Hitler said nothing for several moments. He simply stared at her as spittle gathered in the corners of his mouth. He was livid, and she had absolutely no idea why. Ursula watched his eyes narrow as his body trembled. He was so angry that she wondered if he’d have her killed on the spot. For what she didn’t know. She dropped her eyes.
“Why did you choose this song, Fräulein?”
Gaze still downcast, Ursula answered. “Because it’s a beautiful aria from an early German Romantic opera. I know that you enjoy music written during that time period.”
He nodded once. “That is true. But why did you choose this particular early Romantic piece?”
Ursula took a chance and met his eyes. She didn’t know why she had chosen it and frantically searched for an answer that would appease him.
“I . . . I don’t know.”
He stepped closer. “I think you do know.”
Ursula glanced at Willy again. He shook his head. She didn’t understand what he was trying to communicate to her. He obviously knew something that she didn’t.
Suddenly Hitler turned to Gieseking. “Would you be so kind as to play some Beethoven while Fräulein Becker and I take a stroll?” Ursula turned to Willy. She was terrified that if she left with Hitler, she may not return. Hitler’s gaze followed. “Willy will remain here. We shan’t be long.” Ursula saw the anxiety in Willy’s eyes and knew that he was helpless to intervene. She swallowed and steeled herself for what was to come.
Hitler offered his arm, and she saw no choice but to take it. His anger had abated, and his body no longer trembled. But Ursula knew better than to think her transgression, whatever it was, had been forgotten. Together they walked out of the room, through the hallway and into the cold evening air. A light snow was falling, and she shivered. She peered into the darkness and wondered if Blondi was out there, waiting for her. She turned back to see Hitler nod to four armed SS soldiers, who disappeared from the expansive front porch. They were now completely alone.
Hitler stepped to the top of the stairs, where he’d greeted them only hours earlier. “Come here, Fräulein.” She briefly wondered if he planned to throw her down the stone steps. It would be easy to tell Willy that she’d slipped, lost her footing on the slick stone. She thought about running away but quickly realized how futile that feeble attempt would be. She joined him.
“Tell me the storyline of Spohr’s opera Faust.”
Ursula analyzed his question for traps but saw none. She cleared her throat. “A young maiden named Kunegilde is held captive and rescued by Faust, who falls in love with her and gives her a potion on her wedding night so that she will be drawn to him and not her husband, Hugo.”
“Very good. Now, tell me about the aria you chose to sing this evening.”
Ursula paused, then said, “Kunegilde has had a bad dream in which Hugo is killed. She awakens and professes her undying love for him. She describes how he will come and rescue her from her captor, who is kind to her, then alternatively cruel in an effort to control and—” She stopped speaking when she realized that she’d unconsciously chosen an aria that reflected her current situation.
“Tell me, Fräulein, when Kunegilde sings, is she trying to anger her captor? To betray him? Taunt him?”
Ursula’s mouth dropped open. Hitler approached her so that their lips were almost touching. “I think you knew exactly what you were doing when you chose that song.”
“No, I didn’t. I promise,” she babbled. “I would never show you disrespect!” Her body shook from comingled cold and fear.
Hitler burst out laughing, walked away, then turned. “My God, but you are Geli! We used to have screaming rows and then, hours later, she would apologize, and all would be well. We would enjoy dinner and then . . .” He raised his eyebrows and stared at her. He’s enjoying this, she marveled. His blazing blue eyes locked onto hers, and she noted how his pupils quickly dilated and then shrank to a pinpoint. “I just had a wonderful idea. How about we return inside, and you sing ‘Der Tod und das Mädchen’? I love that piece. Remember, Fräulein, in the end, death always wins.”
Ursula shivered uncontrollably. Through her terror, a tiny piece of her applauded his cleverness. Whereas her choice of song had been by chance, his was deliberate, sending her an unmistakable message. When she spoke, her voice trembled. “An excellent choice, Herr Hitler. ‘Death and the Maiden’ by Franz Schubert. Of course.”
18
After the concert Willy excused himself and retired for the evening. Ursula had attempted to catch his eye before he left, but he had avoided her as she chatted with grateful listeners. After her private chat with the Führer, Ursula had sung at least ten more lieder, or German art songs, as Hitler would announce the next piece as she was completing the previous one. Gieseking had been eager to avoid confrontation and had played each piece with gusto and dexterity, obviously relieved to be negotiating safe music once more. By the time Ursula had finished chatting with the final officer, it was well past one a.m., and she fell into bed without even washing her face or brushing her teeth.
She awoke the next morning with the sun streaming through her window and someone banging loudly on her door. “Fräulein, please wake up. Your plane is leaving shortly. Wake up!”
Ursula sat up quickly. “What do you mean? I’m to leave tomorrow. Not today.”
“There has been a change of plans and your plane is leaving within the hour. Make yourself ready. A small breakfast is awaiting you downstairs.”
Ursula crossed to the bathroom and washed quickly, wondering if a brewing storm was causing the premature exodus. As she repacked her suitcase, she decided that it didn’t matter why they were leaving early. She was simply happy to have performed her duty and was eager to return home.
She entered the dining room to find the table strewn with plates of half-eaten breakfast. The door to the kitchen opened, and a server bustled toward her holding a platter filled with cheeses, fruits, and schweineohr, or pig’s ear danish.
“Fräulein, this is for you. Please eat quickly as Herr Hitler is waiting for you in the car.”
Panic gripped Ursula as she stared at the buxom woman who seemed about her age. “Which Herr Hitler?”
The young woman smiled shyly. “The Führer left very early this morning. He said that he had urgent business in Berlin. The younger Herr Hitler is awaiting you. Your Herr Hitler, Fräulein.” The woman smiled, curtsied, and cleared the table of dishes while Ursula rapidly consumed a small chunk of cheese and some strawberries. She wiped her mouth, thanked the servant, and walked quickly to the idling Mercedes. Willy was seated inside.
“Hello, my darling. I hope that I haven’t kept you waiting too long.” She leaned toward Willy to buss his cheek, but he pulled away. “What’s wrong?”
Willy gazed out the window.
“Willy? What is it? Why are you angry at me?”
“I’m not angry.”
“Then why is the vein in your forehead throbbing?”
He turned to her, his eyes ablaze. “Do you think this is some sort of game, Ursula?”
“What? No, I—”
“Do you believe that you’re untouchable? That perhaps my uncle will not harm you because I’m in love with you? I believe that it might be the opposite.”
“Willy—”
He shook his head and returned his gaze out the window. Ursula looked toward the driver. His eyes flitted toward her before resuming their task of negotiating the dangerous mountain road.
She watched Willy process emotions that accompanied the conversation that was clearly occurring in his head. Finally, he barked out a laugh. Without looking at her, he said, “You truly don’t understand. I actually blame myself because I’ve protected you. I haven’t worked hard enough to help you conceive the destruction that my uncle is capable of. So, let me remedy that error.” He faced her fully and fixed his hard e
yes on hers. “The camps that I told you about, the ones in the east? They’re called concentration camps. They’re for human extermination.”
Ursula’s eyebrows came together in confusion. “I don’t understand.”
Willy laughed derisively. “How could you, Ursula? Trust me, no one can fathom what’s happening there.” He took her face in his hands. “My uncle is planning something that will extinguish millions of Jews.”
“What are you talking about?”
“It’s called Operation Reinhard. The plan is to send people to the camps and then murder them.”
Ursula’s eyes grew large. “You must be mistaken.”
Willy shook his head. “I’m not. Most of the Jews will be from Poland, but if he’s acting with such disregard for human life in that country, then it’ll be only a matter of time before he brings that horror to Germany.”
“He’s practicing on the Poles,” Ursula whispered, horrified. “He’s perfecting his killing machine before bringing it home.”
“There’s more,” Willy said.
Ursula looked at him with tears streaming down her face. “No,” she said. “I cannot bear it.”
“People are being worked to death, starved, gassed.”
“I don’t—”
“Women are raped, and children are taken from their parents. Their possessions are confiscated. They’re told that they will return home, but none of them do.”
Ursula blinked several times. That’s why Papa was taking note of our belongings. When we’re exterminated, the Reich will collect our things. One less Jew and Jew harborer in the fatherland. Ursula knew that Willy wouldn’t lie to her, but her brain found his words untenable. How could she possibly accept the horrid picture he was painting?
“It’s not just criminals, Ursula. It started that way, sending political dissidents and the like, but it’s expanded quickly to anyone who is not Aryan. Jews, homosexuals, dark-skinned, frail, or touched in the head.”
Crimson rushed to Ursula’s cheeks. What a fool I’ve been! Guilt sat lodged in her throat, leaving her unable to speak. She had been rationalizing events when, in reality, the situation was so much worse than she could have imagined. She covered her face, embarrassed at her own ignorance.
Willy took a deep breath and then blew it out. “Your friend Fritz Rosen?”
Ursula looked out the window, her breath uneven. “Yes, Hilde told me that he was on a train heading east to find work—” She stopped as the pieces fell together. “Oh, no. Not Fritz.”
Willy’s voice softened as he took her hands in his. “I paid a friend to check on Herr Rosen’s whereabouts and well-being. He was sent to a camp called Dachau. He’s still alive.”
Ursula drew a sharp breath, and her hand flew to her mouth. “Fritz was sent to this place, this Dachau camp because—”
“He’s Jewish.”
“Oh, my God.” Ursula covered her face with her hands and wept openly. Willy placed his hand on her thigh to calm her. “Ursula, the stunt you pulled last evening was beyond risky. You sang the Faust aria knowing that Uncle would explode. It was selfish and stupid.”
A wave of anger surged, and Ursula rounded on him. “I didn’t choose it on purpose, Willy! It was an accident! I apologized to your uncle. When we went out on the terrace, he told me again how I reminded him of Geli, how he and she used to argue and then make up . . .” She shuddered, then glanced at the driver, who gave no indication he was listening. But she knew better. She leaned toward Willy, so her lips were touching his ear when she whispered. “He scares me, Willy. The way he looks at me.”
Willy whispered back. “He scares me too, but, Ursula, you’re headstrong. Please understand that we are well past the time that you can play sophomoric games and expect no retribution. He can control us if he likes. And he will if we’re not more careful.”
“I wasn’t playing a game!” Ursula’s gaze switched frantically from one of Willy’s eyes to the other, but Willy remained motionless. He allowed her the time to accept the truth. After a full minute, she leaned into the soft leather seat and sighed heavily. “Is that why we were made to leave early? As a punishment for my singing an aria that angered your uncle?”
Willy leaned against her. “Yes, and we were fortunate to escape with such a mild penalty.”
Ursula raised her eyebrows, regaining some of her haughtiness. “Well, I’m happy we’re being disciplined. That way we don’t have to spend one more night kowtowing to that man!”
The chauffeur stifled a laugh and Willy allowed himself a small grin. “Normally I wouldn’t speak so openly in front of a driver, but Erich and I have had many conversations about Uncle. Like us, Erich is loyal to him, but understands how . . . challenging he can be. We keep each other’s confidences. Isn’t that right, Erich?”
In response, Erich nodded once and returned to his task. Ursula wrung her hands. “Poor Fritz. He’s such a kind man.”
“Do you now understand how seriously we must take our situation?”
Ursula turned to Willy, noting his use of the pronoun “we.” Although he wasn’t Jewish, his fate was inexorably entwined with hers, and she loved him all the more for it. “Yes. I do, and I apologize that I put us in a precarious position, albeit by accident. I will not do it again. Do you forgive me?”
He caressed her cheek. “Of course I forgive you.” He stared into her eyes, red from crying. “Did you enjoy singing with me last evening?”
Ursula drew away from him. “Yes! I had no idea you could sing! Why had you not told me?”
Willy shrugged. “Our little family needs only one celebrity. Besides, I wouldn’t want to eclipse you with my talent.”
A slow smile spread across her face and Willy leaned in to kiss her. When he withdrew, she whispered, “I love you, William Patrick Hitler. How did I get so lucky to have met you?”
“It was fate,” he whispered back.
Ursula smiled playfully. “Fate can be very fickle, you know.”
Willy leaned in. “She wouldn’t dare challenge our happiness.”
They arrived at the airstrip and boarded the plane without incident. Holding hands through the flight, they landed and returned safely to Ursula’s apartment building, where Willy said, “I shall escort you upstairs, Fräulein Becker, to ensure your safety.”
Ursula grinned and replied in kind. “Why, thank you, Herr Hitler. Your gallantry is much appreciated.”
They climbed the stairs and entered the apartment to find a kitchen chair broken in half. Pieces of broken glass littered the floor and crunched under their feet as they took in the scene.
“What happened?” Willy asked.
Ursula looked around and shook her head. As she bent to retrieve the head of a broken figurine that her mother had cherished, she noticed droplets of blood on the wood floor. They led in a straight line to the—
A small grunt from her bedroom. She whipped her head up. Her entire body tensed as she considered the possibility that the perpetrator was still in the apartment.
“Who’s there?” she called out. In response, she heard a raspy cough and gasp. She turned to Willy, who gently pushed her behind him and approached the bedroom door. On the way, he plucked a heavy candlestick from a side table and held it aloft as he crept closer to the bedroom. “I have a weapon,” he stated as he pushed the door open quickly.
Otto Becker lay faceup on Ursula’s bed, his head turned away from them. It struck Ursula as odd that he would be resting on her bed. “Papa, what are you doing?” Her eyes traveled from her father to the lily-white bedspread that was sprinkled with crumbs. “Were you eating bread and jam in my room?” She stepped closer to brush the crumbs away but stopped when she processed what she was seeing. Otto turned his head toward her, and her hands flew to her mouth. In slow motion her eyes traveled from Otto’s mutilated face to the bone fragments and drops of blood that lit
tered the bedspread.
“Oh my God, Papa!” He turned away and covered his face with one hand while using the other to rise. His efforts were fruitless, however, as he fell back onto the bed, his good eye rolling backward with the effort.
Ursula stood fixed with fear, mouth agape, a scream trapped in her throat. Willy rushed forward and knelt by Otto.
“Don’t rise, Herr Becker! Stay down. I’ll get help. Ursula, get some water and bandages.”
Ursula couldn’t move. Time had stopped.
“Ursula! Get water and bandages. Now!” he ordered.
But still, Ursula remained motionless.
Willy patted Otto’s arm. “Don’t move. I’ll be right back.” He exited the bedroom and Ursula heard water tinkle from the faucet.
Otto groaned. The sound awakened her, and she asked without moving, “Who did this to you, Papa?”
Otto shook his head, unable to speak through his broken jaw. She repeated her question. “Who, Papa? Who did this to you?” Willy returned to the bedroom with towels and water. Otto looked from Ursula to Willy and gestured with his chin toward Willy. “Him,” he managed.
Ursula followed his eyes. “Papa, you’re confused. Willy didn’t hurt you.”
Otto looked imploringly at Willy. “Him, him!” he repeated urgently.
Ursula followed his eyes, and the hair on her neck rose. The breakfast servant had said that Hitler left the Berghof early because he had “urgent business in Berlin.” That meant that his generals had also left early. Her blood turned to ice. She could feel it running through her veins and she lost sensation in her arms. “You’re nodding at Willy, Papa. Why?” Ursula was breathless. She had to know, to be sure.
What was left of Otto’s face fell and he started to sob, choking on his spit and coughing up phlegm. A bizarre calm overtook Ursula as she crossed to her father and fell to her knees. She leaned forward so Otto could look directly at her with his good eye. “Papa, did Hitler’s thugs do this to you?” Otto grunted. “Was someone else here as well? Someone of great importance?” Otto’s eyes bulged.
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