PART ONE

Joseph Goebbels watched intently as his Fuehrer prepared his breakfast tea. Hitler always liked to have a cup in the mornings, and someone had thoughtfully made it available for him during their vacation. He’d poured himself a nice cup and as he was waiting for it to cool down a bit, he began to scoop heaping spoonfuls of sugar into it. He always took seven spoonfuls. Goebbels knew because he’d counted them since the first day they’d ever had tea together. Even years later, it was still seven and always would be.
The small propagandist wasn’t the only one watching Hitler’s obsessive routines, though. As he began to stir the sickeningly sweet concoction, a thickly accented voice broke the silence that had settled upon the table.
“Chancellor, there’s more sugar in your cup than tea.”
Joseph, in keeping an eye on his most favorite person in the whole world, had forgotten about whose table they were sitting at. He quickly turned in his seat to glare darkly at the leader of the Italian people. The sight of Mussolini smiling in amusement at the amount of sugar in Hitler’s tea instantly irritated Goebbels. Nobody teased Hitler. Nobody even thought about it.
Much to the small man’s surprise, instead of screaming violently, Hitler instead laughed.
“I have quite a sweet tooth, my friend,” he said.
“I can see that. How many spoonfuls was that?” Mussolini was obviously tickled.
“Seven,” Hitler said, proudly. “My favorite number.”
The discussion was making Joseph’s blood boil. Nobody poked fun at the Fuehrer and got away with it. It was just unheard of. For Hitler to dismiss Mussolini’s observation as if it meant nothing was completely unacceptable.
Goebbels finally spoke up. “Um, excuse me,” he said, before the two leaders could continue their conversation. “My Fuehrer, did you not hear what he said to you? He’s teasing you. Laughing at you, even!”
Hitler only continued to smile at his Italian friend.  “Perhaps I deserve to be made fun of. I eat more sweets than a spoiled child.”
“Oh really?” Mussolini said, suddenly, sounding interested. “What else do you like besides sweet tea?”
“Chocolates!” Hitler said, without hesitation. “And cakes and strudel and…and….everything!”
Joseph couldn’t believe his ears. Never in all the years they’d known each other had he heard Hitler dismiss a comment about himself so easily. Hitler didn’t joke about himself. He just wasn’t a person to be joked about.
“My Fuehrer!” Goebbels said. “You must be able to see that you’re being ridiculed! This so-called friend of yours thinks he’s superior to you somehow!” Joseph knew that his anger was irrational. It just wasn’t fair, though! Goebbels always wished that Hitler would laugh and play with him, but he didn’t. The only person he acted silly with was Mussolini.
The Italian leader leaned back in his chair and raised a curios eyebrow.
“Why does this make you so angry, Reichsminister?” he asked. “It’s just a little joke. I’m sure he’s made plenty about me.”
“Never!” Hitler said, loudly.
“I wouldn’t be offended if you have, my friend,” Mussolini replied. “It takes a strong man to laugh at oneself.”
Hitler nodded. “I agree completely.”
Goebbels just couldn’t handle this. Every day, he worked himself as hard as he could to impress and please his Fuehrer. Everything he did, he did for Hitler. Mussolini, on the other hand, only had to flap his lips and shake his fists for Hitler to be completely taken. The man had even earned himself an honor in Hitler’s autobiography—but Goebbels? Besides an occasional pat on the back, he got almost nothing.  At least, that was how he felt at this very moment.
Joseph realized that he had been stewing over his jealous thoughts for quite some time, and the two other men were looking at him. Mussolini almost looked amused.
Hitler softly placed a hand over Goebbels’. Joseph’s eyes flew to it but the contact was little comfort.
“Paul, you’re overreacting. Now, please, cheer up,” Hitler said softly, “The Prime Minister and I decided to invite you to our breakfast because you’re usually such a lighthearted person.”
“You decided to invite me?!”By this point, Joseph knew that he’d probably be set off by anything, but this was really the icing on the cake, no pun intended. He began to shake. “You decided that it was acceptable to let me sit at your table, so long as I acted sweet and happy?!”
“That’s not what he meant at all, Herr Goebbels,” Mussolini said. “This was supposed to be a meal between just the two of us, but we thought it would be nicer with you here. You should feel honored; even Ciano isn’t here.”
“Don’t even compare me to that camel!” Goebbels snarled.
“Herr Reichsminister!” Hitler didn’t care as much as Mussolini about whose feelings he hurt.  “If you cannot control your temper, then you will leave us and take your unpleasantness elsewhere.”

Goebbels had prepared himself for a real argument, but now he felt all fight leave him. He suddenly found himself not wanting to press the issue any further.
“Well,” he said, weakly, “It’s clear who you wish to spend your time with, my Fuehrer.” With that, he rose from the table, tossed his napkin on his plate, and stormed out of the dining room.


PART TWO

By the middle of the day, Joseph’s red-hot rage had cooled into a deep grudge. There were infinite things for him to do in Rome, and even though he was on vacation he found that he could get work done. A while after the fateful breakfast, he found himself wandering in the halls of Mussolini’s immense headquarters (he would never EVER admit that even to him, it was a very intimidating place). Eventually he found some artwork in one of the halls and stopped to admire it. He tried to focus his energy on the paintings rather than the conversation he’d been an unfortunate part of earlier. His temporary distraction was soon interrupted, though, as always. Another body soon appeared and stood next to him. He looked out of the corner of his eye, only to be disappointed at who he saw.
“Ciano,” he said.
The dark-haired man who stood next to him smiled warmly. “Please, call me Galeazzo.”
“I don’t expect you to call me Joseph,” Goebbels responded.
Ciano ignored the negativity. “How have you enjoyed your vacation so far?”
“It’s been enjoyable.”
“That’s interesting.”
“What?”
“I’ve been told that you’re much more of a conversational person,” Ciano said.
“Yes, well…I’m not in the greatest mood today,” Goebbels responded. Hoping to give the impression that he no longer wanted to talk, he turned to look at the paintings again.
“I heard about that,” Ciano said, despite Goebbels’ gesture.
“What? What have you heard?” Goebbels demanded. Damn Ciano, he thought. Of course he would hear about the breakfast. Mussolini himself must’ve told him.
“Oh… not much.” He said it so that it was obvious that he actually knew much more.
“Tell me!”
Ciano looked around to be sure they were alone. Then, in a low voice, he said, “Follow me.”

Goebbels couldn’t hide his curious expression once he stepped into Ciano’s private office.  As soon as the door was closed, Ciano immediately began to speak.
“So, I heard that you got really irate when Il Duce joked around with Hitler,” Ciano said. “You were kicked out by them, right?”
“No,” Goebbels said. “I chose to leave because I was offended by Mussolini’s lack of manners.”
“Right,” Ciano said, sarcastically. “And I am Minister of Popular Culture because I love to film ridiculous, poorly-written propaganda films.” He laughed. “What irritated you so much?”
The breakfast flooded Joseph’s memory too soon for comfort. He almost smiled as he remembered calling Ciano a camel. He composed himself before he answered, though.
“I told you. Your leader offends me.”
“Joseph, I am as skilled as you when it comes to lying,” Ciano said. “And if anyone were to ask me, I would never repeat to them what you told me.”
Goebbels hated the fact that he was beginning to feel like he could trust the fascist deputy. Finally, after a long moment of consideration, he spoke.
“The Fuehrer loves sweets, and Mussolini was commenting on it,” he felt like a tiny rodent as he said it.
At this, Ciano grinned insanely. “Ahhh… That explains everything.”
“What?” Joseph had expected to be dismissed as irritable and grouchy.
“Oh, you wouldn’t want to know.”
“Damn you, stop playing your little games with me!” Goebbels was becoming wary of Ciano already. He really WAS a camel.
“Mussolini wanted to know what kinds of sweets Hitler likes, true?” Ciano asked.
“Yes…”
The Italian propagandist stifled a giggle. “After their breakfast, I heard that Mussolini ordered several boxes of chocolates and confections to be delivered to Hitler’s suite.”
“What?!”
“Yes, it’s true. Il Duce loves to dote on his friend,” Ciano said. “And that’s not all he loves to do.”
Goebbels narrowed his eyes at Ciano. This conversation, despite being painfully annoying, was also taking a strange turn. Yes, it was true that Ciano was a strange person, but Goebbels wasn’t so sure about what it sounded like was being discussed.
“What are you trying to say to me, Galeazzo?” Goebbels tried to sound as threatening as he could. “And don’t try to mince words with me.”
Ciano lowered his voice even more than when he had in the hallway. “They’re lovers, you know.”
It was hard to come up with a response to something like that. It wasn’t like he’d had the time to sit and plan a rebuttal because it was a thought he’d never had.
“What the hell are you talking about?” He finally said.
“Joseph, Joseph,” Ciano shook his head with a smile. “If you pay more attention, you’ll see these kinds of things unfold right before your eyes.”
“I pay plenty of attention! Hitler’s every action dominates my life! I am dedicated to him 100%!” Goebbels couldn’t say why he was raising his voice in such a way, but he was.
“Oh, so, is that why you hate Mussolini so much?” Ciano asked, teasingly, “Because he’s competition?”
“Why you…” Joseph wished he was physically able to attack the man. “How can you say such things?! About Hitler and I, is one thing, but how can you demean your own leader with such rumors?”
“It’s not a rumor, Reichsminister,” Ciano said.
Goebbels decided that he wasn’t going to listen to such things any longer. “You’re a buffoon, sir,” he said. With that, he turned on his heel and began to storm out of the room for the second time today.
“You can choose not to believe me,” Ciano called to him as the door opened. “Perhaps it would be better for you to find out for yourself.”

Goebbels slammed the door.

PART THREE

Ciano’s bizarre words haunted the propaganda minister. It was easy enough to put his embarrassment at the breakfast table out of his mind, but to dismiss rumors about his Fuehrer and Mussolini being together… it disturbed him in a way he wouldn’t have been able to describe. The worst part was that he found himself unable to just decide that Ciano was an idiot and forget about the whole thing. It nagged at him and consumed his entire afternoon until he just could not bear it any longer.
He had to prove the truth to himself. There was no way in Hell that Ciano was even vaguely correct, right? And there was only one way, besides having faith, to know what was right and what wasn’t.
After being sure that Hitler and Mussolini were occupied for the evening (looking at maps and discussing the idea of going to war was harmless enough), Goebbels snuck into Hitler’s suite. Ciano had said that Mussolini sent sweets to be delivered to the room, so if there were no sweets in the room, that meant that Ciano was wrong and everything was normal as it should be. Joseph didn’t dare think about what he could do if there were boxes of candies waiting there.
Once he got to the door, he stood in front of it and prepared himself. He might be very, very disappointed, but he had to be brave. He had to know the truth.
He went in.
Immediately, he noticed a stack of boxes on the table that hadn’t been there before. He crept across the room reluctantly, hoping that he could walk so slowly that he would never get to the table. Once he did, he ran his hands over the edge of the gold box on the top of the stack. It was unlabeled. He slowly lifted the lid off of it and peered inside. It was filled with the finest chocolates.
Joseph’s heart sank deeper than it ever had. Ciano was right. There were indeed candies here for Hitler, which could only mean…
No! The thought brought tears to his eyes. Surely the sweets were just a gift from one friend to another and nothing more! There was nothing romantic about giving presents to a close friend! Nothing at all! He slid the lid back onto the box and began to concoct a massive lie for himself. Mussolini was obviously a very generous person and it was impossible to dislike Hitler. So when he found out that Hitler love sweets, he just decided to give him a present. That was all. Goebbels decided it was a good idea to get out of here before he could convince himself of anything else. He turned and started to make for the door, but before he could even take a step, something horrible happened.
The sound of two laughing voices came softly from the other side of the door. Goebbels recognized them immediately: Mussolini and the Fuehrer. They were going to come into this room within the next moment, and Joseph was standing in the middle of it, just asking to be caught. If he was caught, there would be a lot of questions about what he was doing in there, and he wasn’t sure if he could manage to lie about anything right now, even though it was his job. His heart raced and he glanced around the room, hoping to see something to hide behind. Luckily, there was a glass door which led to a balcony. Joseph nearly leapt for the door and threw it open, rushing out onto the balcony and hiding in the darkness that was beginning to fall. Just as soon as he was out of the room, he could hear the door open and the two men enter.
“Oh, I’m so glad we could come to an agreement about… oh, my,” Hitler said upon entering. “What is this?”
“I had a little gift delivered for you, dear,” Mussolini said.
“What is it?” Hitler was giddy.
“Open it up! I’ll go close that balcony door while you do that.”
Goebbels realized that he’d left the door open in his rush. He pressed his body against the wall, trying to hide as best he could.  He couldn’t be caught. After all he’d seen and heard today it would be his end, he knew it. Fortunately, the Duce didn’t even see him as he closed the door. He heaved a sigh of relief, and then fell to his knees. It was just dark enough so that he could peer in the window and not be seen. He did just that, not even thinking about what he was see, and, because the glass was so thin, hear.
“Oh, wonderful! Wonderful!” Hitler clapped his hands together as he looked into the open box. “These are all for me?”
“They sure are,” Mussolini said.
“Oh, I don’t know which one I want to try first! It all looks so sweet and delicious!”
“Here,” Mussolini said. He picked out a chocolate from the top box. “This one’s my personal favorite.”
With that, he proceeded to feed the chocolate to Hitler. It was a slow, deliberate action and Hitler’s eyes closed as he savored the treat.
“Oh, Benito,” the Fuehrer sighed, roughly. “It’s unlike any chocolate I’ve ever had before.”
“Have another,” Mussolini said. He picked out another chocolate and lifted it to his counterpart’s lips.  As he accepted it, Hitler took hold of Mussolini’s wrist and held it close to his face. Their eyes met and they kissed before the chocolate was even fully masticated.

Goebbels watched this, unable to do anything. Tears ran down his cheeks. It didn’t even matter now that Ciano was right; what mattered was what he was right about. He took a moment to wipe his eyes on his sleeve. He couldn’t even believe he was watching what was happening, but he found himself unable to look away.
The leaders parted for a moment and Hitler snatched up the box of chocolates. Mussolini took off his hat, placed it carefully on the table and then moved on to unbuckling his belt. Once that was out of the way he wrapped an arm around Hitler and kissed his neck. The Fuehrer continued to stuff the candies into his mouth gluttonously as he backed into the large bed. He finished off half the box by the time Mussolini was pulling off both sets of their boots and continued to eat the entire thing. When he tossed the empty box away off the side of the bed soon after, he had a dreamy, full look on his face, and he eagerly let himself be undressed.
Finally, it became too much. Goebbels rolled away from the window and sat on the balcony with his back to the wall. He clutched his knees and let himself sway lightly. It was all undeniably true. Damn Ciano and damn Mussolini. He could hear Hitler let out a low moan. Joseph balled up his fist and stuffed it into his mouth, biting his knuckles to keep himself from crying audibly.