He is, as usual, smoking when he opens the door.
In German, he says, “I take it that you have decided to accept, as here you stand.”
“I have.”
“How about breakfast first.”
“No…I would like to get it over if that is acceptable to you.”
“Just so. Sit in the arm chair there and we will begin.”
In answer to my unasked question, he laughs and says, “
Jünger, time is not as linear as is generally believed. What did Shakespeare say? There are more things in heaven and earth, Horatio, than are dreamt of in your philosophy?”
I knew now that I couldn’t leave no matter how much my rational mind screamed at me to run.
Next to the chair are the boxes, the treasure chests for which I was trading…trading what? I really don’t exactly know. As I sit down, I ask, “What will happen?”
“I will give you the doorway picture.” He takes it from an end table and puts it into my hand.
This is the picture that had so fascinated me during my first interview with Herr Eber.
“I will sit next to you, so.” He takes the chair from the desk and sits in it.
“We pass through the doorway together to the moment this picture was taken. From that moment until the end of the
Weltkrieg (World War) we will merge into one personality. On the moment the Armistice is signed we will once again be in this room as two separate persons.”
“You do not remember now, but I do. This merger is why I am able to guess what you are thinking and know what you will do.”
It sounds so ridiculous that I almost laugh, but I do as he requests, take the picture. As a trained psychoanalyst I feel compassion for Herr Eber, but I still don’t quite know what I will do when this delusional man realizes that this ability to travel to his past is all in his mind and that he’s not what he thinks he is.
I remember what he said during our previous interview when he opened the door to his room. I was shocked to find fifteen boxes there. “Come…have a look.”
I opened the first box, it contained his flight logs, the flight logs and diaries of other pilots, the war diaries, or copies of them, of several different J
agdstaffeln as well as that of Jastas 15 and 18. In another were carbon copies of combat reports,
Kommandeur der Flieger reports that show the
Staffelkennungen (Staffel markings) for each Staffel in their sector.
Each of the boxes were filled with unbelievable treasure. Every item was exactly the sort of thing I would have collected had I been where he had been during the
Weltkrieg. What was more, there was nothing that did not appear perfectly authentic.
In yet another of the boxes was his
erhrenbecker, medals, uniform and other personal items. In other boxes were things from Berthold and the other pilots. There were fabric samples, catalogued as to what aircraft they were from.
If authentic, the collection was beyond price.
I turned to him, “Herr Eber…this is an archive! Who made this!”
He laughed, “You!”
I became angry:
”Das ist verrückt! (That is insane!) What is this? These cannot be real! What are you up to?”
“I assure you. All of this is real and it is yours, but to have it there is a price.”
“So that is your game! Surely you know I do not have any money. Are you planning to sell this to someone?”
“I don’t want money, surely you can see that I don’t need it.”
I looked around at this room in the
Hotel Bayerischer Hof on Promenadeplatz. ( a five-star hotel in the heart of Munich, built in 1841, destroyed in 1944 and rebuilt in stages between 1949 and 1951.) No, from all indications he had all the money he needed.
“And what is this proposition….my soul or some such thing?”
“Something like that.”
He did not approach me and did not appear to mean me harm, there was no agitation or aggression in his demeanor. So, I stood my ground.
“I will leave you for about an hour. I ask you to look further into these boxes. See what is there. Think about what I have just said. When I return, we will talk about the value you place on these things and about the proposition I have for you.”
“And what is this proposition, exactly?”
“You might call it a
Schnäppchen des Teufels (Devil’s bargain).”
Many relics of the war have been created by con artists over the decades. But this? And on such a massive scale? This was improbable. As improbable as his explanation of how this collection had come to be. How could I have done this when I was not even thought of at the time.
The final item that convinced me of the collection’s authenticity was an envelope containing photographs of which I had been told by one of my old gentlemen during our interview. Hans Holthusen took photos of every pilot of Jasta 30 and his plane before he transfered to Jasta 29 but they were lost in the Hamburg fire storm. In this envelope were copies of them. Eber left a note on the envelope, “copies of Jasta 30 photos from Hans Holthusen.”
I’m brought back to the present when he locks those cold eyes on mine again and I feel the full force of his will. “
Auf geht’s!” (Here we go).
I look at the photograph. I feel nothing, no electric shock or dizziness, any of the things you might expect from such an experience, nothing. But suddenly I’m there, walking on the grass toward the line of machines. I am not a rider in Carl Eber’s body as it had been in the dreams I’ve been having since I first met this man, there is no other personality with which I shared this body. It is just me, one person. I’m not even surprised or amazed, everything is as it should be.
I am Carl Eber* and today is August 16th 1917.
* The surname Eber has its origin in Old German and Old English. It is from the given name ‘Eber’ meaning strong and brave boar.
This man has used the name a number of times as both a surname and given name.
It was chosen because of its association with the Roman
Legio XVII, the first military command in which he served. This will be explained further as the story unfolds.