The goddess of the devil.., p.35
The Goddess Of the Devil : Hitler's Medium, page 35
“I can’t tell you,” Maria replied honestly. “Perhaps some day.”
“Whatever happened in the past… when we were here two years ago… none of it matters,” Georg forced himself to voice the thought he obviously despised. “But now… You must avoid him. Not because of me, but because of yourself. Each time you meet him to free yourself of him, you’ll get more entangled in his trap. You’ll sink deeper until you drown, and he won’t be reaching out for you!”
Maria knew what she had to do; she also knew that Georg wouldn’t be discarded as easily as on their previous visit to Berlin. Nevertheless, she had to keep him at bay until she knew what Hanussen had planned for her and Franziska.
Chapter XXIX: Berlin 1933, part II
The evening fell and the capital city became brightly lit in neon lights advertising a multitude of divertissements. The day in Berlin had been spent mostly indoors, with the two carefully exploring their new status as lovers instead of friends. After taking some supper in the room that had been booked in Maria’s name, they dressed and drove to the newly furbished urban palace of occult attractions. Georg wore tails, as he wanted to stay inconspicuous while guarding Maria. As he wasn’t a member of the Berlin staff, no-one would recognize him and that would be for the best.
Hanussen was to be given credit: he had an eye for dramatics. The theatrical interior décor and mood-lighting created an opulent atmosphere which made a visitor feel insignificant and perishable. The main auditorium wasn’t nearly as spacious as the huge Scala, but Hanussen had decided upon a different approach: still performing at larger venues, he also gathered his most ardent – and wealthy – followers for a late-night spectacle that underlined a more intimate aspect for the select few rather than catering for the masses.
Georg kept his distance so that Maria would appear to be alone. He had pulled some strings and procured a pass for himself separately, so there was nothing to link him with Maria.
The performance was largely on the lines of the first one she had attended. During the interval, a familiar dark man approached Maria. He bowed and re-introduced himself as the assistant to Herr Hanussen, expressing his hope that Maria remembered him from their previous meeting. His message was simple: Hanussen had selected her to attend the séance at the Hall of Destiny, an affair to conclude the evening’s entertainment, limited to the very carefully selected elite members of the audience. Afterwards, she was to join Hanussen in his dressing room and the two would drive to a special intimate location where supper would be served.
As the man bowed and left, Georg approached Maria, offering her a cigarette. Maria accepted one, even though she very rarely smoked, and waited until the man struck a match.
“What did he say?” Georg whispered, with his lips barely moving.
“I am to attend the séance after the performance and then we would be driving somewhere. I don’t know where,” Maria replied, pretending to have trouble lighting her cigarette.
“Oh, I see,” Georg muttered.
“There’s nothing you can do,” Maria said. “I can take care of myself. Better leave it at that.”
“No, I won’t,” Georg said, clicking his heels together and walking away from Maria.
During the second half Georg wasn’t anywhere to be seen. As most of the patrons left, Maria loitered in the lobby, but there was no sign of her escort.
There were only about twelve people attending the highlight of the evening, reserved for Hanussen’s special friends – patrons he yet had to win over. The Hall of Destiny was a magnificent large room with vaulted ceiling, dominated by what was designed to be the throne of the occult leader of the Republic: in its centre was a large round table of milk glass, lit from below, with a circular opening in the middle where Hanussen was seated in a revolving chair, able to face anyone around him.
As Maria learnt, there were a couple of generals with their wives, the widow of an industrialist, bankers, and a publisher. Everyone seemed to be members of the NSDAP. They were there to hear of the magnificent rise of New Germany under Hitler; to be reassured that this rise would be impossible without their involvement. Hanussen was impressive in convincing everyone regarding their individual importance and indispensability, creating an ambiance rivalling that of Hitler’s speeches in its self-depreciating intensity that presented martyrdom as the greatest gift a leader can offer his people.
The ritualistic mass was concluded with some casual advice to those gathered around, compiled mostly of sentences that could have been interpreted at liberty to offer consolation and spiritual strength.
At last Hanussen faced Maria, whom he had pretended not to know personally. He had grown stouter and his face spoke of endless escapades into the realm of self-destruction through sex and alcohol.
“You, Madame - ” he said, gazing at Maria with empty eyes. “You shall face the truth tonight. Things are about to change for you – and for someone next to you.”
The excited group left the room. Some patrons, mostly SS officers and their ladies, were still occupying the lobby bar, where a trio provided modern dance music and American cocktails were served. Georg wasn’t there.
Maria wished she could have a large and strong drink. She lingered for a while, until Hanussen’s assistant appeared and beckoned her to follow him.
Hanussen’s conditions had improved: the way to his dressing room was paved with soft red carpets; posters depicting the owner of the Palace were framed to give testimony to the illustrious career of the prince of the occult.
What hadn’t altered was the way Hanussen received her. It was a carbon copy of their previous meeting, with the difference of Hanussen acting more brashly. It was obvious that he felt he was in charge of the situation and that he had Maria at his mercy.
“I have prepared a short excursion for us,” he said after the initial drinks had been poured.
“Oh?” Maria smiled, feeling even more uneasy. “Where to?”
“I’m tired of all this,” Hanussen sighed, letting his eyes roll over the gilt furniture and velvet curtains of the dimly-lit room. “A week in Berlin is a trial. Sometimes I need to get out, away from it all.”
“Out of Berlin?”
Hanussen’s fingers had unerringly found the slit of Maria’s dress and were sliding up and down her leg.
“I have rented a villa in Babelsberg. My driver will take us there and we can discuss things in peace,” he said.
“What things would these be?” Maria asked.
“Well…” Hanussen said, hesitating for a studied effect. “There is the question of the strange girl who happens to live with you in Munich.”
“The child of my distant cousin?” Maria tried to appear casual.
Hanussen nodded ominously.
“Or, perhaps the strange child that was the ward of Countess Basselet de la Rosée and who had unprecedented psychic powers,” he said. “And whom her aunt didn’t wish to predict the rise of Hitler.”
“What makes you think this child is with me?” Maria began one last attempt to deny everything.
Hanussen smiled patiently.
“Since the child’s great aunt, the countess, disapproved of my association with Hitler and refused to let me see the girl again – even planning to take her to America with her – I had no way to contact the girl, even though I knew that she would be a tool of great power in the right hands. The countess avoided me for years. I finally managed to track her down again, but that was another dead end: I had no idea who the child in her care had been. Until I met you, that is. And until I saw a photo of Hess with the same girl on his knee, taken in your apartment a couple of weeks ago.”
He put out his cigar and rose.
“Shall we go? It’s past midnight and about half an hour’s drive.”
Maria hadn’t said a word. She had seen it all coming; she knew Hanussen had more up his sleeve and was keeping his coup de grace for later.
As they passed through the lobby, Hanussen was greeted by the noisy company at the bar with applause and cheers. A middle aged lady ran towards him, but the assistant showed her back to the bar, saying that Herr Hanussen was retiring and would be receiving clients the next day. He then took a few hurried steps and opened the front door for Hanussen and Maria.
“We won’t be needing you tonight,” Hanussen said, putting on his gloves. “I want a car to pick me up at ten.”
“Very good, Sir,” the assistant said and closed the door behind them.
There were many cars with SS and SA insignia waiting in front of the house for the officers and generals at the bar. At the sight of Hanussen, a lavish limousine pulled up immediately and the driver, in SS uniform, jumped out to open the doors.
Maria held her breath: it was Georg. That’s where he had been: changing into his uniform at the Adlon. What was his plan? Timidly, Maria glanced at Hanussen to see his reaction. But the man barely glanced at the driver and when Maria had climbed to the back seat, joined her. The car took off and the Palace Of The Occult was left behind.
Only then did Hanussen seem to realize that something was different.
“What, a new car?” he asked rather disinterestedly, observing the leather upholstery and mahogany trim.
“Yes, Herr Hanussen,” Georg replied, looking at Maria in the rear-view mirror. “Compliments of Reichsführer Himmler.”
“Aah, good old Heinrich,” Hanussen emitted a complacent growl and turned to Maria. “It’s the wives that show most gratitude. I had a highly successful reading with Frau Himmler a couple of weeks ago. She was most satisfied. I suppose so was the Reichsführer,” he said, tapping the polished leather. He lit another cigar and took Maria’s hand.
This was an unbearable situation. Maria should’ve been thankful and happy that Georg was there to watch over her, but his presence caused more anxiety than it relieved. Maria had to keep Hanussen from discussing Franziska while they were in the car. By rushing to protect her, Georg had put himself in danger of learning things which were not safe for him to know.
The car glided through the brightly-lit streets into the dimly-lit suburbs.
“You’ll like the villa in Babelsberg,” Hanussen said. “Very private indeed. Nobody to see or hear us. And you -” he turned to Georg, “- you’ll wait until your services are required. Now, get the window up.”
Georg rolled up the partition window, leaving a barely perceptible gap at the top.
“I’ve missed you, Maria,” Hanussen said, kissing her fingers. “It’s been two years. We shouldn’t be enemies. Why not be allies?”
“But aren’t we already?” Maria replied innocently. “We are both friends of the Führer; both assisting him in his work as best as we can.”
“Are we, Maria?” Hanussen’s grip on her hand grew stronger. “Or is one of us deceiving him?”
“Deceiving him..?” Maria repeated.
“Hiding something from him that’s rightfully his?”
Hanussen’s grip was growing painful. His smile had lost all pretence of kindness and revealed ice-cold cruelty beneath.
Georg was barely looking at the road, his eyes fixed in the rear-view mirror. The lights of Berlin grew dimmer behind them.
“How important is this secret to you?” Hanussen hissed. “Worthy of the wrath of your Führer? You’ve deceived me for almost a year – now it’s up to me to decide what shall lie hidden and what is to be revealed.”
“How have I deceived you?” Maria protested, trying to wrestle free from Hanussen’s grasp. She felt Georg’s eyes burning her.
Hanussen laughed. “You thought you were so clever preventing me from getting hold of the girl when the wench was gone. Oh, yes – such a cunning scheme was devised to fool me, with the whole princely family plotting with you, the bunch of traitors!”
Berlin was left behind and the car dived into the surrounding woods. It became dark, with nothing but the eyes of Georg and the teeth of Hanussen reflecting any light.
“Tonight you’ll have to show me how much my silence is worth,” Hanussen lashed his words like whip-strokes.
“Did you kill the countess?” Maria went on the offensive, and for a second, she felt Hanussen’s grip loosen.
“You did!” she persisted. “You are a murderer!”
Hanussen gave a hoarse laugh.
“You know nothing, you miserable bitch,” he said with contempt. “She was nothing but another harlot who tried to secure her position by fornicating her way to the top!”
“You’re hurting me,” Maria moaned. It felt as if the man were breaking her wrist.
“So what?” Hanussen shouted. “Now you think you’re keeping the girl to yourself, as a secret weapon?”
The seconds seemed to drag on for hours.
“You shall not have her,” Maria growled. “Not as your minion.”
“Who said I ever wanted her, you stupid, stupid woman?” Hanussen barked, grabbing both of Maria’s hands. “She needs to be put down like a rabid dog!”
“Georg!” Maria yelled out as she felt the hot breath of Hanussen burning her face.
The car stopped abruptly, throwing both of them against the partition wall.
Hanussen pulled himself up, livid with rage.
“What is the meaning of this?” he shouted to Georg, hitting the window.
Georg didn’t move nor reply.
Hanussen pushed the door open and stormed out of the car to the driver’s door. He tried to pull it open, but Georg had obviously locked it from the inside. Hanussen hit the window with his fist a couple of times, foaming with anger.
“Open the door at once!” he bellowed.
The side window rolled down slowly.
“You’ll be sorry for this!” Hanussen yelled. “What’s your name and your rank? Your superiors shall hear about this!”
A shot echoed through the limousine, deafening Maria, who covered her ears and hid her face in her lap.
She felt the car shake as Georg pushed the door open and rushed out into the woods. Three more shots then ripped through the silence.
Maria opened her eyes. Aside from the faint glow of the dashboard, nothing was to be seen. There was no-one in the car aside from her. The driver’s door was open and gusts of wind brushed against Maria’s face, carrying along the scent of decay.
Maria opened the back door and stepped out.
Georg was standing several steps away with his back towards her, motionless and silent.
“Georg!” Maria whispered and staggered towards him.
He didn’t move, not even when Maria half-fell, grabbing his arm for support. His eyes were staring into darkness.
“What… have you done?” Maria gasped.
“Go back to the car,” he said slowly.
“No, Georg! Where is he?”
Maria scanned the wooded area, but aside from the dirty piles of dead leaves, covered by the melting snow, her eyes were unable to perceive anything.
“Go back, Maria,” Georg repeated. “He won’t bother you again.”
Maria clung to his arm, shivering with cold, feeling the man shiver as well – but not from cold.
“I won’t leave you,” she whispered.
Georg freed himself from her hold and took a few steps into the darkness, while Maria buried her face in her palms. She heard scrabbling sounds, as if a dog were scratching dirt at his stools. Somewhere in the distance, a real dog was barking wildly.
After what seemed an endless time, Georg returned and led her back to the car, pushing her gently to the back seat and closing the door behind her.
The car took off again and the headlights made a half circle on the tree tops.
“You’re free now,” the voice of Georg said.
Maria pushed herself up. The humming of the engine was louder than she had been aware of. The smell of the polished leather was suffocating her. Something reeked of Hanussen, probably his half smoked cigar, which was lying somewhere on the floor.
“Did you…”
Maria’s throat was drier than the deserts of Tibet.
“Is he...?”
Georg no longer looked at her. His eyes were fixed on the road. Ahead of them, the lights of Berlin cast a glow against the grey of the heaven.
“He’ll no longer bother you,” he repeated.
A strange peace fell over Maria, as if she had been injected with morphine. That’s the kind of peace that ensues when everything is lost, she thought. Then she fell asleep and barely woke up when Georg carried her to her room at the Adlon.
Chapter XXX: Berlin 1933, part III
There was another invitation from Hitler.
It couldn’t have arrived at a worse time. Maria felt sick from the moment she woke up after a disturbing set of dreams which always ended with her jolting awake in panic. She ran to the bathroom, feeling she would throw up, but she seemed to have dried up on the inside, sooner able to cough sand and dust than to produce tears or any other body fluids.
Georg hadn’t spent the night with her but had left her to rest after feeding her some sleeping pills they had obtained from the hotel management. Now he was in her room, meticulously dressed in his uniform. It was clear that he was suffering from the effects of a sleepless night as well.
“Don’t look at me,” Maria moaned, covering her face, and Georg turned his back on her obligingly.
“How are you feeling?” he asked.
“Awful,” Maria whispered. Part of her wanted to throw herself on Georg, so they could both rip their souls open and scream in anguish over their awful deed. Yet her brain urged her to keep silent and lock the happenings of the previous night out of her life forever.
“The Führer has invited you to attend a dinner party tonight,” Georg pointed out, still standing with his back towards her. “It would probably be unwise to refuse. You did so the last time you were invited.”
The invitation was on her dressing table. She immediately recognized the official stationery of the Chancellor’s office.
“I suppose so…” Maria replied, putting on her dressing gown hurriedly. She then approached Georg and stood very close to him. She yearned to throw her arms around him and press her face against his back; not so much for love but for strength; yet she didn’t move.
