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The Mind of Hitler, Continued

As stated in previous posts, there were twelve important questions about Hitler that needed to be answered in my historical novel, In the Mouth of the Lion. They were:

1. Did Hitler have supernatural powers?
2. Who killed Geli Raubal, Hitler’s niece?
3. Why was Geli Raubal killed?
4. How did her murderer get away with it?
5. Who is the newest candidate for Hitler’s mystery grandfather?
6. Why did Hitler want to eliminate Jews?
7. Why did Hitler attack Russia?
8. Why did he destroy his father’s home town?
9. Did Hitler really have “Jewish blood?”
10. What was the connection between Geli’s death and the Holocaust?
11. Was Hitler insane?
12. What was Hitler’s greatest fear?

Question 1 was addressed in a previous post. Questions 2, 3, and 4 were discussed in the last post. Today, I’ll address Question 5, Who is the newest candidate for Hitler’s mystery grandfather?

The Mind of Hitler

As stated in the previous post, The Guardienne [see the link to the Guardienne Paper on ResearchGate], there were twelve important questions about Hitler that needed to be answered in my historical novel, In the Mouth of the Lion. They were:

1. Did Hitler have supernatural powers?
2. Who killed Geli Raubal, Hitler’s niece?
3. Why was Geli Raubal killed?
4. How did her murderer get away with it?
5. Who is the newest candidate for Hitler’s mystery grandfather?
6. Why did Hitler want to eliminate Jews?
7. Why did Hitler attack Russia?
8. Why did he destroy his father’s home town?
9. Did Hitler really have “Jewish blood?”
10. What was the connection between Geli’s death and the Holocaust?
11. Was Hitler insane?
12. What was Hitler’s greatest fear?

Question 1 was addressed in the previous post. Today, I’ll address Questions 2, 3, and 4.

Question 2: Who killed Geli Raubal, Hitler’s niece?

The Guardienne

Every writer should be an amateur psychologist. If your characters act in ways inconsistent with human behavior, your readers will throw up their hands (or just throw up) and say, “Nobody would do that!” Their suspended disbelief will drop like a dead bat. But, besides knowing what your characters would not do, psychology can help you design them and tell you what they would do.

In the process of writing my historical novel, In the Mouth of the Lion, I had to psychoanalyze Hitler, not an easy or pleasant task. But so many facts about Hitler are in the literature that adding up enough of them will give clues to what was going on in his noggin, bearing in mind that about 20% of the facts about Hitler are untrue. I think I succeeded to the degree necessary to discover valid, or at least potential answers to these twelve questions:

First-Born Son, better look out!

A few Sundays ago, my guardian angel rose and stretched. “Been working overtime for the old gal,” he said with a yawn, “Think I deserve to sleep in this a.m.” With that, he crawled back into his feathery bed and was soon snoring.

90th Academy Awards Dinner Party Menu

 

DUNKIRK

Scones and Tea

DARKEST HOUR

A Cigar and Brandy on a Silver Tray

THE POST

Fancy 1970’s Hors d’oeuveres

GET OUT

New England Clam Chowder

LADY BIRD

Large Platter of Sacramento Produce

THE SHAPE OF WATER

Hard Boiled Eggs

PHANTOM THREAD

Sautéed Mushrooms

CALL ME BY YOUR NAME

Roast Beef with Apricot Sauce

THREE BILLBOARDS

Donuts

Chapter 1

Cover of Black Angel

Magdalena D’Alessandro arrived early to remove the card from the extravagant wreath that lay on Angelina’s casket. She read the sentiment then placed it in her purse knowing it would anger her father that ‘The Organization’ sent flowers to her younger sister’s funeral. His fragile health needed no additional shock. After taking a front row seat, Magdalena could only guess about the arrangements for the Catholic services.

Her father had not included her in the planning of her sister’s funeral. In this small California cemetery in Westwood, arrangements had been made to partitioned off an area along a wall of crypts then set with rows of chairs to create a temporary chapel. Magdalena sat looking up at the huge photograph of her sister that loomed before her casket. A small bronze plaque marked her short life, Angelina D’Alessandro 1965 – 1983.  Not much of a student, but an exceptional equestrian, she looked like royalty on her $20,000 mount, Immigrant Song. Magdalena looked away from the imposing photo with a saddened face. When she turned to look up at the wall of crypts, she gathered Papa wanted Angie to be laid to rest in grandeur because near the ceiling, a bronze door hung open exposing a void. Sitting on the uncomfortable folding chair, she gazed forward, not wanting to observe the gloom around her. Magdalena slipped off her glasses and looked at her father with compassion.

Dominic D’Alessandro had insisted Angie be interred in this hidden and prestigious cemetery where many of Hollywood’s elite were buried. When the chapel filled, a priest entered in a white robe to deliver High Mass. He cleared his throat for silence among the assembly. A long, droning sermon followed, as her father’s body trembled and his face ran with tears. Magdalena worried throughout the service that her father might sink into another stroke. After his first episode, she was told to keep him quiet and away from emotional matters. His doctor didn’t know they rarely spoke anymore.

When the mass ended, everyone seemed to be holding their breath as people awaited the final grimness. The men and women all looked up. How often was someone one encrypted, and was that even the term? A mechanical groan came from the large hoist that held Angie’s coffin as it rose to the dark opening above. The device stopped with a jerk like an ill-controlled robot. A wrenching screech from the casket being pushed into the abyss unsettled the crowd. When the bronze door shut, the harsh sound sent the final message that vivacious, talented and high-spirited Angie was entombed.

Crying and sobbing sounds were heard from both men and women. Magdalena couldn’t remember when she last cried, having learned long ago to curb that emotion, but she continued to have trouble with bile rising up her digestive track. Swallowing hard, and for diversion, she turned to see who had attended. She had no idea who had been notified of her sister’s death, as her father had not included her in the funeral arrangements. He had grown increasingly hostile toward her after overhearing her conversation with Jimmy Sciacca. She had explained to Sciacca that she would be taking over her father’s legal practice.

After that, her father’s disdain seemed to close a chapter on their lives. I pray to God Papa’s scorn for me will one day end.

She turned to see their household help seated in the row behind. Gino, the groundskeeper, held his sister’s hand. Maria, the cook cried uncontrollably as she had been closest to Angie. From the time Angie was seven-years-old, she and Maria had spent hours in the kitchen together, baking biscotti and Angie’s favorite chocolate chip cookies. Looking back, Maria had been a surrogate mother to her. How strong Maria’s protest had been against Angie’s trip to Hawaii where she met her mysterious death.  But Angie had begged Papa to go and, as usual, got her way.

Magdalena acknowledged Alberto, her father’s chauffeur, and his spouse, Rosella, the housekeeper. They sat in silence. Alberto is such a loyal aide to Papa. God must have sent him.  

Magdalena caught the eye of Angie’s equestrian trainer, several of her riding mates and their parents, all with tear-stained faces. Sitting alone, tanned and tow-headed, she recognized Lance, her father’s first physical therapist, and her first date. They exchanged polite nods. Farther back sat Jimmy Sciacca, the Organization’s Boss, Joseph Cozza and his brother Vinnie, Sciacca’s trusted subordinates.  She would thank them for flying in from Las Vegas but out of her father’s view.

Magdalena rose and turned to Alberto, “Please drive my father and the family home.” Magdalena now referred to the household help as family. It seemed appropriate since they were like a surrogate family with only she and her father left in the big house. She kissed her father on his forehead. He ignored her. His face was dark and held a grief-stricken pall when he turned his chair around. Looking straight ahead he engaged the switch on his electric wheelchair to exit down the aisle. Dutifully, Alberto followed him out to the car.

Walking toward the back of the chapel, Magdalena released a long sigh. Always trying to cope with her father’s rejection and knowing that the limited love they once shared was gone devastated her. This blow, coupled with managing the detritus of Angelina’s affairs, had worn her thin. Her father had arranged for the funeral, leaning heavily on his private investigator, but she had to deal with the Hawaiian police report and death certificate, Angie’s belongings, her horses and her personal effects. She also knew she had to move forward with plans to become the family provider. After her father’s last stroke he could no longer practice law. In a recent telephone conversation with the Sciacca, she had to explain that sad fact. Now she would represent clients of the Organization, as Magdalena had begun to refer to the Mafia Family.

She walked to the back of the chapel and approached Sciacca. He embraced her. “What can I do for my goddaughter? I am so sorry you have lost your only sister.” Magdalena nearly broke into tears at his fatherly embrace, something she hadn’t experienced in years. “That’s kind of you, Mr. Sciacca. I’m sure time will help,” was all she could think to say.

She turned to handsomely groomed Joseph standing attentively, palms extended allowing her the choice of coming to him. She put her hands on his chest, leaned close to him and whispered in his ear. “Meet me at the Bel Air for dinner at eight. Make reservations for a table and a room for the night.”

Sciacca’s hand rose to suppress a smile at her newfound intimacy with Joseph. Suddenly Joseph looked as though he was attending a wedding, not a funeral.

*****

Magdalena stepped into her 1973 Jaguar XKE, a car Sciacca had arranged she receive on her eighteenth birthday. Sciacca had tried to make it look as though Magdalena’s father had given her the car, but he hadn’t. D’Alessandro was infuriated by the gift, and it remained an ugly reminder that he had forgotten her birthday that year. He was never able to condone such an extravagant gift or acknowledge it, some five years later. Sciacca had wanted Magdalena to have a car on her birthday for two reasons. She was a beautiful Italian girl, and never noticed by her father.

At breakneck speed, Magdalena raced up Stone Canyon to their Holmby Hills residence. She would have a long swim in the subterranean pool at the villa where her focus always became sharper.

Dominic D’Alessandro had negotiated this villa as part of his salary when he angrily took the position of council to the Los Angeles Mob. Severe medical debt and the necessity to raise young daughters forced his decision, but he never forgave himself. Magdalena had been fourteen and Angelina seven-years old, and she knew his decision shattered his morals.

Magdalena’s head rose high as she sped up winding Stone Canyon road. Angie, I will go to Hawaii and if I find any reason to avenge your death, I will.

Once in the pool, Magdalena began to swim her usual laps; the therapy her doctor had prescribed years earlier. Swimming the length of the pool, she began to reminisce when she and her sister were young.

 

 

To continue reading, please find my novel on Amazon: Black Angel

Sample Chapter: Southern Discomfort

Part of my soon-to-be-published novel, Southern Discomfort, has been posted here on 8 Great Storytellers. It’s posted under its own tab, on the right side of the top menu. Updates will be added there as they become available. Comments and questions, please!

The Art of Forgiveness

“It took a long time, but as soon as I let go of my anger and resentment, I was free. I dropped the chains I’d been carrying around like Ebenezer Scrooge and felt as if a single balloon could lift me off the ground and carry me to the sky.”

I wrote those words some time ago while working on a story in which my main character had been betrayed. She was suffocating under the weight of her own hostility and venom. As the writer who created this character, I understood her refusal to forgive. In fact, I was quite sure I didn’t want her to . . . 

continue reading:

A Menu Idea for Oscar Night

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89^th Academy Awards Menu

Boston Clam Chowder – Manchester by the Sea

Tang –Arrival

Hollywood Brown Derby Cobb Salad – La La Land

Albondigas Soup Recipe

Ethnic soups add much variety to the American diet, and this one is a staple in my home. In cold weather, this is an especially warming and satisfying soup. Albondigas in Spanish means meatballs. I think you will find this a great entrée soup when eaten with warm tortillas or garlic bread. This recipe is from my book, Gourmet the Simple Way. Upgrade the processed green chile to a green salsa, if you prefer.

Albondigas Turkey Soup