My pal Goldstein’s a genius. One day he swears me to secrecy. He’s made a time machine. He wants me to go back in time and save his ancestors from Hitler’s ovens. He shows me faded pictures. “Herman Joseph Goldstein– 1938,” I read, on the back of one of them. “My great grandfather.” “Hey– why don’t I just kill Hitler?” I ask him. Goldstein pauses. “Okay,” he says. I go because I’m half German on my mom’s side. I can speak it, a little. Enough to get by, in case I’m stopped. And anyway, Goldstein’s the only one who knows how to work the time machine controls. We’re about to go shopping for Nazi-era clothing online when Goldstein says, “You know, Hitler will have guards and shit. Fuck the Nazi era. I’ll send you back to when Hitler was a baby.” I look at Goldstein. “Wait– you want me to kill a baby?” “It’s not a baby. It’s Hitler.”

It’s Austria in 1890. Hitler should be one year old. It’s like Austria in the movies, only a lot more boring. Plus, everything’s not all green. There’s colour; people find ways to live life however they can. Goldstein and I spent a lot of time in the library before I arrived. I memorized the way to Hitler’s parents’ house. It’s about three in the morning when I get there. I brought along high-tech break-and-enter tools under my drab wool coat. My soft-soled shoes don’t make a sound as I climb up the trellis to the back door. I pick the lock and I’m in. Climbing upstairs is nerve-wracking. I’ve got a silenced Glock in my hands in case I have to dispatch Hitler’s parents. But no one appears. On the upstairs landing I’m suddenly faced with a dilemma. Which door? There are two of them. I bring my ear up to one door and hear snoring. Papa Hitler. I open up the other door and there’s the bassinet. Baby Hitler’s kinda cute. He’s got full lips. You’d never know it later on, though. I put the gun in my pocket and pick him up. He sleeps right through it. I hold him. What is it they say? The hand that rocks the cradle rules the world. Suddenly Goldstein’s on the headset underneath my hat. The static is like a fly in my ear. “You there yet?” he asks. “He’s in my arms,” I whisper. “Is he dead?” “Not yet.” “What are you waiting for?” I’m asking myself that same question.

Goldstein’s furious with me. “I almost didn’t bring you back,” he sputters. I hang my head. “I couldn’t do it Goldstein.” With baby Hitler’s small head on my shoulder, his fine hair smelling that fine baby smell, it would have killed me to hurt him. I start to take my heavy coat off but Goldstein stops me. “Don’t get changed.” “Why?” “You’re going back.” “For what?” “To prevent his parents from getting together.”

Klara Polzl is walking home when I fall into step beside her. From what I’ve read, she’s a nice woman. She’s 18. She hasn’t met Alois Hitler, Hitler’s dad, yet. And I’m here to make sure she never does. “Hello,” I say to her gently, in German. She looks up. She’s speaking Austrian. There are some differences between the languages, but not so much I don’t understand. “Um. Hello,” she replies. “My name’s Karl,” I hold out my hand. She doesn’t take it. “Forgive my forwardness, but I didn’t know how else to meet you.” Klara keeps walking. “I saw you from across the street and I thought to myself, if I let her go without at least saying hello, I’m going to regret it for the rest of my life.” Klara blinks, but continues walking. “Would you like to go to a show sometime?” Klara stops, turning to me, giving me the once-over. A couple of crows scream by overhead while she does this. For what seems like a long time she doesn’t speak. “You’d have to meet my parents, and pick me up at home.” “Glady.” I smile. Klara’s parents are easily impressed. But that’s not so hard in this little village. Goldstein and I bought old German money off the Internet for basically nothing and I am, for all intents and purposes, rich beyond belief. I buy a nice suit and arrive with flowers for Klara, and a bottle of wine for the parents. Everyone’s happy, and I observe Klara’s mom giving her the arched-eyebrowed heads-up sign when we leave. After the show Klara comes back to my room. It’s this little Bed & Breakfast in the city. I got her back here on the pretext that I wanted to show her something. This time I left the headset in my luggage, so I don’t have Goldstein’s voice in my ear asking me if I’ve killed her yet. “Would you like a drink?” I ask, moving towards the bar. From behind me, Klara puts her arms around my waist. In my head, I figure, why not? I’m going to have to kill her anyway. I am plowing into Klara from behind. Her silky unmentionables are scattered around the room. I’m doing it with Hitler’s Mom! I think. “Mein Gott!” I hear Klara breathe. Goldstein’s on the headphone. ”It’s been hours. Where are you?” “Relax,” I say quietly. “I’m in the bathroom.” “Did you kill her?” “You and your killing,” I try to placate Goldstein, while I light up a cigarette. “So you botched this mission as well?” “Mission’s not over yet, silly.” Goldstein’s quiet for a second. “Are you alright?” “What are you talking ’bout?” “You sound funny,” Goldstein says. “Maybe the time travelling’s affected your judgement. Are you sure you’re up for this?” “Sure I’m sure,” I say. “Look– I’ll go do it now, while she’s sleeping.” “She’s sleeping?!” Goldstein gets this edge in his voice. “What’s she doing sleeping? Where are you?” “I told you– in the bathroom.” “Which bathroom? Where?” “In my room.” Another silence. “You fucked her.” Goldstein accuses. Now it’s my turn to be quiet. “You slept with Hitler’s mother.” “She’s not Hitler’s mother yet,” I clarify. “And she won’t be.” “Don’t you feel low and creepy?” Goldstein asks. I just take a drag of my cigarette. “Kill her now,” Goldstein orders. I turn out the bathroom light and open the door to the bedroom. It takes my eyes a second to adjust, but when they do, I realize I’m alone. The bed is empty. I see Klara in the street, walking to work. I sidle up to her, like before. When she sees me she smiles. “I had a good time the other night,” she says. She links my arm with hers. “Me too,” I say. “You left early.” “I had to get home,” she says. “I had to work.” “Can I see you tonight?” “Friday,” she says. Suddenly she kisses me full on the lips and skips away. I’m actually beginning to like this girl.

Walking to a cafe, Goldstein crackles on the headset. “I’m aborting this mission,” he says. “What?!” I exclaim. A woman passing by me on the street looks at me as if I’m mad. “Wait!” “Are you in a safe place?” “No,” I say. “Definitely not. There are crowds of people here.” In truth there were only a couple of people around, and none of them were looking at me. “Too bad.” Suddenly I’m back in the time chamber.

Goldstein shows me the history book. Hitler now looks like me. He’s still got the stupid moustache though. “This time he killed 10 million Jews. And he tortured them. Apparently he had a horrible childhood, growing up the illegitimate bastard son of a woman branded a slut.” I just shake my head. “You shouldn’t have pulled me out. I had a date with her for Friday. I would have done it then.” “No way. You’re out of control.” “Look, Goldstein. I– I really like her. Send me back. We’ll raise our child and I’ll make sure he doesn’t turn out like Hitler. I’m a rich man back then. People look at me like I’m a somebody. Klara and I will move to America. It’ll all be different.” Goldstein looks unconvinced. Suddenly I’m furious. “Goldstein! I’m the one who’s going back in time, risking his life! This is the least you could do for me!” I pull the Glock out of my pocket and point it at him. Goldstein levels his gaze at the barrel. “What do you think you’re doing?” I make Goldstein go over to the controls and send me back. “Goldstein, trust me.” I say. The lights begin to dim as they always do when I’m being sent back. The machine requires so much juice. “Sorry, Goldstein!” I fire my gun, hitting Goldstein in the arm. No! It should have been his heart. I had to make sure he didn’t just pluck me back from Klara’s arms. But by the time I thought that everything had disappeared.

Wait. Something’s wrong. I’m back in the time chamber. Where’s Goldstein? Whack! Something hits me from behind and everything goes black.

I wake up tied to a chair. My head throbs. Goldstein stands in front of me, arm bandaged. He’s got my Glock. I understand now. He sent me 15 minutes forward in time and waited for me to reappear, wrench in hand. “Here’s what’s going to happen,” he says. “You’re going to go back and you’re going to finish the job. I’m sending you back to when Hitler’s a baby. If you don’t complete your mission, I’m going to pluck you out of there and send you so far back the only other people there talk in grunts. Got it?” I nod. Ouch. My head continues to throb as Goldstein unties me and corrals me into position. My hat is pulled down low to cover up the huge swelling lump. Goldstein stands at the controls with the gun. The lights begin to dim.

“Operator– how can I help you?” the woman says in German, through the phone. “Yes– I’m looking for the address of a Herman J. Goldstein.” Goldstein’s great-grandparents lie on the floor in a bloody mess. I’ve stabbed them both to death. The didn’t put up much resistance when I forced my way in, posing as some government official. I take a deep breath at the window. The place reeks of blood. I consider what I’ve done. It doesn’t take much time for the ripples to travel into the future. Goldstein’s parents won’t exist – therefore, Goldstein will never have been born, nor grow up to make the time machine, to send me back. The timeline will have to readjust itself. I rub the back of my head, which actually doesn’t hurt much now at all. “Fuck you, Goldstein.” I whisper through time. I wonder what will happen now. Everything around me begins to disappear. Or maybe it’s me who’s disappearing.