by Scott Blade
“Gracy,” he began. “I’m not sure what I can do for you. You know that I am also a Jew. Those Nazis have left me and my clinic alone, but they terrorize all of my friends. They hold much of our Parliament now and Hitler is the leader of the party. I’ve even heard rumors that some Jews have disappeared.”
“Dr. Levinson, you don’t know what this is like for me. He keeps us secret from everyone. I’ve seen the eyes of sympathetic people. They ask about who Willem and I are and they end up dead. The only freedom I have is when Hitler is with one of his other girls.
He is mad, doctor, truly insane. He’s having sex with one of his nieces. He comes and goes all the time. He jumps into these fits of rage! I’m terrified for Willem’s safety. Terrified!” she exclaimed. She leaned forward and stared gently into his eyes.
“And, Dr. Levinson,” she whispered. “I’m pregnant.”
“Oh, God, Gracy!” Dr. Levinson said. “And it is Herr Hitler’s child?”
“Yes, Dr. Levinson,” Gracy said. “I need you to end the pregnancy.”
Dr. Levinson looked at her in complete shock. His mouth hung open.
“Gracy, do you know what you are asking of me?”
“Yes, Dr. Levinson. I know. I loved Heinrik…I hate Hitler! I can’t bear the thought of having a child from that monster. I can’t have Hitler’s baby. If you don’t help me then I will take my own life,” Gracy declared. Her eyes filled with tears. She rose from the examining table and dropped to her knees.
“Please, Dr. Levinson. I beg of you to help me end this pregnancy,” Gracy begged on her knees.
Dr. Levinson looked at the once admirable Gracy Kessler, my mother. There was only one choice he could make. It was a clear choice.
52
1930
The beauty of Berlin was boundless. Clouds covered the horizon. It was early morning. A massive crowd filled the square. They listened as the Führer stood high above them on a stage and spoke. A slight wind blew through the onlookers. Calmly, they listened as their leader proposed to them his vision of their future.
Hitler spoke harshly, yet elegantly. He possessed fervor and passion. The crowd listened in awe of his powers of speech, but Gracy had witnessed him rehearse his movements over and over in private. She knew every gesture that he made, ever word that he spoke, was strategically positioned and tactfully said. Her input was useless to Hitler. He merely wanted her there to be an inanimate object.
“Today, Germany will be free of the tyranny of our neighbors. We will take our rightful place at the helm of Europe.
“We will lead the world as Germany is meant to lead!
“I am announcing. Here and now. Today. Germany seeks to rearm itself. All of Germany will be united behind our new goal of power and might. We will have peace for all Germans.
“So let our forces rearm themselves,” he said.
The crowd cheered and roared.
“Again let our navies patrol European waters.
“Let our planes cast a shadow across the ground that covers all of the Fatherland,” he continued.
An enormous cheer sounded from the paratroopers and pilots in the crowd. They stood together, dressed in full military uniform.
“My friends, Germany is rearming. Soon Europe will be a new camp, with a new vision. Our vision. The German vision!” Hitler said. He ended his speech, staring off high above the crowd.
The crowd cheered, standing on the tips of their feet. They waved German flags and chanted Hitler's name over and over.
“Hail!” they roared over and over.
Gracy did not understand the full scope of what Hitler was proposing, but she knew from watching the crowd roar that Hitler had terrible plans for her. Somehow she could not shake the feeling that his plans involved me as well.
As Hitler ended his speech, the crowd roared and applauded. Their applause was deafening. I remembered how hard Gracy squeezed my hand. It felt so tight. I remember being so confused. She pulled me close to her. I squeezed my sketchbook tight. I was afraid I would drop it.
I drew constantly. Gracy and Hitler had given me the sketchbook long ago. I was an unusual child. I was quick to start doodling on paper. I never played like most children; I would rather stare at things and then draw them. I was drawing realistic shapes and their details by the age of three. Now, at five years old, I was drawing detailed animals, flowers, and buildings. Mostly, I drew lions. I liked lions.
My mother thought back to the summer before when I’d discovered lions. They were in Hitler’s library. He had been gone for weeks. Gracy told me stories from the Bible. She showed me a famous painting by Lucas Cranach the Elder. It was of Samson wrestling the lion.
I was taken aback by the lion. I became intrigued with them. I’d insisted that Gracy read stories about lions to me. The story of the lion with the thorn in his paw, Samson and the lion, and Hercules and the lion, were my favorites. I especially enjoyed hearing the adventures of the cowardly lion in L. Frank Baum’s The Wonderful Wizard of Oz.
Hitler was becoming increasingly hostile toward my mother. She feared him greatly now. She was deeply concerned about what he might do to us.
Realizing she was interrupting Hitler’s cheers, she wanted to leave the square without arousing any more of his attention. The speech was over. Hitler would stay, shake some hands, and then return to his normal duties. My mother wanted to get us away from there before then. She didn’t want Hitler using me in any of his photos.
Gracy looked around. The SS guards watched their Führer closely. They were well-versed in the art of combat. They stood near their leader with one objective: to ensure his safety. They did not ask questions. They simply waited to fire their guns. Gracy feared them almost as much as she did Hitler.
She squeezed my hand even tighter than before. She began leading me off the stage where we had been seated with numerous members of Hitler’s cabinet. Hitler faced away from us. He was still facing the crowd. His staff watched heatedly as Gracy led me off the stage before the event ended. I was not happy about her pulling me. At first I went along with it, but then I became irritable and started to jerk away from her.
“Willem, what are you doing?” she whispered to me. Then she looked up at the person closest to her. He looked confused by her calling me Willem.
Quickly, Gracy realized they all knew me as Peter. Hitler did not want me to have the name Kessler, so after he married my mother, they renamed me Peter Hitler.
“Momma? I’m Peter,” I said.
“Come along, son. Quickly,” she said, jerking my arm again.
She looked up to see that Hitler was posing for pictures with some men that she didn’t recognize. He shot her an ugly glance over his shoulder.
As Gracy led me off the stage, some other members of Hitler’s staff began following. I continued fighting against her. Then she realized I was upset because I had dropped my sketchbook back on the stage.
Gracy began to return us to our seats. She saw the sketchbook. Before she could reach down and grab it, a hand snatched it up. It was Hitler’s. The photographers were blocked by two of his SS guards.
Hitler realized the sketchbook was mine. He began to give it back to me, but first he took a quick glance inside. He stopped dead in his tracks. He stared at one of my sketches. His expression shifted from frustration to utter awe. He had not paid any attention to my drawings in months. Now he saw how good I was and at such a young age.
I stood at his feet, reaching up, trying to grab my sketchbook.
Hitler peered down at me; his jaw hung in the air. I used to think that he was tall back then.
“This is amazing,” Hitler said. He bent down and began handing the sketchbook back to me. I stared into the darkness in his eyes. I let go of my mother’s hand so that I could take back my sketchbook.
“This is a good drawing, son,” Hitler said.
Gracy heard the words from Hitler’s mouth and recoiled in horror. She witnessed a transformation in Hitler in that brief instant.
It was a change she had feared. Hitler was now interested in her son. She could see it in his eyes. I had become his son.
Hitler watched me as Gracy pulled me away. He watched as we left the stage and faded into the crowd of people.
53
In Berlin, Hitler came to my mother and expressed more interest in me than he ever had before. After seeing my drawings, he now felt a connection to me, something that Gracy deeply feared.
One day, I remember, he was asking her all kinds of questions about my interests. Although my mother did not approve of his interest, she dared not cross him. She told him I had a great interest in lions.
One day, Hitler sat me on his lap in the car. We were driving to a rally on the far side of Berlin. When he placed his thick fingers around me, my mother grimaced.
“Peter,” he said. “Do you know what a black lion is?”
“No,” I said.
“A black lion is like a white tiger or a white panther; it is rare, very rare. Black lions are endangered. They are lions with most of their mane and coat colored black,” he said.
“That sounds great!” I said.
“They are great. Well, I have a surprise for you and your mother,” he said, peering up into my mother’s eyes.
“What surprise? Adolf?” Gracy asked. She sounded worried. I could see the concern in her eyes.
“Gracy, I realized something when you interrupted my speech.”
“I’m sorry Adolf...I...”
“No need to apologize, Gracy. No need. I really have a surprise for you both.”
“What is it?” she asked.
“You will see. You will see,” he said, looking back at me and then staring out the window at the cold city. The winter neared its end. Hitler stared out the window, thinking of the magnificent architecture that made up our city.
We drove a little longer until we came to the Berlin Zoo.
“Gracy. You are mine. Peter is mine. I want you to accept that. But perhaps I have been hard on both of you. So my guards are going to give you both some time together. Here at the zoo. Each week I am going to allow you and Peter to come here and look at the animals,” Hitler said.
More than I remember his words, I remember how excited I was to see the animals.
“And Peter, this zoo has a very special animal just for you. The last animal you will see is a very special cub,” Hitler said. He leaned forward and whispered to the driver.
A single SS guard got out of the front of the car and opened my mother’s door. He escorted us away into the zoo.
54
Dark brass gates stood tall, allowing us to pass through the zoo’s front portal. The air was thick with the smell of snow and moisture. The zoo was a maze of animals and scary sounds. Gracy and I walked hand in hand everywhere. We were the only people there. The SS guards had closed down the zoo just for us. I felt like a prince.
I was allowed to pet a giraffe, throw pebbles at the orangutans—who often threw them back, and feed peanuts to an elephant. It was a great day. But Hitler was right; the best part was at the end.
When Gracy and I reached the last habitat, I heard the roar before I saw the creature. Enclosed in a large area filled with high grass and an old, rusted automobile with no tires, was an enormous lion. He sat on top of the car, looking majestic.
I started to giggle when he lazily rolled over onto his back and made growling sounds like a big cat.
I could tell he saw us, but he did not seem to mind. A moment later, I saw that he wasn’t alone. There was an entire pride of lions. I could see at the base of the car, by the axle, a lioness was licking three cubs.
“Willem, look at that,” Gracy said. She pointed to a dark spot by the cubs. It was small, but it moved around like a fish flopping on the ground. At first, I thought it was a ball or a shred of the missing tires that the cubs were playing with, but a better look showed me that it was an animal.
“It's a black lion cub. Momma, it’s a black lion,” I said as I jumped with excitement. Hitler was right; they did exist.
The black lion cub was the most beautiful creature I had ever seen. We could tell that he had just woken up. His brothers were playfully gnawing on his ears.
Suddenly our escort approached the gate to the enclosure. He looked down at me with a stern, expressionless face.
“Frau Hitler,” the guard said. My mother cringed at being called Mrs. Hitler.
“Yes,” she answered coldly.
“Herr Hitler has commanded that the zoo officials allow Peter to enter the lion enclosure and pet the black cub.”
I was overwhelmed with excitement, but I could sense my mother was not excited at all.
Suddenly two zookeepers appeared behind the lion enclosure. They used long staffs to get the male lion’s attention. First they lured him away from the cubs and beyond an opening on the back wall. Then they returned and herded the lioness away from the cubs also. She was reluctant to leave them.
The zookeepers approached the gate and let me in.
My mother stayed close behind me. The SS guard walked out in front of both of us. When the zookeepers were sure it was safe, they led us to the black cub.
“Go ahead; he won't bite you,” one of them said to me.
Slowly, I approached the creature. He was skittish and a lot more timid than I had imagined.
It took some time, but eventually he and I played for hours. And for the next several weeks I visited him many times. It was great because it was just me, my mother, and the black lion.
The weeks turned into months. I had watched the lion cub grow rapidly to where he was bigger than me.
55
One rainy morning when I was six years old, my mother took me to see the lion. It would be the last time.
Hitler, whom I had thought of as my father, was taking the day to do a propaganda campaign. I remember that he had expressed a great deal of concern for Gracy spending so much time with just the two of us. He wanted us to go to his press conference, but Gracy insisted that we go to the zoo.
“Adolf, Willem really wants to go,” she said.
“Damn it! Gracy, don’t call him Willem!” Hitler yelled at her. I sat in the opposite room, but I could still hear them. They fought a lot in the end. My mother was becoming more and more daring.
“I'm sorry, Adolf. I meant Peter. It’s confusing sometimes,” she said.
“I forgive you,” Hitler said. “You can take him to your stupid zoo, but I want to see him become one of us soon. I want him to know that he is my son!”
Hitler banged on his chest to emphasis the word “my.”
“I understand,” Gracy said.
56
Thunder rumbled, making the sky sound like we were inside a giant’s growling belly. The rain had stopped just before we left for the zoo. The skies were covered in a light grayish hue.
“Willem, I want to talk to you,” Gracy said.
We sat with the black lion, which was now fairly large. He licked my hand. The zoo keepers said he took to me unlike he had with any of them. I felt a connection to him.
I was not allowed to have any friends. My connection to the lion was a kinship unlike anything I had ever known.
The ground was soggy, but being six years old, I didn’t care. Surprisingly though, Gracy sat with me. Together we petted the lion. I called him Mokka, which in English is Mocha.
“Willem, can you keep a secret?” Gracy asked me.
“What kind of secret?” I asked, thinking she wanted to play a game.
“The kind of secret that no one can ever know. No one, Willem. You can never tell Adolf, your father,” she said, scooting closer to me.
Mocha looked at her with great attention, as if she meant me harm. He was very protective of me.
“Mocha is a good animal. He wants to protect you. I want to protect you too, Willem. But there is something I want to tell you, something I have to tell you. Your mother may not be around forever. And you need to know about your father. Your real f
ather.”
“Poppa,” I said. “What about him,” I replied.
“Poppa? You mean Adolf. Where did you hear Poppa?”
“Father told me to call him Poppa from now on,” I said. I remember the expression on my mother’s face so vividly. She looked like my words had stabbed her like a barrage of daggers, like a booby trap, rigged to pierce her heart.
“No, Willem, he is not your Poppa. I want to tell you about a man, a great man named Heinrik Kessler,” Gracy said. She gently stroked her hands through my hair as I did the same to Mocha.
Gracy told me the story of Heinrik, as I’ve told you. She told me the story of my father.
57
A trickle of rain fell from the sky and landed on the tip of the Erma EMP submachine gun. The water slipped off the barrel and fell to the ground. Two SS guards stood on either side of the door to Hitler’s apartment building. EMP machine guns close in hand, they stood alert.
Gracy lay in her bed. She’d fallen asleep as soon as she’d gotten back from the speech. The sun had set hours earlier, giving birth to the night.
She slept soundly, feeling victorious that she had told me of Heinrik. She dreamed of him.
Suddenly, she stirred, realizing how quiet it was in her room. Suspiciously, she looked around the room. She didn’t want to get out of bed because Hitler was nowhere around. Rarely did she get to enjoy the bed alone.
However, she wondered about me. Generally I slept in the bed with them. She looked around the room. I was nowhere in sight. Frantically, Gracy leapt to her feet. She closed her nightgown and stepped into her slippers.
Walking through the long halls, Gracy searched for me. She stumbled past Hitler’s private study. She heard me laughing like I was playing.
“Willem?” Gracy whispered. She didn’t want Hitler to catch me in the study. Gracy knew that neither of us was allowed to go in any of Hitler’s studies. In every apartment and house he owned, that was the one rule he made very clear to my mother and me.
“Never go into the study,” he had said to us.
That was where he performed matters of state, and it was none of her business. Of course, she suspected that it really was a rule meant to hide us from his friends and staff.
