Ron Hansen - Hitlers Niece

Hitlers Niece

A Novel

Ron Hansen

For Bo

Contents

Linz, 1908

Schleissheimerstrasse 34, 1913

The Corporal and the Schatzkammer, 1919

The Beer Hall Putsch, 1923

The Merry Widow, 1923

Landsberg Fortress, 1924

Mnchen, 1925

Haus Wachenfeld, 1927

The Pension Klein, 1927

Hitlers Friends, 1928

Picnic, 1928

Next Door, 1929

Life Studies, 1929

Prinzregentenplatz 16, 1929

Elections, 1930

Das Braune Haus, 1931

Confessions, 1931

September 18, 1931

Afterward

L INZ , 1908

She was born in Linz, Austria, on June 4, 1908, when Hitler was nineteen and floundering in Wien, a failure at many things, and famished for food and attention. Within the month she was christened as Angelika (Ahn-GAY-leek-ah) Maria Raubal, in honor of her mother, Angela, Hitlers half-sister, but the family was soon calling the baby Geli (Gaily), as she was to be known all her life.

Hitler first saw his niece at a Sunday-afternoon party after the June baptism in the Alter Dom cathedral in Linz. Angela heard four hard knocks on the front screen door and found Adolf on Brgergasse in front of the Raubal house, looking skeletal and pale in a high, starched collar and red silk bow tie and the ill-fitting, soot-black suit hed worn at his mothers funeral in December; his wide, thin mustache so faint it seemed penciled on, his hair as chestnut brown as her own and as short as a five-day beard. With unquestioning love, Angela invited him in and hugged him, but it was like holding wood. And then she saw that hurrying up Brgergasse from the railway station was his only friend, August Kubizek, whose father owned an upholstery shop in Linz. Angela hugged him, too, saying, Weve missed you, Gustl.

And I, you.

She called to the kitchen, Leo! Paula! Look whos here! And then she noticed that her half-brother held a silk top hat in his hand and was absurdly twirling a black, ivory-handled cane, as if he were a gentleman of plenty. Aunt Johannas here, too, she said. And the Monsignor.

Oh, Lord, Hitler said.

Swerving out of the kitchen with a tankard of beer was Leo Raubal, Angelas husband, a flinty, twenty-nine-year-old junior tax inspector in Linz whose jacket and tie were now off. Everything Hitler loathed about his dead father, Leo Raubal professed to admire, and he seemed to be imitating the late Alois Hitler as he said, Why, its Lazy himself! The bohemian! Rembrandts only rival! Arent we honored to finally have you here!

Leo, be nice, Angela said.

Whos nicer than I? Im Saint Nicholas! Im a one-man charity!

Hitlers twelve-year-old sister, Paula, who suffered frequent trials with mental illness and would be nicknamed The Straggler, hung back in the kitchen, winding string around a fist and flirting a stare at Kubizek, whom she was fond of, until Hitler held out a present to her. I have a gift for you, Paula!

She scuttled forward in once white stockings and took the package, irresolutely staring at a festive wrapping of tissue paper that Hitler had hand-painted.

You can tear it, he said.

But I dont want to.

Oh, for Gods sake, do it! Leo Raubal said.

She tore off the paper and found underneath it a fat and difficult novel, Don Quixote . You say the title how? she asked. Hitler told her. She opened the book, and inside, where she hoped for a sentimental note from the older brother she worshiped, or even a To My Dear Paula, she instead found Hitlers handwritten list of other books in history, biography, politics, and literature that would possibly benefit her. Her face fractured with disappointment as she said, Thank you, Adolf, and hurried to put Don Quixote away.

What a treat, Raubal told Hitler. Girls really go for things like that.

Shes all right?

Raubal touched his head. Shes all wrong up here.

Aunt Johanna Plzl, the wealthy, hunchbacked, forty-five-year-old sister of Hitlers late mother, walked down the hallway from a bedroom. She smiled. I was taking a nap with Leo Junior when I heard your voice, Adi.

My favorite aunt! he said. My sweetest darling! Are you feeling well?

Oh, just tired, Aunt Johanna said. Im used to it. She held out her left hand and he kissed it, as did August Kubizek.

Angela got the baby from a bassinet and held the tiny girl up to Hitlers face so he could kiss her on the forehead.

Jiggling Gelis left hand with his index finger, her uncle said, Arent you pretty? She gripped the finger in her fist. Will the frulein allow me the pleasure of introducing myself? My name is Herr Adolfus Hitler.

Your uncle, Angelika, Angela said, and shook the baby, trying to get her to smile, but Geli only stared at his hair. See? She loves you.

And why not? he asked.

Leo Raubal called, August Kubizek! Would you like some good beer?

Walking into the kitchen, Kubizek said, Clearly I have some catching up to do.

Wont take but a pitcher, Raubal said.

Hitler stayed in the front room as Angela gave Geli to Aunt Johanna and went into the kitchen behind August in order to get out the potatoes in jackets. Canting back into the pantry with a full stein of beer was a stout and white-haired monsignor in rimless glasses and a pitch-black soutane with red buttons and piping. Welcome, Herr Kubizek! he too loudly said. Are you liking the Conservatory of Music?

Very much, Monsignor.

The childs a miracle at music, the old priest told Raubal. You play, what, violin, viola, piano. What else?

Also trumpet and trombone.

Amadeus Mozart, the old priest said.

Angela got a braising pan out of the oven and put it on an iron trivet on the kitchen table. We have potatoes in jackets here. And herring rolls in the icebox.

Raubal handed Kubizek a stein of beer and a cold skillet of sliced kielbasa in ale, then focused intently on his high forehead and his soft, feminine face. And what does our Adolf do in Wien while you study your music?

Oh, he works; very hard. Even to two or three in the morning.

Raubal was astonished. At what?

Watercolors of churches, parliament, the Belvedere Palace. Reading in Nordic and Teutonic mythology. Writing of all kinds. And city planning. Adolf strolls around the Ringstrasse in the afternoons, carefully observing, then redesigns sections of it at night. Amazing things, really. Architectural drawings for a new opera house. And plans for a high-level bridge over the Danube here in Linz.

Raubal smirked. Dare I presume no one pays him for this?

We have made friends with poverty, so there is no urgency.

Raubal told him, You know what Hitlers poverty is? An orphans pension of twenty-five kronen per month plus a loan from his Aunt Johanna of another thousand.

Angela asked, Are you going to want anything else to eat?

She was ignored. And what is my salary, Raubal continued, the hardworking husband and father of two children and the guardian of his crazy sister? Ninety kronen per month. Dont talk to me about your friendship with poverty. Raubal turned to the priest. Nineteen years old! And a thousand kronen to play with!

A fortune, the monsignor said.

Kubizek fixed his stare on the beer inside his stein. Wien is expensive, he said.

You get germs from money, Paula said. The twelve-year-old walked as softly as a kitten to a kitchen chair and sat. Torrents of them all over your skin.

Raubal stared at his sister-in-law for a moment, then turned to the monsignor. And this is what I have to put up with.

Well, its never easy, is it, the old priest said.

Angela went back into the front room and took the baby from Aunt Johanna. Hitler watched as Geli squirmed and widened her mouth and finally cried in a worn, soft, cranky way, like a hinge that needed oiling. Shes hungry, Angela said, and eased down onto the sofa where she mindlessly unbuttoned her blue dress and offered the infant a full and aching right breast. And then she realized that her offended half-brother had fled into the dining room where he looked out a window with his hands locked firmly behind his back. She remembered him hiding in his bedroom as he dressed, or holding his mouth in malaise when she talked about childbirth, that he was squeamish about anything having to do with the body.