Edgar, a frightened look on his hitherto calm and unruffled face, seized me by my waist and pulled me out of the hall. I tried to imagine my uncle – no longer listening to what the sailor seated on the edge of the stool had to say – following my movement with the utmost concern. If the seven guards had not been there watching, I'm sure he would have come over and hit me firmly on the back. This is something he had to do often enough when I was a child as I was constantly choking on things, but no one seemed to think of this simple solution. The pain in my breast was becoming unbearable and I already saw things ending badly. In a house like this they must have a doctor used to removing obstructions with a mirror and some tweezers. I could already see the headlines: ‘Newly decorated petty officer chokes to death during his honorary visit to the Führer.’ I would be famous but not in the way I had imagined.