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“Oh,” she said. And then, “Will you read it to me?”
Uncle Adolf sighed, but twisted to get it. “‘Think of It!’” he read. “That’s the title.”
She was listening with great seriousness.
“‘When your mother has grown older, / And you, too, have grown older, / When what was formerly effortless / Now becomes a burden, / When her dear loyal eyes / Do not look out into life as before, / When her legs have grown tired / And fail to carry her anymore—/ Then lend her your arm for support, / Accompany her with gladness and joy. / The hour will come when, weeping, you / Will join her on her last journey! / And if she asks questions, answer her. / And if she asks again, have patience. / And if she asks another time, speak to her / Not stormily, but in gentle affection! / And if she cannot understand you well, / Explain everything joyfully. / The hour will come, the bitter hour / When her mouth will ask no more!’”
She finally said, “Oh.”
“A good poem?” her uncle asked.
She gravely nodded.
Hitler slid the sheet of paper under the inkwell again, and then he seemed to faint, falling backward onto his feather bed and throwing a forearm over his eyes.
“Are you sad?” Geli asked.
After a few seconds, he said, “Tired.”
The sofa fabric was making her thighs itch, so Geli slid off. “I’m hot,” she said.
“Darling, I have to rest a little.”
She heard a ticking clock on the windowsill and walked to it. She put her ear to its face. She got up on tiptoes and looked out the window to a playground on the other side of Schleissheimerstrasse, but no children were in it. She found three paintbrushes in a full glass of water. She slightly lifted the tallest one and watched a faint strand of blue paint float from it and change into smoke, and then there was nothing but tinted water. She watched her uncle to make sure she was being good. His fists were clenching and unclenching. His hands were fair and hairless. One ankle-high shoe was still o
n the floor, the other was rucking the quilt. She squatted and stared underneath the bed. A high stack of magazines was there. She pulled out the top one and held it in her lap as she sat on the shellacked planks of the floor. She traced the big letters on the front cover.
“Ostara,” her uncle said.
She looked up and found him critically watching her from the feather bed with the Those are mine face that she often got from her brother.
“Ostara is the ancient Germanic goddess of the spring.”
With great effort she turned the pages of the magazine, finding a puzzling cartoon of a pretty blond woman whose clothes had fallen off and who seemed to be crying and hitting with her fists a hairy human being or ape who seemed to be trying to lie on top of her. “What’s happening?” she asked.
“It’s what Jews do to Aryan virgins. You wouldn’t understand.”
She turned a page. “What’s it say?”
“‘Are you blond?’” he read. “‘Then you are a culture-creator and a culture supporter! Are you blond? If so, dangers threaten you!’” Hitler got down on the floor beside his niece and held up other magazines in the stack. “The ‘Race and Welfare’ issue,” he said. “And here’s one on ‘Sexual Physics, or Love as Odylic Energy.’” Then he guided Geli’s forefinger under the fancy lettering as he read the front page of another: “‘The Dangers of Women’s Rights and the Necessity for a Masculine Morality of Masters.’” Hitler went to another. “And here’s my favorite, Angelika. ‘Judging Character Through the Shape of Skulls.’”
“Why is it your favorite?”
Hitler’s hands fell upon her head and felt all around underneath her hair, saying in a ferocious voice, “Because I can tell if Angelika’s naughty or nice just by feeling the knobs on her noggin!”
Hitler’s niece squealed with delight.
When Angela got back to the flat with groceries, she found them still on the floor, wildly laughing as their hands inched along each other’s flushed faces. “I have food for us,” she said.
Hitler raked a hand through his flowing hair as he sat up. “What kind?”
“Leberkäs, sauerkraut, and strudel.”
“And coffee?”
“Chicory. And milk. Many things.”
She started putting the food away and Hitler held Geli close as he stage-whispered, “This is what it is to have a mother!”
