I hesitated, but then asked, “What happened to the woman?”
“Her head was cut off.” Eva gave an uncomfortable laugh, rose from the railing and pulled on the dogs’ leashes. “Adolf despises such nasty business.” She held out her hand. “I suppose it will be a while before we see each other again.”
I nodded and shook her hand; it was cold to the touch. She said good night and I did likewise. The SS man was still in the corner. I wanted to find out if Eva was telling the truth about the woman who had been beheaded, so I decided to ask the officer. My question would be risky, but I reasoned I would get an answer if I told him I was trying to find out for Eva. He had certainly seen her on the terrace with me.
He barely gave me a glance as I approached. Apparently, he was a sentry assigned to look out over the grounds and the SS guardhouse below. He had taken a seat on the stone railing. His shoulders were hunched with boredom; there was little to guard when Hitler was away. Even the skies were clear from threats. A few Allied planes had flown over recently. The air-raid sirens sounded, but no bombs were dropped.
“Excuse me,” I said. “I was talking with Fräulein Braun. She heard about a woman who was arrested for handing out leaflets in Munich. Eva wanted me to find out more about her.” I used her first name to make it sound as if we were friends.
The officer looked at me oddly, as if sizing me up, but answered my question to be rid of me. “Sophie . . . Sophie something or other. She was tried and convicted of treason, as were her brother and a few other conspirators. They worked for an underground organization. I don’t remember the name.” He stared out over the valley, bored with my intrusion.
“What happened to them?”
He turned, his blue eyes ablaze. “What happened to them? What should happen to all traitors—they were guillotined. That I remember. Good riddance.”
He must have caught the look of horror in my eyes, for he shook his head as if to pity my weakness. He turned and stared at the dark mountains. I thanked him and left the terrace.
That evening as I lay in bed, I longed for Karl and wondered about the young woman who was executed for handing out anti-Nazi tracts. Hitler only accepted blind obedience to the Party. If Karl and I dared step out of line, we would be killed. A terrifying thought struck me: Karl and I have already crossed that line.
* * *
The next morning at breakfast, Cook relayed orders that we were to be in Rastenburg in three days. The communication came directly from Hitler. It was a two-day trip by train. I was happy about seeing Karl again, but somewhat surprised that Cook and I had been summoned.
“He likes my cooking,” she said in response to my questioning. “You’ll join the other tasters at the Wolf’s Lair.”
“All of us?”
She shrugged. “It’s not up to us to question the Führer’s orders.” She leaned close and whispered, “I think it has to do with the size of the staff in Rastenburg and the incident here with Ursula. He and Captain Weber are being cautious.”
I imagined the food lined up on a table with each woman tasting a single dish. If one died then another would take her place, perhaps within the hour, like a deadly assembly line. Each death would be counted as a victory for the Führer, a sacrifice for the good of the Reich.
“You may leave after breakfast,” Cook said, and handed me a small gold book with few pages in it. The Reich eagle was emblazoned in black on its front cover. “Keep this with you at all times. It verifies that you work for the Führer.”
I opened it and one of the pictures taken of me in Berchtesgaden stared back. The book stated I was “to be granted all special privileges,” as a member of Hitler’s staff. I was free, under his orders, to travel in Germany, or any territory of the Reich.
I’d been thinking about going home to Berlin for some time because I hadn’t seen my mother and father in months. My job and blossoming relationship with Karl had consumed my time. An extra day away from the demands of the Reich was a gift to be savored. “I’d like to visit my parents,” I told Cook.
“As long as you’re at the Wolf’s Lair in three days you can do as you like, but tell no one where you’re going.”
After breakfast, I said good-bye to the staff who remained and quickly packed my things. The bare room looked forlorn and, for an instant, I had a memory of Ursula reclining on her bed, lighting a cigarette, blowing smoke out the window so she wouldn’t get caught. I admired her courage, but faulted her planning. She took on Hitler and failed. As Karl had pointed out, hasty actions, like those of Ursula, ended badly. One had to proceed with caution and an abundance of planning. I pushed such notions from my head. The very thought of bringing Hitler down seemed impossible.
An SS car took me to the train station in Berchtesgaden. I had no time to visit Uncle Willy and Aunt Reina; I was in no mood to talk with them anyway. I wanted no questions about Hitler, or their encouragement about how wonderful it was to serve the Führer.
I arrived in Berlin late in the evening. The city surprised me with its vibrancy. I had gotten used to the quiet mountain solitude of the Berghof. The lights, the chug of motorcars, the hundreds of smells—each inviting a memory—made Berlin seem oddly new to me. It was as if I were seeing it for the first time.
I made my way to my parents’ apartment. Their street was quiet, away from the bustle, and, other than the blackout, the war seemed far away. There had been no major Allied bombings since Hitler’s birthday. The trees were in full leaf and their boughs cast dark shadows on the surrounding buildings. Slivers of light traced the outlines of a few windows. Sometimes the curtains would undulate in the breeze and a block of light from someone’s apartment would splash upon the sidewalk, only to be dissolved in an instant. A phonograph played in one house. The tune was melancholy but sweet, a lovely female voice praising the soldier who had gone to war for the Reich. The world seemed peaceful, and its serenity filled me with a sense of calm that had escaped me for months. I realized then that my job had taken its toll. My first hint was when I enjoyed a meal on the train. I was happy to be away from tasting, to just enjoy food and not worry that every bite could kill me.
I pushed the buzzer and waited. I hadn’t called because I wanted my visit to be a surprise. After a few more rings, my father came to the door in his robe. The hall was dark. His eyes scrunched up in a squint. The look of dismay on his face turned to a smile as soon as he recognized me. He swept me into his arms and nearly knocked the breath out of me with his hug.
“Magda, Magda,” he said with tear-filled eyes. “My God, how your mother and I have missed you.” He released me from his grip.
I stood on the stoop holding my bag. “May I come in?”
He took a few steps backward and said, “Of course, how silly of me.”
My mother appeared at the bedroom door, her eyes half-closed from sleep. She rushed toward me without saying a word and embraced me like my father had. After we exchanged kisses and hugs I was allowed inside.
“Are you home for good?” my father asked warily. The tone of his question made it clear that he still wanted me out of Berlin.
I put my bag on the floor next to the coat stand. “Only overnight; then I have to catch a train by noon tomorrow to—” I couldn’t tell my parents where I was going.
“Come to the kitchen,” my mother said. “I want to hear all about what you’re doing. We have two tea bags left for the week. I’ll make a pot. I’m too excited to sleep.”
My father nodded and we walked to the kitchen. My mother lit a candle and then my father and I sat at the small oak table while my mother made tea. She fidgeted with the kettle and the water and then turned to me with wide eyes. “What is he like?” Like most Germans, she was fascinated by the Führer, a man she had never seen.
“Lisa,” my father said. “You’re not the Gestapo. Did you stop to think that Magda might not be able to talk about him?”
My mother’s eagerness faded with a scowl. “No.” She went back to the tea.
> “I’ve never met him,” I said. “I’ve seen him a few times at the Berghof and once near the Teahouse.”
“He has a teahouse?” my mother asked, astonished that such a thing existed.
“He has afternoon tea and apple cake there with his guests,” I said, feeling that such information could cause no harm. “It looks like a castle turret set into the forest. I’ve even talked to Eva Braun several times.”
No hint of recognition flickered in my parents’ eyes. How stupid of me to mention her name. Of course, they wouldn’t know who she was. Eva was a secret known only to a few. I dropped the subject.
My father settled in his chair. “What do you do?” He asked the question casually, as if he expected the answer of a “normal” job, such as a bookkeeper or accountant.
My stomach turned over—I didn’t want to create needless anxiety by telling them I was a taster and that my life was in danger every day. Living in Berlin, my parents had enough to worry about. “I work in the kitchen. I’m responsible for the food inventories and kitchen supplies.” It was a partial truth.
My mother returned to the table with three porcelain cups. While waiting for the kettle to boil, she sat next to me and held my hand. “I’m proud of you and so relieved. Such a good job, isn’t it, Hermann?”
My father nodded, but I could tell by his frown he was less than enthusiastic about any job connected with National Socialism. I asked about Frau Horst and our neighbors to shift the conversation away from me. Until we went to bed, we talked about my parents’ work and the mood in Berlin.
My mother was cleaning breakfast dishes by the time I got up the next morning. My father was sitting in the dining room drinking a cup of tea before he left for work.
“I was about to wake you up,” he said, “to say good-bye.” His eyes were dim, as if life had become an insufferable chore, a series of days strung together to be barely tolerated. “Thank you for not telling your mother,” he said softly.
My heart skipped a beat. “I don’t know what you’re talking about.”
“Of course you do.” His tone was flat, unemotional. “Uncle Willy found out what you do through his connections to the SS. Berchtesgaden is a small place.” He cupped his hands round his teacup. “He and Reina, of course, are ecstatic about your position. They couldn’t be happier. I begged him not to tell your mother because I don’t want her to worry.” He took a sip of tea and then put his cup on the table. “To them there is no sacrifice too great for the Führer.” He put his hands in his lap and looked toward the kitchen.
I whispered for fear my mother would hear, “I had no idea what my position would be. It was the job they gave me.” It felt good to share this with my father. I now understood why he cried when he saw me.
He sighed. “Your mother, who thinks washing dishes is still important while the world burns, believes the Reich will win the war. She has no idea about the rumors that circulate. I fear the worst for us all, Magda. It’s like we live in some manufactured world that’s shrinking day by day. I can feel the walls tumbling on Germany, on Berlin, on us.”
I trembled, afraid to look him in the eye. “What rumors do you hear?”
“That we have lost great battles in the East, that the tide has turned and that the easy victories Hitler forged in the early years are over. I would never speak to your mother of such things. She would throw me out of the house.” He laughed. “You cannot depend upon the Volkischer Beobachter for an accurate reporting of the war. The Party paper is not fit to line the canary cage.”
“You must never tell anyone what you’ve told me,” I said firmly. “Keep your politics to yourself, and don’t stir the pot. I, too, have heard rumors, and I know things I can’t tell you. Believe me, there are people who want to end this war for the good of Germany.”
He smiled and his eyes showed a spark of life for the first time since I’d arrived. Perhaps I had given him the small hope that things might change for the better.
“I want to breathe in your words,” he said. “There is so little for me to believe in.” He reached across the table and clutched my hands. Outside the window, the world looked sunny and cheerful, but like everything else, the pleasant weather was illusory, a distraction from the truth. He gripped my fingers. “Please be careful.”
I assured him I would, but my father’s fears infected me. My small respite from Hitler and the Berghof felt like a deceit. We were trapped in a make-believe world propagated by the Reich while all around us battles were being fought, troops slaughtered and innocents butchered. Our sense of well-being and safety was shrinking, and only a fool would believe that our way of life could continue. However, there were many fools still to be convinced. The Reich was doing its job well. People still believed in Hitler and his fiery rhetoric—to fight for Germany to the end, until the last man, woman and child had died for the Reich. I couldn’t hold on too long to that thought, for I felt the world might collapse around me.
My father kissed me and my mother good-bye and left the apartment. My mother and I sat at breakfast and, as my father predicted, we talked about the things in life that got her through the day: food, laundry, housecleaning, growing a garden. In normal times, these were innocuous but pleasant subjects. However, our days were far from normal. Conversations about food and rationing took on monumental importance.
With my father’s sense of a collapsing Germany closing in on me, I said farewell to my mother in the afternoon and boarded a train for the Wolf’s Lair in East Prussia. She, also, shed a few tears as I departed. I told her I would return when I could, but I had no idea what lay ahead. As I boarded the train, I wondered whether I’d ever see my parents again.
CHAPTER 8
I left Berlin about five in the evening bound for Rastenburg. The conductor awarded me a sleeping car when he saw my “in service to the Führer” identification papers. The overnight trip was uneventful except for one long stop in the middle of Poland when the train halted because of a threat from Allied bombers. The night porter knocked on every door and explained the situation. I lifted the blackout curtain in my car and wondered how any bomber could target the train on a moonless night. Black woods surrounded us; we were no longer rolling through the fertile plains of eastern Germany. I slept fitfully, with one eye open the rest of the night, despite the train’s concealment by the deep forest.
We arrived about nine in the morning. It was a rather desolate station surrounded by trees and little to recommend it in the way of scenery or pomp. I gathered my suitcase and descended the steps to the platform. Two other young women stood nearby, looking as lost as I did. Both had dark blond hair, but one was taller than the other and seemed to be in control of her shorter companion. The taller one craned her swan-like neck, as if looking for something. I barely had time to put my bag on the ground when a stout SS officer strode toward me, grim and composed.
“Fräulein Ritter,” he said in a commanding tone.
I was surprised he knew who I was.
“The cooking staff is expecting you,” he continued. “You will take the courier train to the Wolf’s Lair.” He left me and then addressed the two young women on the platform. He directed us to another train on a railroad siding, and, after a few minutes’ wait, it pulled away into the forest. I introduced myself to the women who sat across from me, for on this train the benches ran along the side of the car. The taller woman was named Minna; and the shorter, Else. They were new tasters from Berlin and had been chosen for service with Cook by the SS, with the approval of Hitler.
Minna settled against the brocade seat with an air of authority and smoothed her skirt with her hands. Her lips shone slickly through bright red lipstick and her eyebrows were penciled in severe dark lines—far more dramatic than most women would require. Cruelty emanated from her full mouth. She would be trouble, a woman who hung on every word spouted by the Reich and more than willing to die in service to the Führer. On the other hand, Else was pretty with round eyes, a petite mouth and a shy demeanor.
Whether she intended to, she looked upon Minna as her guide. Else, I decided, would follow anyone who made up her mind for her—a perfect candidate for the position of taster. If the Gestapo asked her to swallow poison, she probably would.
“What is he like?” Minna asked with a sideways glance of superiority.
I did not want to coddle her. “I’ve been asked that question many times. You’ll be lucky to catch a glimpse of him, let alone have a conversation.”
Minna glowered. “I’ll talk to him. In fact, I’m certain I will know him quite well.” She swung one well-shaped leg over the other.
She had no idea about Eva Braun and Hitler’s relationship. I wanted to laugh, but I felt I would be giving away too much. Instead, I sat back and tried to enjoy the forest scenery as it passed by in dark green patches of pine, birch and oak.
Else asked, “Are you scared when you taste?”
Even though I had only been in the job a few months, I could at least trumpet my seniority. “It’s a dangerous job. I was nervous at first. You never know which meal will be your last.”
Else gulped and stared at me. Minna laughed and then smiled in a high-handed way.
“Don’t be silly, Else,” she scolded. “You will never have to worry. From now on you will lead a charmed life. You will enjoy the best rooms, secure and safe from harm. You will eat the best meals, with no fear of being poisoned because who would dare raise a hand against the leader of the Third Reich? You will revel in the company of the Führer himself. What woman could ask for more? We will live like queens while the rest of Germany defends the Fatherland. If the Wehrmacht falls, we will be protected by the Führer. Let the German people eat cake, as Marie Antoinette would say.”
The Taster Page 9
