Schicklegruber emerged from the long subterranean tunnel that had been pre-prepared for his departure at the appropriate moment. He was alone as had been planned all those years ago. His closest companions, who had spent their final moments with him just a few short hours ago, had all breathed their last gasps in a grotesque voluntary act of mass suicide.
Unlike his companions of nearly two decades, however, Schicklegruber was not the self-immolating kind. He preferred sugar pills to cyanide and he preferred life to death. More importantly, he had just completed a mission that was totally divorced from the seemingly overt lunatic aspirations of a dictatorial madman. For Schicklegruber was anything but mad and he had no aspirations or pretensions of being a ruler of the world or even a country.
After emerging from the tunnel, he found himself in a huge dimly lit cavernous room with walls that curved upwards to a high domed ceiling and a smooth black and white tiled floor that resembled a giant chessboard. The tiles were so large and smooth, that Schicklegruber felt he could almost slide across the floor as if it was a frictionless surface.
The walls were covered with complex patterns of an indiscernible geometric nature. Some of the patterns were recognizable as known shapes such as pyramids, the Sun, six pointed stars, the crescent moon, animals such as snakes, fish and astrological symbols.
Where, when and how the building that housed this gigantic room was constructed Schicklegruber had no idea. The answers to these questions were well beyond his pay level. He was barely a rung above the bottom level of the pyramid of humanity. His lot in life was not to question anything but to obey the commands of his superiors. He was a mere tool in the hands of far greater personalities than he could ever hope to know.
At the far end of the room, almost 50 metres distant, was a long mahogany table on a raised platform. Seated at the table in high backed matching mahogany chairs were seven persons. As he approached, Schicklegruber could see that they were wearing the customary ceremonial attire of black robes and white gloves. They were also wearing hooded masks, each with an individual animal caricature face. One face was that of an eagle, another an owl, another a crocodile, another a lion, another a shark, another a wolf, and another a bull. Not one square centimeter of skin was exposed and the masks also hid their eyes so that all one could see were black slits.
Schicklegruber did not know who these persons were. He did not know if they were even human. He suspected that they were all men from their voices and demeanor but he did not know for sure. All he knew was that they were his masters and most likely the masters of everything in the known world. He remembered that they had been in his life since his earliest childhood, coming to him in dreams and at pivotal moments, whispering suggestions, putting ideas and thoughts into his head. “You have been chosen to serve,” he was told. “You are part of a great cause, an idea whose time will come. We are your guides and you will have no other guides but us. We are your past, present and future. There is nothing else but our great cause.”
At times when he was growing up, the young Schicklegruber wondered if he was going insane and these voices were just creepy figments of his imagination. Sometimes he would make an attempt to lead a normal life. He tried to concentrate on his studies at school but the voices would not let him. “Your teachers know nothing,” the voices said. “They are mere flotsam in the gigantic cesspit of humanity. You have nothing to learn from them. We are your guides. We are your alpha and omega. We are all that is and ever will be.”
Schicklegruber did not know for sure but he suspected that his parents were also conscripts of the so-called great cause to which he was enthralled. They never discussed it but they must have certainly been at least aware of what he was going through as a child. Sometimes in the middle of the night he would awaken to find his bed surrounded by masked figures in dark robes looking down and talking to him. He did not find it strange because he had grown up with it. They were part of his extended family.
Love, happiness, joy, good times were simply never to be part of Schicklegruber’s vocabulary in life. His was a predetermined mission of servitude. He was predestined and preordained for greatness. However, it was not the type of greatness to which young men and women usually aspire. He was driven not by a lust for wealth and power. He did not crave these things. His motivation was to serve the great cause to the satisfaction of his overlords – and then to get out!
Schicklegruber had a secret fantasy that he kept locked away in the deepest recesses of his psyche. He wanted to live a normal life. He wanted to eat meat, suck freshly shucked oysters through his teeth, and sip cocktails by the seaside on a balmy Caribbean evening. He wanted to go dancing, meet lovely women, drink expensive champagne, drive fast cars and make love all night long. He might even want to get married, raise a family and try his hand at farming. He craved normality. He wanted to be ordinary for once and not a charismatic leader in bondage to a grand plan.
As he stood before the seated Council of Seven, as they referred to themselves, Schicklegruber was forced to look up, for the floor of the platform itself was at his eye level. The symbolism was obvious; these persons were so far superior to the likes of Schicklegruber, that any semblance of conversing face to face, eye to eye, was unthinkable. They were gods and he was a mere mortal. He was to be grateful that they graced him with their presence.
As he stared up at the characters of the individual masks, he could recognize that they seemed to convey seniority through age. The most senior member of the Council of Seven – the leader - seemed to be the one with the most aged and senior looking caricature. He was the owl. And, seated in the middle, with three colleagues on each side, he was the one who spoke first to Schicklegruber.
“You have done well Schicklegruber,” the leader of the Council of Seven said in a quiet voice that somehow conveyed an unmistakable air of supreme authority.
“Thank you my lords,” said Schicklegruber, while keeping his eyes fixed on the leader’s masked face.
“Everything has gone exactly to plan and thanks to the magnificent role you have played for the past 15 years, we have moved the world significantly closer to our goal,” the leader said in the same quiet voice without a hint of emotion.
“We have successfully shifted the world’s power base to the United States of America and we are a step closer to a one world government.
“We are creating a society of greed and consumerism in which the transfer of wealth into the hands of those who deserve it is inevitable.
“Meanwhile each day we are moving closer to our plan of eliminating the bankrupt masses, the useless eaters who consume the resources of this planet.
“This grand experiment we have just conducted with your invaluable help has taught us many valuable lessons.
“The media can be easily manipulated to do our bidding. The population can easily be convinced that certain ethnic groups are evil and need to hunted down and murdered. Through mass psychological conditioning people can be reduced to a state similar to mindless animals who willingly allow themselves be led to slaughter. Mass culling of populations, concentration camps, and a myriad of other grand experiments have been successfully carried out on a grand scale.
“Most of all Schicklegruber, it is you that has been the greatest success in our grand experiment. You have demonstrated that a charismatic actor with a consistent message of hope for a better future can make a population believe and do anything no matter how big the lies they are told. Your execution has been superb.”
“What is next for me my lords?” Schicklegruber asked, unable to disguise the nervous unease that had descended upon him.
“Schicklegruber, we always keep our promises so please relax,” said the leader, still without the slightest hint of emotion.
“You will be given a new identity, a new face, a new life, and sufficient wealth for you to disappear into obscurity if you wish,” said the leader.
“Thank you my lords!” Schicklegruber said with unconcealed relief in his voice.
For the first time that he could remember he actually felt a sense of elation. Unfortunately it was for little more than an instant.
“Although….,” the leader said in a tone that elicited a response.
“Yes, my lord?” asked Schicklegruber, with a hint of alarm in his voice.
“Your talent is rare – too rare to waste. Of course, there is no compulsion but we feel that very soon you will grow bored with the easy life,” said the masked person sitting at the right hand of the leader.
“So, we feel that it would be a good idea for you to come back and see us – say two years from today. There are going to be some pretty interesting things happening in Asia and the Middle East – not to mention the Soviet Union - and we may have use of your talents to train some of our new acolytes. We can count on you to remain part of our grand plan can’t we Schicklegruber?”
“Yes, of course my lords,” said Schicklegruber with a sigh of undisguised resignation. He could feel his dream of leading an ordinary life slipping out of his pants and dissipating into thin air like a silent fart. He decided to replicate the metaphor.
“You know Schicklegruber, that Reichstag fire was the key to the spectacular success we have achieved in all of this,” said the leader thoughtfully. He stopped momentarily and cocked his owl head to the side. Schicklegruber thought he could hear him sniffing the air through his mask.
“We managed to convince an entire population that some evil Communists did it and you eventually got the dictatorial powers you needed,” the leader continued after a brief pause.
“We’re going to make it our business at the right place and time of our choosing to do something like that again.”
While the leader talked on about the great cause, Schicklegruber lowered his eyes and stared at the shiny checkerboard floor. In the dim light he could make out a hairline crack and perhaps a slight brown stain on one of the large white tiles. “Did someone drop a jug of coffee?” he mused silently. “You would think that they could get someone to replace that tile and clean up the mess. Back in the day when I was running things in Germany, I wouldn’t have tolerated such sloppiness.” He let go with another silent one.
“Schicklegruber! Are you listening?” the leader asked with more than a hint of impatience in his voice.
Schicklegruber, momentarily forgetting where he was, immediately snapped to attention and stretched out his right arm. Realising his mistake, he hastily lowered his arm and hid it behind his back. “Sorry my lord,” he mumbled, as he unsuccessfully tried to hold back another gasser. “Perhaps I shouldn’t have chosen lentil stew for my final meal,” he thought absently as he lowered his eyes to the floor again. “The problem is the chef decided to off himself early and Eva was always a terrible cook. The only thing she could do was lentil stew.”
“Schicklegruber!” This time it was a shrill shout. “Pay attention!” the leader commanded in a stern voice. He stopped and cocked his head to the side once again and this time cupped his white-gloved hand over the part of his mask where one would expect the nose to be. The other masked figures did the same.
“Schicklegruber, is that you?” the leader gasped. “What is wrong with you man?”
“Lentils!” Schicklegruber screamed. “Bloody lentils! That’s what’s wrong with me. You put me in charge of a country where they make great schnitzel and beer and I have to pretend to be a vegetarian and teetotaler. You made what’s coming out of my rear end so don’t complain!”
The Council of Seven audibly gasped in unison as if someone had punched them in one collective stomach.
“Schicklegruber, have you lost your mind? Have you forgotten who we are?” the leader gasped incredulously.
Schicklegruber raised his eyes toward the ceiling. “He asks if I have lost my mind,” he mused aloud. “You stole my mind!” he shouted, lowering and focusing his eyes directly on the leader. “You stole my life,” he said in a softer but more menacing voice.
He started to chuckle manically and in a shrill half crazed voice he droned out a mantra: “Zwei Luger für ein lager, zwei Luger für ein lager, zwei Luger für ein lager, two Lugers for a lager!“
The Council of Seven looked at each other through their masks, as if they were unsure of what to do next.
While they were deliberating among themselves in a state of confusion, Schicklegruber, still chuckling, reached into his jacket pockets with both hands, produced two large automatic pistols and aimed them at the table in front of him. That first beer was going to taste good.
