[The figure of Eva Braun, in an elegant silk dressing gown, seated in a plush armchair with a small dressing table next to her, on which are scattered items of make-up and jewellery. Opposite her, seated on a simple chair, is the figure of Adolf Hitler, dressed – somewhat incongruously – in lederhosen, blackshirt and tie. Eva calmly lights a cigarette. In what follows we see Hitler’s face register a range of violent emotions, although he remains passively seated throughout]
Eva: Yes, I smoke. Another thing you never guessed about me. Or so I imagine. Lucky Strikes, Mein Führer. [Pause] US brand. The bodyguards get them for me, when we’re all finally shot of you up here at the Berghof. The boys get me a lot of stuff actually. But more about them later. [Pause as she looks him up and down] Somehow I just knew you’d be wearing that. If ever I’m looking a dream, turned out like a goddess, as I mostly am, you’ll be togged up like an overgrown boy scout – badges, wonky tie, scuffed knees, and all. Or wearing some fifth-hand frock coat that’s dogged you around from Vienna. I can count on it. Not that clothing ever hangs well on you, you’re just not joined up that way, but still… A proper uniform hides a multitude of sins. Catches a girl’s eye, you know? Makes a little man look like a six-foot-something. [Pauses for thought] Is that why you like to keep me out of sight? Do I steal everyone’s eyes away from you, with a single turn of these lovely shoulders? When I’m standing next to you, skin glowing from the midday sun, do you look even more squashed, more bloated, more pallid? [Pause] Next to me, Mein Führer. Fräulein Eva Braun, your ‘housekeeper’. Housekeeper. Courageous of you, I suppose, to go for a lie so brazen. Still, as you’ve always said, the bigger the lie… But really, as if a girl like me would keep something as ludicrous as you in her house. No one falls for it, you know. Not one of the people here, cooks, drivers, secretaries. Even the concierge’s cat has worked out what that little annex between your room and my room means. As for the bodyguards… But I’m coming to them. [Stands up so she can move around him] So, Mein Führer, just so you know, everyone’s laughing at you. At your transparent fibs, your pathetic little evasions. Me loudest. No one laughs at me, though. I get what you can never get. The respectful smiles. The nods between equals. The flickers of warmth. All this is going on right under your nose – the least appealing of your many unappealing features, by the way – pointy, rat-like thing, probing, snuffling… only saved by that even more disfiguring thing growing under it. God help me, from the first time I saw that moustache it’s been a struggle. [Bursts into laughter] My struggle, Mein Führer! [Shaking her head] The conquests I’ve had to make over myself, just to climb into bed with you. [Brightening up] Still, that’s where the bodyguards come in! If ever I need distraction while you’re fumbling away at my… openings… as you do… I let my mind wander. To those big, handsome, bashful boys you handpicked to watch over me. Not that they’d ever dare, but still… I like to make their job worthwhile, you know? I can tell by the times they keep, Mein Führer, on the balcony over the terrace – who are the leg men, who’s keenest on a bare midriff, who likes a firm poitrine best of all. [Slides off her dressing gown, revealing a skimpy nightdress] But why keep all this for the outdoors only? When I can ambush their sight at close quarters – let them glimpse me as I am now, through a door left ajar, or a suddenly-sprung blind. I like to send them on little errands about the house and startle them with my bare-limbed glory – stepping from my bath, or shaking my hair loose as I slide into bed. Oh their faces! You should see them swooning, their eyes rolling, giddy with desire! No, Mein Führer, those boys belong to me now. Just as this whole fortress belongs to me. Just as this mountainside belongs to me. [She picks up a cuticle knife from the table and advances towards him] Because I am beautiful and you are loathsome. Because I am a river nymph and you the grasping dwarf. Groping and gobbling, stuffing your face with sweets and sticky stuff, your face like a hole – yes! that’s what it makes me think of, with that black thing at the center – an orifice, voiding matter – your speeches and slogans, your screaming and ranting, every word you spit out numbs us with boredom, drives us to distraction – who can stop it? Who can stem it? How much more must we endure? It’s for me, Mein Führer, to lance the swelling, to expel, expunge you – no one but me can do it! So I’ll take this knife and I’ll stick it here… and here…and here…
[As Eva stabs Hitler repeatedly we see his face contort with rage and agony, although he makes no sound or attempt to defend himself. The lights go down with her words ‘here… here’ continuing into the blackout until, after a few long seconds, her utterance slowly changes into…]
…Herr…Herr…Herr Wolf…Herr Wolf…
[The lights come up again on them both sleeping in bed. She awakens, alarmed, and reaches for his half-sleeping, half-restless form]
Wolf? Wolfie? Are you…? I dreamt the most terrible things, Herr Wolf. I was… You were so angry with me… You would never be angry with me, would you, Mein Wolf? You would never… hate me? [Lights down]
homo monologous 