Eva Braun

What is it I found? 

Actually, I had no idea. 

Allow me first to explain how I came about acquiring these papers. I’m kind of an auction geek. I like the esoteric and go by the name Aquisitori on several auction sites. But even though my modus operandi is sniping in the ether there is nothing quite like the thrill of buying in person at a real live auction. I have a version of the snipe that I use at those things too. I never drive the price up by bidding early. That’s a fool’s game. I always wait until the action slows and the auctioneer calls "Sold once. Sold twice". At that point it’s almost always down to two bidders. In fact by then it’s usually down to the one remaining bidder, who would otherwise win except for the fact that I’m lurking in the shadows ready to pounce. Just before the auctioneer calls "Sold" I’ll throw up my card and, hopefully, the auctioneer sees it before closing and has to acknowledge my bid. Often the other previously winning bidder is so put off that they don’t continue to bid and I get the prize at the next increment. 

That’s what happened on this particular acquisition in question, which you, dear reader, are about to behold.

I always like to give a box or present a shake to see if I can guess what’s in it. This one was solid. Heavy, too. Whatever it was was well packaged. 

I cut the thoroughly aged packing tape and opened the leaves. Inside was another box that perfectly fit the outer one. But this one had a swastika stamped on it and it was tied closed with string. I barely tugged the string and it broke. This was an old package and was the genuine article, whatever it was. My heart started pounding. Maybe it had Hitler’s skull or something exceedingly cool in it. I can dream can’t I?  

Alas, the reality is always a disappointment compared to the fantasy. A waft of aromatic aged hide, thoroughly distinguishable from any other earthly smell, oozed from the box and permeated the air around me as I broke into it with curiosity at maximum intensity. Inside there were three packages of the same size on top of each other, the wrap of old and thin blue leather hiding whatever treasure awaited my always unrealistic anticipation. 

I carefully peeled back the top folds, pretending to be an archaeologist prizing out the last stone blocking the viewing hole to King Tut’s Tomb, not wanting to risk damaging the priceless antiquities housed inside.

I might have known it would be thus. Nothing inside but a pile of handwritten documents. Nice script, a very steady and skilled hand of the kind you never see these days when everyone types, but completely worthless. Not even in English. I mean, what did I expect having picked it up in Germany? 

I thought briefly that I might be able to sell it to a collector. You always hear of people who find things and then stumble upon an eccentric who then pays an exorbitant amount for the collection. But good luck finding that collector. They’re out there, make no mistake. But the odds of you crossing paths with such a creature are slim to none. That’s why most things get tossed in the dustbin. It’s simply more trouble than it’s worth.

Still, it was too good, potentially anyway, to toss. So I closed it up and put it on the shelf. And there it sat with all my other treasures, known as junk to my wife, while I completely forgot about it.