Author: Gomery Kimber is the author of six novels, including the Big Shilling hitman trilogy, the Justin Martello adventures (‘A New Kind of Hero’), and the Wyvern series of historical novels (esotericism and espionage). In 2023, Gomery Kimber was chosen by best-selling author Mark Dawson as the winner of the SPF Foundation Thriller Award. Subscribe to his Substack: Gomery’s Substack | Gomery Kimber | Substack 

If he leaned back in his chair, James could see Hitler’s table in the back room of the Osteria Bavaria.

Hitler was eating lunch with a noisy entourage of SS officers. Lying on the floor at the Fuehrer’s feet was a blonde German Shepherd bitch. The dog’s uplifted brown eyes appeared wary of her master.

James was relieved when Clarissa went off to parade before the Fuehrer. It was obvious that the Roman aristocrat, Baron Andrea, was fascinated by her, and as a result, James was suffering from a severe case of jealousy. To the young Englishman, Giulio Andrea was as distant and as impressive as the Alpine peaks he climbed, and James felt an attraction to him that mitigated the feelings of jealousy. Andrea had earlier spoken of art as an impartial creation coming from an individual’s higher consciousness, and capable of transcending the passions. James renewed his efforts to stop obsessing about Clarissa. Doing so made him feel superior.

‘There is a book I’ve been hearing about,’ he said. ‘It’s by Erich Fechter.’

‘Yes,’ said Andrea, ‘I recommend it to you. Fechter speaks of a new pragmatism, a free, anti-romantic world without sentimentality.’

‘That’s right. He makes common cause with Bernard Shaw.’

Andrea seemed to ignore the remark. ‘The coming generation no longer worships the soul,’ he said, ‘wrapping everything up in feelings, making human concerns the centre of existence. Such thinking belongs to yesterday. The new generation seeks impartiality in human affairs. It seeks to encounter existence in its starkness, ignoring the sentimental and focusing entirely on actuality.’

‘There is nothing new in this,’ said Lustgarten. ‘In the trenches at the front, we felt the same.’

‘Real value can only be found in what exists for itself,’ said Andrea to Valentine, ‘that which demands interiority, and takes personal power from nothing external.’

The assertion amused James, given the Italian’s obvious interest in Clarissa. James turned his head until he could see Hitler. He too was obviously taken with the beautiful Englishwoman, smiling at her in admiration.

‘Autarchy,’ said Lustgarten. ‘That is what you demand, Baron. It is but a small step from there to the conviction that one is in total control of everything.’

‘You know my theory of the Absolute Individual,’ replied Andrea.

‘Our young friend here does not.’

Andrea regarded James with hauteur. ‘The Absolute Individual,’ he began. ‘The type of man who frees himself from the limitations of the individual ego, and strives to attain an impersonal transcendent perspective, that which is usually attributed to the gods.’

‘Fascinating,’ said James, enthusiastically. ‘I’d like to learn more.’

‘In that case,’ said Dr Lustgarten, ‘you will have to learn Italian. The Baron’s book on the subject has not been translated.’

‘Books,’ said the Italian, waspishly. He looked around him at the well-fed Bavarians enjoying Saturday lunch in the crowded restaurant. ‘Today what is needed is people who do not prattle, nor scribble, nor debate, but who begin with Being.’

‘Agreed,’ said Lustgarten. ‘Authority would come as a natural consequence.’

James Valentine felt that what was being said was of fundamental importance. He was reminded of the Russian philosopher exiled to London, Demianovitch, who declared that humanity was asleep. He said, ‘When I see those banners with the slogan, “Germany Awake,” I want to laugh. The men marching behind them appear to me to be mechanical, to be sleepwalkers.’

‘Ha!’ cried Andrea. ‘A penetrating observation. Don’t you agree, Professor?’

Lustgarten was non-committal. Andrea looked from him to James, and for the first time, there was a measure of respect in his gaze. It was this that emboldened James to challenge the Italian.

‘You are quite wrong when you disparage writers,’ he said. ‘There is a dignity that attaches to literary creation that cannot be gainsaid.’

‘I think you will find,’ said Andrea, ‘that the blood of the heroes is dearer to God than all the ink of the novelists, and all the prayers of the faithful.’

The comment was delivered with condescension, and Dr Lustgarten looked at James speculatively, as though wondering how he would react.

‘War does not decide who is right,’ said James, ‘but who is left.’

‘You certainly know your Shaw,’ said Andrea, indifferently, as the waiter came to serve coffee.

James was glad of the interruption. He hated to be treated as a foolish youngster. But at the same time, he was mindful of the discussions he’d had with his father, about mechanicalness and ‘sleep.’ It would have been easy to have been resentful, to have lashed out at Andrea automatically. James observed the churning feelings of annoyance, rejecting them. Pleased with this self-discipline, he turned his attention to Lustgarten.

Like the Italian, the German was an impressive man, physically imposing, handsome and highly intelligent. Like Andrea too, he was refined and self-assured, and throughout the meal he had been courteous to James, unlike the aristocrat. In some ways, Lustgarten reminded James of his father, not surprisingly since both men were doctors. Lustgarten had the same physician’s solicitude, but there was something about him that James found slightly off-putting. He watched as Lustgarten took a sip of coffee. The German looked stern and pensive, apparently distracted.

‘James,’ he said. ‘I have a patient I think you would find interesting. He is a student at the University, studying philosophy and literature. Yesterday afternoon, I was examining him when he began to speak about God. He told me that he did not believe in God, and could not accept the invention of an imaginary God like generations past. Therefore, he said, he had been forced to manifest his own divinity in order to demonstrate that God exists.’ Lustgarten paused, looking expectantly at James.

‘Really?’ said the youngster. ‘Why, that’s Kirillov, straight out of Dostoyevsky.’

‘I told you that he is a student of literature.’

‘And he said that to you that?’

‘Most sincerely. As I listened to him, he enumerated the attributes of his own divinity. First, his free will. Second, all actions with which he could prove his insubordination to God.’

‘He attempted suicide?’ asked James. ‘Is that why he is your patient?’

‘Exactly. He told me that this new and terrifying freedom is most convincingly proven by the act of self-murder. He who dares kill himself has discovered the great secret, that of becoming God. Yes, I have to say he is a brave man. To commit suicide, one must conquer the utmost fear, and as a consequence, one will become the new man that is God.’

‘He failed,’ observed Andrea.

‘He did, but one has to admire the bravery he showed in choosing the method. He soaked his mattress in kerosene, lay down, and set himself alight.’

‘Oh!’ said James.

‘But that is not all,’ said Lustgarten in admiration. ‘He twice got up from his burning bed to record the experience. Sadly, the document is lost to medical science. It was destroyed in the resultant conflagration. There, Andrea. Proof that not all scribblers are worthless.’

The Italian sniffed.

‘And he survived?’ said James.

‘I doubt he will live out the weekend,’ said Lustgarten. ‘Valhalla beckons, eh?’

The comment was directed at Giulio Andrea. Lustgarten explained, ‘The Baron is dismissive when he hears talk of Aryan paganism. He says that, unlike Rome, the chain has been broken, that the tradition is nothing more than a husk. But there are some here in Germany who know better. The old gods are awakening. Some are in contact with them. Odinism is the spirit of the coming age.’

James was embarrassed. He concentrated on his coffee, not wanting to appear rude by voicing scepticism. Earlier, Dr Lustgarten had spoken of his research into the Odinic Force, and all James had been able to think of had been Bulwer-Lytton’s fantasies about Vril and the Coming Race. It was strange, this combination of brilliance and delusion in a man of science. James decided that this was why he found Lustgarten suspect.

‘Splendid,’ said Andrea. ‘She returns.’

James looked. Clarissa was leading Hitler’s dog. Lustgarten ignored her.

He said, ‘One must recognise the existence of a vital force that has yet to be identified by orthodox science. Don’t you agree? James?’

‘Sorry?’

‘A vital force yet to be discovered.’

But James was distracted. If Hitler had allowed Clarissa to take his dog, it meant perhaps that she was closer to her goal.

‘This is Blondi,’ said Clarissa. ‘Isn’t she simply gorgeous? Yes, you are.’

James liked German Shepherds, and he reached out to pet the dog, but as he did so Blondi backed away, tail tucked between her legs.

‘Poor thing,’ cooed Clarissa. ‘Don’t be frightened. Jimmy won’t hurt you, he’s a very nice boy.’

The comment made James want to cringe.

Hitler was making ready to leave. His SS bodyguards were already standing, straightening their uniforms and putting on their caps. For the first time, James looked closely at their faces. Their appearance shocked him. They might have been the habitual criminals described by Carlyle: miserable distorted blockheads; ape-faces, imp-faces, heavy sullen ox-faces. Perverse creatures, the sons of indocility. In one word, stupid.

When the Fuehrer appeared from the back room, people stopped eating, some of them standing, greeting the German Messiah, saluting. The young James looked at Hitler in confusion. How could a political leader surround himself with such idiotic thugs? It was a moment of epiphany. The Fuehrer was dressed in a summer-weight grey suit. His complexion was pasty, and the fixed grin as he acknowledged his people looked unnatural. Then James saw the dog whip half-concealed by the soft felt hat Hitler gripped in his left hand, and was repulsed.

As Hitler moved through the throng, one of his SS guards stumbled against the back of James’ chair. Annoyed there was no apology, James turned and glared at the man. It was heavy sullen ox-face. Close to, the face was even more repellent. Ox-face barely glanced at him, but James was startled by the man’s bovine eyes. One was olive green, the other bright blue. They reminded James of marbles he’d played with as a child, not only in their colouring, but in their glassiness.

‘Well, I never,’ said the SS officer over James’ head. ‘If it isn’t Dr Lustgarten, and with Signor Andrea as well.’

James felt a heavy hand grip him by the shoulder. ‘Who’s this, then, eh?’ asked the thug, with unpleasant levity.

James went to shrug off the hand, but it was removed as the loutish SS man stepped aside for Hitler. Lustgarten rose to his feet, reaching out to shake Hitler’s hand.

‘My dear Professor,’ said the Fuehrer.

Lustgarten briefly bowed his head. ‘May I introduce Baron Andrea?’ he said.

Hitler acknowledged the Italian, who regarded him coolly.

‘Blondi misses you,’ said Clarissa to Hitler. ‘I shall hand her back.’

‘Thank you, dear lady,’ said Hitler, sweetly. ‘I hope we shall meet again.’

‘Oh, so do I, mein Fuehrer. Please believe me when I say that nothing would give me greater pleasure.’

‘Goodbye,’ said Hitler.

And then the Fuehrer was gone, swept out into Schellingstrasse with his entourage and his dog. Clarissa clapped her hands together in delight and twirled around.

‘Isn’t he adorable?’ she asked the three of them.

No one responded, but Clarissa was unperturbed. She appeared to be enraptured. Lustgarten signalled for the bill.

‘You’ve been perfectly beastly about your own race,’ said Clarissa to Andrea. ‘Singing waiters indeed. Now come along, you’re to take me for ice cream. I know the perfect place. It’s Italian.’

For the first time, the Roman smiled. So too did the German.

‘Wonderful,’ said Lustgarten. ‘Would you like ice cream as well, James?’

‘No.’

‘Perhaps you’d like to come to the Institute instead,’ said Lustgarten. ‘You seemed interested in my Planaria experiment.’

‘It sounded fascinating,’ said James, unable to look at Clarissa, ‘I’d like to see it.’