The Taster by V.S. Alexander

Author:V.S. Alexander [Alexander, V.S.]
Language: eng
Format: epub
Publisher: Kensington
Published: 2017-12-11T05:00:00+00:00

CHAPTER 14

Christmas 1943 and New Year’s 1944 dragged by like the ticking of a sad clock. The monotony of winter set in with its mostly gray days, dismal afternoons and long nights. Since Karl and I had arrived at the Berghof we’d experienced little joy, none of the pleasures that anyone leading a normal life would have expected during the season. But when I asked myself what “normal” was, I could come up with no good answer. The world was being ripped apart. How could I complain when so many were suffering? Every time I wanted to cry or grouse about my circumstances, I thought of those with no food or shelter in the midst of winter, perhaps with nothing at all but a lean-to propped against the harsh, cold winds.

I saw little of Hitler during the early months of 1944 and that suited me fine. He traveled back to the Wolf’s Lair, leaving a few of us with Eva. The officers who confided in Karl told him the Führer was now impossible to get along with no matter his location. He was surly, irritable, and always directed blame away from himself to those beneath him. Hitler, the infallible, could do no wrong. Karl said the Führer had the uncanny knack of refusing the sound advice of his generals and then excoriating them for losses of men and matériel. They were doomed by his failure to listen, his belief in his omnipotence. He was also a disastrous statesman, a tyrant over the lands he had conquered. His puppet governments were little more than killing machines against those who resisted his iron hand.

We never found out who laced Hitler’s cup with cyanide. Neither did the SS. So many splintered pockets of resistance were arising it was impossible to tell who might be responsible. The Colonel ordered that the poisons be taken out of the kitchen and Cook’s classes for new tasters be discontinued. “I’m more concerned about the Führer than a taster,” he told her. “If they die, they die.” Cook was furious, but her protests had no effect. At first I suspected someone from the kitchen, perhaps even Else, had tried to poison Hitler, but when I studied her kind face and subservient demeanor I knew she would never attempt such an act. On the other hand, those loyal to the Führer, like the Colonel, remained staunchly so and above suspicion. They would fight to the death for the Reich. Karl and I decided we should keep to ourselves during the winter and not press our luck. The times were too dangerous and too much suspicion had been cast upon the kitchen staff. Karl assured me the plot we’d been waiting for would be put into motion soon. Therefore, we should exercise patience and caution.

After the holidays, Karl and I expected we would be called back to the Wolf’s Lair. However, no orders ever came. Hitler returned to the Berghof in late February 1944.

The foul mood in the house was unchanged by the intermittent thaws and shoots of grass poking through the snow.

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