Free The Castle in the Forest by Norman Mailer Page A

Bride
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    Alois had become friends with Father Koestler’s housekeeper, a plump middle-aged woman with a light in her eye.
    Given the matching light in his eye, he showed her the letter and said, “There is no mention of a very important reason for our marriage. The bride is pregnant.”
    â€œOh, we know that,” she said, “but it is not a good idea to leave a stone in the envelope.”
    After a digestive pause, Alois said, “That is fine advice. It is well seated,” and he put his hand on her behind as if to test the center of her wisdom. She gave him a crack across the face.
    â€œHow could you do that?” he asked.
    â€œHerr Hitler, don’t you get slapped a lot?”
    â€œYes, but I also receive nice surprises. From good women who are not as high and mighty as you.”
    She laughed. She could not help herself. The cheeks of her face must be as red as the place where he had left his compliment. “Good luck with the Bishop of Linz,” she said. “He is a timid fellow.”
    Word did not come back from Linz until a full month had passed. The Bishop of Linz would not grant the dispensation.
    If Alois had had little liking for the Church, he could now despise it. “Churchmen wear black cassocks,” he said to himself, “to cover their lily white asses.”
    To Father Koestler, he asked respectfully, “What, then, Father, is the next step?”
    â€œThe letter containing your plea must now be translated into Latin by the diocesan scholars in Linz. That would allow us to send it to Rome. I think the papal court will be more receptive. They usually are.”
    Yes, thought Alois, they will be far enough away not to worry about an Austrian man and woman. To the priest he said, “I thank you for your wisdom. I learn much from you, Father. I think in Rome they will see that the act of providing a decent mother for my two children will constitute good Catholic virtue. That is a virtue I seek to acquire.”
    His hints were not small. He was one sinner who might be ready to return to the mother fold.
    Father Koestler was sufficiently pleased to offer good economic advice. Since translation into Latin was costly, it might be wise to sign a
Testimonium Pauperatis.
    â€œThis says, ‘a declaration of poverty’?” Alois could translate that much Latin by himself.
    â€œIt will remove the obligation, Herr Hitler, to pay for the translation.”
    Herr Hitler restrained himself from remarking that as an officer of the Crown, he considered himself well-to-do, thank you. Instead, he accepted the advice. He was not so removed from the wisdom of the earth as to wish to pay a tithe that he could avoid.
    Three weeks later, close on Christmas 1884, Rome granted the dispensation. But Alois and Klara still had to wait. No marriages could be solemnized until two weeks after the anniversary of the Holy Birth. This further delay proved unhappy for Klara; her belly would be up to four visible months by then.
    â€œIt’s a big fellow we have here,” said Alois.
    â€œI hope that is so,” she said. What could come out of a mother like herself who had felt so near to the Evil One on such a crucial night? Even if the child lived, might it be marked? The thought would haunt her wedding.
    Like many of the nuptials of Customs officials, the day was divided into two parts. As Klara would say: “We were standing by the altar before six in the morning, but by seven Uncle Alois was out there on duty at his post. It was still dark when I came back to our rooms.”
    That night they had a reception at the Pommer Inn and Johann Nepomuk, now a widower, came all the way from Spital to Braunau in company with Klara’s sister, Johanna, named after her mother, Johanna Poelzl, who sent her “most soulful regrets.” Just as well, thought Alois.
    Johanna’s daughter, serving as a proxy (and also named