I am a woman. I am thinking of love. I see a rabbit and love bursts out of me and drenches the poor little creature. I love small children. Many of them come with their harried parents to the photo studio where I work as an assistant. I love to prepare them for the photo sessions.There is something about animals and children that just makes me pour out the life of me into them. Maybe its their helplessness, their inability to communicate their needs and desires to the world. The cry of a toddler when an ant is pricking its bottom inside the nappy makes me cry with him and devote my life to purging his body of parasites thirsty for his blood.
I want children. Many. Spoilt. Troublemakers. Shy .Rascals. Sweet. All.
I love make up. I love to dress up. The studio owner never tires of taking my photographs. He says I'm very beautiful. He says I should become a professional model. I love it when people say I'm beautiful. I had many paramours in the convent. I still keep getting amorous letters from them.
My master's friend came today. He is some kind of a political animal. Of a certain age. He looks funny. He sounded like a visionary. Kept talking about the future of the country and how we have to bolster our unity under the flagship of one single entity to regain our lost honor. He sounded like he's carrying the load of a country on his own shoulders. He should learn to dance. I felt an attraction akin to that towards babies. I never understood what he was saying but it sounded impressive. But he has the look of the man who has a lot to say and no one ever understands him. Just like an infant who has an ant in his nappy, bee up his bonnet in this case. I think I'm in love. I want to follow this man. Go where he is going. Face storms, and then have babies with him.
I live with him. At least I live at his place. My father was furious. But......I'm happy to be at his side. Its just that he's never at my side. He's very busy. People say he's a great man. I am proud to be his...his partner. Yes, partner. I'm his partner. I hate the word mistress. He was telling his secretary that he will marry me one day when he's rid of the responsibilities of the country. He calls every two days.
I tried to commit suicide today. It was stupid of me of course. He really is busy. And he's always surrounded by guards. I really don't have to worry. I'll try to distract myself. I got seven new dresses today. The interior minister's wife got me those. She is so good to me. But I always a catch a look of pity in her eyes whenever I look suddenly at her so she doesn't get a chance to avert her eyes.
Maria, the interior minister's wife told me that a war is going on. He is leading the countrymen in the time of difficulty. Listening to foreign radio stations is a crime. Still I listen to them in the privacy of my bedroom. They say so many bad things about him. I don't believe them.
I tried committing suicide again. What is it with him? Why cant he come and say he loves me? Why does he have to say everything to his secretary? Why cant we go to parties together like normal people? Why doesn't he ever talk to me about us, our future, our home, our life? I know he's not unfaithful. But how can politics be all that important? More important than living?
He has transferred me to his summer house in mountains. In fact gave the house to me. Its a big beautiful mansion. I can see the alps in their full beauty from my window. My cousin has come because he allowed me to have a guest come over. Both of us spend our time trying out new dresses, applying lipsticks, listening to jazz, and talking about the old days. He still calls every two days.
He has come to summer over here. He looks haggard. The strain of war is showing. We have many guests nowadays. He doesn't let me be there with the guests for too long and sends me to my room and then discusses military strategy with them. I keep waiting for him. I want to live with him. Whatever be the circumstances. This time I will not stay back.
I heard him telling his guests that "a highly intelligent man should always choose a primitive and stupid woman". It made me think. Is loving people stupid? And what are smart people supposed to do? Fight till they drop? Are you listening to me? Or you also started having clever thoughts? Sit still, have your biscuits and listen to my story.
We live together in the chancellery building. Its heavily guarded from all sides. The mood here is glum. We try to alleviate the mood by having rag tag parties with cheap champagne and one single broken record. But the joviality seems forced. The secretary likes to spend time with me. We talk till late into the night. She said we are surrounded from all sides.
I am scared for him. He looks broken. I have never seen him so sad. Why did he devote his life to war? I feel sad for him. Will he never have a proper family? The General of the northern command is with us because the northern front has been already lost. There are many party officials, and young soldiers, as young as 14 years of age. They have no nappies, but their suits and caps hide their ravaged hearts and minds. I am unable to do anything about it. I am unable to even get out of the building. We have an underground house in the chancellery. It is like a mad house. Everyone has glazed eyes like that of ghouls. The topic of conversation is always death. I want to marry him before I die. I want to comfort him like a wife once before I die. The generals say under three days the enemy troops will break through to the building. He has refused to be evacuated. I don't mind staying here with him to the bitter end, but I do mind the lost moments, which could have made both of us happier. I do mind the tea times that went silent because some battalion ran out of ammunition. I do mind the nights that were wasted on discourse.
Our defeat is imminent. He wants to marry me. I knew he loved me. This is the happiest day of my life. Everyone in the bunker was present. We went to our room. He wept in my arms for the first time in my life. I feel fulfilled. I support him. I love him. I sing him to sleep.
Its been three days since I've been a wife. I will never be a mother. Today Capsules of prussic acid were distributed to everyone who wanted not to be captured by enemy troops. He addressed a few last words to our devoted friends and colleagues and both of us retired to our bedroom.
I see a look of gut wrenching remorse on his face. He looks at me before taking his poison pill and shooting himself with his revolver. I give him a look of reassurance. We will be together darling, in another world. We will be together.
My capsule and my revolver are lying on the table. I thing I'll pass the revolver. I don't like the noise. I'll use the pill.
I'm a woman. I am thinking of love. I am Eva Braun Hitler.