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       A Verse Narrative by Michael E. Mautner


    "His heart is cold," Rao decides, "But no void."
    As apple disguised, Krypton's exiled god
    sits atop a tree, watching Adolph Hitler
    fondle Eva Braun, roughly, in the garden
    at Berchtesgaden in the heady Alps.
    "There is passion in him, great passion.
     Fiery hatred.  Lust pulsing, primal,
     impatient even in its long waiting
     on power.  Best of all:  No love.
     None.  And, he's not too old.
     He'll fit me like a glove."

    The apple-god falls, bops Der Fuhrer
    on the crown; distracting.  'Til this event,
    Hitler has never considered the rites
    of his occultist adherents real; but,
    something prompts him to move now -- the sight
    of his eyes clueing Eva to leave him -- and,
    as a feral cat crosses his field of view,
    that same something tells him what to do.
    Taking the butt of his sidearm in hand,
    he jumps, and upon the animal lands.
    "Wodin!," he calls, over and over
    as he bashes the cat's head in.  "Wodin!,"
    and out of the feline entrails, Rao seeps,
    a vampiric mist congealing, weeping-
    willow-like in its sullen hanging
    until it takes the form of him for whom
    the Deutsche-Dictator was lately banging.
    In all the Wagnerian splendor
    he can cull from the ex-painter's vivid
    imagination, Rao towers over Hitler
    as the one-eyed king of the Norse gods.
    The Fuhrer bows.  They make a contract:
    A mass human sacrifice in exchange for
    victory via a champion warrior.
    Due consideration given,
    the seeds of holocaust thus are sown.

    Eva Braun watches from the window.
    Doubt besets her: "Why," she must ask,
    "Whatever is it all about?"
    Her lithe white hand draws the curtain
    on this uncertain scene.  Later,
    in her journal, Eva will write
    that today, by a pact sealed in blood,
    the final act in her mate's quest
    for powers ultimate was begun.
    She doesn't understand.
    She doesn't have to. 
    His will be done.

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