The Boy at the Top of the Mountain

by John Boyne

  ‘They’re accustomed to certain standards,’ said Eva, who was already in a flap over the number of arrangements that had to be made; she walked around clicking her fingers at everyone and insisting that they work faster. ‘The Führer says that they are to be treated like . . . well, like royalty.’

  ‘I thought our interest in royalty ended with Kaiser Wilhelm,’ muttered Emma under her breath before sitting down to compose a list of ingredients she would need to order from the farms around Berchtesgaden.

  ‘I’m glad I’m at school today,’ Pierrot told Katarina between classes that morning. ‘Everyone is so busy at home. Herte and Ange—’

  ‘Who’s Ange?’ asked Katarina, who was given a daily report of events at the Berghof by her friend.

  ‘The new maid,’ explained Pierrot.

  ‘Another maid?’ she asked, shaking her head. ‘How many does he need?’

  Pierrot frowned. He liked Katarina very much but didn’t approve of her occasional mockery of the Führer. ‘She’s a replacement,’ he told her. ‘Fräulein Braun got rid of Wilhelmina.’

  ‘So who does the Führer chase around the Berghof now?’

  ‘The house was at sixes and sevens this morning,’ he continued, ignoring this comment. He regretted ever having told her the story of Hitler’s niece and Emma’s theory that the maid reminded him of that unfortunate girl. ‘Every book is being taken off the shelves and dusted, every light fitting removed from its casing and polished, every sheet washed, dried and pressed until it looks like new once again.’

  ‘Such a lot of drama,’ said Katarina, ‘for such silly people.’

  The Führer arrived the night before their guests were due and undertook a thorough inspection of the residence, congratulating them all on the work they had done, much to Eva’s relief.

  The next morning Beatrix called Pierrot into her room to check that his Deutsches Jungvolk uniform met the master’s standards.

  ‘Perfect,’ she said, looking him up and down approvingly. ‘You’re getting so tall that I was worried it might be too short for you again.’

  There was a knock on the door and Ange poked her head in. ‘Excuse me, miss,’ she said, ‘but—’

  Pierrot turned and clicked his fingers sharply at her, just like he had seen Eva do, and pointed towards the corridor. ‘Get out,’ he said. ‘My aunt and I are talking.’

  Ange’s mouth fell open in surprise, and she stared at him for a moment before stepping back outside and closing the door quietly behind her.

  ‘There’s no need to speak to her like that, Pieter,’ said Aunt Beatrix, who had been equally taken aback by Pierrot’s tone.

  ‘Why not?’ he asked. He felt a little surprised that he had acted so authoritatively, but he rather liked the feeling of importance it gave him. ‘We were talking. She interrupted.’

  ‘But it’s rude.’

  Pierrot shook his head, dismissing the idea. ‘She’s just a maid,’ he said. ‘And I am a member of the Deutsches Jungvolk. Look at my uniform, Aunt Beatrix! She must show me the same respect that she would any soldier or officer.’

  Beatrix stood up and walked over to the window, staring out towards the mountain tops and the white clouds passing by overhead. She placed both hands on the windowsill as if trying to steady herself in case she let her temper get the better of her.

  ‘Perhaps you shouldn’t spend so much time with the Führer from now on,’ she said finally, turning round to look at her nephew.

  ‘But whyever not?’

  ‘He’s a very busy man.’

  ‘A busy man who says that he sees great potential in me,’ said Pierrot proudly. ‘Besides, we talk about interesting things. And he listens to me.’

  ‘I listen to you, Pieter,’ said Beatrix.

  ‘That’s different.’

  ‘Why?’

  ‘You’re just a woman. Necessary to the Reich, of course, but the business of Germany is best left to men like the Führer and me.’

  Beatrix allowed herself a rather bitter smile. ‘This is something you decided for yourself, is it?’

  ‘No,’ said Pierrot, shaking his head hesitantly. It didn’t sound quite right to him now that he heard the words spoken out loud. After all, Maman had been a woman and she had always known what was best for him. ‘It’s what the Führer told me.’

  ‘And you’re a man now, are you?’ she asked. ‘At only eight years of age?’

  ‘I’ll be nine in a few weeks,’ he said, standing up to his full height. ‘And you said yourself that I’m getting taller by the day.’

  Beatrix sat down on the bed and patted the quilt, inviting him to sit next to her. ‘What kind of things does the Führer talk to you about?’ she asked.

  ‘It’s rather complicated,’ he replied. ‘It has to do with history and politics, and the Führer says that the female brain—’

  ‘Try me. I’ll do my best to keep up.’

  ‘We talk about how we have been robbed,’ he said.

  ‘We? Who is this we? You and I? You and him?’

  ‘All of us. The German people.’

  ‘Of course. You’re German now. I forgot.’

  ‘My father’s birth right is my own,’ replied Pierrot defensively.

  ‘And what have we been robbed of exactly?’

  ‘Our land. Our pride. The Jews stole it from us. They’re taking over the world, you see. After the Great War—’

  ‘But, Pieter,’ she said, ‘you must remember that we lost the Great War.’

  ‘Please don’t interrupt me when I’m speaking, Aunt Beatrix,’ said Pierrot with a sigh. ‘It shows a lack of respect on your part. Of course I remember that we lost, but you in turn must accept that we suffered indignities afterwards that were designed to humiliate us. The Allies could not be content with victory, they wanted the German people on their knees as retribution. Our country was filled with cowards who gave in to our enemies too easily. We will not make that mistake again.’

  ‘And your father?’ asked Beatrix, looking him directly in the eye. ‘Was he one of those cowards?’

  ‘The worst of all. For he allowed weakness to vanquish his spirit. But I am not like him. I am strong. I will restore pride to the name of Fischer.’ He stopped and stared at his aunt. ‘What’s the matter?’ he asked. ‘Why are you crying?’

  ‘I’m not crying.’

  ‘But you are.’

  ‘Oh, I don’t know, Pieter,’ she said, looking away. ‘I’m just tired, that’s all. The preparation that has gone into the arrival of our guests has been overwhelming. And sometimes I think . . . She hesitated, as if apprehensive about finishing this sentence.

  ‘You think what?’

  ‘That I made a terrible mistake in bringing you here. I thought I was doing the right thing. I thought that by keeping you close I could protect you. But as every day goes past—’

  Another knock on the door, and when it opened, Pierrot spun round angrily, but this time he did not snap his fingers, for it was Fräulein Braun who was standing there. He jumped off the bed and stood to attention while Aunt Beatrix remained exactly where she was.

  ‘They’re here,’ Fräulein Braun said in an excited voice.

  ‘What do I call them?’ whispered Pierrot as, filled with excitement and trepidation, he took his place in the receiving line next to his aunt.

  ‘Your Royal Highness,’ she said. ‘To both of them. The Duke and the Duchess. But don’t say anything at all unless they speak to you first.’

  A few moments later a car turned the corner at the top of the driveway, and almost simultaneously the Führer appeared behind Pierrot and the staff stood rigidly to attention, eyes facing forward. When Ernst pulled up and turned the ignition off, he jumped out quickly to open the rear door. A small man wearing a suit that looked a little tight on him stepped out clutching a hat. He glanced around, his expression one of confusion mixed with disappointment at the lack of fanfare that awaited him.

  ‘One is generally accustomed to a band of som
e sort,’ he mumbled – more to himself than to anyone in particular – before offering a well-practised Nazi salute, his arm shooting proudly into the air, as if he had been particularly looking forward to this moment.

  ‘Herr Hitler,’ he said in a refined voice as he switched effortlessly from English to German. ‘So nice to meet you at last.’

  ‘Your Royal Highness,’ replied the Führer, smiling. ‘Your German is excellent.’

  ‘Yes, well,’ he muttered, fiddling with his hat-band. ‘One’s family, you know . . .’ He trailed off, as if uncertain how to finish this sentence.

  ‘David, aren’t you going to introduce me?’ asked a woman who had stepped out of the car behind him; she was dressed entirely in black, as if she was attending a funeral. Her broad American accent could be heard as she switched the conversation back to English.

  ‘Oh yes, of course. Herr Hitler, may I present Her Royal Highness, the Duchess of Windsor.’

  The Duchess pronounced herself charmed, as did the Führer, who also complimented her on her German.

  ‘It’s not quite as good as the Duke’s,’ she said, smiling. ‘But I get by.’

  Eva stepped forward to be introduced, standing firmly erect as she shook hands, apparently anxious not to be seen to be offering anything even close to a curtsey. The two couples made small talk for a few moments, speaking of the weather, the view from the Berghof and the drive up the mountain. ‘Thought we might go over the side a few times,’ remarked the Duke. ‘One wouldn’t want to have vertigo, would one?’

  ‘Ernst would never have allowed any harm to come to you,’ replied the Führer, glancing over at the chauffeur. ‘He knows how important you are to us.’

  ‘Hmm?’ asked the Duke, looking up as if he’d only just realized that he was in the middle of a conversation. ‘What’s that you say?’

  ‘Let’s go inside,’ replied the Führer. ‘You like to take tea at this hour, am I right?’

  ‘A little whisky, if you have it,’ said the Duke. ‘The altitude, you know. It takes it out of one. Wallis, are you coming?’

  ‘Yes, David. I was just admiring the house. Isn’t it beautiful?’

  ‘My sister and I found it in 1928,’ said Hitler. ‘We stayed here once on a holiday and I liked it so much that as soon as I could afford to, I bought it. I come here now whenever I can.’

  ‘It’s important for men in our position to have a place of their own,’ said the Duke, tugging at his shirt cuffs now. ‘Somewhere the world will leave us alone.’

  ‘Men in our position?’ asked the Führer, raising an eyebrow.

  ‘Important men,’ said the Duke. ‘I had such a place back in England, you know. When I was Prince of Wales. Fort Belvedere. Wonderful getaway. We threw some extraordinary parties in those days, didn’t we, Wallis? I tried to lock myself away there and throw away the key, but somehow the Prime Minister always got in.’

  ‘Perhaps we can find a way for you to return the favour,’ said the Führer, smiling broadly. ‘Come, let’s get you that drink.’

  ‘But who is this little fellow?’ asked the Duchess as she passed Pierrot. ‘Isn’t he dressed beautifully, David? He’s like a wonderful little Nazi toy. Oh, I’d like to take him home with me and put him on the mantelpiece, he’s so precious. What’s your name, sunshine?’

  Pierrot looked up at the Führer, who nodded his head.

  ‘Pieter, Your Royal Highness,’ said Pierrot.

  ‘The nephew of our housekeeper,’ explained Hitler. ‘The poor boy was orphaned so I agreed that he should come to live here.’

  ‘You see, David?’ said Wallis, turning to her husband. ‘That’s what I call real honest-to-goodness Christian charity. This is what people don’t understand about you, Adolf. Now, I can call you Adolf, can’t I? And you must call me Wallis. They don’t see that underneath all these uniforms and military lah-di-dah there lies the heart and soul of a true gentleman. And as for you, Ernie,’ she said, turning to the chauffeur and wagging a gloved finger in his direction, ‘I hope now you see that—’

  ‘Mein Führer,’ said Beatrix, stepping forward quickly, her voice surprisingly loud as she cut the Duchess off. ‘Would you like me to organize drinks for your guests?’

  Hitler glanced at her in surprise but, amused by what the Duchess had been saying, simply nodded his head. ‘Of course,’ he said. ‘But inside, I think. It’s getting chilly out here.’

  ‘Yes, there was talk of whisky, wasn’t there?’ said the Duke, marching in, and as the hosts and the staff followed, Pierrot glanced round and was surprised to see that Ernst was leaning against the car, his face quite pale; paler than he’d ever seen him before.

  ‘You’ve gone quite white,’ said Pierrot, before mimicking the Duke’s accent. ‘The altitude, you know. It takes it out of one, doesn’t it, Ernst?’

  Later that evening Emma handed Pierrot a tray of pastries and asked him to take them into the study, where the Führer and the Duke were deep in conversation.

  ‘Ah, Pieter,’ said the Führer as he came in, tapping the table between the two armchairs. ‘You can lay that down here.’

  ‘Can I get you anything else, mein Führer? Your Royal Highness?’ he asked, but he was so anxious that he addressed each man by the other’s title, which made them both laugh.

  ‘That’d be a thing, wouldn’t it?’ said the Duke. ‘If I came over here to run Germany?’

  ‘Or if I took over England,’ replied the Führer.

  The Duke’s smile faded a little at these words, and he fiddled with his wedding ring, pulling it on and off nervously.

  ‘Do you always have a boy doing these jobs, Herr Hitler?’ he asked. ‘Don’t you have a valet?’

  ‘No,’ said the Führer. ‘Do I need one?’

  ‘Every gentleman does. Or at least a footman in the corner of the room in case you require anything.’

  Hitler considered this and shook his head, as if he could not quite understand the other man’s sense of protocol. ‘Pieter,’ he said, pointing towards the corner. ‘Stand over there in the corner. You can be an honorary footman during the Duke’s visit.’

  ‘Yes, mein Führer,’ said Pierrot proudly, moving over to a place beside the door and trying his best to breathe as quietly as possible.

  ‘You’ve been awfully good to us,’ the Duke continued, lighting a cigarette. ‘Everywhere we went we were treated with such generosity of spirit. We’re tremendously pleased.’ He leaned forward. ‘Wallis is right – I really do think that if the English people could get to know you a little, then they would see what a jolly decent fellow you are. You have a lot in common with us, you know.’

  ‘Is that so?’

  ‘Yes, we share a sense of purpose and a belief in the important destiny of our people.’

  The Führer said nothing but leaned forward to pour his guest another drink.

  ‘The way I see it,’ the Duke said, ‘our two countries have much more to gain by working together than apart. Not a formal alliance, of course, more a sort of entente cordiale like we have with the French, although one can never be too trusting when it comes to them. No one wants a repeat of the madness of twenty years ago. Too many innocent young men lost their lives in that conflict. On both sides.’

  ‘Yes,’ replied the Führer quietly. ‘I fought in it.’

  ‘As did I.’

  ‘You did?’

  ‘Well, not in the trenches, of course. I was heir to the throne then. I had a position. I still have a position, you know.’

  ‘But not the one to which you were born,’ said the Führer. ‘Although that could change, I suppose. In time.’

  The Duke glanced around, as if worried that there might be spies hiding behind the curtains. His eyes never once landed on Pierrot; the boy might have been a statue for all the interest he held for him. ‘You know that the British government didn’t want me to come here,’ he said in a confidential tone. ‘And my brother Bertie was in agreement with them. There was an awful fuss. Baldwin, Churchil
l, all of them rattling their sabres.’

  ‘But why do you listen to them?’ asked Hitler. ‘You’re no longer King. You’re a free man. You can do whatever you choose.’

  ‘I’ll never be free,’ said the Duke mournfully. ‘And anyway, there’s the question of resources, if you follow me. One can’t simply go out and get a job.’

  ‘But why not?’

  ‘What would you have me do? Work behind the gentlemen’s counter at Harrods? Open a haberdashery shop? Put myself out as a footman like our young friend over there?’ He laughed as he pointed towards Pierrot.

  ‘All honest jobs,’ said the Führer quietly. ‘But perhaps beneath your status as a former king. There are perhaps other . . . possibilities.’ The Duke shook his head, ignoring the question completely, and the Führer smiled. ‘Do you ever regret your decision to abdicate the throne?’

  ‘Not for a moment,’ replied the Duke, and even Pierrot could hear the deceit in his voice. ‘Couldn’t do it, you see. Not without the help and support of the woman I love. Said as much in my farewell speech. But they were never going to allow her to be Queen.’

  ‘And you think that’s the only reason they got rid of you?’ asked the Führer.

  ‘Don’t you?’

  ‘I think they were frightened of you,’ he said. ‘Just like they’re frightened of me. They knew how closely connected you felt our countries should be. Why, your own grandmother, Queen Victoria, was the grandmother of our last Kaiser. And your grandfather, Prince Albert, was from Coburg. Your country is as invested in mine as mine is in yours. We are like a pair of great oak trees planted close together. Our roots are intertwined beneath the ground. Cut one down and the other suffers. Allow one to flourish and both will.’

  The Duke considered this for a moment before replying. ‘There may be something in that,’ he said.

  ‘You have been robbed of your birth right,’ continued the Führer, his voice raised now in anger. ‘How can you bear it?’

  ‘Nothing a chap can do,’ said the Duke. ‘It’s all over and done with now.’

  ‘But who knows what the future might hold?’

  ‘What do you mean?’

  ‘Germany is going to change over the years to come. We grow strong once again. We are redefining our place in the world. And perhaps England will change too. You’re a forward-thinking man, I believe. Don’t you think that the Duchess and you could do more good for your people if you were re-instated as King and Queen?’