Steven Hunley
10-20-2010, 01:51 PM
Hansel and Gretel Hide Grandma’s Gold
By
Steven Hunley
“The greatest trick the Devil ever pulled was convincing the world he didn’t exist.”
--The Usual Suspects
Hitler and Himmler were being driven by a young fair-haired SS officer in the shiny-black Mercedes Benz 770. He was handsome and fresh-faced.
“You’re new aren’t you?” enquired the Fuhrer. The reply was yes. He was on temporary assignment.
“You look to be a good soldier,” said Himmler, “if we like you we’ll keep you forever.”
“Thank you Obergroupenfuhrer.”
Berlin was a sight. So much new building going on. It was certainly the auspicious beginning of a thousand-year Reich. Soon the capital was left far behind as they proceeded onto the autobahn.
After several winding miles they pulled over at a mountain inn that was their destination. Himmler ordered the innkeeper out. Now it was deserted. They opened the door to room two, then the trunk of the car, and the young officer started unloading the gold bars. Hitler took the wicker basket and went into the empty office to make tea. While the young officer toiled in room two, Himmler and he ate lunch. Finally they were down to desert. Hitler liked sweets. He looked across the white linen tablecloth at Himmler, gestured outside and said,
“The boy over there, your Gestapo has just informed me, had a Jewish grandmother.”
He was pointing toward room two with his chin, now spotted with sweet Bavarian cream. Himmler was so enjoying a biscuit he almost failed to notice.
“You understand me Heinie? A Jew.”
“I understand Mein Fuhrer,” he answered, daintily wiping a crumb from the corner of his mouth, “I’ll take care of it at once.”
“You don’t have to rush,” the Fuhrer said politely, “Want some more tea? There’s two cups left.”
“Oh thank you, no.” He declined graciously. When he declined his Fuhrer it was always with grace.
“I’ll have it when I return.”
Himmler took the napkin off his lap, and walked across the courtyard to room two. The boy had his coat off and was busy at work.
“I’ve just finished, Obergroupenfuhrer,” he said proudly, “see here!”
The bricks were neatly piled.
The gold had been thirty-five thousand gold rings etched with Jewish names or inscribed with verses from the Torah. Now the rings were twenty-six gold bars stamped with an eagle clutching a wreath surrounding the Swastika. In this form they were so much easier to transport. Nazis were anything if not practical. They were now in neat stacks hidden in the wall.
“Now be careful when you replace the stones,” said Himmler, “they should look as if they have not been disturbed.”
“Yes, Obergroupenfuhrer. But we have no mortar to make them stick.”
“Don’t worry. We’ll find something.”
As the boy knelt down on his knees he turned away from Himmler to replace the stones in the execution wall. Himmler looked about the room. It was beautiful. The lintel was carved with images of Edelweiss. The room was spare and clean, as a good German room should be. In the flower box just below the window, blood-red geraniums peeked their heads over the windowsill as if to witness the killing. Himmler unsnapped his Walther’s leather holster.
“After you finish we’ll have a slice of pie and milk,” he said to the fair-haired boy, “You like pie and milk don’t you?”
“Oh yes, Obergroupenfuhrer, I do.”
Himmler removed the Walther silently from its holster.
“You’ll like the pie, it’s probably like your grandmother used to make.”
“Oh, then I know it will be good Obergroupenfuhrer.”
Himmler gently snapped off the safety so not to make a sound. He drew the barrel up close to the back of the blond head. All the stones were replaced now, all but the last one near the floor.
“By the way, how is your grandmother? Is she well?”
“Oh no, Obergroupenfuhrer, she passed away just before I joined up.”
“I know that you miss your grandmamma but don’t be sad,” he said squeezing the trigger with a baby’s gentle touch, “You’ll probably be seeing her soon.”
When the shot reverberated across the courtyard it caused Hitler to spill a drop of tea, but only one at that.
Himmler watched as the boy’s cerebral-spinal fluid leaking from the back of the blond head ran over the floor under the last stone. It was clear, like egg white, but stained a bit with blood like a fertile egg. He quickly calculated,
“Egg white is like glue, is used in tempera, and makes good cement.”
Himmler certainly knew his art. Who would have imagined that this ex-chicken farmer would turn Reichsfuhrer and collect art? Maybe he’d grown tired of looking at eggs.
He pushed the last stone in place carefully using the toe of his boot, not wanting a scuff mark.
“Stupid egg-headed Jew,” he said to the lifeless body.
When Hitler walked in Himmler announced politely,
“I’ll take that cup of tea now, I’m done.”
He replaced the smoking Walther in its holster.
“And Mein Fuhrer,” he asked, "is there any chance you packed some apple pie? This work has left me famished.”
They walked together into the courtyard where the bright sunlight glinted off Himmler’s gold wire-framed glasses which naturally made him notice specks of blood and grey matter on the lenses.
He took them off to clean. But when he patted his pocket for his handkerchief, it wasn’t there.
Hitler noticed and thoughtfully said, “Again Heinie? See how I have to watch over you? You always forget your hankie. Here, use mine”
He took his silk handkerchief and gave it to him.
He was always so generous with his friends, so sinister with a smile.
“You know how it is Mine Fuhrer. You can’t make a omelet without breaking a few eggs."
Hitler tossed it on the ground. It was what he usually did.
“Heinie, you of all people know how blood stains. Don’t worry. I have more, many more.”
Himmler knew that before it was over, before their work was done, that stained silk would litter the Fatherland. Red would be the color and silk the fabric of mourning.
“But not for me.”
He smiled at this conclusion and laughed saying,
“Then you must buy a full dozen, a thousand, a whole factory full of handkerchiefs Mien Fuhrer. We have much yet to accomplish. There’s that treaty with Chamberlain of England you have to sign, the one where you promise them peace.”
“Don’t worry your silly head about that Heinie. You know my policy. I promise them peace, but give them Hell.”
”Of course Mine Fuhrer, naturally. I was just being foolish. But we should return to Berlin as soon as we finish.”
“Heinie,” the Fuhrer said thoughtfully as he ground the handkerchief under his shiny jack boot,“before you and I are finished we’ll need all the silk in China. But enough of our wishful thinking. We must save our wishes for birthdays and candles on cakes. That’s the proper thing to do, and speaking of cake, our tea is getting cold.”
Then the two refined gentlemen, being equally practiced in the art of destruction as well as the decorum of civilized men walked back inside to finish their tea.
And it wasn’t even cold.
By
Steven Hunley
“The greatest trick the Devil ever pulled was convincing the world he didn’t exist.”
--The Usual Suspects
Hitler and Himmler were being driven by a young fair-haired SS officer in the shiny-black Mercedes Benz 770. He was handsome and fresh-faced.
“You’re new aren’t you?” enquired the Fuhrer. The reply was yes. He was on temporary assignment.
“You look to be a good soldier,” said Himmler, “if we like you we’ll keep you forever.”
“Thank you Obergroupenfuhrer.”
Berlin was a sight. So much new building going on. It was certainly the auspicious beginning of a thousand-year Reich. Soon the capital was left far behind as they proceeded onto the autobahn.
After several winding miles they pulled over at a mountain inn that was their destination. Himmler ordered the innkeeper out. Now it was deserted. They opened the door to room two, then the trunk of the car, and the young officer started unloading the gold bars. Hitler took the wicker basket and went into the empty office to make tea. While the young officer toiled in room two, Himmler and he ate lunch. Finally they were down to desert. Hitler liked sweets. He looked across the white linen tablecloth at Himmler, gestured outside and said,
“The boy over there, your Gestapo has just informed me, had a Jewish grandmother.”
He was pointing toward room two with his chin, now spotted with sweet Bavarian cream. Himmler was so enjoying a biscuit he almost failed to notice.
“You understand me Heinie? A Jew.”
“I understand Mein Fuhrer,” he answered, daintily wiping a crumb from the corner of his mouth, “I’ll take care of it at once.”
“You don’t have to rush,” the Fuhrer said politely, “Want some more tea? There’s two cups left.”
“Oh thank you, no.” He declined graciously. When he declined his Fuhrer it was always with grace.
“I’ll have it when I return.”
Himmler took the napkin off his lap, and walked across the courtyard to room two. The boy had his coat off and was busy at work.
“I’ve just finished, Obergroupenfuhrer,” he said proudly, “see here!”
The bricks were neatly piled.
The gold had been thirty-five thousand gold rings etched with Jewish names or inscribed with verses from the Torah. Now the rings were twenty-six gold bars stamped with an eagle clutching a wreath surrounding the Swastika. In this form they were so much easier to transport. Nazis were anything if not practical. They were now in neat stacks hidden in the wall.
“Now be careful when you replace the stones,” said Himmler, “they should look as if they have not been disturbed.”
“Yes, Obergroupenfuhrer. But we have no mortar to make them stick.”
“Don’t worry. We’ll find something.”
As the boy knelt down on his knees he turned away from Himmler to replace the stones in the execution wall. Himmler looked about the room. It was beautiful. The lintel was carved with images of Edelweiss. The room was spare and clean, as a good German room should be. In the flower box just below the window, blood-red geraniums peeked their heads over the windowsill as if to witness the killing. Himmler unsnapped his Walther’s leather holster.
“After you finish we’ll have a slice of pie and milk,” he said to the fair-haired boy, “You like pie and milk don’t you?”
“Oh yes, Obergroupenfuhrer, I do.”
Himmler removed the Walther silently from its holster.
“You’ll like the pie, it’s probably like your grandmother used to make.”
“Oh, then I know it will be good Obergroupenfuhrer.”
Himmler gently snapped off the safety so not to make a sound. He drew the barrel up close to the back of the blond head. All the stones were replaced now, all but the last one near the floor.
“By the way, how is your grandmother? Is she well?”
“Oh no, Obergroupenfuhrer, she passed away just before I joined up.”
“I know that you miss your grandmamma but don’t be sad,” he said squeezing the trigger with a baby’s gentle touch, “You’ll probably be seeing her soon.”
When the shot reverberated across the courtyard it caused Hitler to spill a drop of tea, but only one at that.
Himmler watched as the boy’s cerebral-spinal fluid leaking from the back of the blond head ran over the floor under the last stone. It was clear, like egg white, but stained a bit with blood like a fertile egg. He quickly calculated,
“Egg white is like glue, is used in tempera, and makes good cement.”
Himmler certainly knew his art. Who would have imagined that this ex-chicken farmer would turn Reichsfuhrer and collect art? Maybe he’d grown tired of looking at eggs.
He pushed the last stone in place carefully using the toe of his boot, not wanting a scuff mark.
“Stupid egg-headed Jew,” he said to the lifeless body.
When Hitler walked in Himmler announced politely,
“I’ll take that cup of tea now, I’m done.”
He replaced the smoking Walther in its holster.
“And Mein Fuhrer,” he asked, "is there any chance you packed some apple pie? This work has left me famished.”
They walked together into the courtyard where the bright sunlight glinted off Himmler’s gold wire-framed glasses which naturally made him notice specks of blood and grey matter on the lenses.
He took them off to clean. But when he patted his pocket for his handkerchief, it wasn’t there.
Hitler noticed and thoughtfully said, “Again Heinie? See how I have to watch over you? You always forget your hankie. Here, use mine”
He took his silk handkerchief and gave it to him.
He was always so generous with his friends, so sinister with a smile.
“You know how it is Mine Fuhrer. You can’t make a omelet without breaking a few eggs."
Hitler tossed it on the ground. It was what he usually did.
“Heinie, you of all people know how blood stains. Don’t worry. I have more, many more.”
Himmler knew that before it was over, before their work was done, that stained silk would litter the Fatherland. Red would be the color and silk the fabric of mourning.
“But not for me.”
He smiled at this conclusion and laughed saying,
“Then you must buy a full dozen, a thousand, a whole factory full of handkerchiefs Mien Fuhrer. We have much yet to accomplish. There’s that treaty with Chamberlain of England you have to sign, the one where you promise them peace.”
“Don’t worry your silly head about that Heinie. You know my policy. I promise them peace, but give them Hell.”
”Of course Mine Fuhrer, naturally. I was just being foolish. But we should return to Berlin as soon as we finish.”
“Heinie,” the Fuhrer said thoughtfully as he ground the handkerchief under his shiny jack boot,“before you and I are finished we’ll need all the silk in China. But enough of our wishful thinking. We must save our wishes for birthdays and candles on cakes. That’s the proper thing to do, and speaking of cake, our tea is getting cold.”
Then the two refined gentlemen, being equally practiced in the art of destruction as well as the decorum of civilized men walked back inside to finish their tea.
And it wasn’t even cold.