“You can keep your millionaires,” her husband says. “I just wish we had been on board when it flew over the Olympics. Can you imagine?”
“Heard about that flight, did you?” the American asks. He moves closer. Introduces himself. Learns they are Otto and Elsa Ernst. Retirees. Upper-middle class. Unimportant.
“Everyone heard about it. The pictures were all over the papers. The Hindenburg flew right over the stadium.”
The American leans toward them and lowers his voice as though telling a secret. “Did you know that Hitler had the Olympic rings emblazoned on the side of this ship just for the occasion?”
“I don’t recall that actually.” Otto frowns. The memory is lost somewhere in the folds of his mind.
He shrugs. “Most people never noticed them. The swastikas are rather more obvious.”
A nervous tremor runs through the small crowd, and the American keeps his smile hidden. The Nazi symbol represents the white elephant in the room, a thing to be avoided in civilized discussion. Ignore it long enough and it will go away. Keep opinions spare and to yourself. And yet he very much enjoys poking the dragon.
He continues. “The Nazis had just finished funding the completion of our good airship here, and, given their proprietary feelings, it only made sense for them to make a showing during the opening ceremonies last year in Berlin. And it was quite impressive. I was there.”
“I wanted to go but had to settle for reading about it in the papers,” Otto admits.
A carefully worded version, no doubt. That particular event went down in history but not in the way the Führer intended. At the mention of the Olympics several more people wander into the promenade. The results of one particular competition are well-known in Germany, but little publicized. Curious citizens have to get their gossip where they can.
“It was all rather symbolic for him,” the American says. “Prophetic even. It was meant to be the event in which his people showed their superiority. All carefully orchestrated, of course. The very motto of the Olympics, the hendiatris: Citius, Altius, Fortius. Higher, Faster, Stronger. It was a sign to him. And the rings, of course. Well, that bit took on a religious significance that we will spend decades debating. Mark my words. But what can you expect from a man who bases his worldview on an opera about Norse mythology?”
They are completely lost at this bit of information, and he doesn’t bother to enlighten them. All of these people, these sheep, will understand their leader soon enough, and they will wish that they didn’t. Let them regret it later. Let them wish they had taken a moment to know who Adolf Hitler really is and what he believes. An old prophecy. A burning of the world. Renewal. Perfection. They put the psychopath in power. Let them live with the consequences. He takes a deep breath to control his own trembling fanaticism. The irony isn’t lost on him. It takes a zealot to know a zealot. And sometimes it takes one to stop one. He will do what he can. Even if it means the only thing he stops is Hitler’s favorite airship.
“The Führer,” he says, “didn’t just expect a great German sweep of those games; he was certain of it. Hitler’s designs were clear—in his mind, at least, if not in the minds of most people who sat in those stands. Germany was superior. Jessie Owens put an end to that, of course.”
He finds Werner Franz in the crowd of faces staring at him and acknowledges the unspoken question in his eyes with a nod. The boy’s mouth forms into a circle. Oh. The dog.
The serving pantry door swings wide and three stewards step out holding large trays loaded down with steaming plates. Much of the crowd dissipates. The American can’t compete with food. Doesn’t intend to. Another seed has been planted. He’ll let it germinate before he pokes this soil again. Let them eat. Let them revel in their petty luxuries for a moment. He can live with that. Because something is growing beneath the surface. He can see it in the uneasy shift of their eyes while he speaks. Subversion dressed up as storytelling, as entertainment, as gossip. It’s easier to swallow that way. He turns to the window, letting the stragglers come to him if they will.