Last Stop Vienna

by Andrew Nagorski

  “You didn’t bring these from the prison?” she asked warily.

  “No, of course not.”

  “I don’t want Hitler’s flowers, if that’s what they are.”

  I couldn’t retreat to the truth now; I couldn’t disappoint her. After all, I told myself, it’s the intention that counts.

  “I’m telling you, they aren’t his.”

  “You swear?”

  “I swear.”

  She kissed me, long and hard. “I don’t know what to make of you at times. But I do know I love you.”

  “I love you, too.”

  Her eyes filled with tears again.

  I put my finger on the tip of her nose. “Why are you crying now?”

  “You never told me that before. First you bring me flowers and then you tell me you love me. What next?”

  I stroked her hair and pulled her toward me, pretending not to understand the question.

  —

  The sky was gray when I headed back to Landsberg on Tuesday to find out what assignment Emil had in mind for me. The chill in the morning air was a reminder that summer was just about over. I buttoned up my light jacket as I rode in the back of a cart. The farmer had allowed me to hop in for the last part of the journey, almost up to the prison gates.

  I rushed in a little later than I had hoped and found Emil engrossed in conversation with several other prisoners in the commons room, gesturing with some papers he held in his hands. He gave me a distracted wave when I poked my head in, which I took as a signal that he was busy. I stepped back into the hallway to wait.

  It was about twenty minutes before the other prisoners left and Emil called me in. “Interesting news today,” he said with no preliminaries. “Look at this.”

  He had laid out several sheets of paper on the table. I peered down. “What is it?”

  “A copy of Leybold’s report about the boss.”

  It took me a moment to place the name. “How did you manage to get the report of the prison’s governor?” I asked in astonishment.

  “You have no idea how many sympathizers Hitler has won for the cause here.” Then he laughed. “A few more months in this place and he might become the governor himself.”

  I picked up a page and read:

  . . . is contented, modest and accommodating. He makes no demands, is quiet and reasonable, serious and without any abusiveness, scrupulously concerned to obey the confinements of the sentence. He is a man without personal vanity, is content with the catering of the institution, does not smoke or drink and, though comradely, knows how to command a certain authority with his fellow inmates . . .

  “Not bad, huh? That’s our leader. Couldn’t have written it better myself.”

  I nodded.

  “Here’s the part I like,” Emil added, winking and offering me a conspiratorial smile. “ ‘He is not drawn to the female sex. He meets women with whom he comes into contact on visits here with great politeness, without becoming engaged with them in serious political discussions.’ ”

  “Is that true—I mean, the part about him not being drawn to the female sex?”

  “Nothing’s that simple with the boss,” Emil replied. I sensed he was going to say more but then thought better of it.

  “Here’s the really important part,” he said, pointing to the last section of Leybold’s report:

  He will not return to liberty with threats and thoughts of revenge against those in public office who oppose him and frustrated his plans in November 1923. He will be no agitator against the government, no enemy of other parties with a nationalist leaning. He emphasizes how convinced he is that a state cannot exist without firm internal order and firm government.

  “Does this mean they’ll release Hitler early?”

  “It doesn’t depend on Leybold alone,” Emil said. “The court has to rule if he can be granted parole. And there are plenty of people who think Leybold is crazy to believe this. The prosecutor is already fighting to prevent any early release. One of the police reports we’ve seen claims that if Hitler is released, he’ll represent ‘a constant danger for internal and external security of the state.’ ”

  “You’ve seen those reports, too?”

  “It’s incredible what you can get your hands on when people wish you well.”

  “So what are his chances?”

  Emil shrugged. “I don’t know how much longer it’ll take. But there’s no chance he’ll have to serve out his full term. It won’t even be close. And I wouldn’t bet on him being in prison next September.”

  “A year from now? Based on Leybold’s report, I would have thought he’d get out much sooner.”

  “Remember, he still has enemies. You know what the prosecutor is saying? He’s accusing us of smuggling letters out of prison.”

  “He is?”

  Emil playfully covered his mouth with his hand. “I’m shocked, truly shocked, aren’t you?”

  “Seriously, Emil, have I done something to get him in trouble?”

  “They’ll use whatever they can against him, but all the guards here know what’s going on. And you’re not the only one who smuggles letters, if you can call this smuggling at all. Don’t worry about it. It’s only a pretext.”

  I wanted to believe him. After all, I had shown that first letter to the guard, as instructed, and afterward casually walked in and out without anyone ever checking. I had almost forgotten that what I did on each visit was technically illegal.

  “But none of this was the reason I asked you to come back so soon,” Emil said.

  “I didn’t think so.”

  I had become used to Emil’s almost automatic amused looks, but this time he was clearly enjoying himself. “You know about Hitler’s half sister, Angela Raubal?”

  “Yes, the one who came here earlier.”

  Emil nodded. Angela was due to visit the prison today, and he wanted my help. She’d be coming with her daughter, who would briefly see her uncle and then would need care, since Angela would be staying for a longer visit.

  “So I’m supposed to be a baby-sitter?”

  “Not exactly.” Emil laughed. “She’s sixteen.”

  “Great, so what do I do with her?”

  “There are a couple of bicycles out front, which the guards will let you use. It’s all arranged. Take her for a nice ride somewhere. Hitler needs some time with Angela. Go to town, go for a ride or walk in the woods, whatever you want.” He paused, looking at me more seriously than ever before. “Not whatever you want. Don’t ever forget she’s Hitler’s niece. And that she’s just a kid.”

  “Of course not.”

  “I know you’re not much more than a kid yourself, so watch it.”

  “I’m twenty-one,” I replied indignantly.

  “I know. Precisely my point. It’s not that big a gap.”

  —

  I caught sight of Hitler’s visitors before they went in. His sister couldn’t have been that old, but she looked tired and dowdy, a small, worn-out woman, her eyes downcast as Emil led them to cell number seven. Her daughter, who was taller, was chatting with Emil, which meant she was turned away from me as she passed. I caught only a glimpse of her short light brown hair before they disappeared down the corridor.

  The wait was longer than expected, and I must have nodded off briefly. Suddenly, Emil and the girl were standing in front of me, and I bolted from my chair. “So here’s your energetic escort,” Emil said, relishing that he’d caught me drowsing.

  “I hope my company won’t tire him out too much,” the girl said, releasing a loud giggle. She held out her hand, and Emil made the introduction: “Angela, meet Karl. Karl, meet Angela.”

  “Oh, Emil, no one calls me Angela. That’s my mother’s name.”

  “It’s yours, too,” he said teasingly.

  She turned back to me, still holding my hand. “I’m Geli.”

  She wore a plain pleated skirt and a carefully ironed white blouse with a fraying collar. She wasn’t as tall as I had thought before,
but she stood very straight, which probably contributed to my first impression. Her short, curly hair descended in a wave over her forehead, giving her almost a boyish look; there was nothing remarkable about her round face, which still contained a childish puffiness. Except for the big dark eyes. When she smiled, her face was transformed into something mischievous, those eyes radiating impish energy and warmth.

  “Do you have a jacket or a sweater?” I asked. “You may need it.”

  She shook her head. “I have a sweater, but I left it with my mother. It’s warmed up out there.”

  Emil took us as far as the guard gate. “See you later in the afternoon, then.” Turning to me, he added: “Get her back safely.”

  “Jawohl,” I responded.

  Geli waved as we made our way out the gate. “I’ll try to make sure he doesn’t fall asleep on his bike,” she called back over her shoulder. “Tell Uncle Alf not to worry.”

  We picked up the bicycles on the other side.

  “Are you all right on one of these?” I asked. “We’ve got to go down a rather steep hill from here.”

  “Maybe,” she said, mounting the rickety bike and pushing off. “How about you?”

  She was already accelerating down the hill when I jumped on my bike to catch up. “Hey, wait for me.”

  I began pedaling furiously and then became alarmed at my downhill speed. I’d never owned a bike in my life, and had ridden one only a few times. The distance between us was widening instead of narrowing. The hill really wasn’t that big, but it looked huge to me. I felt as if I were flying and close to out of control. I saw Geli reach the bottom at full speed, her bike wobbling once over a bump before she slowed down. I came roaring after her, hit the same bump and went sprawling.

  I looked up from the dusty road to find her standing over me. “Karl,” she managed to say, then bent over laughing. She tried to look serious. “Are you all right?”

  I picked myself up slowly, examining nothing worse than a bruised forearm and a scuffed-up sleeve. “Very funny.” I straightened my jacket, still embarrassed and angry. But when I saw her stuffing her fist into her mouth trying to stop from laughing more, I began laughing, too. “All right, can you take pity on me and ride a little slower?”

  She grinned. “Yes, sir.”

  I got back on my bicycle and pushed off, carefully watching the ground to make sure I wouldn’t hit anything that would trip me up a second time, although I tried to look and sound relaxed. I blurted out the first question that came into my mind. “Why do you call him ‘Uncle Alf’?”

  “What’s wrong with that?”

  “I don’t know. It’s just that . . .”

  “He’s too important here?”

  “I never imagined him as somebody’s uncle.”

  Geli rode slowly. “When I called him that in prison today, he seemed to like it. He certainly is treated with respect in that prison. It’s fun having a famous uncle.”

  I almost always avoided talking about my family, but she didn’t seem ashamed of hers. They lived in a tiny apartment in a dump of a building in Vienna, sleeping on straw mattresses. Her father had died when she was two, leaving Angela to provide for three children—Geli; her older brother, Leo; and her younger sister, Elfriede. Angela worked as a cook in a dormitory for Jewish students, where she had to prepare kosher meals.

  I asked if her mother resented cooking for Jews.

  Geli looked surprised. “Why should she? It’s a job, isn’t it?”

  We bought some bread and cheese from a farmer and sat down by a stream to eat. Earlier, the sky had almost cleared, but now a thick cloud cover had moved in again. Geli talked about high school, how she wanted to study music afterward. “But you know what I really want?” she said, shooting me a coquettish grin. “I want to marry someone rich and famous. I want to go to the theater as often as I please and eat in fancy restaurants. I want the maître d’ to take my coat and the waiter to pull out my chair for me.”

  “Have anyone in mind?”

  “Not yet, but I’ll find him.” She paused. “So what about you?”

  “What about me?”

  “Got a girlfriend?”

  The first raindrops splashed down before I could answer, and then the skies opened up, letting loose a downpour.

  “Let’s run,” Geli said, pointing toward a cluster of trees perhaps a couple hundred meters away. We were drenched halfway there, and the field was turning to mud. Geli stumbled, and I grabbed her hand at the last moment, preventing her from falling. “We’re even,” I shouted above the noisy downpour as we made it under the nearly protective covering of the thick trees.

  “Not quite,” she said, panting, her wet hair plastered flat on her head and her blouse clinging to her body. I noticed how full her breasts were. I averted my eyes but not fast enough.

  “I caught you,” Geli gleefully announced.

  I felt myself coloring. “You’re wicked,” I said as sternly as I could.

  “Thank you,” she said, with a mock curtsy. “I’ll take that as a compliment.”

  I couldn’t help but smile; it was impossible to be angry with her. “What do you mean that we’re not even yet?”

  “You haven’t told me: Do you have a girlfriend?”

  “Sort of,” I said, lamely parroting my earlier answer to Emil.

  “That means yes?”

  “Guess so.”

  She shivered in her wet blouse, and I pulled off my equally wet jacket and offered it to her.

  Her lips curled into a sarcastic grin as she wrapped it around her shoulders. “What a gentleman—thank you. But if I were your girlfriend, I’d kill you for talking about me that way. You’d be proud of being my boyfriend, or I’d send you packing.”

  “Well, good thing you’re not my girlfriend.”

  She shook her forefinger at me. “A very good thing indeed.”

  The downpour ended as quickly as it had begun, and we made our way back to the prison fortress. We dropped off the bicycles with the guards and headed through the gate. Before we rejoined the others, Geli thanked me in earnest. “I had a good time, Karl.”

  “So did I.” I meant it.

  Her eyes took on their mischievous look. “You know, I think I’d like to have an older brother like you. Leo’s too busy with himself to ever listen to me. Too bad we live so far apart.”

  “Yes, too bad. But maybe we’ll run into each other again, sister.”

  She laughed the throaty laugh I had heard several times now. “Maybe we will,” she said, squeezing my hand before we stepped back into the closed part of the prison.

  —

  Emil didn’t let me forget about our return for a long time. We had stomped in still wet and muddy, and Geli had been in visibly high spirits. So had I. We had both laughed our way through our answers to him about what we had been doing. Seemingly amused, Emil had listened and laughed, too, but he also shot several questioning looks in my direction.

  “You sure nothing happened? You know . . .” he asked the next time we met.

  He seemed to be joking, but I began to have my doubts when he kept talking about how giddy we had been. I finally told him to stop it.

  “All right, fine, don’t get testy. I believe you,” he said. Then he winked. “At least I think I do. But you know, I’m one of those new doctors they call psychologists—you can’t fool me about anything.”

  “Right,” I replied. “And where did you earn this degree in—what is it?—psychology?”

  “The best place there is: the nightclub where I worked as a bouncer before Hitler discovered my talents. You can’t be a good bouncer unless you can size people up in an instant. And I sized you up real fast.”

  “So?”

  “So I’m not fooled by your shy, polite handsome-young-man routine. You obviously can bash heads; otherwise, you’d never be a brown-shirt. I’d also watch you real carefully if you came into my nightclub. You’re the kind of guy who might drink quietly all night and then do something craz
y.”

  “Thanks for the compliment.”

  “I’m just being realistic.”

  “Great.”

  But on my next visits to the prison, we talked less about Geli as Emil and the others became increasingly preoccupied with the battle to win Hitler’s release. The weather grew colder, and the early-release rumors were accompanied by fears that the Bavarian authorities would try to deport Hitler to Austria. Since he didn’t have German citizenship, this looked like a realistic possibility. The police were pushing for it, and in the summer, it had appeared that the Austrians might be willing to cooperate. But by the fall, Emil told me they had reliable information that the Austrian government had rebuffed the Bavarians, arguing that Hitler’s service in the German army meant he had effectively forfeited his Austrian citizenship.

  Hitler’s routine changed little. He was still dictating his book to Hess, occasionally reading a chapter aloud to other inmates. He grew more emphatic in his refusal to take part in party politics outside the prison. In his absence, the party had no clear leadership—and those at liberty were at odds with one another, weakening their position. By December 7, when the second national elections of the year were held, the coalition known as the National Socialist Freedom Movement won only half of the votes it had in May. I felt discouraged by the paltry 2.9 percent showing, which meant the group’s number of seats in parliament would drop from thirty-two to fourteen, only four of whom were Nazis. Once again the press proclaimed that we were sinking into oblivion, and I wondered if I would have to find a new job.

  In Landsberg, Hitler looked unfazed. When I asked Emil for an explanation, he was enigmatic. “Be patient,” he told me. “Everything is working out.”

  Another person in good spirits was Sabine. I had brought her flowers twice more. Once they were even flowers I had bought after receiving my small monthly pay. She protested that I shouldn’t be spending my money on such luxuries, but I could see how delighted she was. Our nights together were better than they had been in some time, and Leo was barking so loudly that the old woman downstairs complained regularly.

  I realized that Sabine was relieved to see our party losing ground. I couldn’t blame her for feeling that way, but I wasn’t about to give her the satisfaction of telling her my worries. I didn’t want to admit defeat, and she didn’t want to let on how fervently she hoped that I’d forget about politics altogether. So we avoided the subject.