Unto the Beast by Monaco Richard

Author:Monaco,Richard
Language: eng
Format: azw3
Publisher: Venture Press
Published: 2016-09-24T16:00:00+00:00

Chapter XXXI (October 1923) Munich – the Feldherrnhalle

My God, if this fails, then what becomes of me? Hitler asked himself, standing alone in the men’s room, both hands thrust into the pockets of his coat. What a risk… what a risk…

The grimy slit of glass touched his greyish, pale face with colourless light. He was oblivious to the urinal stink. Outside he could hear voices echoing in the beer hall. He faced the cracking, yellowish tile wall, fingers clenched around the revolver in his right pocket.

Prophecies are all very well in dark rooms but I still can fail, yet, what’s the sense of waiting. It we win we can have it all now and not wait another ten years. He’d never forgotten doing the horoscope with the little dwarf Pretzle in Vienna at the little bookshop. The reading had agreed with other, more recent predictions: he had a chance now, his last for about a decade. There’s nothing to go back to if I fail and they throw me out of Germany. That thought was edged with panic. No hope of citizenship. What could he do in Austria? Go back home, to Linz? A failure. Get a job in the sausage factory. I’ll shoot myself in that case. He pictured the scene: m front of everyone he’d mount the speaker’s platform for the final time and announce he’d been betrayed. Predictions worked but there were always errors in anything where humans meddled. So he’d be betrayed, in the end. He’d always sensed that. Nodded to himself. Perhaps the Christ story is a fundamental Aryan legend. The superman letting his blood be shed to atone for the shame of his polluted race. Here were issues he’d like to hammer home instead of miserable, superficial politics!

He stared at the blank wall over the urinal.

“I go to my Golgotha, if need be,” he whispered.

What a world waited, a world rebuilt totally. Every lie would be smashed and the fragments swept away. In the end, the mystic union of blood with blood, the mystic vision of the divine powers struggling to be freed from countless Jewish centuries of materialism! How could he tell them so they’d see that even a good, sincere Jew, even an innocent child, was a deadly germ? The Jew is a quality in all of us, our stain, muck in the blood.

*

(1945) In the Bunker

Eva Braun was naked. She was exercising on the rug in the dim lamplight that was a yellowish stain reflected on the green walls. Hitler sat in his baggy, grey undershorts on the edge of the bed. His legs were bony but still muscular. His torso had gone somewhat flabby and his belly pushed out under the bare-shoulder army undershirt.

He smiled, watching her, as if she were a child. She moved gracefully, watching him for approval. She did some floor turns on the dull rug until her head was between his knuckly bare feet. Her skin glowed and she panted slightly.

Then she swung around and was on her knees between his legs.

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