The Secret Journals of Adolf Hitler: Volume 1 - The Anointed

by A G Mogan

  Tears slide down my cheeks as the woman’s words strike a painful chord in me and bring back dismal memories. My nightwear is wet to the skin and I shake so violently that my teeth chatter.

  “Yes, indeed,” my doctor goes on, “but don’t you worry, men like him are rarely happy in their pathetic inner world. And what’s more, he now thinks himself a sort of god, a superman! Can you believe it? The fool thinks himself Jesus Christ! I made him believe this madness!”

  “At least you cured him. You gave back his vision!”

  “Well, yes, I suppose I did.”

  Silence overhangs the hallway for a few moments, then I hear the voice of the nurse again.

  “You know what? We should make him turn water into wine and celebrate his resurrection properly!”

  I can no longer continue listening. My stomach churns with unbelievable disgust, my entire body shakes with resentment. My throat contracts with tears again and I let them wash down my sorrow.

  The rest of the night, I ponder upon the ugliness in people. I feel like a rat ever on the run from the wrath of humanity.

  Throughout my life, I’ve met all sorts of people, and all proved to be either liars or thieves or deceitful and unreliable charlatans. But never had I been so violently stunned by someone’s inner ugliness. Never.

  Using such a deceiving method to grow favor with a woman, lying to such extent only to receive a little female affection is … is beyond description. Is this what women want in order to put out? Inflated baloney, nonsensical self-flattery? What happened to the true love between people, to the Flame of Life? It slowly dims as a result of such buffoons, sordid characters who have the arrogance to call themselves men. I hate them. And I hate women, these filthy hyenas that seem to prefer perversity to the ideal of integrity. I am ashamed that such people call themselves Germans. They do not deserve the German blood in their veins.

  Once again, I thank the Providence for giving me back my eyesight and I vow to Germany, here and now, to dedicate the rest of my life to stamping out such wicked specimens from her breast. We are all animals, but what sets us apart is the individual strength within us. Darwin was right with his survival-of-the-fittest theory. It is the law of life, and from now on, it is my own law. How mistaken Dr. Forster was in saying that he made me believe I was the chosen one. I knew it all along. I just needed a brief reminder. The voice that guided me throughout my entire life, the prophecies in the books and in Franz von Stuck’s paintings revealed to me, long ago, who I was.

  I made Dr. Forster a promise and I intend to keep it. He will hear from me again. And I now make another promise, this time to myself: never trust in another human being, as long as I shall live.

  The following days are difficult to bear in this place and the nights are that much worse. Yet my own fate becomes clear to me. The fact that the inevitable just occurred becomes clear, as well.

  What I was most afraid of had just happened, even though deep down I really did not have the heart to believe it. Emperor William II becomes the first German Emperor to offer the hand of friendship to the Marxist leaders, not suspecting that they are scoundrels without any sense of honor. While they hold the imperial hand in theirs, the other hand is already feeling for the dagger.

  Sick and tired of taking part in these events as a mere onlooker, I resolve to enter politics.

  The Rise Of The Risen

  I laugh. For the first time in my life, I feel free to laugh with my entire being. I brim over with joy. And that, of course, I owe to the Providence, which in one blow, erased from my mind the last shred of uncertainty regarding my destiny. A destiny that not long ago was the cause of all my worries and anxieties.

  With the decision to enter into politics taken, all that remains now is to put it into practice. But how?

  The state in which I find Munich, after I leave Pasewalk, violently wipes the grin off my face. My Motherland is in the hands of the Social Democrats, led by Kurt Eisner, the minister, who is of course an international Jew. The Jewish baleful, black octopus reigns over the city, her tentacles stretched out on every street, eager to grasp absolute power.

  In February, the schlump minister is assassinated. Chaos breaks loose when the communists seize the reins of the government and try to impose the Soviet system in Bavaria. But, the Providence only allows them a mere two weeks to enjoy their victory, and then unleashes a most dreadful deluge, with torrents of blood and monstrous crimes in the street.

  In early June, my true work begins. Still in the army, I am designated to enroll in the university courses of anti-Bolshevik training, so I could speak to the troops activating in various parts of Bavaria.

  As I open the heavy entrance door at the University of Munich, painful memories invade my conscience of the cold calculated gaze of the Jewish Rector, the cursed list deeming me as rejected, the cursed days that followed after my failure at becoming an academic painter. Yet now I realize this was also the work of Providence. I was meant to fail. I was meant to eschew painting, as the Goddess of History had other plans for me. An artistic career would have been fascinating, but whatever else is destined for me will surely prove much more consequential.

  On 20 August 1919, I deliver my first speech at Reichswehr camp, near Augsburg. Unsure of myself, I climb the narrow steps to the stage erected for this special event. I make my way to the lectern, place my speech papers on it, clear my throat, and then nervously shuffle through the papers. My hands shake noticeably and I fear someone might guess my inner turmoil. But no one is paying attention to me. The soldiers are chatting away, laughing and smoking. I hate their nonchalance and detest their indifference to the crisis that goes on in their country, the country they swore to die for. To them, this is just another boring night of obeying orders.

  I clear my throat again, this time much louder, and begin my speech by addressing some of the most pressing issues of the day: the conditions of peace and reconstruction, the emigration and social-economic problem. Still, they continue to ignore me. I feel as if I am in my school years again, the only difference being that now the roles are reversed. Now, I am the teacher and they are the bored, disinterested pupils.

  Increasingly irritated, I can barely go on with my speech when suddenly something happens. The gathering becomes quiet, the soldiers’ eyes revert to me, as only my voice resounds unabated in all directions. I’ve touched upon the Jewish question. Now, with all the attention directed at my words, a strange energy fills me; and I see how my audience drinks in my every word. I realize that I am not the only one who understands the real reason behind our defeat. I feel that connection again, that oneness I felt in Odeon Square five years ago. I know I gained my audience by talking about what we all know, but few have the courage to put into words. My spirit is humming Deutschland Über Alles again and so are the soldiers.

  I’ve finally reached the hearts of my people. And I have, at last, discovered that I could speak.

  Dead is little Adolf, scared of his father blows, dead is the mother’s boy, always begging for affection. Today, I am Adolf Hitler, anti-Semite. Today, I am Adolf Hitler, Savior. The Jews contributed to murdering Mother, the Jews contributed to poisoning my blood, the Jews are bringing degeneration upon our race, the Jews murdered Christ the Fighter.

  Today, Adolf Hitler, the orator, begins his work of vengeance.

  The success at Reichswehr camp propels me to eminence and I become my superiors’ darling. Thus, besides my job as Educational Officer, they offer me another task, that of Investigator, which requires spying out the nearly fifty political parties operating across Munich.

  In early September, I infiltrate the German Workers’ Party and begin attending their meetings, mostly held in the back room of a brewery.

  On one such night, after ordering a beer, I listened to the fellow addressing us. Then another member takes the floor, and then yet another. Just when I’m about to succumb to the dreadful boredom, the bragging ends. I congratulate myself for resisting this far and am more
than ready to draw up my report. Then, the words of a certain individual, one of the members, reach my ears. He is talking to his fellow members about the advantages of Bavarian separatism.

  I find it impossible to continue listening, and dash, infuriated, to his side.

  “Are you a Jew?” I ask. I already know the answer, but want everyone else to hear it.

  The fungus’ lofty look meets mine and he puffs out his chest to show us the extent of his ego. “And proud of it!”

  “Why have you come here?”

  “Perhaps for the same reason as you have. We must unite to create a better ─”

  “Silence!” I shout, shooting my arm into the air. My gesture brings him to silence. “I tell you why you came here, you bloody acolyte! To spread your Jewish poison! You don’t belong here, but in a pit! Get out!” I scream from the top of my lungs and press my forehead against his. I spit on the floor at his feet. “Get out!”

  All eyes are on me, all mouths wide open. The rascal makes a wise decision, pulling his hat over his eyes and withdrawing into the night. I return to my table and order another beer. I hate alcohol, but now I need it. As I gulp it down, someone taps my shoulder. Turning about, I see an unfamiliar young man, his arm extended to hand me what appears to be a pamphlet. I grab it from his hand, turn my back to him, and continue to gulp down the rest of my beer. Slightly tipsy, I feel grateful that my anger has dissipated.

  “Anton Drexler.”

  “You’re still here?”

  “I am one of the founders of this Party,” he says, ignoring my hint.

  “Are you now?”

  “What you did earlier was simply … ” he pauses for a moment and I clench my fist, “ … magnificent!”

  We stare each other in the eyes and I relax my fingers, stretching out my hand to shake his. “Adolf Hitler.”

  “Pleased to make your acquaintance, Herr Hitler. Can I sit with you?” he asks, pointing at the chair in front of me. I nod.

  “Tell me, Herr Hitler, how do you find our Party?”

  Oh, no. The wrong person to ask.

  “The truth?” I ask.

  “Please.”

  “Well, I evaluated all sorts of Parties this week, trying to find one to suit my ideologies, and quite frankly, Herr Drexler, out of all of them, yours is the least distinguished. No discipline, untalented and disoriented speakers, and scoundrels like the one who just left, make your little party even less notable. In one word, Herr Drexler … boring. Bloody boring.” I expect to see him stand up and leave, but instead, his gaze turns strangely admiring, and a wide smile irradiates from his face.

  “Precisely! Your evaluation is precise, Adolf! Can I call you Adolf?”

  “If you insist.”

  “I was hoping for an honest opinion, because this is what I believe myself. We are bloody boring!”

  I nod and smile.

  “And that is why we need people like you. I was mesmerized by the way you owned the room earlier! Like a true leader!”

  I gaze at him in silence. The idea of joining a party is not new to me. But I am not cut to be a mere number in a crowd. I want to be the soul of that crowd, I want my own party.

  “I appreciate the compliment,” I say dryly, and standing up, I head for the door.

  “Think it through! And read the pamphlet I gave you!” he shouts behind me.

  The beer did wonders for my psyche, but not so much for my stomach. My intestinal troubles had recently returned to torment me. I remember the military doctor and I remember Father. I hate them both.

  I find the bed in the barracks a blessing, yet I cannot sleep. My mind is running around the events of the day, the words of the Jew. I wish I could live in a world where the individual would not be punished for making justice for himself, when that justice is made in the name of truth. But I am cursed to obey a faulty system, to comply with the dictates of a government and leadership I do not believe in, to mingle with people that bring destruction and degradation upon others, that brainwash the people and transform them into worthless cattle.

  The alcohol’s effect slowly dissipates and my inner turmoil returns. I light a candle and begin to read the pamphlet Anton Drexler gave me. To my astonishment, I find myself agreeing almost entirely with his words, and the message behind them strikes a sensitive chord in me.

  At the end of the week, I receive a postal card announcing that I had been accepted as a member of the German Workers’ Party.

  Today, I am Adolf Hitler, politician.

  With my stomach in excruciating pain and my psyche in the same state, I let my trenches comrade, Ernst Schmidt, convince me to go and see one of his friends, a doctor.

  Autumn is already here, making her presence known by blowing a cool breeze through the streets of Munich. I throw my black trench coat over my shoulders and sigh deeply. Another cold day and another visit to yet another doctor.

  “I am Adolf. Adolf Schicklgruber,” I say, as he invites me in. I have no idea why I use Father’s old last name, the one he detested and changed into “Hitler” more than two decades ago. Perhaps it will prove a good decision one day; or perhaps I need to pretend to be someone else just to trick my own psyche into believing there is really nothing wrong with me. Someone else is having gastro-intestinal problems, someone else is having a bloody disgusting rash on his body, someone else has the Jewish disease!

  “Ernest must have told you about me,” I continue.

  The doctor extends his hand to shake mine.

  “Yes. I was expecting you. You can call me Doctor K.”

  He isn’t eager to reveal his name either, I say to myself.

  Doctor K. is middle-aged and tall, with short blond hair and wide blue eyes. His skin looks tanned and I think he must travel a lot. His grey suit and black tie contrast violently with my shabby clothes, which embarrasses me. My scrutinizing amuses him and his lips draw back in a smile.

  “Please, have a seat, Herr Schicklgruber.”

  I do as I am told and for a few moments we are both silent, the doctor taking his turn in scrutinizing me.

  “Is this some sort of technique? You studying me silently?”

  “To some extent, yes. You’d be surprised how many things one’s body language reveals.”

  I take the hint and relax my jaw. “You’re right. I’m not myself these days.”

  “Of course, otherwise you wouldn’t be here. What troubles you?”

  “The bacillus. The Jewish bacillus troubles me. It eats me up inside … slowly and steadily … ” I whisper, and clench my fists. “The Jewish disease,” I continue, averting my gaze.

  He looks at me quizzically.

  “The French disease,” I reformulate.

  “Syphilis?”

  “Yes. I have all the symptoms. Headaches, insomnia, my stomach is killing me as we speak … ”

  “Well then, we’d better start with a physical examination.” He stands up and motions for me to follow him in the adjoining room. Once again, I go through the humiliation of showing my naked body to a stranger.

  “Are you sure you have syphilis?”

  “Sure enough. What else could it be?”

  “Well, from what I see that is not necessarily the case. Skin looks good, normal hair growth, eyes clear. It could be anything. But, we’ll be sure in a couple of days,” he says, dangling before my eyes a small vial containing the blood he just collected from my vein. I put my clothes back on and we return to the front room. He asks me to sit down again.

  “Herr Schicklgruber, do you have sex regularly?”

  Ah! This bloody question again!

  “Why would I?”

  “Because it is a natural necessity? Because it releases the nervous tension? Because it is pleasant?”

  “Sex is dirty, Doctor. I don’t see its benefits in any of your statements.”

  “What makes you say that sex is dirty?”

  “Well … my father … you know … was forcing my mother into this activity,” I blurt out and fee
l my cheeks starting to burn.

  “No doubt. That’s how they conceived you.”

  “That’s not what I meant!” I snap. “A child must be conceived out of love … but my father … he never knew that word … he used sex as a disgusting tool to humiliate my mother and to hurt me!”

  “And your own experience?” he continues calmly.

  “I don’t have one, Doctor. Sex is dirty and that’s that!”

  “Then what makes you think you have syphilis, Herr Schicklgruber?”

  “My father had it. I am sure of it. There is no other explanation for the degenerate off-spring he conceived. Four of my siblings died in infancy. And the one that survived is not entirely normal.”

  “Are you talking about yourself?”

  “No! About my little sister.”

  “And yet, here you are, hale and hearty.”

  I contort my face in an angry glare. “I have missing parts. And I have syphilis. Would that be your description for hale and hearty?”

  “I am sorry, but I do not believe you have it.”

  I slam the desk with my fist. “Then how do you explain my inability to perform? How come I am utterly impotent, Doctor?”

  He remains unperturbed by my reaction as well as my questions. “I thought you didn’t have sex.”

  The embarrassment possessing me forces me to stand up and remove myself from his sight. I approach his tall office window and stare into an unknown distance. The cool breeze blows through the curtain to reach me and, closing my eyes, I let it caress my face.

  “There was only one sexual encounter,” I say, at last.

  The doctor nods his head. “Would you like to tell me about it?”

  “I wouldn’t.”

  “Okay then.”

  “But I should … as I believe it is further evidence of my having the bloody scourge.”

  “I am all ears, Herr Schicklgruber. Please proceed.”

  I take my seat back, but keep my face averted.

  “A few weeks ago, I met a beautiful girl, Miss Liptauer, at the beer hall where I spend much of my free time. She was sitting at the table across from me and just stared at me, while debating with my comrades. We exchanged looks a few times, until she got the courage to approach me. For me, her bold approach was very embarrassing, but her manner quickly made me feel comfortable and I relaxed around her. She explained that the confident way in which I addressed my comrades made her stare, that never in her entire life had she seen a more passionate human being. She wanted to meet me straightaway, but wasn’t sure how to approach such a special man.”