Hansel and Gretel Hide Grandma’s Gold
Hitler and Himmler were being driven by a young fair-haired SS officer in their 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,” he answered.
After several winding miles they pulled over at the mountain inn that was their destination.Himmler ordered the innkeeper out.Now it would be
deserted.Then they opened the door to room two, then the trunk of the car, and the officer started unloading the gold bars.Hitler grabbed the wicker basket and went into the empty office to make
tea.While the young officer toiled in room two, Himmler and his Fuhrer ate lunch.Finally they were down to desert.Hitler liked sweets and decided on a Bavarian creme. He looked across the white
linen tablecloth at Himmler and said casually,
“Your boy over there, your Gestapo has just informed me, had a Jewish grandmother.”
He was gesturing toward room two with his chin.Himmler noticed a bit of cream on it and politely offered him his linen napkin. He was enjoying a
tastey biscuit himself.
“You understand me Heinie?A Jew.”
“I understand Mein Fuhrer,” he answered wiping a crumb carefully from the corner of his mouth, “I’ll take care of it at once.”
“You don’t have to rush,” the Fuhrer said, “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 removed the napkin off his lap with care 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 gold had been thirty-two thousand gold rings etched with the names of Jews 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 instead.In this form they were so much easier to transport.Nazi 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 weren’t 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 flowerbox just below the window, blood-red geraniums peeked their heads
over the windowsill. 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, Obergroupen fuhrer, I do.”
Himmler removed the Walther from its holster cautiously.
“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 you miss your grandmamma, but don’t be sad,” he said squeezing the trigger with a gentle touch you'd give a baby,“You’ll probably see her
When the shot reverberated across the courtyard it caused Hitler to spill a drop of tea, but only one.
In room two Himmler watched as the boy’s cerebral-spinal fluid leaked from the back of the blond head, over the floor under the last stone.It was
clear, like an egg white, but stained a bit with the blood, like a fertile egg. Himmler quickly figured,
“ It reminds me of egg white. Egg white is like glue, is used in tempera, and makes good cement.”He certainly knew his art.Who would have imagined
that this ex-chicken farmer would turn Reichsfuhrer and collect art?Maybe he’d justgrown tired of looking at eggs.
He pushed the last stone in place using the toe of his boot, then wiped it off onthe boy'sSS uniform. He liked being clean.
“Stupid egg-head Jew,” he said to the body.
When Hitler walked in Himmler announced politely,
“I’ll take that cup of tea now, I’m just done here."
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.He noticed 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, saying, “Again Heinie?You always forget your hankie.Here, use mine.” He was
always so generous with his friends, so sinister with a smile.
The Fuhrertook his silk handkerchief and gave it to him.
“You know how it is Mein Fuhrer,” Heinrichlaughed, wiping them clean, “You can’t make an omelet without breaking a few eggs,” and handed it
Hitler tossed it on the ground. It was what he usually did.
“You know how blood stains,” Hitler remarkedthoughtfully, “ But don’t worry.I have more, many more.”
Himmler knew that before it was over, before their work was done, that blood-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, it was such a comforting thought, then laughed saying,
“Then you must buy a dozen, a thousand, a factory full of handkerchiefs Mien Fuhrer.We have much yet to accomplish.”
“Heinie,” the Fuhrer said with glee,“before you and I are finished we’ll need all the silk in China.But enough of this wishful thinking. We must save
our wishes for birthdays and candles on cakes.And speaking of cake, our tea is getting cold.”
Then the two well mannered and proper gentlemen, being equally practiced in the art of destruction as well as the rituals of civilization, walked back
inside and finished their tea before it was too cold to drink.
© Copyright 2016 Steven Hunley. All rights reserved.