“Papa, you’ve had enough,” Ursula said. “It’s only ten o’clock in the morning.”
Otto turned quickly and sucked in breath as new spasms of pain shook him. “I will determine when I have had enough.” He breathed heavily and stared at her, daring her to challenge his authority.
Ursula glanced at Anna, who had sunk to the floor and pulled her knees against her chest in an effort to appear smaller and less conspicuous. She knew that Anna detested when they had disagreements, which were certainly more frequent since he’d been working less and drinking more. Ever since her stepmother had died from breast cancer two years prior, Ursula had assumed the home responsibilities. She’d watched her father sink into a depression that had started with understandable sadness but had slowly morphed into a barely controlled fury fueled by constant pain and his inability to provide for his family. As their circumstances had gone from bad to worse, pain in his chest had appeared, quickly followed by coughing fits that culminated in spitting up blood. Ursula knew that he needed the help of a well-trained physician. If he could get better, she reasoned, then the burden of supporting the family would once again fall on his shoulders. He would feel strong once more, and she could focus on singing. That was the plan in her imagination, but the conversation wasn’t playing out as she had hoped.
She knelt by Otto so he could look at her without straining his neck. His tired eyes met hers and she saw tears gathering. “Papa, I love you. I want you to get better. For me, for Anna, and, most of all, for yourself. You are the strongest man I know. Please, see this physician.”
Otto placed his large, calloused hand on Ursula’s cheek and offered her an uneven, tobacco-stained grin. “I love you too, Ursula, and that’s why I want you to stay away from Herr Hitler. Come, sit.” He patted the chair next to him. “Anna, you come too. I want you both to hear this story. It might save your lives.”
Anna rushed over, clearly relieved that the tension had eased. Ursula knew that her sister loved Otto’s stories, the more dramatic the better, as she dreamed of one day being a movie star like Greta Garbo. Papa had a different plan for Anna, however, as she had exhibited an almost prodigious talent for the violin at a very early age. Initially Ursula’s stepmother had taught Anna, helping her place the tiny fingers of her left hand on the neck of the violin while her right hand would slowly draw the horsehair bow across the strings. But when Anna had outgrown her mother’s tutelage at the age of eight, Otto had ensured that, no matter how financially burdened the family became, Anna received top-notch training from a professor at the Berlin Conservatory. Similarly, Otto ensured that Ursula continued studying voice as well, urging her to apply for a one-year scholarship to study at the renowned Mozarteum in Salzburg, Austria. It was there that she’d worked with Lilli Lehmann prior to her death in 1929. It was there where she’d debuted on the professional operatic stage, and where Herr Hitler had first set eyes upon her.
Given Ursula’s recent vocal achievements from last evening, it would seem that their parents’ hard work was paying off for Ursula. But being only thirteen years old, Anna still had a long way to go before she could potentially make a living wage as a violinist. Ironically, it was now Ursula, not Otto, who insisted that Anna continue her music. In fact, Ursula had taken on extra washing and sewing to pay for Anna’s most recent lessons. Anna revered her older sister and took the opportunity to curl up in her lap to listen to Otto’s story. Ursula wrapped her arms around Anna and rocked her as she planted a kiss on the girl’s soft blond curls. Otto cleared his throat.
“There was a man named Klaus who owned a cobbler shop. He was known throughout Berlin as being a most talented cobbler, honest and fair-priced. He prospered in his business as his reputation grew by word of mouth. Klaus had a friend named Peter who also owned a cobbler shop in Berlin, albeit smaller and not as well-known as Klaus’s. Klaus was living comfortably and had no need to expand, but he was greedy. He visited Peter and suggested that he purchase Peter’s smaller business. Peter politely declined, angering Klaus. Klaus returned to his own shop determined to put Peter out of business. Using most of his money, Klaus purchased all available supplies—leather uppers and soles, laces, additional machinery to enhance production—leaving nothing for Peter to purchase. As there was no room in his shop, Klaus stored the new supplies in his home, thereby angering his wife, especially when she learned why he had hoarded the supplies. Peter, unable to buy necessary supplies to create new shoes, sent out word to his neighbors, who brought him their older shoes to be mended. He started mending other items as well, such as belts and buttons, thereby expanding his business. Once word spread about what Klaus had done, people stopped going to his shop, preferring to give their business to the frugal Peter, who had altered his methods in order to survive and even prosper. Klaus realized his error and sold some of his horde of supplies to Peter, but it was too late. As Peter’s business grew, Klaus had to close his shop. Klaus’s wife, embarrassed to be married to a greedy louse, left him. Last I heard, Klaus was working for Peter. Many thought that Peter should turn Klaus away when he came looking for a job, but Peter took pity on the weak man and took him in.”
Her father finished, leaned back in his chair, and crossed his arms. Anna smiled up at him. “Do you know this Klaus man, Papa?”
“I do,” he said.
“And Peter?”
“Him too, yes.”
Ursula smiled at how easily Anna could be entertained. In the midst of their chaotic lives, sometimes she forgot how young Anna was. “Papa, forgive me, but I don’t understand what your story has to do with whether or not you will see this physician today.”
Her father sighed heavily. “Ursula, Adolf Hitler is trying to be a Klaus. Kaiser Wilhelm made the exact same mistake, and it led to the Great War. Wilhelm wanted Germany to expand its navy to match Britain’s. He succeeded, but the result made Britain wary of Germany. Wilhelm allowed his generals to commence the war, even though he knew it would be a mistake. But once it started, the conflict took on a life of its own and two million Germans died. The kind man, as you describe Herr Hitler, who is sending his private doctor to see me, is trying to do the same thing. He’s trying to be a Klaus. Instead of being happy with what Germany is, he has designs to make it into a dominant European power. I love my country, and I don’t want to see it ruined by a fanatic who uses his love of Germany as an excuse for another war, or worse.”
“What could be worse than war?” Ursula asked.
Her father’s eyes softened and took on a worried squint. “Annihilation.”
Ursula burst out laughing. “Papa, you always tell me that I should save my drama for the stage. Now look who’s being dramatic.”
Before she could react, her father grabbed her hand and squeezed it hard. “Listen, you foolish girl!” he hissed. Shocked, she tried to pull away, but his grip remained.
“This Adolf Hitler is far worse than the general public knows. His Nazi thugs are terrorizing the city, and rumor is that he plans on creating an Aryan paradise where many people will not be welcome.”
“What is . . . an Aryan paradise?” Anna asked.
Ursula ignored her. “How do you know this?”
Her father released her hand and looked away, embarrassed. “Because when I couldn’t find construction work, I attended one of his rallies. I went searching for a purpose and returned terrified of what anger and power can do to a man.”
“Papa, you’re scaring me,” Ursula said.
“You should be scared. That’s my point.”
Anna scuttled from Ursula’s lap and dashed to a corner of the room, where she sank into her protective position, arms grasping her knees close to her chest. Ursula glanced at her and offered a tight smile. “Papa, you’re scaring Anna.”
Her father’s eyes found Anna and calmed. He took Ursula’s hand and rubbed it gently with his thumb.
“It’s just that I don’t want you i
nvolved with anyone like that, especially that man.”
“I’m not involved with him, Papa. He simply offered his physician’s services.”
Before she’d finished her sentence, he was shaking his head. “A man like that always expects something in return for a favor.”
Ursula blushed and averted her eyes. “Papa, I would never do such a thing.”
“No, not that, Ursula. He can get that anywhere. He will want loyalty. And loyalty can be deadly.”
“Papa, please—”
“Do you know that Germany is split right now between the communists and the worker’s party? The political situation is becoming dire. People are looking to Hitler to fix the nation, but it’s a serious mistake. Are you aware that he wants to rid Germany of all Jews?”
“What does that have to do with us?”
Two loud raps on the door made Ursula jump. Her father’s glare morphed into a pleading stare as he looked from the door to his elder daughter. “Ursula, for the love of all that is good, do not let that man into our home.”
Ursula, torn between wanting to help him but not wanting to disrespect her father, made a decision. She opened the door to the flat, where a dark-haired man with a high forehead stood holding a brown leather bag. He clicked his heels together. “Fräulein Becker, it is my pleasure to make your acquaintance. I am Doctor Karl Brandt, at your service.”
His face was angular, and he sported a jaunty, full moustache that lifted as he offered a warm smile. Ursula found it challenging to hold his brown-eyed gaze and decided to look at his bag as she spoke. “Doctor Brandt, how extremely kind of you to make a house call. Unfortunately, I believe there’s been a mistake. My father, who was quite ill yesterday, has rounded the corner today into full health and will, therefore, not require your services. I do thank you for your kindness and wish you a good day.” Ursula started to close the door, which stopped abruptly as it bumped against Dr. Brandt’s shoe wedged against the jamb.
“Fräulein, you must excuse me, but I cannot return to Herr Hitler without issuing him a full report on your father’s health. He told me that the matter is of utmost importance to him.”
Ursula lifted her eyes and matched his smile with her own. “Of course. Please tell Herr Hitler that Herr Becker is well and no longer in need of your services.”
They stared at each other until Doctor Brandt finally nodded. “Will you not even invite me in for some tea perhaps?”
Ursula raised her chin. “Unfortunately, we are out of tea at the moment.”
Dr. Brandt’s smile faltered, then he backed away from the door and nodded efficiently. “I understand. Good day then.”
“Good day to you, sir.” Ursula closed the door and breathed a sigh of relief. She was shocked to find that her knees were trembling. Otto emerged from the bedroom where he’d hidden with Anna. “Well done, Ursula. Well done.”
Ursula crossed to her father, who gathered both of his daughters in his arms. “As long as I have my two beautiful girls, I am whole.”
1938
4
“My dear, you must embrace the character. Let her inside of your body. Or, better yet, inhabit the character and then let her emerge from you as a gift to your adoring audience.”
“Of course, Maestro.”
“Now, sing the aria once more and let me hear your new interpretation based on my suggestions.”
The tall, wiry maestro tapped his baton twice on the music stand that held the massive opera score, drawing the attention of the fifty musicians who awaited his direction. He raised the baton, inhaled deeply, and commenced sweeping arm gyrations that guided the various instruments to play as one. Ursula crossed to her mark and drew a full breath, then opened “Du bist der Lenz” from Die Walküre with a warm timbre that drew a smile from the elderly conductor. As she worked her way through the aria, she moved with the music, winding her way across the expansive stage until she was embracing the actor playing Siegmund. Her voice crescendoed on the surging waves of music, the tension building as the musicians’ fingers flew up and down the scales. She lifted her head as she held the final note, her declarative tone soaring up to the silent, marble cherubs. As the orchestra closed the aria, Ursula slowly collapsed in Siegmund’s arms. The echoes of Wagner’s masterpiece reverberated, creating the magical, heavenly effect of being transported through time and space while remaining completely still.
Ursula glanced at the conductor, whose hands were frozen in midair. He exhaled, washed ashore from the exhilarating musical tide. “Congratulations, my dear. You have just bested yourself.”
“Thank you, Herr Maestro.”
“It has been five years since your debut on my stage, and during that time I have observed you fully emerge from your cocoon. It has been my pleasure to see you successfully metamorphose into an exquisite butterfly. Alas, I would love to see your interpretation of the role of Madama Butterfly, but we both know that is not possible.”
Ursula walked to the edge of the stage and lowered her voice so that only he could hear her. “I don’t understand why we must perform only German opera when the Italians and the French have written such beautiful music as well.”
“Sshhh!” commanded the maestro. He turned to the orchestra. “Get some fresh air, everyone, and return in ten minutes.” The musicians exited the auditorium, and the maestro shook his head. “Ursula, you must mind your tongue. If word were to travel to the Führer that you’ve spoken ill of German opera . . .”
His words hung in the air. Ursula recalled the previous day when she had watched in horror as a man had been dragged out of a bank and beaten. The sound of a heavy leather boot finding its mark in the man’s ribs made her wince, and, if she closed her eyes, she could vividly recall the stench of vomit as his stomach emptied its contents on the SS officer’s boot. That unfortunate action had enraged the soldier, and he’d erupted in a renewed torrent of kicks and verbal abuse that ended with the poor man’s head being staved in. Ursula had willed herself to look away but found that her eyes would not oblige. Instead, she had stuffed her hand in her mouth to keep from screaming and swallowed the bile that rose to her mouth. As sickening as the scene was, no one had dared to intervene, lest they become the next victim.
When she was certain that the man’s suffering had ended, Ursula had run home and sobbed in Otto’s arms.
“You shouldn’t watch such things, Ursula.”
“But how can I not, Papa? If I don’t witness it, then I can pretend the mayhem isn’t happening. I believe that’s what the Nazis want. They want us to become accustomed to the hate, violence, and fear. If we do, then perhaps it will be easier to control us.”
Her father had held her at a distance and smiled. “You’re a smart girl, Ursula, and I agree with you. But—” He had tapped her nose with his forefinger. “Keep your opinions to yourself. You do not know who is a Nazi spy.”
That conversation had been less than fifteen hours ago, and Ursula was once again speaking too plainly with the maestro.
“I’m not speaking ill of German opera. I’m simply stating the obvious. German opera is wonderful, but there are—”
The maestro held up his hand to silence her as a tall, athletic man dressed in a navy blue, double-breasted suit sauntered down the middle aisle of the theatre. His suit jacket nipped in at the waist and flared at the bottom, enhancing his broad shoulders. His trousers were creased perfectly, and his brown leather wing tips shone.
“Excuse me for interrupting, Herr Maestro, but I noticed that the instrumentalists were on break, and I wondered if I might take the opportunity to say how much I enjoyed the performance of Die Zaubergeige last Saturday evening.”
The conductor cleared his throat. “Why, thank you, Herr—”
“Hitler. The name is Hitler. Tell me please, who is this exquisite young lady I see before me?”
The man turned and fixed his d
ark blue eyes on Ursula. His chestnut brown hair was combed straight back and held in place with a generous amount of pomade. He angled his head and offered her an enigmatic smile.
She had the feeling they’d met before. “What did you say your name was?”
The man approached her and gently took her hand. After kissing it and commenting on her alabaster skin, he met her gaze. “I’m William Patrick Hitler, but my friends call me Willy.”
Ursula pursed her lips. “Any relation to—”
“The Führer? Yes, but please don’t hold it against me.”
Ursula’s discerning eyes narrowed like a cat. “You are not from Germany.”
“I am not. I was raised in England.”
Ursula nodded. That explained his peculiar accent. “And you are here because . . .?”
The maestro cleared his throat. “Ursula, I am certain Herr Hitler doesn’t need to tell us why he came to Germany or to our humble opera house.”
Still openly staring at Ursula, Willy waved his hand in the maestro’s direction. “It’s fine, my good man. I don’t mind a woman who speaks so directly. In point of fact, I rather enjoy it. I am in Germany because my father, the Führer’s half brother, lives here and I don’t have the opportunity to see him very much. Additionally, I’m now employed by the Reichskreditbank and have taken up residence in this beautiful city. As for why I’m in this astounding opera house—” He swept his arms wide and looked around the cavernous space trimmed in gold relief. “I came to show my appreciation for the maestro’s talent and attention to detail.”
Swan Song Page 3