Four
Munich
ALONG THE BOULEVARD, NEAR the right bank of the river, was a fashionable square called Prinzregentenplatz—Prince Regent’s Square—which featured not only the theater and a large stadium but a series of residential buildings, a fountain, and, in a small park area, a massive stone monument of the composer Richard Wagner—Hitler’s favorite—in a seated pose modeled after the famous Tischbein portrait of Goethe.
When he reached the flat, he first looked into the parlor, with its walnut paneling and embroidered armchairs, then caught a glimpse of Geli moving toward her bedroom.
“And just where do you think you’re going?” asked the Führer. “We have not finished our conversation.”
“I’m going to bed,” she said.
“No, you’re not. There’s something I want first. You know what it is.”
Geli stopped dead in her tracks. She slowly shook her head. “No, I’m not doing that. I won’t do that anymore. Not ever again!”
“You certainly will, mein prinzesschen. You will do as I say. I’ve already prepared things for our routine.”
A shiver visibly ran through Geli. She continued to her bedroom and closed the door behind her.
Hitler stood in the hallway, stunned. She would come back out. Of course she would. Her Führer had given her a command, had he not?
He would give her a moment to come to her senses. She always did. She could be willful, but she understood her place. It wasn’t the first time she started with no. It would change to yes.
His fury rose to a boil over the next five minutes, as he waited futilely for his niece to obediently reappear.
Finally, he marched down the hall and pushed through the double doors into her bedroom, a lovely and spacious room decorated at Geli’s direction with dainty furniture and light green walls, several works of art—including one by Hitler of a Belgian landscape—a pricey radio/phonograph in one corner, and a bed with a canopy and embroidered sheets next to a vanity with a mirror.
When he entered, he found her seated at her desk, a piece of antique oak purchased in Vienna two years ago. Geli was writing a letter on her personal stationery but jumped to her feet when he burst in.
The Führer looked over at the bed, on which lay an old, coffee-colored leather portmanteau with some clothes already packed inside.
“What is this nonsense?” he demanded.
“I’m leaving,” she said, moving toward the bed. “I’m going to Vienna.”
“That trip is not for several days—”
She turned to face him. “I’m going tomorrow! I can’t be here anymore. I can’t live in this… this…”
His eyebrows rose. “Again, you don’t finish your—”
“This prison!” she shouted, though it came out more as a plea.
“Prison? This luxury home you have? All the privileges you enjoy? The way you’re treated as royalty in this town?
” Hitler put his hands on his hips. “I have spoiled you. This is the problem. You’ve become an ungrateful brat.
We need reminders, clearly. Now it’s time, Geli.
You know what I want. I want it right now.
” He moved to the corner of the room, to a box atop a mounted shelf near the double doors, and flipped a switch.
Geli walked to her dresser, removed some clothes, and threw them into the suitcase. “You make me do disgusting things. You never let me leave without your henchmen following me. You never let me go anywhere—”
“I let you go to Vienna for your precious vocal lessons,” he said. “But I can see from your performance tonight that this instructor must have no talent. So those lessons are canceled. As of now, no more trips to Vienna.”
Geli went back and forth from the dresser to the suitcase, dropping in more clothes.
“Stop that,” he said. “Your Führer is ordering you to stop.”
She did stop, leaning over her suitcase on the bed. She took a deep breath. “I just want my own life,” she said quietly.
“A life as an ordinary, common girl?” he said with a mocking laugh. “Are you sure? You haven’t enjoyed all the attention and privilege of your association with me? Everyone laughing at your jokes? Currying your favor? Doing your bidding?”
“Not anymore.” Geli arranged her clothes, then buckled the portmanteau. She took a breath and turned to face him. “I’m leaving. I’m going to Vienna.”
“You are not. That instructor is a talentless hack. I’ve long suspected he’s a Jew, as well—”
“I love him.” She stood tall, lifted her chin, though he could see that it took considerable effort for her to maintain eye contact.
The look on her face was like nothing the Führer had ever seen from his niece. He’d seen defiant. He’d seen stubborn. He’d seen determined. But never had he seen Geli look at him with a full measure of conviction, calm and collected, leveling him with her eyes.
“He wants to marry me,” she said. “And I want to marry him.”