Swan Song

by Elizabeth B. Splaine

  Ursula kept replaying Hitler’s declaration. “I have the power to make you anything you wish to be, to give you anything you desire.” Her eyes traveled the luxurious dining room. Its parquet floors shone, and the view of the Alps was undeniably breathtaking. Surrounded by opulence and gaiety it was easy to forget that only kilometers away hungry, dislocated people wondered if they’d ever return to their homes. Who am I to receive Hitler’s grace because I resemble a dead girl? The practical voice in her head instructed her to take advantage of every opportunity in order to survive. The other voice, the moral compass that had directed her until the recent insanity of war had ravaged it, urged her to resist, to fight. That voice spoke with integrity and honor, with strength and character. Resist, it whispered. Resist.

  Willy squeezed her hand and she returned to the gathering. She remained silent as vibrant conversation played around her.

  “Fräulein Becker, might you titillate us by sharing some behind-the-scenes drama from the opera world?” Hitler asked.

  Ursula turned to face him, unsure of his intentions. He reminded her of a chameleon, able to change color with his varying moods. She could tell by the curious twinkle in his eyes that his inquiry was genuine. She hesitated but decided that obliging his request might earn some goodwill. Conversation ceased as guests became privy to the inner workings of rehearsals and the relationships that did (or didn’t) blossom when forced into close quarters. After several juicy stories, Ursula decided she had disseminated enough gossip.

  Hitler smiled broadly as he evaluated the rapt audience. “She is quite remarkable, isn’t she? Not only a brilliant vocalist but a spellbinding storyteller as well!”

  Ursula stole a glance at Anna. Her eyes were cold, sterile, expressionless. Ursula had seen Anna angry before, but this dead-eyed stare was new, and it frightened her. She smiled across the table. “Anna, perhaps after supper you and I might have a private moment?”

  Anna held her gaze, unmoving. “I think not, dear sister. What’s done is done.”

  Ursula shook her head. “What does that mean?”

  Anna turned away as the pastry chef appeared pushing a cart that held the pièce de résistance—a concoction topped with white, fluffy crème. Flames licked the mixture, leaving brown, crispy tips on the sweet dessert. The crowd laughed and applauded as the chef placed the dessert in front of a beaming Hitler. With a flourish Hitler stood, then gently lowered a silver cover to extinguish the flames. He bowed to the crowd in mock appreciation, then retook his seat.

  Under the table Willy took Ursula’s hand. He leaned toward her and whispered, “I cannot tell you how grateful I am that you made the decision to join the Party. Our life will be secured. Together forever.” Ursula turned to face him. Like two windswept waves crashing in the open ocean, guilt over her agreement to join the Party butted against the insistent whisper in her head to resist. The choice was awful, unthinkable. But she had to commit. She opened her mouth to speak when Hitler leaned toward her and whispered conspiratorially, “I was so dismayed to hear of Max Schmidt’s defection.”

  The abrupt change in topic spiraled Ursula’s already chaotic thoughts. She swallowed and took a moment to compose a response. Whatever her final decision, she wasn’t going to declare it now. Certainly not in front of Hitler. “His timing was unfortunate.”

  “He left you very vulnerable, did he not?”

  Ursula replaced her napkin, smoothing it across her lap. It was as if Hitler read her inner turmoil and was using it to force her hand. He was a shark circling a desperate seal. No, she thought, he is a hyena, a scavenger taking advantage of the wounded. “I’m not sure what you mean.”

  “Well, we all need to be useful to the Reich. If you’re not singing, then how else will you make yourself useful?”

  Ursula felt a chill in her core. His entire demeanor had changed so quickly, leaving her unsure how to respond. Then, suddenly, he broke into a grin. “I have figured it out. Perhaps you will bear a child who might one day become Führer. What do you think of that?”

  Ursula’s head swung to Willy. “Uncle, I think—”

  Without removing his eyes from Ursula, Hitler raised his hand. The room fell silent.

  “Look at me, Fräulein.”

  Ursula forced herself to look him in the eye. She gritted her teeth and breathed deeply to calm her galloping heart.

  “Do you know what my name means?”

  Again, Ursula was unprepared for the abrupt change in topic. “I do not.”

  “It is a combination of two words. Adal, which means noble, and wolf. Therefore, you see, Adolf means noble wolf. Why do you think I was named Adolf?”

  Ursula struggled for a response as she listened to guests shift uncomfortably in their leather chairs. She willed herself to look away from his intense, piercing gaze, but the draw was irresistible. A moth to a burning candle. “I don’t know.”

  Hitler smiled broadly and spread his arms wide. “Nothing occurs by chance, my dear. Every single thing that happens in our lives has meaning. It is our job to discover that meaning. That is the purpose of life.” He paused and waggled his finger at her. “But I had a distinct advantage growing up, as my mother gave me a name that contained my destiny. The reason I am Führer is because I am of nobility, perhaps not by birth, but certainly by fate. I was destined to become a wolf, the pinnacle of wild animals, hunting and challenging my rivals until I become head of the pack.”

  Ursula had known that the Führer had an office that was colloquially referred to as the Wolf’s Lair, but she hadn’t understood the import of the name or what it represented. As if on cue, Blondi scuttled out from under the table and sat like a statue next to Hitler. The Führer’s eyes softened as he patted her head. “You see, Blondi and I understand each other. She is similar to the wolf, which is why I value her so much. She is incredibly powerful yet knows that I am more so. She respects my control. In fact, she is nothing without it.”

  He turned to the enthralled faces seated at the long table. “It is much like the Jews, is it not, my friends? They value my authority over them. They are nothing without me. That is why they crave my leadership.”

  Ursula evaluated the guests, who nodded their heads in solemn unison. She then looked at Anna, whose eyes had narrowed as her lips flirted with a smile. Finally, she turned to Willy, who sat silently, staring at his hands as they wrung the cloth napkin in his lap.

  Realizing that she would receive no assistance, she returned her attention to the Führer. Her brain was screaming at her to excuse herself, but her body would not obey. It was as if she were glued to the chair, watching the terrifying scene unfold as it happened to some other ill-fated young woman.

  Hitler leaned back in his chair and snapped his fingers. Blondi whined, then reoriented herself so that her focus was riveted on Ursula. Ursula glanced fearfully at the shepherd and then looked at Hitler. His blue eyes had calmed and now held the horrifying confidence of complete and utter control. She had no doubt that Blondi would attack on command, and Ursula knew that Hitler wouldn’t hesitate to watch her be mauled if it suited his sadism. As Hitler stared at her, the right side of his top lip rose slightly to form a barely discernable sneer.

  Without warning, he clapped his hands loudly to break the spell. Blondi bounded away and the guests returned to life.

  “Enough philosophical discussion! Who would like to hear Fräulein Becker sing?”

  17

  Ursula remained at the dining table after everyone else had exited the room. She felt as if she’d detached from her body and jumped when Willy touched her hand.

  “Are you alright?”

  Ursula looked at him. A torrent of fear and anger swamped her, and she rushed from the table.

  She managed to quell the bile rising in her throat until she arrived in the bathroom, whereupon she unloaded the little she’d eaten into the toilet bowl. Grabbing a towe
l, she moistened it and sank to the floor, where she held the cool cotton against her sweating brow. Her breath was quick and shallow, so she placed her hand against her heart, willing it to calm.

  Willy announced himself, then entered the bathroom and knelt next to her. “Ursula, I’m so sorry that he spoke to you that way. Are you alright?”

  Staring straight ahead, she wrinkled her brow. “‘Am I alright,’ he asks. Am I alright?” She looked at him. “What do you think, Willy? No, I’m not alright! I’m the lone Jew in the home of a madman who openly compares Jews to pigs and honestly believes they crave his sadistic punishments. The worst part is that no one speaks against him, even though they all must know how insane he is. You included! He’s like a child in his stubbornness and rancor!”

  Willy sank to the floor and smoothed the hair from her eyes. “I’m sorry, Ursula, but I’m not going to place our safety at risk by speaking out.”

  “How can you live with that, Willy? I’m not sure I can.”

  Willy’s hands stopped caressing her hair. “Ursula, you don’t mean that.”

  She shook her head. “There are two Ursulas, Willy. The one that existed before the Nazi madness overtook logic, and one who wants to ensure that I do what it takes to survive. I don’t know which voice to heed!” Her voice broke.

  Willy embraced her. “Ursula, survival is paramount.”

  She noted his arms stiffen slightly as he spoke, and his tone sounded strained. She pulled away. “You know something you’re not telling me.”

  “My uncle has been kind to you—”

  “Right until he openly threatened me. It’s all a façade. A ruse to pull me in before he takes me to slaughter. A corn cob for the pig on the way to being decapitated.”

  “I think you’re being dramatic.”

  She straightened. “Don’t tell me that I’m being dramatic, Willy. You have absolutely no idea what it’s like for those not in his favor. Do you know that Papa was forced to report all of our possessions to the Reich?”

  Willy looked away.

  “So, you knew,” Ursula said. “Tell me, why does the Reich need to know exactly how many sheets and glasses my family owns? What’s happening, Willy?”

  Willy threw his head back and closed his eyes, sighing deeply.

  Ursula slapped her dress in frustration. “Tell me! I need to know!”

  Willy looked at her. She could see that he was trying to decide something. After a few moments, he set his mouth. “You’re right. You need to know. He’s planning on closing all Jewish emigration from the Reich later this month.”

  “I don’t understand.”

  “It means that Jews will no longer be able to leave Germany. The net is closing in. Escape will be impossible.”

  Ursula stared past him, her frazzled mind attempting to assimilate the new facts.

  “Do you understand now, Ursula? Do you now appreciate why I can’t disobey him?” She looked at Willy. His eyes were urgent, desperate. She’d been so self-absorbed, she hadn’t realized what a tightrope he’d been walking, trying to keep his uncle at bay while simultaneously trying to appease her ego. Ursula admonished herself for being selfish and shortsighted. The war was so much bigger than her, yet she’d really examined it only through her narrow lens of life experience.

  “Why does he hate the Jews so much, Willy? Was he wronged in his youth? Did he love a Jewish girl who didn’t love him back? Help me understand.”

  Willy’s shoulders sagged. “You’re applying logic to an illogical man. He’s brilliant in a twisted, egomaniacal way. He’s a gifted orator who whipped discontented Germans into a frenzy and then took advantage of the chaos by stepping in to lead.”

  “Was he always like this? Controlling, domineering?”

  Willy nodded. “From what I’ve heard from my mother and father, yes. He’s always been this way, railing against perceived wrongs. He lived with my parents for a time in England, and my mother refers to him as being ‘different.’ But I’m told his behavior altered dramatically after Geli’s death.”

  “How?”

  “He’s always felt incredible guilt at her suicide. You’d think he’d try to make amends for his role in the whole affair, but instead, the exact opposite of that occurred. It’s as if her death untethered his leash to morality. No insidious act seems to be prohibited.”

  “And I look just like her. I’m his chance at redemption.”

  “What do you mean?”

  Ursula looked at Willy and started to cry again. “He made a pass at me.”

  Willy drew back in surprise.

  “I told him we’re engaged.”

  “No,” he breathed.

  “I’m sorry but I didn’t know what to do. He was so insistent.”

  Her distress was evident, and Willy softened. “It’s alright, Ursula. We’ll figure it out together. After all, there is precedent.”

  “What do you mean?”

  Willy smirked. “Uncle’s favorite tenor is Max Lorenz.”

  “Yes. I know him well and thoroughly enjoyed singing with him.”

  “He is a homosexual.”

  Ursula gasped. “No, he’s not! He’s married to Lotte Appel—”

  “Who is Jewish,” Willy finished. “Uncle tolerates her because he loves Max’s voice. You might be placed in that same category if you don’t anger him.”

  Ursula blinked quickly as she digested the astonishing information. Her gaze landed on the monogramed towels, AH. “Will his need for dominance never be quenched?”

  Willy looked away. “No. He will never be satisfied. It will never be enough. How can one fill a bottomless hole?”

  Someone knocked on the bathroom door. “Fräulein Becker, are you alright? We are waiting for you.”

  Ursula took a deep breath. “I’ll be right there.”

  Willy quickly turned back to her and grabbed her shoulders. “Ursula, you need to remain valuable to him, which is why you need to gather yourself and sing like you’ve never sung before. Understand?”

  Ursula slumped, defeated. “I’m not sure that I can.”

  The despondent look in Willy’s eyes pained her. “Do it for your father, Ursula.”

  Fat tears formed at the corners of her eyes, then trailed down her face in green streaks as her eyeliner washed away. Willy quickly removed a handkerchief from his breast pocket and offered it to her. She accepted it with a weak smile, wiped her eyes, and stood.

  “Alright,” she whispered. “I’ll sing.”

  ***

  Ursula returned downstairs and consulted with the accompanist, Walter Gieseking. Although she hadn’t worked with him before, his skill and dexterity were renowned, and she knew that he was one of Hitler’s favorite pianists. She suggested two songs, “Bist du bei mir,” an aria from the opera Diomedes, and “Die stille Nacht entweicht,” from Faust. When she proposed the two pieces, Walter smiled. “Fräulein, your choices of two German masterpieces are impeccable.”

  Ursula took her place in the crook of the Steinway grand piano as the excited crowd quieted in anticipation. She lowered her gaze and inhaled deeply, calming her nerves. When she raised her head, Gieseking began. As he played the unmistakable introduction to “Bist du bei mir,” she saw the Führer lean back in his chair and close his eyes. Willy had told her that “Bist” was one of Hitler’s favorites because it describes unconditional love, a woman expressing her willingness to die as long as her lover remains with her. Ursula caressed the melody as it undulated in unison with the exceptional accompaniment. When she had completed the first verse, she glanced at Gieseking and was shocked to see that he was weeping as he negotiated the bridge into the second stanza.

  Willy stood and approached her. Confused, she paused, but he motioned her to continue singing. To her amazement, he began singing with her. She had no idea that he could carry a tune, much less harm
onize. He wrapped his arms around her waist and leaned his cheek against her head. She closed her eyes. The audience faded to the background and she focused only on their blended voices. After the recent stress, the moment felt timeless and her love for him boundless. Echoes of the last piano chords faded, and Willy whispered in her ear. “I love you, Ursula Becker.” Ursula smiled and opened her eyes to see the Führer staring at her as a tear ran down his cheek. Silence descended on the room until he leapt to his feet. “Brava! Brava! Encore, Fräulein. Encore!”

  Ursula, swept up in the moment, forgot her earlier concerns and kissed Willy deeply in front of the appreciative crowd, who responded with applause and joyous laughter. For a brief moment she was not a mischling whose future depended on her voice. She was simply Ursula Becker, adored diva, who happened to be in love with an Englishman named Willy Hitler. It was glorious.

  As the audience quieted, Willy retook his seat and smiled at her, silently urging her to continue the goodwill that had grown. Ursula met Gieseking’s eyes. The connection they’d made through performance was palpable. “Please play the next piece, my friend.” Gieseking raised his fingers above the keyboard and launched into the introductory chords of the German aria. Ursula closed her eyes and allowed herself to metamorphose into the character Kunegilde. Gieseking played majestically, keeping perfect time and matching her dynamics as she expressed the character’s roiling emotions. The result was a performance that left the audience weeping as she wove Kunegilde’s tale of being held prisoner, only to be rescued by a man who attempts to steal her love away from her fiancé.

  Ursula glanced at Willy. His face was ashen as he gaped at her. She took note of it, but her years of experience on the stage overtook her curiosity, and she forged ahead. It was only when she transferred her gaze to the Führer that she faltered. His countenance had darkened, and his eyes blazed. Standing quickly, he held up his hand. Silence descended as Hitler walked slowly forward and stood directly in front of Ursula. Terrified, she stole a glance at Gieseking, who sat hunched at the piano, his hands balled together as if to protect them.