TRAPPED...Part 25.

"Dan will be coming home tomorrow."

Nkechi's eyes lit up as she opened the door. I entered my living room and sank into a sofa. I put on the standing fan and brought it to face me. The forceful draft of air was exhilarating. She sat on the arm of the sofa, the smell of her cologne a pleasant change from the smell of sweat in the queue at the banking hall.

"They said they will release him tomorrow?" she asked.

"Not exactly. But we have the complete money and I will be taking it to them tomorrow." I turned in time to note the shock on her face.

"You? Why you? Why not his father or any of his sisters?"

I shook my head. "Nne, I don't know. His captor, Shadow, requested I bring it."

She gave a deflated sigh. "Any address yet?"

"No. He usually calls at the last minute to give the location. That bastard!"

In an instant, I felt rage well up in me. "What has this country turned into? Eh? You just wake up and kidnap a young, harworking doctor and now you put his loved ones through untold suffering to raise an outrageous amount of money for your selfishness? This is just pure evil!"

Nkechi put her arm over my shoulder. "Don't worry. You will be fine. Tomorrow it will be all over."

"Where is Victory?" I asked, standing up.

"Oh. She is at Mama Tunde's house playing with the other children. Let me go and get her."

"Okay." I entered the room, exhausted.

The next morning, I kissed Victory goodbye as I made to leave. I had dressed her up earlier and packed her lunchbox.

"Mummy, when are you coming back?" she asked, hugging my legs tightly. It was obvious she had missed me.

"This evening, Sweetheart," I said, fighting back the tears. I lifted her up. Her beautiful eyes gazed into mine. "And Mummy will never go away again."

She nodded, her face breaking into a smile.

"Be a good girl, okay?" I said, tickling her.

The sound of her laughter filled the room.

Nkechi locked up after me as I left, Vicky standing in the stairway, waving. I waved back.

Old Major was on the verandah when I came, clad in his well-worn blue kaftan. He has worn it since his son was kidnapped, eleven days ago. He smiled on seeing me. "Nne, welcome," he said, accompanying me into the living room. Añuli was cleaning the centre table with a cloth. A broom lay by her side. She noted my hesitation and smiled. "You can sit. I just finished sweeping. Nnoo."

"Has he called?" I asked Old Major, as soon as we were seated.

He shook his head and reached for his phone. He dropped it on the centre table. "Chiemeka!," he called out. "Bring the bag. Stella is here." He turned to me. "Bola just left for her office. She said they needed her urgently."

Chiemeka emerged from the room, carrying a blue chequered Ghana-must-go bag. "This bag heavy small o!" she said, setting it down at a corner of the room.

"Do you know why they call it Ghana-must-go bag?" Old Major asked, looking at me. 

I shook my head.

"In January 1983," he began, "President Shagari ordered all immigrants without the right papers to leave the country within a few weeks. At that time, there were over two million illegal immgrants. A million of them were from Ghana."

"Why will he give such an order?" I asked.

Old Major shrugged. "So many reasons were given. We don't know which to believe. Fueled by rumors of possible maltreatment in Lagos after the February deadline, within few days of the announcement, two million people packed what they could into 'Ghana-must-go' bags and thus began a massive exodus towards Seme border."

"That sounds unfair," Añuli said.

Old Major continued. "Well, in 1969, Ghana expelled many immigrants including Nigerians under the Alien's Compliance Order..."

The sound of the ringing phone cut him short. I glanced at the wall clock. 9.00am. 

I noted some tremors on Old Major's hand as he picked the phone. He quickly put it on speaker.

We heard a voice screaming at the background. A familiar male voice came on.

"Mr. Fabian Olisa, do you have my money?"

"Yes, Yes...Sir. The five million. Complete,"Old Major said.

"Good. Stella will bring the money to me on Owode road. It is off the Lagos-Badagry Expressway. She should come alone and stop in front of the high-tension electric poles there. Leave your phone with her. She should be there before two hours."

"Okay. But I need to know...that my son is safe," Old Major said, his voice shaking.

The was a loud hiss at the other end of the line. His next words sounded like a reprimand. "Keep wasting your time."

The line went dead.

"So, we are just going to hand him five million without knowing whether my son is dead or alive?" Old Major said, pacing the room.

"Papa, don't worry. He is alive. Let's just do as he said. We are running out of time."

He shook his head. "Okay. I will drive you up to the Owode road and wait for you and Dan to come back."

He carried the Ghana-must-go back to the car and placed it on the back seat. I entered in front with him.

"We'll take through Mosunmola and emerge at Ojo Road. We will then  join the Expressway."

We drove in silence, my eyes going frequently to my left wrist to check the time. The Volvo's engine roared at every intersection as Old Major switched the gears. I cleaned my sweaty palms on the blue denim I wore, upbraiding myself on how terrible I looked. The jean trousers had been Nkechi's idea. I had donned a satin gown and was finishing my make-up when she entered, staring at me in dismay.

"You can't go out dressed like that," she said, touching the material to demonstrate how light it was. "They can just tear this into pieces."

I have been appalled by her thoughts.

"I am just going to drop money, not to wine and dine with them," I said defensively.

In response, she had gone to my wardrobe and fetched my long abandoned jean trousers. I had won it only once in the previous year, preferring the allure of native fabrics.

I had struggled to fit into it. I felt awkward as I buttoned it.

"It fits you perfectly," Nkechi said, standing behind me in front of the mirror. "All the curves in the right places. Dan will be pleased."

I had pushed her away playfully and found a cashmere black blouse to go with it. It had all seemed like a great idea until now. I silently cursed myself for forgetting the important issue at hand and thinking of vain things like the clothes I was wearing. Who cares? Certainly not Dan nor his captors.

We drove for another hour, often slowing down at the parts of the road undegoing construction. I watched the trees and vegetation on the side of the road, receeding fast as we made progress. A clearing with a small kiosk appeared in the distance. Old Major slowed down to ask for directions.

An unclad male child was rolling in the sand in front of the shop. He eyed us with suspicion as we approached and started crying. A man in a brown danshiki emerged from the kiosk and carried the boy. He smiled at us, exposing his missing front row teeth.

"We are looking for the direction to Owode road," Old Major told him.

"Owode...Owode," he said, setting the boy down on a bench. He nodded in sudden realization. "E no too far again. The next turn by your right. Just dri-i-ive." He pointed into the distance, stretching his last syllable. We thanked him and left.

We made the turn to Owode road and drove some distance. Ahead, we saw the metal frame of the high-tension electric pole. The whole place looked deserted. Not a single person was in sight. Old Major parked beside the road and killed the engine.

"What now?" I asked, trying to mask the fear that has gripped me.

"We wait for his call."

I clasped my palms together trying to calm my nerves. 

After ten minutes of breathing exercises, the phone rang. Old Major handed it to me.

"Hello," I said, closing my eyes.

"Stella." It was Dan's voice.

In an instant I opened my eyes and sat up. "Dan! Are you alright?"

"Why are you not at the high-tension with my money? Or do you want your boyfriend dead?" It was Shadow.

"Sorry...Please...I am close...I was waiting for your call," I stammered.

"You have five minutes." The line went dead.

I fumbled with the Volvo's handle, pushing it open. I grabbed the bag from the back seat and broke into a run. In a short while, I was at the high-tension, panting. I looked around, there was still no one in sight. On both sides of the road were lush vegetation and few strange short palm trees, different from the ones we had in my village. I heard some rustling in the bush opposite me. Just then, I felt a cold metal behind my neck. I shuddered.

"Turn around slowly and and hand me the bag," a male voice said.

I turned to stare into the barrel of a pistol. He was light-skinned, handsome with a rough beards. I slowly handed over the bag.

"Where is Dan?" I asked, looking around.

In that instant, I felt a jab on my neck and a needle-prick. I swung around, knocking off an object from his hand onto the ground. An empty syringe.

He had a smirk on his face. "Sorry."

I felt my body go numb and my vision getting blurred. I tried to run but my legs gave way under me. I fell into the surrounding darkness.

©Kelvin Alaneme, 2015. Follow on Twitter @dr_alams.

TRAPPED...Part 24.

The ringing phone on the centre table jolted us back to our senses. Old Major picked it, his hands trembling.

"Oga, why nau? Why did you cut my son's finger?..."

Bola gestured to Old Major to put the phone on speaker. He did.

The voice at the other end laughed hysterically for some time. At the background, we heard someone, howling in pain. Probably Dan.

"I can see you got my gift," the deep, cold voice began. "First, I am not your Oga. You can call me Shadow. Second, you forced my hand. Third, if you mess things up again, you can quietly go and buy a coffin."

There was an eerie silence in the living room as we listened intently.

"Mr. Fabian Olisa, besides having my eyes on you and your son for some time now, I know you. I knew that you could not come up with ten million naira even if I gave you a week. I just wanted to know how good you are at following instructions. As a Major in the defunct Biafran Army, I expected you to do better. But you failed. Woefully."

He took a deep pause. I looked at Old Major. His face cut a pathetic figure.

"Which brings me to the second set of instructions. I want to make this very simple and unite you with your son. Get the little sum of five million naira within forty-eight hours. Stella will bring the money to a location I will give you later..." I froze upon hearing my name. Everyone in the room turned to look at me. I returned their queried look with a blank stare.

The voice continued,"Oh, Stella. Don't be surprised. Dan and I had a little chat about his love life." He broke into another round of laughter. The next moment, his voice was serious. "Don't even try to wear a wire like Bola."

I looked at Bola in confusion. How the hell did he know?

"The third instruction is the same as before. If you like call that scumbag Sergeant Okoli and rattle away your son's life...or what is left of it." The line went dead.

My surprised stare was greeted by the confused look on everyone's face. Bola finally broke the silence.

"How on earth does he know everything? He seemed aware of our every move!" she said, throwing up her hands in despair.

Old Major sat down on the couch and rested his chin on his palms. "That boy...Shadow or whatever he calls himself, is very smart. How he got to know everything, I can't say. But one thing I know is that I am no longer involving the Police. He may have an insider among them."

I nodded fervently where I stood, still in shock that a dangerous stranger is aware of my private life with Dan. I felt terribly unsafe.

"So, how are we going to raise the money?" I asked, looking around the room. Everyone's eyes said the same thing: This would be hard.

We began brainstorming. Old Major placed some calls to some of his friends pleading with them to purchase his shops for two million naira each. They all turned him down. The best offer he got was for one million naira apiece. He had no choice.

"I have three hundred thousand naira in savings," I volunteered. "I can also sell my second shop for an additional two hundred thousand naira."

I saw tears form around Old Major's eyes. "You don't have to sell your shop," he said.

I touched him reassuringly. "Allow me do all I can, please."

"I have two hundred thousand naira in savings," Bola said. "I could take a salary advance of hundred thousand naira, making it up to three hundred thousand." Old Major nodded in gratitude.

"I have a hundred thousand naira I kept aside for my rent,"Añuli said."I will get that."

"Where will you then live?" Old Major asked her.

"I can come and live with you, Papa," she said, hugging him.

"I have a hundred thousand naira in savings," Chiemeka said. "I will talk to Mike to see if he could lend us some money for the church development funds."

"So, we have roughly three million naira," I said. "We are running out of time. Let us go and get the money and figure out how to get the balance." I rose to go.

"Please, we should all be very careful," Old Major said. "I no longer know who to trust."

I knocked wearily on my door. Nkechi opened the door and seeing my state, shook her head. I sauntered in and sank into a sofa.

"How did the rescue go?" she asked.

"How did you think it went?" I snapped back. "That devil knew our every move! He even sent us a souvenir. Dan's ring finger in a box!" The mere thought of it churned my stomach.

"Jesus!" Nkechi exclaimed.

Just then, Vicky appeared at the adjoining door, rubbing her eyes and yawning. Our voices must have awoken her. I smiled weakly.

"Sweetheart," I said, beckoning on her to come. I carried her on my laps, resting her head on my bosom. "How have you been my darling?"

"Fine. Mummy." She was still feeling sleepy. I stroked her hair, running my hand along the length of each braid.

"They asked us to bring five million in two days," I said, in a hushed tone.

"What?" Nkechi said. Vicky stirred. I gestured at Nkechi to keep her voice down. "How will Old Major raise that?"

"He is selling his shops in Alaba. All of us are contributing money. I am selling my second shop."

Nkechi stared at me in disbelief. "Like seriously?"

I nodded. "It will fetch at least an extra two hundred thousand naira. We need every dime we can get."

"You suffered very much to get that shop," she said, rising to her feet. She paced the room, lost in thought.

"Don't sell the shop. I have two hundred and thirty thousand naira in the bank. I will lend you the money from there."

I felt a heavy load lift from my chest. "Thank you so much. I will pay you back as soon as I can."

"Before nko?" she said. "I am just doing this for Dan, your divinely ordained husband whom you donated freely to another woman."

"Stop joor!" I said in feigned annoyance. "Husband ko, donation ni."

The next morning, we were all gathered in Old Major's living room, counting cash. On the centre table were bundles of one thousand naira notes waiting to be counted. I mopped  beads of sweat off my brow.

"How much now?" I asked Bola, tossing a bundle into a nearby Ghana-must-go bag.

"Two point eight million," she said, looking up from the big calculator she held in her hands.

I looked at the remaining uncounted cash on the  centre table and shook my head. We needed an urgent miracle.

After another hour of collective, furious cash-counting, the centre table surface was empty. We all turned to Bola to hear the final figure.

She shook her head. "Four million. We are one million naira short."

Old Major's hands went up his head. "I have sold everything but this house. I even borrowed an extra one million naira. And it is still not enough."

For the next hour, we sat in silence thinking of where to raise the balance from.

"Chiemeka, you said you will talk to your husband about lending us some money from the church's development fund," I said.

"Oh, that," she said, looking away. "I spoke to him about it. He said he cannot approach the church for it."

"Why?" I asked, rising from the floor.

She shrugged. "He said if he told them he needed the money for a ransom, they will not oblige him. And he cannot lie to the church council."

I sighed, scratching my head. Suddenly, an idea occurred to me. I had one last, painful turn to make.

"I need to go somewhere in search of the balance,"I said, to no one in particular. Old Major gave me a worried look.

"Don't worry. I will be fine,"I said, exiting the living room.

I stood for a moment before the big, black gate, unsure of whether to proceed. I did the sign of the cross and knocked. Moments later, the gateman appeared and gave a faint smile of recognition. I entered the compound. Jimmy's father had sighted me from the balcony of the duplex and was beaming with smiles.

"Stella, Stella. Long time no see."

I greeted him and proceeded into the living room.

Jimmy's mother was seated on the sofa, playing with Uche. She rose as soon as I entered.

"Ma-ma," Uche said gleefully. I was surprised he has not forgotten.

Teary-eyed, I kissed him on both cheeks and hugged Jimmy's mum. Jimmy's father soon joined us.

"I hope all is well, my daughter," he asked, looking intently at my face.

I shook my head. "I am in desperate need of help."

They listened silently as I narrated Dan's story to them. 

"The day I gave Uche to you, you gave me a cheque of one million naira which I turned down. I know it sounds foolish, but I really need that money now."

Jimmy's father stood up and left the room, without saying a word.

My face fell. I had made a big fool of myself and appeared like a cheap extortionist. Jimmy's mother stood up and left the room.

I stared at the floor, wishing for it to open and swallow me.

Moments later the couple returned, their faces expressionless. I braced myself for the worst.

"Stella, you deserve more than this,"Jimmy's father said, handing me a cheque. I stared at him in this belief. I looked at the cheque. It was in my name. A million naira.

I jumped up in joy. "Thank you...thank you," I said, hugging them.

"Always come to us if you need anything," Jimmy's mother said.

As the gate closed behind me, I checked my watch. 3.40pm. I had twenty minutes before the bank close for work. I flagged down a bike and asked him to take me to the nearest Zenith Bank branch.

"Madam, e far small o," he said. "Two-fifty naira."

I hurriedly mounted on his bike. "I will pay you double if you can get there before 4pm."

At exactly 4pm, I jumped down in front of the bank, flustered. I handed him a five hundred naira note and ran inside. The security man at the automated door looked at me in pity and opened it for me.

Panting heavily, I joined the queue in the banking hall, my heart filled with relief.

My phone rang as I exited the bank, the withdrawn cash wrapped in a black polythene bag under my arm. It was Old Major.

"Any luck?" he asked. The uncertainty in his tone was unmistakable.

I smiled. "Papa, Dan is coming home tomorrow."

I heard him shout with joy and break into a song. 

A song of victory.

©Kelvin Alaneme, 2015. Follow on Twitter @dr_alams.

ADOLF.

April 30, 1945.  Reich Chancellery, Berlin, Germany.

The sound of the gunshot reverberated in the ante-chamber of the Führerbunker. Adolf lunged forward, collapsing in my arms. Blood oozed freely from his right temple, his 7.6mm Walther pistol falling from his hand to the floor. He took one last breath and it was over.

The Führer and the leader of the Third Reich was gone. All was lost.

I laid him on the sofa and bent down to kiss the bloodied forehead of the man who had been my husband for forty hours and my partner for sixteen years. It was not goodbye. Not yet.

I reached for the grey can containing the cyanide capsules. The lid bore an embossed 'swastika' sign, Adolf's insignia. He came up with the design personally and it soon became the symbol of the 'New Germany' he propagated and later ruled. We first met one bright autumn evening in October,1929. I was seventeen and restless, fresh out of convent and trying to pursue a career in photography in Munich. My boss, Heinrich Hoffman, in whose photoshop I worked introduced us. They were returning from a politcal rally, massively attended.

"Eva, meet Herr Wolff," Hoffman said, beaming with smiles.

Adolf was smiling as I took his hand. His grip was firm. His gaze, tender. I quickly looked away.

"Go over to the restaurant across the street and get us some beer and sausages. Hitler just spoke to 16,000 people and is very hungry."

I pulled away and ran off to the errand, my heart pounding. I could not explain the sudden longing I felt for this man.

After they had finished eating, I hung around listening to Adolf discuss politics with Hoffman. There was something stirring in his voice. Something that made me want to belong to him.

"I will give you a ride home," Adolf said, rising.

I opened my mouth and closed it without a word. His Mercedes was parked outside the shop and during the silent ride home, all I could think of was him.

I saw him more frequently afterwards. My boss have been made his personal photographer and I was on hand to take his photos which were in high demand for the Nazi propaganda machinery. Somewhere in the crowd, camera in hand and soaking up the mounting euphoria his speeches elicited, I took shots of the man who was fast becoming the most important man in Germany. Screams of 'Seig Heil' greeted his speeches, his gesticulations and powerful words drawing wild applause from the crowd. He stirred our national pride and made us believe we were unconquerable. The more I listened, the clearer it became to me that I belonged to him body and soul. But he acted distant.

The reason soon became apparent. I was sent by my boss to his Munich apartment, the second floor of Prinzregentenplatz 16, to show him some pictures. A pretty blonde, roughly my age or slightly older, answered the door.

"I...came...to see Herr Hitler," I said, stuttering.

"Oh," she said, sizing me up. "Come on in."

I admired the framed oil paintings in the passage. We passed a majolica pot containing a cactus plant and I could hear Adolf's voice coming from the living room.

He paused as we entered and smiled. A middle-aged woman and another young girl were sitting on the sofa laughing. He was holding his book, Mein Kampf, in his hand.

"Eva." He gave me a hug. I saw the blond look away and the woman frown.

"Meet my half-sister, Angela," Adolf said, pointing to the woman. "And her daughters Geli and Friedl." He pointed to the blonde and the little girl. "Angela takes care of this apartment and my villa in the Alps." I greeted the woman and shook hands with Friedl.

"I was reading to them from my book," he said, after I had sat.

"The one he wrote in prison," his sister interjected.

"Why were you in prison, Uncle?" Friedl asked.

Adolf smiled. "We tried to take over the government. But the leaders were not ready." He turned to face me. "I was subsequently arrested and tried for high treason. I spent one year in Landsberg prison."

I shook my head in pity. He placed a hand on my shoulder.

"It was a good thing. While in prison I wrote this book detailing my struggle. So far, it has sold over two hundred copies and my publisher paid for this house. Misfortune can be a good thing."

I proceeded to show him the pictures and left an hour later. My female instincts told me something was going on between him and Geli.

In the presence of a possible rival, my love for him grew in leaps and bounds. I obviously needed him, more than he needed me, or any woman. He was never seen with a woman in public, despite his charm. He portrayed himself as a lonesome warrior, married to the German people and their fate. His dedication paid off handsomely. The Great Depression of 1928 had thrown the German economy into chaos. Many lost their jobs and there was widespread hardship. Adolf seized this opportunity and campaigned vigorously for his Nazi Party promising to rebuild the economy and create jobs. He advocated a 'New Germany' rid of Jews, Romani gypsies, homosexuals and the supremacy of the Aryan race. We believed him, screaming our loyalty till our voices went hoarse and tears flowed. He was our light.

1931 was my lucky year. My waiting finally paid off. Geli was found dead in her room at Adolf's Munich apartment, his Walther pistol on her hand. This bad news surprisingly made me happy. But I was in for a rude shock. Geli's death broke Adolf in many pieces. He mourned her endlessly, cancelling many of his speaking appointments. Geli's mother blamed her daughter's death on Adolf's obsessive nature.

"You jealous bastard!" she raged. "You had her followed. You broke off every possible male contact. You practically made her a prisoner!"

Adolf sobbed like a child.

"I loved her," he said, crying inconsolably. "I loved her with all my heart."

He refused food for days and declined to see his party leaders.

One evening, my boss voiced his concern. "We are losing Herr Wolff. Try to bring him back."

That night, I slept in his apartment and listened to him talk to himself all night.

"The German people need you. You will win next years Presidential elections," I said.

He paused for a moment. I saw a faint glimmer in his eyes. Holding his head in my eyes, I spoke to him matter-of-factedly.

"Do this for Geli. Do this for the New Germany."

He nodded, wiped his tears and went into the room that served as his office.

The next morning, he assembled the leaders of the Nazi Party in his apartment and they strartegized for the next year's elections. There was a renewed vigour in his speeches. And a new venom.

He lost in the 1932 Presidential elections to Hidenburg despite vigorous campaign. Yet, because he had the backing of key industrialists, President Hidenburg was pressurized into forming a coalition naming him Chancellor. I saw less and less of him and grew more despondent. Taking my father's pistol one summer afternoon of 1932, I pointed the muzzle to my chest and fired. I woke up days later in the hospital. My parents were by my side.

"What were you thinking?" my father asked, after I was fully awake.

I was silent, wondering inwardly if the news reached Adolf.

He was there the next day. There was devotion in his eyes. My parents were escorted to the adjacent room.

"My love," I said, smiling weakly. "I live only for you."

He nodded. "Your love and loyalty was never in doubt. Yet, you were ready to lose your life." He held my hand. "I need you alive, not dead."

From then onwards, our love took a different turn. I was twenty and madly in love the most powerful man in Germany. He paid me more attention and bought a three-bedroom apartment for me. I moved in there with my younger sister, Gretl, despite my father's protests. Adolf was doting, taking me to movies and operas whenever he was in town. In public, however, we acted as strangers. Ocassionally, he would get an envelope full of cash to me through any of his assistants. 

His profile rose. By 1933, his book had sold a million copies and he was the undisputed Leader of the Nazi Party, the only thriving party in Germany. I often overheard him talking to party leaders about altering the constitution to grant absolute powers to the Leader of the nation. By 1934, after Hidenburg's death, Adolf had ultimate control and became the Führer und Reichskanzler of Germany. Leader and Head of State. I was extremely proud of him.

"The more important the man, the less important the woman," he said one evening at the dinner table. I ate on in silence.

"Why don't we get married?" I asked, looking up.

He gave me a stern look. "I am married to the German people. A wife and children? What a distraction!" He left the table, incensed.

The years wore on. I visited him whenever he was in town. I was also the hostess of the Berghof, his villa within the Obersalzberg of the Bavarian Alps. As Adolf's responsibility piled, he shuttled between Berlin and the Berghof. The 1936 Summer Olympics was a testament to his organizational genius. A 100,000 seat track and field stadia was built with many gymnasia. It was billed to be an experiment to prove the Aryan superiority. It backfired. A negroe, Jesse Owens won four gold medals is sprint and long jump, much to Adolf's dismay. The winter Olympics was also hosted by Germany and for the very first time, Adolf allowed me to sit by his side in public. The papers carried a picture of us the next day but made nothing of it.

What everyone now calls the second World War almost never happened. It was a bet went wrong, a bad decision. Adolf had invaded Poland, hoping that Britain and France will stand aloof. With tacit support from Italy and Japan, he had sought to expand German territories, a conquest for the German people. On the evening of September 3,1939, his Ambassador to London, Joachim von Ribbentrop broke the bad news. I was eavesdropping from the door of his office.

"Führer, Britain and France just declared war on us."

I heard a fist bang on the table. "You assured me that such won't happen! Now what?"

I hurried quickly into my room, burying myself in a novel.

By mid-1940, things have escalated. Adolf also began to change. I noticed the tremors one morning when I entered his office to greet him. He could not stop them. He put his hands behind him, on seeing me.

"We are at war,"he said. "I will be spending more time in Berlin."

I nodded mutely, aware of the implications. Prolonged absence. Crushing loneliness. I had gotten used to it.

Months later, Gretl came to visit. She found me seated at the projection booth seeing a movie.

"The whole world is at war and you are here seeing a movie?" she asked.

I smiled. "It will be over soon."

"Have you heard of what was being done to Jews captured in Poland?" she said, looking around.

"They're being killed?" I offered, wondering why she was acting strange.

"Worse. They are being gassed to death. Millions of them being massacred in Auschwitz, Buchenwald, Sorbibor, Bergen-belsen, Treblinka..." She broke down in sobs. "It feels so, so wrong."

I supported her shaking frame. "The Führer knows best. Have faith."

On 20th July 1944, Adolf's assistant Bormann greeted me with bad news. There had been an assasination attempt on the Führer. A bomb had exploded in Rastenburg. I hurried to the hospital. The doctor said he was fine except for ruptured eardrums and the over 200 splinters of wood removed from his leg.

I held his hand all evening till he fell asleep. The next morning, Heinrich Himmler, the head of the SS, visited.

"Is it done?"Adolf asked, struggling to sit up.

Himmler nodded. "We've rounded all the traitors and shot them. 4,900 of them."

"Any news from the front?"Adolf asked.

Himmler hesistated for a moment. "The Red Army and the Western Allies are about invading Germany. We are losing serious grounds."

Adolf smiled weakly. "We are unconquerable, Heinrich. Just believe."

By the spring of 1945, most of the Third Reich had been destroyed by the Soviet Army and the Western Allies. The enemy were marching progressively towards Berlin. I had travelled to the Führerbunker to be by the side of the man to whom I belonged.

"Why did you come?" he asked, on seeing me.

"From our first meeting, I swore to follow you anywhere, even unto death," I said, kissing his lips.

In the coming days, many of his generals deserted him. He fought on, rejecting every proposal of surrender.

On 20th April, he marked his 56th birthday by awarding Iron Crosses to the boys of the Hitler Youth who were fighting the Soviets at the Berlin front. Just after the midnight of 28th April, Adolf became my legally wedded husband. It was a small, civil ceremony, accompanied later by a marriage breakfast. I was awash with joy as I signed the marriage certificate as 'Eva Hitler.'

I looked at his calm face again, part of his signature moustache covered with clotted blood. I placed one of the rubbery cyanide capsule in my mouth. I took one last look at the room. On the wall, Adolf had written in black paint, "I and my wife choose death to avoid the shame of flight  or surrender." Geli's portrait hung on the wall, her piercing eyes taunting me. I rolled my tongue on the capsule and bit. I felt a trickle in my mouth. Within minutes, I was engulfed by a surrounding darkness. I saw the concrete ceiling of the Führerbunker melt away and countless bodies of starved, dead Jews heaped upon me. I struggled to emerge from the pile only to be knocked down by another heap of dead bodies. I stayed down.

©Kelvin Alaneme, 2015. Follow on Twitter @dr_alams.

ECSTASY.

Tossing aside the white veil

And with it the burden of singlehood

I thought of the rough road to bliss

I arrived battered and bloodied

But wrapped in his arms

The pains were gone

He helped me out of the gown

His hands awoke deep feelings

I felt his lips on my neck

And a million sweet sensations

Coursed through my spine

Dam bursting, waters gushing forth

Kisses broke the silence

Hands travelled the smooth, soft terrain 

Bodies glued together, moving as one

We swam in endless affection

Pleasure unleashed generously 

Two hearts lost in time

Alas! An outburst of smile from Mother Earth

Hearts flutter, joy erupts, souls bond 

Gently he whispers my name

I respond softly, relaxing in his arms

The chiming of the clock sealed our innocent chuckles

©Kelvin Alaneme and Jane Ebere, 2015.