Then came her father’s abrupt shout that put an end to the discussion, the firm steps of the tall boots, her mother’s stifled sob and the sound of the door to his study being slammed shut. Later, after ensuring that her mother had gone to sleep – alone – Gerlinde tip-toed out of her bedroom and noiselessly made her way down to her father’s study. She pushed the door open and paused there, waiting for permission to come in. It was not needed; unlike her brothers or even mother, she was always welcome here, amid the warmth of the fireplace and the cigarette smoke and the faint smell of cognac and countless papers marked “Top Secret” that littered her father’s desk. He opened his arms to her and she nestled on his chest, burying her face in the folds of the gray wool. “I love you more than anyone, Vati.”
“Even more than the Führer?”
“Even more.”
“Even more than the Vaterland?”
She nodded and he laughed softly, kissing her golden hair. “Silly Maus.” She was allowed to say these things. Götz and Georg weren’t.
The memories flooded Gerlinde once again, choking her with their power, threatening to drown her in her own tears. She wiped them angrily from her face and flipped another page.
These were taken at the Berghof; here’s her mother next to Herr Speer’s wife, both holding onto their hats as the wind threatened to carry them away and laughing carelessly. It was Herr Hoffmann himself who took the picture if she remembered correctly. Or was it Eva? Gerlinde gently caressed the face of the young woman who stood a bit aside from the rest of the flock. They always looked down upon her, the wives and Gerlinde understood it, even though she wasn’t big enough to understand these things but still, she did. She saw it in the ruthless looks, in their fake pity, glances of the women and in the way they hushed their conversations as soon as Eva would approach. Snubbed by the women and forgotten by the men, Eva was always kind to Gerlinde and let her play with her rabbits and dogs – perhaps, because Gerlinde, too, was snubbed and forgotten, a child who was brought to the party because the Führer liked her and she looked good in the pictures with him.
Here’s one, for instance, taken by Margot von Steinhoff for the calendar that Gerlinde successfully got Margot to sign. Here she was, eight-year-old Gerlinde, handing the Führer a small bouquet of flowers and he’s patting her cheek with affection as the others look on with faces dripping with adoration. Gerlinde Neumann. The Golden Girl.
Here she is, still very young – nine maybe, sitting on Onkel Oswald’s knee and putting some flower into his breast pocket with an air of grave seriousness about her. Onkel Oswald, her father’s immediate superior and his black, bushy brows and half-melted caramels he always kept in his pocket for her. He’s dressed in civvies in this picture. Gerlinde, in a Dirndl, her blonde hair in plaits wrapped around her head. Here’s Vati, half-turned in a chaise toward them, still in his black uniform – Gerlinde guessed it was taken sometime in ’38, at Herr Reichsmarschall’s hunting lodge – saying something to his boss, as Mathilde looks on with her arms crossed over her chest.
And here’s Reichsmarschall himself and his sweet, smiling wife and their new baby, whom Gerlinde carried around like a live doll until she got tired of her and left the girl in the arms of one adjutant or another. It was odd how she still remembered the smell of the cooking venison, the sound of Reichsmarschall’s laughter, the faint tobacco smell of Vati’s uniform, the soft wisps of baby Edda’s hair next to her cheek, dark burgundy polish on Margot’s nails as she was working her Leica, the rough tongues of Eva’s terriers and the Führer’s palm on her face. From now on, they existed in her memory only, the people who were no longer alive.
Reichsmarschall – cyanide.
Her mother – cyanide.
Eva – cyanide.
Der Führer – cyanide and a bullet, according to the Americans.
Onkel Oswald – still missing, presumed dead.
Margot – missing, also presumed dead. Killed by the Gestapo for treason at the very end, according to rumors.
Only her Vati was left.
Her Vati and her, the Golden Girl.
With them, the entire world – the only world that she had ever known – had disappeared. Suddenly, Gerlinde couldn’t get her breath for never before had she felt so utterly abandoned and alone. In their chairs, the Amis now sat. The Amis and the Pole, whom they’d dragged along like a dog would some roadkill. For an instant, a fleeting regret clenched at her chest. Gerlinde Neumann – cyanide. Wouldn’t it be better? Easier?
But even now, even with all this hopelessness around her, even with an entire world lying outside her window in ashes, her initial decision to live, seemed right. Gerlinde’s fingers gently caressed the hard spines of the books. Her eyes misted over with memories once again. Vati once told her, we must obliterate the entire old world to
