Classics Mutilated

by John Shirley

  He escorted Eleanor inside. They found a small snack shop, and soon were seated at a table.

  “Everyone’s staring,” she noted.

  “Probably seeing a half-naked warrior princess eating with a world-famous Nobel Prize winner isn’t an everyday occurrence.”

  “So how are we going to get to Himmler’s headquarters?” asked Eleanor.

  “The direct approach is probably best,” answered Einstein.

  “The direct approach?”

  He nodded. “When we get to downtown Berlin, I’ll ask a cabbie.”

  “You think of everything, Little Al,” she said admiringly. “How much trouble do we expect on the way in?”

  “Well, I had hoped that Himmler was so anxious to have his horrendous horde meet you in personal combat that he would have ordered everyone to give us safe passage until we got there,” said Einstein. “But if I’m wrong, then you may have to single-handedly conquer the German 4th, 6th, and 7th armored divisions—and that’s if we make it over France without being shot down.”

  “Boy, those Nazis are everywhere!" said Eleanor grimly.

  “Actually, I was thinking of the French,” answered Einstein. “De Gaulle has never forgiven me for beating him at chess.”

  Eleanor studied the menu, then signaled the lone waitress.

  “What’ll it be, ma’am?” asked the girl.

  “I’ll have a hot fudge sundae, a piece of New York cheesecake, a chocolate éclair, and a slice of apple pie a lá mode, heavy on the whipped cream.”

  “Will you want anything to drink, ma’am? Tea, perhaps?”

  “A chocolate malt.”

  Einstein ordered coffee, the waitress went off to the kitchen, and he stared curiously at Eleanor, who had a radiant smile on her face.

  “I may keep this magical outfit forever, Little Al!” she enthused. “Twenty-three thousand calories, and I won’t gain an ounce!”

  “Not only that,” said Einstein, “but you’ll have all the energy you’ll need for the battles that lay ahead of us. Well, of you.”

  “I feel sharp,” she said. “Himmler’s going to rue the day that he called these super Aryans up from hell.”

  “I’m starting to rue the day I called you up from hell!” growled Himmler as he faced his thirteen super Aryans.

  “What did we do wrong this time?” asked Adolf.

  “I don’t mind that you can’t march in formation. I don’t mind that Heinrich Number 8 has a prostate problem and has to keep running to the john. I don’t even mind that none of you has washed in all the time you’ve been here.” He glared at them. “But I mind like all hell that nobody remembers to duck their heads or even use a door when they enter or leave a room. You’re slowly but surely destroying the damned building. You!” he yelled, pointing at Heinrich Number 3. “Get that wistful smile off your face.”

  “But you mentioned home,” protested Number 3.

  “What the hell are you talking about?” demanded Himmler.

  “There!” exclaimed Number 3. “You did it again!”

  “Oh, shut up!” growled Himmler. “Just go down to the basement and try not to get into trouble. I’ll call you when it’s time to slaughter Mrs. Roosevelt.”

  “But it’s dark and foreboding down there,” whined Number 9. “And there are lurking shadows.”

  “So what?” said Himmler. “You guys are invulnerable.”

  “That doesn’t make it less scary,” said Number 5 petulantly.

  “You can’t be hurt,” repeated Himmler. “That means nothing should scare you.”

  “Lots of things scare us,” answered Adolf.

  “Right,” agreed Number 4. “Personally, I’m terrified of high cholesterol levels.”

  “And I’m afraid of tax auditors,” added Number 7.

  “Aggressive redheads named Thelma make me want to run for the hills,” said Number 10. Suddenly he burst out crying.

  “What’s the matter with him?” asked Himmler.

  “There aren’t any hills in hell,” explained Adolf.

  “I’ve heard enough of this,” exploded Himmler. “You are the ideals of German manhood, perfect in every way, at least from the neck down.” Number 8 raised his hand to speak. “Except for Number 8’s prostate,” amended Himmler. “You are about to carry the hopes and dreams of the Third Reich into battle against the most formidable warrior and the most dangerous sorcerer that America has to offer. There can be no fears, no doubts, nothing but the absolute certainty that Aryans cannot ever lose.”

  “Uh … this warrior woman,” said Number 1. “How big is she?”

  “Not big enough!” roared Himmler. “You are the ideals of the Master Race. You are twice the size of normal men. You are invulnerable. You cannot feel pain, or fear, or fatigue. You represent everything that is fine and noble and worth keeping on this mongrel-filled planet. Now, let me hear it! Are you ready to triumph over the greatest warrior the Allies can provide?”

  He wasn’t sure, but he thought he counted seven yes’s, five no’s, and a maybe.

  “There’s Paris, coming up on your left,” announced Leonardo as the plane banked to afford them a better view. “Last chance to stretch your legs and see the Folies Bergère.”

  “Why would I want to see the Folies Bergère?” asked Eleanor.

  “I was thinking of Little Al,” said Leonardo. “We used to have to drag him out of there almost every night during the last war.”

  “I found the atmosphere conducive to conjuring,” said Einstein defensively.

  “Usually he’d conjure up a spell and the prettiest girls would throw themselves at him.”

  “It was all for God and country,” said Einstein. “Well, maybe excluding God. Besides, once I perfected it, it brought Mata Hari out of hiding and straight to me.”

  “With only one hundred and forty-three romantic pit stops along the way,” said Leonardo.

  “Maybe we should show you the Louvre,” said Einstein, turning to Eleanor and changing the subject.

  “Do they have any Norman Rockwells?” she asked.

  Einstein shook his head. “Just da Vinci and Reubens and Michelangelo and that whole crowd.”

  “Foreigners all,” she sniffed. She tapped Leonardo on the shoulder. “Just land. I’ll kill a Nazi or two, make sure everything is in working order, and then we’ll proceed to Berlin.”

  As they reached the outskirts of Paris, they began picking up anti-aircraft fire.

  “That was a close one,” said Leonardo as a shell exploded just to the left of the plane. “Hey, Little Al, are you sure you want to land here?”

  “Don’t interrupt!” said Einstein. His eyes were closed, and his hands were making mystical signs in the air. “The acceleration of a body is directly proportional to the net unbalanced force and inversely proportional to the body’s mass, a relationship is established between Force (F), Mass (m) and acceleration (a)."

  “What is he doing?” asked Leonardo.

  “Magic!” whispered Eleanor in awestruck tones. “Don’t interrupt him.”

  “The squares of the periods of revolution of the planets about the Sun are proportional to the cubes of their mean distances from it," chanted Einstein. Suddenly he relaxed and looked at his companions. “Okay,” he said. “The plane will be invulnerable to German fire for the next seventy-three minutes. Now you can land.”

  “By God!” said Leonardo. “How can the Germans stand up to a brain like that?”

  “It’s not that simple,” said Einstein. “My magic only works on normal Nazis, not on Himmler’s super Aryans. For that, we need some very special magic, some spell that’s never been cast before.”

  “So cast it,” said Leonardo.

  “I’m working on it,” said Einstein. He closed his eyes, held out his hands, and chanted, “E equals MC cubed!"

  “The engine just died,” announced Leonardo.

  “Damn!” said Einstein as they glided silently toward the ground. “I thought I had it this time!”
>
  c d

  “All right,” said Himmler. “The Fuhrer is coming by to inspect you any minute now. I want you to line up alphabetically.”

  “But there are twelve Heinrichs,” said Heinrich Number 9.

  “All right,” said Himmler. “By height.”

  “We’re all the same size.”

  “Draw straws,” snarled Himmler.

  “Give us some pencils,” said Heinrich Number 6. “And where do you want us to draw them?”

  Heinrich Number 8 emerged from the bathroom and rejoined the others. “Did I miss anything important?” he asked.

  “Shut up!” snapped Himmler. “I want you all to line up numerically.”

  “Right to left, or left to right?” asked Heinrich Number 1.

  “Yes!” yelled Himmler.

  After a few moments of confusion, the twelve super Aryan Heinrichs were finally in line.

  “Where do I go?” asked Adolf.

  “Alphabetically,” said Himmler.

  “But they’re all numerical.”

  “All right—numerically.”

  “But I don’t have a number.”

  “Adolf, you are an idiot!” screamed Himmler.

  “What did you call me?" bellowed a familiar voice from behind him.

  “Oh, shit!” said Himmler as his knees began to tremble.

  “150 propositions from French men before we even leave the airport!” said Eleanor wearily. “Can the super Aryans be any more exhausting?” She paused, frowning. “Maybe having this figure isn’t all that it’s cracked up to be. I never got this tired fighting off Republicans.”

  “I think your response—the one that scared them all away—was a stroke of genius,” replied Einstein. “Three little words and they were dispersed to the four winds.”

  “I’ll have to remember them the next time we’re in France,” said Eleanor. “Marry me first," she intoned. “Suddenly they looked like a bunch of sprinters trying out for the Olympics.”

  "Brilliant,” agreed Einstein. “I wouldn’t try it in Beirut, though, or even Dubai.”

  “I wonder where all the Nazis are,” said Eleanor. “We didn’t see a single one.”

  “Probably at the Folies Bergère or maybe the Lido,” answered Einstein. “Or robbing art treasures from the Louvre. They do that a lot. I suppose we could pop over there and stop them?”

  “Why bother?” she asked. “You already said there are no Norman Rockwells there. There are probably no Virgil Finlays or Frank R. Pauls either. Just a bunch of guys with funny names. No, Little Al, I’ve stretched my gorgeous cellulite-free legs now. Let’s move on to Berlin.”

  “There’s the plane,” he said, as they entered the small, private airport where Leonardo had set it down and was trying to start the engine.

  Suddenly they found their way blocked by five armed Nazis in uniform.

  “I’ve been wondering where you guys were,” said Eleanor, sword in hand. “Prepare to meet your maker.”

  “Meet my baker?” said one with a hearing aid. “What on earth is she talking about?”

  “Your maker, your maker!” she snapped.

  “I’m still confused,” said the Nazi. “Is she talking about one of my parents?”

  “I’m talking about your God!” roared Eleanor.

  “You’ll have to talk to someone else, then,” he replied. “We members of the Master Race aren’t allowed to believe in God.”

  “That’s not entirely true,” said one of his companions. “We’re allowed to worship Mars, God of War.”

  “And I think we can worship Colgate, God of Healthy Teeth,” said another.

  “Enough!” snapped Eleanor. “Prepare to die!”

  “If I’m going to prepare for it,” said another Nazi, “I have to go back to Hamburg and write my will, and pay off all my creditors, and tell my wife where I really was during that snowstorm last February. I don’t suppose you could wait right here for eight weeks until I take care of all that and come back, could you?”

  “You are the talkiest soulless sadistic fiends I’ve ever met!” said Eleanor. “Well, since Alf Landon and Wendell Willkie, anyway. Now, are you going to fight or are you going to talk?”

  “You are Big El, aren’t you?” asked still another Nazi.

  “That’s right.”

  “Then I guess we’re going to talk. We have orders to escort you to Berlin, and not to rob Herr Himmler’s Horrendous Horde From Hell of the fun of slowly dismembering you.”

  Eleanor turned to Einstein. “What do you think, Little Al?”

  He turned to Leonardo’s plane. “F equals MC squared!" he chanted.

  Both wings fell off, and one of the tires went flat.

  Einstein turned back to the Nazis. “You have transportation?”

  “Of course.”

  “Then I guess we’re going with you,” said Einstein.

  As they were climbing aboard the Nazis’ plane, one of them pulled Eleanor aside.

  “I don’t mean to be forward,” he said, lowering his voice so only she could hear it. “But if, on the thousand-to-one chance that you survive your forthcoming duel to the death with Himmler’s Horrendous Horde, would you like to get together afterward? I’d love to show you the sights of Berlin at night.”

  She gave him a smile. “Marry me first,” she whispered.

  He sat as far from her as possible, and didn’t speak to her for the duration of the flight or the rest of this story.

  The red phone on the President’s desk began ringing, and Roosevelt picked it up.

  “You know who this is?” said a voice with a heavy German accent.

  “I can guess,” said Roosevelt. “What do you want?”

  “You know your wife is on her way here with that little turncoat Ein … Ein …"—he forced the word out—"Einstein.”

  “I’m aware of it.”

  “You really think to destroy my super Aryans?” demanded Hitler.

  “You have nothing to fear but Eleanor herself,” said Roosevelt.

  “I have a proposition,” said Hitler. “Why don’t we let the coming battle between your wife and my Aryans determine the war—winner take all?”

  “Why should I make a deal like that when half your army is freezing to death in Russia?”

  “You’re not supposed to know that!” screamed Hitler. There was an uneasy pause. “I mean—”

  “Forget it,” said Roosevelt. “Now, if you want to make a little side bet …"

  “A million marks to a million dollars!” said Hitler promptly.

  “Come on, Adolf,” said Roosevelt. “You’ve devalued your currency so much that a million marks barely buys a loaf of bread.”

  “But it is good German bread!” protested the Fuhrer.

  “Not a chance.”

  “Wait a minute!” said Hitler. “We own France, too! A million dollars against a million francs!”

  “Goodbye, Adolf.”

  Roosevelt hung up the phone and went back to studying his crystal ball.

  c d

  “Welcome to Berlin, Fraulein,” said one of the guards at the airfield.

  “Thank you,” said Eleanor, who saw no reason to tell him, or anyone else, that she was actually a Frau.

  “You may find our nights a little chilly for your apparel.”

  “Have you a nice, heavy, shapeless coat that I can use to cover myself?” she asked.

  “NO!" cried all the other guards.

  The guard shrugged helplessly. “I guess not.”

  “I’m sure I’ll be fine,” she said.

  “You are escorting her to Gestapo headquarters,” said one of the Nazis who had accompanied her from Paris.

  “Just her?”

  Einstein stepped forward. “Me too.”

  “You too?” repeated the guard. “That’s funny. You don’t look too-ish.”

  “Actually,” said another guard, “he does.”

  “Just get us there,” said Einstein. “We’re wasting time.”

/>   “Who are you to give us orders?”

  “I’m Little Al, that’s who,” he said. Suddenly he closed his eyes and began chanting a spell. “The area of a triangle is one half times the base length times the height of the triangle."

  “Yes, sir,” said the guard as he and his companions seemed to fall into a trancelike state. “This way, sir. Watch your step, sir.”

  “Thank you,” said Einstein.

  The guards led them to a truck.

  “That looks uncomfortable,” said Eleanor. “Haven’t you got a car?”

  “The Fuhrer has outlawed all makes and models but the Volkswagen,” came the answer. “Except for his own fleet of Cadillacs, that is.”

  “So?”

  “The Volkswagen is the smallest, most uncomfortable car in all of Europe,” said the guard. “It reminds me of a beetle the way it hugs the ground. I know the Fuhrer is perfect and infallible and all that, but if he really thinks these undersized monstrosities are ever going to be popular….”

  “They don’t use much gas, though,” noted one of his companions.

  “You say that as if the world will ever run out of gas,” said the guard.

  “Science fiction writers are predicting that it may someday be so rare that it will cost as much as ten U.S. cents a gallon.”

  The guard shrugged his shoulders. “What can you expect from a bunch of unemployable daydreamers?” he said contemptuously. He turned to Eleanor and Einstein. “Are you ready?”

  “Yes,” said Eleanor.

  “Then climb into the back and we’ll be on our way.”

  “I may need a little help,” said Einstein.

  Three of the guards boosted him into the truck, then looked their disappointment when Eleanor was able to climb in on her own.

  As they rode, avoiding debris and craters in the street, they could hear the whistling sounds of bombs falling, followed by deafening explosions as they tore into the heart of Berlin. Eleanor looked out the back of the truck and saw several buildings on fire after a direct hit.

  “It would appear that the Luftwaffe is no match for our American and British bombers,” she remarked.