Hitler's Funeral: A Short Story

‘Heil Hitler.’ Ralf said performing the proper salute, and then shutting the door. Opening the envelope, his breath hitched. The paper he held in his hand, informed him of his mother’s death and the time the funeral was to be held. In three days time, the funeral would occur in Berlin, as such they would return to the old house for two days. He released a shaky breath and began to remember happy times with his mother, memories he would cherish. Though one came to mind, which wasn’t quite as happy as the other memories, in fact it could hardly be described as happy. It was the last time he had met with his mother. ‘Ashamed!’ She called out before she left. ‘That a son of mine should be-‘ ‘A patriot,’ cried Ralf. ‘A patriot indeed!’ she cried
out. ‘The people you have to dinner in this house. Why, it makes me sick. And to see you in that uniform makes me want to tear the eyes from my head!’ she added before storming out of the house and slamming the door behind her. He clutched the letter, and another weight was added to his shoulders, they had never made up after the fight, and now they never could.
Pushing the thought from mind, he placed the paper down on his desk and resumed his work. Later in the day he informed the family that they would be leaving the next morning for Berlin for the funeral. Walking up the steps, he went to bid Gretel and Bruno Good night. Starting with Gretel, he opened the door and walked in. Observing the room, he took note of the many dolls and how each and every one of them had their hair done neatly, and different from the night before. Walking over to Gretel, he kissed her on the forehead, and told her, ‘Good night Gretel, may you have sweet dreams and sleep well,’ She turned to look at him and with a voice full of respect and love, showing she didn’t think he could ever do anything wrong, said a very similar statement, ‘Good night Father, sleep well and have good dreams.’ He left the room and turned the lights off. Walking across to Bruno’s, the conversation played out in exactly the same way. Except this time, as he was about to turn off the light Bruno spoke up. ‘Father?’ Bruno asked. ‘Yes Bruno?’ Ralf said, allowing him to speak his
mind. ‘Do you miss Grandma?’ he inquired, his voice wavering showing that he missed his grandmother greatly. It was a very innocent question, simply asking if he missed his own mother. Bruno, of course knew that his father missed his grandmother, but asked out of comfort to hear that another felt the same. ‘Yes Bruno, I miss her, good night now.’ As he stated that, he turned off the lights, and Bruno was left to have a peaceful sleep. As he thought of his children, he allowed a soft, albeit small, smile to spread on his face, temporarily forgetting the pain of his mother’s death. Getting into his own bed he found sleep would not come to him, the wound of his mother’s death upon his heart had reopened and once again his brain was flooded with memories of his mother. When sleep finally came to Ralf, it provided little comfort. Ralf dreamt of his mother, happy and performing, the dream quickly warped into a nightmare, his mother no longer happy looked him over as he wore a uniform and shook her head in disgust. He woke with a start, sweating and uncomfortable, and for the most part sad.
Rising out of the bed as quietly as possible as not to wake his wife, Ralf went to get dressed into his uniform full of medals assuring him of his position. But today he did not feel as much pride as he normally did in regards to his position nor did he look proudly onto Auschwitz. Instead his mind was swamped with the harsh words from his mother at Christmas. ‘I wonder if all the performances I made you give as a boy led you to this. Dressing up as a puppet on a string.’ Attempting to justify his actions he told himself he was making Germany great again, and that his mother would not understand as a woman. Deep down he knew this was not true, but he could not admit it to himself. Going down to the kitchen he made himself coffee, a task he rarely performed and instead had Maria do. The coffee, bitter and hot burnt his tongue and woke him from his fatigue. The next few hours were full of work, and anticipation for the trip back to Berlin. The ride back was nothing short of normal. Gretel and Bruno bickered as per usual, with their mother hushing them, as he remained silent and stoic. Arriving at the home, Ralf looked around, recalling the times they had
there. Where the Fuhrer had come for dinner and he had set the ground rules for his children. Where he had to remind Bruno to not slide down the banisters and Gretel reprimanded her brother for entering her room. All in all, the home should have felt happy, but it was not. It just forced him to remember the family and in turn his mother. The day passed quickly, just with small conversations here and there with his wife and children. At the end of the day he looked at the city, much like Bruno, though his thoughts were more serious. Had he done the right thing? Were his actions justifiable? Or was he a puppet, as his mother had put it? Should he continue taking part in this, working for the country? Very conflicted, he returned inside to have a second restless, nearly sleepless, night. The funeral took place in the morning. Arriving at the room, He noticed with a tinge of pride a wreath from the Fuhrer himself. Choosing to ignore the fact that his mother would have been horrified at the notion, Ralf turned to look at the casket, sadness hit him full force. He masked it well, but his eyes showed a window into what he was feeling. A window his wife could see clearly as he told Bruno he was sad after not resolving the fight before his mother’s death. She was correct in this statement. He felt a heavy burden for not resolving the fight before her death. It only added to his emotions, fighting to surface. He placed a wreath of her favorite flowers down, his hands shook and his breath wavered hinting to the regret and sadness he felt. As he bid goodbye to his mother, his resolve nearly broke. Forcing himself to remain strong, he kept his steely expression. On the outside, he seemed cold and uncaring, but on the inside a torrent of emotions, thoughts, and memories flew through his mind. Mentally he was apologizing for fighting with her, though he did not think she was right. Over the past few days after her death he had been conflicted over his work. He wasn’t sure it was right to do. Ralf had come to the conclusion that he would continue and finish what he started; after all he was assisting his country to greatness, and in a powerful position. Feeling relieved he had come to a conclusion, though his mother’s words were etched in the back of his mind and would remain there for the rest of his life. On the return trip to Auschwitz, the air was solemn. Bruno and Gretel had decided not to bicker and instead remained quiet, looking out of the window eventually falling asleep. His wife sat next to him, silent as well and appeared to be in deep thought, she too, was staring out of a window. Noting that each and every one of them had red-rimmed eyes, Ralf turned towards the window and joined the ritual, looking outside at the scenery. Closing his eyes, he pictured his mother one last time, though this time she was singing by the piano, and smiling brightly. The vision lifted his heart and he felt perhaps a bit better.