It was at Berghof that Alistair came in touch with Hitler's musical propaganda. He'd never been the type to listen to foreign folk songs, so his studies or history had made a bend around the music of nazi germany and had more often focused on film or literature. But, as a historian, he could immediatley tell that the song blasting from the gramophone was, in fact, a piece of musical propaganda.
It wasn't Hitler listening to the tune, it was Anne. She lay on her stomach on the floor of her room, pen and notebook in hand. Alistair lay on his back on her bed. She whistled along to the melody, occasionally singing a word or too. Alistair listened carefully, and the sounds pleased his ears. If he were a soldier, music like this would motivate him, no doubt. It was composed in such a way that didn't only cause your heart-beat to match the marching beat, but it also roused the soul, causing for the listener to suddenly feel patriotic, home-sick and wildly in love. Infidelity doesn't only come from music however, it also comes from dreams. Alistair turned his head to look down at Anneliese.
"Dieses Mädel ist mein treues Schätzelein, und mein Glück..." The choir of soldiers gleefully sang. Alistair turned his back away from his Schätzelein and stared back up at the ceiling.
"Alistair," she said, looking up. Her big eyes expanded even further, the way they always did when she was about to ask him a question that concerned her book, "what would you do if you were sent to war as a soldier for a foreign army?"
"What do you mean?" He asked confusedly. "Like, if I was a spy?"
"No, just, let's say, a civilian in a city that was invaded by another country. Would you allow yourself to be recruited to their army, if they, say, paid you a soldier's pay?"
"You'll have to give me more information, like how my situation at home is and so on and so forth?"
"You're twenty-three years old, unmarried but with a lover named Anne," she often used her own name in her stories and Alistair had inklings as to why but no confirmed theories, "you're father died in the last wave of sickness. Your mother doesn't have a job and you have two younger brothers."
"I would join the army of my country."
"What if they didn't pay?"
"I doubt that the other country would either, Anne. I wouldn't work for another country; not as a solider."
"Vielleicht nicht als Fusssoldat, aber sicher als General. (Maybe not as a simple soldier, but surely as a general)." She spoke the words sweetly but Alistair could tell that there was a hidden accusation. She was implying that he was being untrue to his country, the USA. He wasn't 'fighting' for Hitler, not literally, but he was certainly helping him; he even got paid for it! He'd accepted Hitler's offer at being an inofficial translator and would begin working sooner than Monday. He was sure he'd enjoy it; perhaps because he could use the languages he knew and practice them; filing them into the perfect fluency, or maybe because he was riding the biggest wave in Germany; the dictatorial revolution Hitler left in his wake.
"I'm going to go get myself a beer, Anne. Would you like one?"
"No thank you."
Alistair scooted off the bed, tapped his lover gently on the head before exiting the room, and travelled the journey to the kitchen downstairs. He'd expected Adolf to be out, but he was sitting at the dining room table across from Kurt.
With a curt nod of his head he passed them and went to the balcony to fetch an Erdinger Weissbier. It was his favourite kind; brewn in Bavaria. He tipped it into a large glass, returned the bottle back outside and made a bee-line to the upstairs. He wanted to get back to Anne. He'd made the mistake before of staying downstairs too long and then having to deal with her complaints.
"So, I'm back." He said, sliding onto the bed. It was quite the american thing to do; drink beer in the bedroom. But Anne and the other inhabitants of Berghof didn't mind; as long as it remained tidy. "Why are you even writing about soldiers?"
"Because I have a feeling a war will break out."
"That's why you're listening to those songs..." Alistair mused. "Trying to get in the feeling of unconditionell patriotism."
"No, a Russian is the hero of my story." She answered, her tone unwavering.
"You're not looking to publish it?"
"Yes I am."
"Then make him German." Alistair replied. He was surprised at how naive the girl was being, she knew Hitler, she knew the system, she'd have to write about a good german boy or she'd be a dead german traitor.
"I'm not publishing it under my name anyways."
"They'll find out, Anne." Alistair said, his voice sounding more and more serious with every response.
"Well you can't say much, can you?" She countered, her eyes flaring up with anger, "you're also betraying your country."
"Anne, what is up with you today? I'm not betraying anyone, I only work as a translator, I'm not in the military of in a governmental position-."
"And I'm also just a writer, not in the military of in a governmental position." She retorted.
"Do you have a problem with me being for Germany?" The second after he'd spoken he realized that what he said had been absolutely false. He wasn't for Germany, no way, he was just working for Germany. She shrugged at him; too tired to keep talking about it and continued to scribble in her booklet. In that moment Alistair was overjoyed that the woman wasn't his wife; he didn't need to try and smooth things over. It didn't matter if she was angry at him. After an instant he'd already forgotten about Anneliese and all of her contradictions; how she was one way in front of the Nazis and another in front of him, and he was already lost in thought - or rather - worry about himself.
He wasn't for Germany - he couldn't be. He didn't want a genocide, didn't want a war. But, couldn't he have murdered Hitler at least seven or eight times already? Everynight at Berghof he could have snuck up to the dictators room with an axt and tried his luck at an assasination. Or during the meals he could easily jump up and strangle him. But he hadn't even thought about that until now. Didn't that mean that he liked Adolf, more or less?
Having no answer, Alistair took another sip of beer to calm his mind. And truely, after having pushed the thoughts aside and having drugged himself with the German delight he felt much better.