It is D-Day for Hermann Göring: he is about to make his one-
man crossing to eternity. The brass bullet is undone, concealed
in one fist. The vial of cyanide is in his mouth, its fragile nipple
is poised between his teeth. Daring to wait no longer, he clamps
his jaw shut. The glass splinters between his molars, and a sting-
ing, acrid taste of almonds strangles him. A blowing, choking
noise escapes his lips.
As a darkness more infinite than any morphia enfolds him,
he perhaps hears the hoarse shout of the sentinel, the rattle of
the cell door being unlocked, the metallic ring of boot studs
pounding along the catwalk outside. His brain certainly flickers
long enough to sense Gerecke coming in and feeling his pulse
his struggling eyes focus sufficiently to see the American chap-
lain’s mouth forming the words, “This man is dying!”
Perhaps, seconds later, as Dr. Pflücker too comes in,
Göring can still feel his right arm being lifted back onto his pa-
jama’d chest, and an envelope being placed under his fingers.
“Remember I found this in Göring’s hand!”
If the dying man hears
these words uttered by Dr.
Pflücker to the chaplain this
will explain what the photo-
graphs now show: that Hermann
Göring dies with one eye winking
open and one eye winking shut.
..