“Ursula, I cannot hold Frau Bergmann much longer,” Anna whispered breathlessly.
“I agree. Let’s go.” They struggled up the stairs and were breathing hard when they lay her on the tattered couch.
“Get some water and a clean cloth, Anna. Papa, come look at Frau Bergmann. You have more experience than we do.” Otto sat unmoving at the kitchen table, his eyes locked on a scratch Anna had made in the wood when she was four years old.
“Papa, we need your help. Papa!”
Ursula’s directive tone roused Otto. Anna walked by him with a bowl of water and a piece of white cloth she had torn from a dress that no longer fit. He watched in fascination as his daughters attended to the wounded woman.
“I had no idea you knew how to care for someone who has been hurt,” he mumbled.
“I don’t know what I’m doing, Papa, which is why I could use your help,” Ursula said as she wiped blood from the back of Frau Bergmann’s head. “Oh . . . my.”
Anna gasped as Ursula picked pieces of bone from the cloth. Ursula looked desperately at her father.
“Her skull has been fractured,” Otto said dully.
“What does that mean?” Anna asked.
“It means that she will most likely die.”
“Papa, what is a mischling list?” Ursula asked.
Otto’s head shot up. “Why do you ask me that?”
“Because one of the soldiers said that he heard a rumor I’m on the mischling list. What does that mean?”
Her father’s shoulders slumped, and his eyes became vacant.
“Papa? You’re scaring me. What is it?”
He slowly raised his gaze to meet hers. “Mischling means mixling.”
Ursula shook her head, impatience needling her. “What does that mean?”
“It means that you are one-quarter Jewish, so—”
The air felt suddenly cold and Ursula found that she couldn’t inhale. Otto gazed into the distance and finished his sentence. “—according to the Nazis, you should not exist.”
9
Ursula stared open-mouthed at Otto as a thousand spiders crawled up her back. She had heard his words, but her brain wouldn’t process their meaning. It was unthinkable. “I don’t understand.”
“Your grandmother was Jewish,” Otto said quietly as he shrugged his shoulders. Ursula was incredulous. His stabbing words didn’t jibe with the nonchalance with which he’d spoken them.
Anna’s eyes darted between Ursula and Otto. “What does this mean for us?”
Ursula glanced at Anna but didn’t acknowledge her question. “Which grandmother?”
“Your maternal grandmother, but your mother didn’t practice the Jewish faith growing up, and we decided that we weren’t going to practice any specific religion either.”
Ursula shook her head, refusing to believe. “You must be mistaken.”
Otto raised his eyebrows and blew out a mouthful of air. “I wish I were. I was hoping I wouldn’t have to tell you. That we could get through this awful time without your knowing.”
Ursula stared past him as she considered the fact that he’d just passed her death sentence. Her brain felt fuzzy, and she shook her head to clear it. “But I’m only one-quarter Jewish, which means that I’m three-quarters Christian. Surely the weighted percentage should win out.”
The look in Otto’s eyes shattered her hope.
“Why have you not told me this before now?”
“Because it never came up in our everyday lives. None of our friends knew that your mother was Jewish and, as I said, we decided not to practice the Jewish faith. It was better that you didn’t know, because then you were not carrying a burdensome secret. Knowing makes you vulnerable. Before now, you carried yourself with the haughty indifference that a gentile can enjoy in this wretched period of history. And now . . . ” His threw up his hands, then rubbed his face. “Well, now you know.”
Ursula glanced at the window. “And they know,” Ursula whispered, the horrible truth washing over her. My life, as I know it, has ended.
Anna paled, and her eyes frantically searched Otto’s face. “Is Ursula going to die?” Then she stood quickly and drew a sharp breath. “Am I Jewish too, Papa?”
Otto sighed heavily. “No, Anna. Your mother was Catholic, although we didn’t practice that faith either.”
“So, I am safe?” she asked.
Otto cringed. “Yes. You’re safe. Relatively.”
“But Ursula is not because she’s a Jew.”
Anna’s blunt words sliced into Ursula. She turned to face her sister and saw a mixture of disgust and relief on her face. Ursula had grown up in a tolerant Germany, whereas Anna’s opinions had been formed during the last few years when Nazi propaganda of division and hatred spewed from the mouths of the brainwashed. As Ursula stared, she felt a chasm open between Anna and her. Papa had taught them that all lives have value. But when everyone else in your life tells you otherwise, when your friends and teachers constantly remind you that “the Jew” should not exist, over time, perhaps a young mind begins to believe. No just go along but actually believe.
She wanted to scream at Anna, but she knew it would do more harm than good. Instead, she focused on Frau Bergmann.
“Is your beloved violin teacher not Jewish, Anna?”
Anna’s eyes darted to the injured woman, who lay prone on the couch, a puddle of blood growing larger beneath her head. “That’s different, Ursula.”
“Is it?” Ursula shot back. “I’m your sister, for God’s sake!”
“Half sister,” Anna corrected her.
Ursula closed her eyes and breathed deeply. “Papa is correct. Our family is vulnerable because of me.” She turned to face Otto, who had tears in his eyes. “Papa, what is it?”
“It’s starting,” he said. “This is what happens. Friends turn on friends. Family betrays family.” He shook his head. “I cannot bear it.”
Ursula turned to Anna and shot her a furious look before crossing to Otto. “Help me understand, Papa. Why am I considered a Jew if our grandmother was Jewish? What does that have to do with me?”
Otto shrugged again. “According to Nazi law, if someone’s grandparent was a Jew, then you carry one-quarter Jewish blood in your veins, making you a mischling. But the good news is that you are a mischling of the second degree.”
“Papa, what are you talking about?”
“If you had two Jewish grandparents, then you would be considered a mischling of the first degree, a more ominous classification to be sure.”
Ursula blinked quickly while shaking her head. “This is pure insanity. Are you having me on, Papa? Some strange joke that I don’t understand? Are you trying to scare me so I won’t take risks?”
Otto’s eyebrows came together as he sucked in a breath. “I wish I were, but, no, Ursula. I am telling you the absolute truth.”
Suddenly Frau Bergmann’s back arched and her eyes rolled back. Every limb became rigid and blood spurted from her mouth as she bit through her tongue. “Papa! What should we do?” Ursula asked frantically. Frau Bergmann’s left arm shot out and caught Anna in the eye, knocking her from the couch to the floor. “Papa!” Ursula screamed.
Otto rose and closed the distance from the table to the couch in two large strides. He placed his knee across Frau Bergmann’s legs and held her arms with his hands to cease her flailing. “Ursula, take your sister and go into the bedroom.”
Terrified, Ursula grabbed Anna’s nightgown and dragged her into their room. She closed the door and evaluated Anna’s wounded eye, already starting to swell and bruise. “Can you see?”
Anna nodded through her tears. “It hurts a lot, though.”
“I’m sure it does.” Ursula gathered Anna in her arms and stroked her golden hair. How can a ridiculous classification cause such a rift with a country, with
in my family? Jew. It meant nothing to her. She held no grudge toward them, but she knew little of the Jewish faith. How could she be a Jew? Ursula pictured her mother, a raven-haired, green-eyed beauty whose smile filled the room. She had never once mentioned her Jewish faith to Ursula. Indeed, her family had celebrated Christmas. Did my mother look Jewish? Ursula wondered. Then she realized that she was applying Nazi doctrine. What does looking Jewish even mean? She knew how the Nazis would answer, and she chastised herself for even entertaining the question.
As if reading Ursula’s mind, Anna sniffled and whispered, “I’m sorry I called you a Jew, Ursula. I know that you’re not really one.”
Ursula stopped stroking her hair. “What do you mean?”
“Well, you’re beautiful and talented. You’re not the least bit selfish or greedy. Your nose isn’t big.”
Ursula felt her limbs stiffen. They had never discussed their personal opinions because they hadn’t needed to. Ursula had naïvely believed that their little nuclear family shared the same morals. But clearly, she was wrong. Anna was giving voice to feelings Ursula didn’t know she harbored. She shook her head to clear it. It had been five years since Adolf Hitler had come to power and used his thugs to spew vile rhetoric throughout the country. Five years was a long time for a young, developing mind to be told the same thing over and over without finally truly hearing it. Anna had been brainwashed, and Ursula had missed the warning signs. Or did I simply ignore them because it was easier? she wondered.
“Anna, you know what the Nazis say isn’t actually true, right?” Anna’s large blue eyes searched Ursula’s, trying to understand why her sister was so upset. “It’s all lies, Anna. You must know that.”
Anna looked away. Her lack of response spoke for her. Ursula’s heart sank as she stared at her sister, and she realized with sudden horror that Anna was the spitting image of an Aryan— blond curls, blue eyes, a hearty bosom, and child-bearing hips.
“How did the soldiers know that you’re a mischling, Ursula?”
“They must have family records.” Then a thought struck. If the soldiers know I’m a mischling, then Willy must know as well . . . which means that the Führer knows too. She thought back to a casual comment Hitler had made the previous evening. “Despite one notable exception, it is a fact that Jewish opera singers are not as talented as Aryan singers.” Am I the notable exception? The soldiers had said that her voice was protecting her. Maybe they’re right. But . . . how long will that protection last? she wondered. An involuntary shiver rattled her.
“Are we going to be alright, Ursula?”
Ursula regarded her younger sister, whose petite frame made her seem younger than her eighteen tears. Her large eyes searched Ursula’s, willing her to quell her fear. But Ursula didn’t know what the future held for either of them and she wouldn’t lie to her. Instead, she sat in front of Anna and took her sister’s alabaster hands in her own. “You are vulnerable because you’re related to me, but your hands are your assurance of safety, Anna. I’ll speak to Willy about getting you into the Berlin orchestra this coming season. If my voice is what’s keeping this family safe, then perhaps we double our value to the Reich by making your exceptional violin skills evident to the Führer.”
Anna’s eyes bulged. “The Führer?” she asked in astonishment.
Ursula didn’t want to heighten Anna’s unease, so she grinned. “Let me tell you about our fearless leader. He is a small-statured man with a little moustache whose breath smells of sulfur, and he always has dandruff on his shoulders. Yes, he is powerful, but he’s also ridiculous.”
Anna slitted her eyes. “Really?”
“Really. And—” Ursula looked about as if they were not alone. “—he suffers from severe flatulence.”
“What is flatulence?”
Ursula leaned in. “The Führer farts a lot.” Anna drew her lips in and then burst into giggles. Ursula followed suit and before they knew it, Otto was standing over them wearing a confused expression. When they looked at him, they burst into laughter once again.
“What are you laughing about?”
Ursula covered her mouth in embarrassment. “Nothing, Papa. How is Frau Bergmann?”
Otto glanced behind him into the living room. “She’s dead.”
Anna stood quickly. “What did you say, Papa? She’s what?” Anna rushed from the room. Ursula and Otto watched as Anna sank to her knees next to the slack form draped on the couch.
Otto spoke quietly but firmly. “She is dead, Anna. We need to contact her family and let them know. They will want to make arrangements for her burial.”
Ursula observed her sister process what Otto had said, marveling at how Anna’s childhood had all but vanished in a few short minutes. A myriad of emotions crossed her countenance before she spoke. “Her husband is bedridden, and her children are small, Papa. We must make the arrangements. What of the man who killed her?”
Otto said, “What do you mean?”
Anna continued to kneel by her former violin teacher, stroking her long fingers. “What will happen to the soldier who caused her death?”
Otto placed his hand on Anna’s shoulder. “Nothing.”
Anna looked at Ursula, desperation in her wide eyes as she sought a second opinion. “That cannot be correct. Surely the soldier will be punished.”
Ursula paused, but she decided Anna needed to hear the truth. The entire truth. “Anna, you need to understand that the justice system no longer works as it used to. Now that we know of my heritage, we need to be careful. I would love to see the soldiers receive a just punishment, but Papa is correct. Right now we are protected, but if that changes, who knows what might happen? We can’t take the risk of exposing ourselves. As much as it pains me, we must not make a fuss.”
Anna turned back to Frau Bergmann, whose tongue lolled out of the left side of her mouth. Thick blood continued to drip onto the threadbare carpet. “But she’s dead, Ursula! Surely we must do something!”
The accusatory expression on Anna’s face made Ursula marvel at how quickly her own morality had been replaced by practicality. Survival was paramount. But what good was surviving if one lived in an amoral state? She looked to her father for guidance and, finding none, made a decision that she hoped bridged the gap. “We will do something. We will commemorate Frau Bergmann by performing a concert in her honor.”
Anna stared at her, considering the idea. After a moment, she smiled. “Ursula, what a splendid idea! I’ll perform pieces that Frau Bergmann taught me, and you’ll sing in order to draw a crowd. We will educate the large audience as to Frau Bergmann’s kindness and talent, as a teacher and as a violinist.” Anna retrieved her violin case from atop the bookshelf and removed the instrument, a strained smile firmly fixed on her face.
Ursula had spoken from her heart when she’d suggested a concert. But given her newly discovered mischling status, she quickly realized that drawing attention might not be a good idea. As she opened her mouth to speak, Anna started playing Bach’s Sonata No. 1 in G minor. Ursula held her tongue and listened to Anna pay homage to her deceased teacher. Time stood still as Anna coaxed a story from the instrument’s strings. Ursula was moved to tears by the beauty of the music and Anna’s mastery of her instrument. When she had completed the Adagio section of the piece, Anna lifted her bow and whispered with her eyes closed, “That was for you, Frau Bergmann. Rest in peace.” She opened her eyes and regarded Ursula with a solemn expression that carried the weight of her grief. Ursula knew she couldn’t deny Anna this last chance to say good-bye to her beloved mentor. She forced a smile and spoke with more confidence than she felt. “A concert it shall be then.”
***
Frau Bergmann’s memorial service was to be held at Olympiapark’s Waldbühne amphitheater the following Sunday. With Willy’s help, Ursula and Anna printed and pasted posters around the city inviting people to the service, which was to be fo
llowed by a concert featuring diva Ursula Becker and her prodigious violinist sister, Anna Becker.
As the preparations progressed, the tribute to Frau Bergmann began to take on a larger purpose in Ursula’s mind. The incident that had led to her death forced Ursula to face an ugly truth—she felt slightly ashamed of her heritage. She held no grudge against the Jewish people and certainly didn’t want them harmed. But she didn’t want to be considered one either. What bothered her most is that she wasn’t sure why she felt this way. In conversations with herself at night, she silently acknowledged that Hitler’s vicious propaganda had seeped into her consciousness and poisoned her psyche. Embarrassed, she decided that although she may not embrace her lineage, she could work harder to counter the daily atrocities that were becoming more frequent. To that end, she endeavored to use the concert to make a statement: The Nazis who killed Frau Bergmann might go unpunished, but the sacrificed life would not go uncelebrated. In a daring move, Ursula had asked Willy to advertise the free concert in the Nazi newspapers Völkischer Beobachter and Der Stürmer.
Immediately following the well-attended memorial service, several hundred people arrived for the concert, making the final headcount close to one thousand. Willy hugged Ursula and Anna. “I’m proud of you girls,” he said. “You’re doing a really wonderful thing here today.” Ursula smiled warmly at him as Anna simply nodded. She seemed overwhelmed at the number of people. “Ready?” he asked. Without waiting for an answer, he stood, crossed to the microphone, and held up his hands to quiet the crowd.
“Ladies and gentlemen, we are gathered here today to remember the life of a remarkable woman who contributed greatly to the artistic community. Not only did she play in the Berlin symphony for many, many years, but she trained some of the world’s finest violinists, all of whom reside in our beautiful fatherland. I am proud to present to you today two sisters, one of whom you already know—” The crowd whooped and hollered, and Willy glanced at Ursula. “Yes, I am referring, of course, to Fräulein Ursula Becker.”
Swan Song Page 7