I’m not Hitler
October 9, 2009
Forgive anger for I have been abused. Though millions suffered more than I, we all ended alike, so I speak with humility and wouldn’t at all if not for most recent outrage which shall address in moment.
First, I acknowledge years of good fortune. I was raised in affluent household of physician and charming and obedient wife. Two brothers and I attended fine schools, played piano, and rode horses in scenic community outside Berlin. When war started in September 1939, young officer brothers invaded Poland and were thereafter fortunate to fight in theaters less horrific than Eastern Front. My duties initially centered on attending parties, movies, and concerts, and assuring fellow Germans, as they did me, that victory was both inevitable and imminent.
When illusion exploded, for even most ardent Nazis, social opportunities disappeared – most appealing men were either in battle or dead – and as food diminished and parents’ health and assets wore down, I drafted myself, rather patriotically, and moved closer to city center to work in administrative office not far from Reich Chancellery. I typed, answered phones, and dallied with married man father’s age. And we all waited for Russians. I suppose I could’ve fled. In retrospect we know I should have. I didn’t budge, though, until hearing radio news of Fuehrer’s death, on April thirtieth, 1945, and at once feeling free from something I hadn’t understood.
Two friends from work and I that night scurried in direction we believed would lead to Americans, and it eventually might have, but gunfire soon erupted and bullets pierced my skull and bodies of companions and left us on street where artillery ruined remains, which ordinarily would not be relevant, but my head was left unrecognizable and without body and in few days it got thrown in truck with charred bodies of Adolf and Eva Hitler.
I’m not disputing team of Russian doctors performed autopsy on Hitler, but I guarantee they either lost or hid body, and next generation couldn’t identify one corpse or body part from another, and in 2000 skull fragment was advertised as Fuehrer’s and, with pride and solemnity, displayed at Moscow Federal Archive. Thankfully, renowned chunk of charred skull was DNA tested and revealed to have belonged to woman between twenty and forty. For record, I was twenty-four. I don’t know where any of Fuehrer’s body parts are but heard after years of periodic and pointless transporting his mortal remains were burned and ashes buried and location doesn’t matter any more than whereabouts of my body.