Can I kill you Again, Mr. Hitler?

It’s funny; weird actually. When I close my eyes, I am with Hitler. But when I open, he is gone. So, excited, nervous, I keep them closed.


“Hello, Mr. Hitler!’

He is smoking, smiling, but the face is signature withdrawn. ‘Who are you?’ he asks.

While I am thinking if I can tell him my real name, he asks another question, ‘Are you British?’

‘No.’ I am not surprised.

‘Russian?’

‘No.’ I try not to smile.

‘American?’

‘No.’ I don’t know how to react.

There is a pause. Does he know no other country, I wonder?

I see him turn, to consult his aide but there is none.

‘We had fallen off the map.’ I offer, leaving him with a riddle.

He is now squinting in a fresh waterfall of cigar smoke that is sweeping across his face, defying gravity. Then he asks, suddenly, ‘New enemy?’

I know this is the right moment so I ask, politely, ‘Yes, a new enemy, perhaps. But Mr. Hitler, can I kill you again?’

He laughs and seems relieved. ‘But I am a loser, and already dead.’

I nod in understanding, wondering if there can ever be a possibility of killing someone who is already dead. I decide finally to wait, thinking: who knows what the future holds.