Darkness into Light Box Set

by Michael Dean

  ‘What’s it doing there?’

  Anni hesitated, then smiled at Ello. ‘Well, madam, Herr Hitler has ordered it opened. He did some drawings of Fräulein Raubal. They are to be placed in with her mortal remains.’ Anni crossed herself again.

  ‘I see,’ Ello said.

  Chapter Two

  Ello said she had to prepare herself for the reception this evening. She knew this would get her away from her Uncle Dolf more effectively than a need to study. But after Schreck had driven her from Hitler’s apartment to the university, she thankfully crammed in some reading, before heading to the Glaser flat by taxi.

  As usual, she arrived unannounced. Magda was away, at a BdM gymnastics display, so Ello could speak freely: ‘I need to borrow your camera, Kaspar, if you don’t mind?’

  ‘Of course.’

  ‘And could you get the film developed for me? Nobody else must see it.’

  ‘Yes!’ the youth said, shouting in his enthusiasm. ‘There’s a darkroom at school. I have a key. I can go in whenever I like. Nobody else would see the film.’

  ‘I think you’d better tell us what’s going on,’ Glaser said.

  Lotte looked up from her sewing, measuring Ello with an appraising gaze. She had been noticeably cooler with the younger woman lately.

  Ello explained the opportunity presented by the House of German Art. ‘I’ve seen the plans,’ she said. ‘But I need to photograph them. I don’t think I can describe them well enough to Sepp.’

  Glaser puffed at his pipe. ‘Kunde plants a bomb,’ he said. ‘Let’s say you kill Hitler. You also kill others. You injure more. You destroy paintings. Are we so sure of our cause?’

  ‘Yes,’ Kaspar said.

  Ello shrugged. ‘Most of the people round him will be Nazis.’

  ‘Most?’

  ‘Suppose your father attends the opening?’ Lotte said, without raising her head from her sewing.

  Ello looked hurt. She shrugged her slender shoulders. ‘Lotte ...’

  ‘Look! We have to do this,’ Kaspar said.

  There were tears in Ello’s eyes. She made to leave. ‘I’m sorry,’ she said. ‘There must be a camera at home somewhere. It’s just ... I thought you were with us, Gerhard.’

  ‘I am,’ Glaser said. ‘Sad to say. Sit down, Ello. You don’t have to leave. You may use Kaspar’s camera. You and Kunde can meet here, if you wish. You can’t keep smuggling him into the university, he’ll be seen and reported.’

  ‘Thank you.’

  ‘But that is where I draw the line. I shan’t watch your murder, or play any active part. I am still a lawyer. I still believe in the law.’

  Lotte shook her head angrily. She said nothing.

  ‘I understand,’ Ello said softly. ‘In view of that, I don’t suppose you’ll want to come to the reception this evening, for my mother’s birthday. I could give the camera back to you there. It would give you a chance to see Hitler in the flesh. I’ll introduce you, if you like.’

  Lotte looked up, her eyes flashing. ‘Is it too much trouble for you to bring the camera back here?’ she said.

  Ello ignored her, waiting for Glaser.

  Glaser pretended to think about it, but he had already decided. His curiosity was aroused by the chance to observe Hitler. ‘I’ll need my dinner suit, then,’ he said. ‘Won’t I? Are you coming, Lotte?’

  ‘I’ve got work to do.’ Lotte stared at Ello. ‘You are very clever,’ she said, matter-of-factly. It didn’t sound like a compliment.

  ‘I’ll fetch the Leica,’ Kaspar said. ‘I’ll show you how to use it.’

  *

  Ello asked if she could use the Glaser telephone. She telephoned her mother. The Glasers heard her say she would be late for the reception this evening. The furious reaction was audible from the other side of the room. Ello rang off hastily.

  She sat quietly in an armchair until she knew Hitler would have left for the reception, then telephoned the Prinzregentenplatz apartment. When she was put through, she asked for Anni Winter. She told Anni she had left something personal in the apartment, and needed to get it herself. She brushed aside Anni’s offer to fetch it, whatever it was, and have it sent on. She told the housekeeper she would be there shortly, then replaced the receiver in its cradle, before Anni could argue any more.

  Ello’s next move was a taxi back to her room at the university. There, she put her evening dress in a small valise, along with Kaspar’s camera. She had kept the taxi, and went on to Hitler’s apartment. Georg Winter opened the door to her, as sleek as ever. Was the greeting slightly cooler than it used to be? Or was she imagining that?

  The most difficult part was coming now. The tall figure of Anni appeared – welcoming, concerned, shrewd. Her gaze was bright in her sallow face, never leaving Ello’s eyes.

  ‘Anni, you’re going to think I’m mad,’ Ello said.

  The housekeeper smiled. ‘I doubt that, madam.’

  ‘Anni, the thing is ... Herr Hitler has asked me a certain question. And I think he expects an answer this evening.’

  Anni beamed. But then looked puzzled, her head on one side.

  ‘I’m going to the reception soon,’ Ello went on. ‘In fact I’d better change here. I’ve brought my clothes,’ she indicated the valise. ‘Anni, I want to change in Geli’s room. Sometimes, when I have a big decision, I can hear Geli’s voice, telling me what to do. I want to be close to her now.’

  To Ello’s relief, Anni nodded hard. ‘I know exactly what you mean, madam. My former mistress, Countess Törring, often used to ask for advice from the other side.’

  ‘Did she now?’

  Anni paused. ‘So ... you didn’t really leave anything here, then, madam?’

  ‘No, Anni. I didn’t want to say ... what I just said ... on the telephone. Oh, Anni, do you think I’m a little fool?’

  The housekeeper beamed. ‘Not at all, madam. I’ll leave you to it. Unless you need any help dressing?’

  ‘No, Anni. Thank you. I’ll be fine.’

  As soon as Anni was out of sight, Ello went into Hitler’s bedroom. The various plans and sketches for the House of German Art were still half rolled-up on the bed, where he had tossed them, after he had shown them to her.

  She chose the architect’s elevation, which showed the placing of the pillars. Sepp had told her that to be sure of killing Hitler, they had to bring the roof down on top of him. So it was important to be sure where the load-bearing pillars were. In a neoclassical design like this, some of the pillars could be purely decorative.

  Carrying the rolled architect’s elevation and her valise, she went into Geli’s room and locked the door. At least the grave urn with Geli’s remains was not around – in the wardrobe, probably. She shuddered. She unrolled the elevation on Geli’s bureau. It was too long. She tried weighing it down on the bed, but it kept curling up. She whimpered in frustration. Then she laid the elevation on the floor, weighted down at the corners with Geli’s books and records.

  She took the Leica out of her valise and took photographs, as Kaspar had shown her. She realised the Hall of Honour was all that was needed, but she took some of the frontage, too. When she had finished, she put the elevation back in Hitler’s room. Then she showered, dabbed on some of Geli’s perfume, did her hair and put on her white evening gown. On the way out, she told Anni that Geli wanted her to wait. But the answer would be ‘Yes’ in the end.

  Anni beamed. ‘Madam, the Führer has a saying: There are two ways of judging a man: by the woman he marries, and by the way he dies.’

  Chapter Three

  The von Hessert drawing room, designed by Paul Troost, was pleasantly proportioned, with sea-blue walls and panelling picked out in gold leaf. The vaulted ceiling was painted with tumbling sea nymphs, tritons and an emerging Venus.

  Along one wall was an extensive buffet, where Cajetan von Hessert had placed himself, with a plate of foie gras he had no intention of eating. Later on, he intended to slip away down to the kitchen, cut himself a chunk of Ba
varian Leberkäs and some black bread, pour himself a beer, and get some peace.

  The hostess, Carola von Hessert, by birth a Romanian princess, was at the other end of the crowded room. She was glowing with happiness. Herr Hitler had sent her a telegram, on the morning of her birthday. He had arrived carrying the whip she had given him as a present, not the one Frau Bechstein had given him. A birthday gift from him was to be presented to her, at some point during the reception. It would be the high-point of her life.

  The only blot on this otherwise blissful day was Eva Braun, who she always referred to as ‘that Hoffmann fellow’s assistant’. Carola regarded the photographer as a tradesman. She regarded Eva Braun’s aspirations to rival her daughter in Hitler’s affections as the grossest impertinence. Eva’s attempted suicide with a pistol, in imitation of Geli Raubal, had left Carola gibbering with rage – especially as the transparent tactic appeared to be working. Hitler felt sorry for Eva; he had visited her.

  It was important to Carola that her daughter make up any lost ground this evening. Arriving at the reception late was hardly the way to do that. For that reason, Carola’s carefully cultivated Latin passion had ignited with rage at her daughter, on the telephone, earlier. Her dark eyes kept flickering at the door, impatient for Ello’s arrival, even as she chatted with Herr Hitler.

  *

  Glaser, feeling clumsy in black-tie, watched Hitler curiously, through the crowd of guests. He edged closer, to hear what he was saying to Carola von Hessert:

  ‘I hope one day the furniture in my apartment will become the uniform standard for all furniture: What’s the point of having a hundred different models for washbasins? Why these different dimensions for windows and doors? For my car, I can find spare parts everywhere, but not for my apartment.’

  Glaser thought him an ordinary little man. He thought of what the political satirist Kurt Tucholsky had once said of him: ‘The man doesn’t exist, he is only the noise he makes.’

  He had studied Hitler’s social performance. Early in the evening, Carola von Hessert had got him to eat a bowl of caviar. Apart from that, he had eaten nothing, and drunk nothing. He had been circulating the whole time, his mouth a rictus of cordiality.

  To Glaser’s surprise, he was still deferential to industrialists, military men and foreigners, even now, when he was Chancellor. He was elaborately gallant with women, kissing their hand, in the Austrian manner: ‘May I have the pleasure of bidding you good evening, gnädige Frau?’ That sort of thing.

  Particularly in motion, Glaser thought, there was something faintly ridiculous about him – not least because the brown batwing trousers of his latest uniform were too baggy.

  A couple of young diplomats from the Italian embassy were laughing behind their hands at him. Glaser caught himself feeling indignant at that.

  Across the room, he saw Rudi, deep in conversation with a fair-haired, thick-lipped man in SS uniform. Glaser caught his eye and smiled. Rudi – who had definitely seen him – snubbed him completely. He turned his back.

  A remark surfaced in Glaser’s mind: It was something Ello had said to him after he had been interrogated at the Wittelsbach Palace. It was along the lines of ‘if only I had known’, or something like that. But Lotte said she had telephoned Rudi at Prielmayerstrasse. She had told him her husband had been taken, and told him to tell Ello. Rudi had not only never mentioned telephoning Ello, he hadn’t said a word about the interrogation and Glaser’s release.

  Glaser thought of the joke Rudi had made, not long after he started at the Ministry – about wanting to be called Hagen, the one who betrays and kills Siegfried. Was Rudi betraying them now? He was still with his thick-lipped SS friend, deep in conversation.

  But even as the suspicion formed, Glaser rejected it. It would be remarkable if Rudi did not have friends in the SS and other Nazi organisations. And as to him telephoning Ello, Ello’s room at the university did not have a telephone. There may or may not be one in the corridor, Glaser couldn’t remember. Suppose Rudi had simply been unable to get hold of Ello on the telephone? The explanation could be as prosaic as that.

  Glaser’s debate with himself was broken by the late arrival of Ello, floating in with her white dress swathed over her slender top. Glaser thought she looked like a film star. He beamed at her. She spotted him immediately and headed straight for him, breaking into a sparkling smile.

  ‘Gerhard! All alone in the crowd?’

  ‘I’m fine, Ello. Thank you.’ He raised his flute of champagne to her. ‘I’m relieved to see you.’

  Ello laughed. ‘I’m rather relieved, myself! I’ll tell you about it later. Let me take you off somewhere private, so I can give Kaspar’s camera back to you.’

  ‘Ello ...’ Glaser hesitated. ‘Does Rudi know you’ve taken these photographs?’ He spoke softly, trying to make sure nobody in the crowd overheard.

  Ello shook her head. ‘No, he doesn’t. Best not to mention it to him.’

  Was Ello just trying to protect her younger brother, as ever? Or didn’t she fully trust him, either? He was about to ask her if she knew the SS-Officer Rudi was with. Or even to bluntly ask whose side Rudi was on these days. But at that moment Carola von Hessert called for quiet and asked Hitler to say a few words.

  The Führer shyly refused: ‘I must have a crowd when I speak. In a small circle, I never know what to say.’

  But he summoned Hess, who passed him a small water-colour painting. Hitler presented it to his ecstatic hostess. As he handed it over, he muttered the title: ‘Haubourdin, The Seminar Church. I painted it during the war.’

  Glaser had a good view of it. Although emotionally empty, it was technically accomplished, just as poor dead Ascher Weintraub had said about Hitler’s watercolours.

  Certainly, Carola von Hessert was delighted with her watercolour, whatever its objective merits. Clutching it to her bosom with one hand, she waved at her daughter to come and join them with the other. She flamboyantly motioned her to stand at Hitler’s side. But Ello ignored her.

  ‘Come on, Gerhard,’ she said, taking his arm. ‘Let’s go to the telephone room. It’s private there. I’ll give you the camera. The sooner Kaspar gets these photographs developed, the better.’

  As Ello bustled ahead of him along a corridor off the main drawingroom, her bottom wiggled busily in the tight white dress. Glaser, making his way laboriously along behind her, felt a wave of irritation. Ello was spoilt, he thought, and more than a little bossy.

  Lotte had not mentioned her to him, either positively or negatively, but her antipathy for the young woman these days was plain enough. Glaser was beginning to wonder if she had a point.

  Ello led him to a small, oddly shaped room smelling of sandalwood furniture polish. Cups, shields and other athletic trophies were dotted on occasional tables, covered by fringed silk tablecloths. A stag’s head with resplendent antlers stared down at them, glassy-eyed, from one wall.

  ‘The telephone room,’ she announced grandly, waving Glaser to be seated. There was indeed an old-fashioned telephone, screwed to the longest wall. ‘Would you wait here a while, Gerhard, while I go and fetch the camera? It’s in my room.’

  Glaser settled into a capacious armchair, with a floral-patterned covering draped over it. He shut his eyes, cherishing the silence. It was broken, soon enough, by Ello’s bustling return.

  ‘Here we are, Gerhard,’ she said, handing over Kaspar’s Leica wrapped in a brown paper bag. ‘If Kaspar can get the film developed quickly, that would be wonderful.’

  ‘I’ll see what I can do,’ Glaser said, dryly.

  ‘Excellent! Give him a big hug and a kiss from me, won’t you?’ Ello turned to the door. ‘I must rush now. Fences to repair with Mama. And I suppose I’d better keep Hitler sweet, at least for now.’

  She swept out in a cloud of white, like a Greek hetaera going off to entertain the company. She was, Glaser reflected sourly, loving every minute of this. Well, he damn well wasn’t. But then he reproached himself for his grumpines
s, and consciously summoned the memory of that first evening in Ello’s room, when he had so taken to the von Hesserts.

  He started to get up to leave, but heard a commotion outside the door and recognised Rudi’s voice. The fringes at the bottom of the armchair’s covering hid a gap between its wooden frame and the floor. Glaser slid the paper bag containing the Leica along the floor, through the fringes, and under the armchair before Rudi saw it.

  ‘Thought he’d be in here, when saw Ello leading ... away,’ Rudi’s speech was badly slurred. He was rolling, paralytically drunk.

  The fair-haired, fleshy-lipped SS-man followed him into the telephone room. Rudi slumped into the other armchair the small room boasted, ignoring Glaser, as he had all evening. He shut his eyes, chin on chest.

  This left the SS-Officer to introduce himself. ‘My name is Elsperger, Dr Glaser. Captain Anton Elsperger. Heil Hitler.’

  ‘Heil Hitler.’

  Elsperger drew up the room’s remaining chair, mahogany with a red cushion on it, used for sitting on while talking on the telephone. ‘Rudi has told me about you. I’ve been wanting to meet you.’

  ‘You appear to have achieved that.’

  ‘So I have. You’re an individualist, aren’t you, Glaser?’

  ‘Am I?’

  ‘I think so. It’s out of date, you know. The individual is merely a cell in a biological organism – the Racial Community. He has significance only for his function within the organism, and can be replaced by another cell with the same function. All that matters is the survival of the race.’

  ‘I will never, ever believe that.’

  Elsperger stared at him, his watery blue eyes steady. ‘Then your future in the Third Reich will be a short one. A new type of person will be created, Glaser, to replace the likes of you.’