Ursula swallowed slowly, deliberately. She rose to face Willy, who stood motionless, not understanding. Her body trembled but her voice was low and even as she spoke. “Your uncle left the Berghof early. He returned to Berlin on urgent business.” She pointed at Otto. “This was his urgent business. He had to ensure that the sentence for my transgression last evening was carried out to his satisfaction, so he ordered a high-ranking officer to oversee my father’s beating. Papa wasn’t saying ‘him.’ He was trying to say Himmler.”
Ursula watched Willy’s mouth silently open and close several times. She felt devoid of emotion as she walked toward the bedroom door. A welcome darkness enveloped her as she fully digested the impact caused by her infraction from the previous night. She turned back to Willy, who was gently wiping Otto’s face. The soaked white towel was streaked with bright red blood that mingled with the water to create light pink droplets that fell to the floor. They reminded her of flower petals.
“You were right, Willy. I wasn’t aware what your uncle is capable of.” She tore her eyes from the bloody petals and glanced at her broken father. “But I am now.”
19
A hard rap on the door drew their collective attention. Ursula and Willy glanced at each other, both silently wondering if the Gestapo was returning to finish the job they’d started earlier.
“I don’t think they’d knock, do you?” Willy asked.
In response Ursula started toward the door, only to feel Willy’s hand on her arm. “No. You remain here with your father. I’ll deal with whomever is on the other side of the door.”
Ursula glanced at Otto, who lay on his right side, facing away from her. His breath was even and whistled as he exhaled. He had either passed out or fallen asleep. She nodded. “Be careful.”
Willy set his mouth, grabbed the candlestick and placed it behind his back, hidden but ready for use. He tiptoed to the front door, inhaled, and then quickly opened it. The visitor looked up, surprised at the abrupt reception. Both men stood staring, shocked at the other’s presence. Willy was the first to gather his wits, and with them, his manners.
“Dr. Morell, how good to see you. What brings you here?”
Dr. Theodor Morell, one of Hitler’s private physicians, lifted his multiple chins. His thin hair was combed across his large head in the aging man’s perennial effort to hide a balding pate, and his round, black glasses seemed too small on his rotund face.
“Willy. I should be asking you the same question.”
Willy smiled tightly. “I’m engaged to Fräulein Becker. The elder Fräulein Becker,” he hastened to add.
Morell smiled. His beady blue eyes were all but erased as his fleshy cheeks rose. “You were smart to clarify, young man. It would not bode well for you if you were to be involved in any capacity with the younger Fräulein Becker. Would it?”
Willy ignored the implied threat. “What can I do for you, doctor?”
Dr. Morell stood straighter. “It is what I can do for you, Herr Hitler. I have been sent by the Führer to check on Herr Becker. I understand that he has encountered an unfortunate accident.”
Willy glanced at the closed bedroom door. “Herr Becker is not in need of your services, doctor. We appreciate your coming, but—”
Morell shook his head. “Willy, we both know that I will be entering the apartment and treating the broken man inside. We can stand here and play this game, or you can let me do my job without incident. Of course, you know that I will report back to the Führer about my experience here, so let us make haste, for our sakes and for the sake of the man lying somewhere, perhaps bleeding to death.” Morell stared at Willy with no rancor in his gaze, just determination and the secure knowledge that he wouldn’t leave until his task was complete.
Willy’s shoulders fell and he withdrew the candlestick from behind his back. Morell glanced at it and smirked.
“What did you plan on doing with that?”
“I thought I might have to use it if someone dangerous came through the door.”
“Makes perfect sense. Good thing I am not dangerous.” He looked directly at Willy.
Willy held his stare. “Let me take you to Herr Becker.” Willy opened the bedroom door to find Ursula seated on the bloody bedspread, Otto’s head laying in her lap. She had cleaned his face of blood and was stroking his arm as she sang Brahms’ lullaby. A loud, raspy snore erupted from Otto’s open mouth each time he inhaled.
Ursula looked up and froze. Although she hadn’t met the man standing before her, he wore a Nazi uniform and oozed the sickening smugness that accompanied people in power. Without thinking, she said, “Get out of my father’s house. Right now.”
Willy stepped between them. “Ursula, this is Dr. Theodor Morell, my uncle’s private physician whom he trusts implicitly. On more than one occasion Dr. Morell has cured my uncle of various maladies that plague him intermittently. If it were my life in question, I would want him to treat me.”
Willy’s eyes implored her to accept the circumstances without making a scene. She glared past Willy to the fat man who smelled of garlic and body odor. “Did the Führer send you to clean up his mess?” she asked.
Dr. Morell cleared his throat and glanced at Willy. “Our beloved leader has graciously asked that I call upon Herr Becker, as he came to understand that your father had fallen ill under bizarre conditions.”
Ursula choked out a laugh. “They are bizarre conditions, to be sure.” She glanced at her father, who roused as she spoke. “Papa,” she whispered. “There’s a doctor here to see you.” Otto turned his head and released a guttural sound as he struggled to rise. “No, Papa, don’t get up!” Ursula ordered. “I promise that Dr. Morell is here to help you. Not hurt you.” As she spoke, she glared at Morell, who inspected Otto as if he were a frog to be dissected. “I find it odd, doctor, that my father is frightened. Could it be your uniform?”
Dr. Morell glanced at his jacket. “I cannot imagine why my uniform would cause your father consternation. Now, shall we get started?”
Dr. Morell took one step toward the bed, and Ursula instinctively pulled Otto’s head closer to her breast. Otto groaned. Willy placed his hand on Ursula’s shoulder, silently willing her to give the physician access. Ursula looked at Otto’s ravaged face and choked back a sob, then gingerly placed his head on the bed. She stood, but stayed close to Otto, ready to defend him if the doctor’s intention was to cause further pain . . . or worse.
Morell approached and opened his large, black leather bag. He withdrew a stethoscope and listened to Otto’s heart and lungs, then used a small light to examine his eyes, mouth, and nose. Otto was silent during the examination except for an occasional gasp or moan. Dr. Morell frowned as he palpated various parts of Otto’s body. Ursula cringed each time Otto winced and finally averted her gaze to avoid witnessing her father’s pain. Upon completion, Morell stood. “Your father will make a full recovery, Fräulein. He is a lucky man. It could have been so much worse.”
Ursula looked from Morell to Willy, who had retreated to a corner. “That’s all? You haven’t told us what’s broken, or what we must do to aid his healing.”
The physician began packing his bag. “Your father has a broken nose and a broken jaw. He will not be able to eat solid foods for at least six weeks, so you will have to prepare him meals that can slide down his throat. His nose will heal in about the same period of time and will be crooked. I could straighten it, but that would cause him considerable pain. He may have trouble breathing when laying down, as blood and mucous will drip into the back of his throat, causing him to cough, which will be extremely painful due to his broken ribs.”
Ursula gaped at the man standing before her. “How many ribs are broken?”
“At least four, which will also make breathing difficult. He has lost two teeth and the left side of his skull is fractured, but it will heal on its own. The good news is that I
don’t believe he has any damage to his brain or any internal bleeding.”
Tears trickled down Ursula’s face as she listened to Morell list her father’s injuries, damage that had been inflicted because she had inadvertently angered the Führer. How stupid! she thought. Never again. I need to pay more attention. I need to appreciate that my decisions have consequences beyond myself.
Willy stepped forward. “Thank you, Dr. Morell. What shall we do to ease Herr Becker’s pain?”
The doctor withdrew a glass vial from his bag, as well as a roll of cotton gauze. “Use these bandages to wrap his head and give him one pill every six hours as needed for pain.”
Ursula took the bottle and shook it. “What is this medicine?”
Dr. Morell shook his head. “I could explain it, my dear, but I don’t believe you would understand. It will ease his pain. That’s all you need to know.”
Ursula saw red at his condescension. She swallowed her anger and smiled at Otto, whose one working eye held a blank expression. She said, “I will return soon, Papa” and motioned for the men to follow her. Once outside the bedroom door, she spoke sternly but politely to Morell. “I am a mature woman with a fine brain. Please tell me what is in these pills.”
Morell sneered at her and then faced Willy, ignoring Ursula completely. “If you must know, those pills are a concoction that I have created specifically for the Führer, to dull his pain and help him wake in the morning.” His red face turned to Ursula. “Or, if you like, Fräulein, I could take the pills with me, and your father can heal from his numerous wounds without the aid of a painkiller.” His voice was whiny, reminding her of a spoiled toddler throwing a tantrum.
Ursula glared at the pompous man. “We will take the pills. If they’re good enough for the Führer, then my father might benefit from them. Thank you and good day.”
Ursula turned on her heel and marched back to the bedroom, slamming the door behind her. Willy grimaced.
Dr. Morell looked at him. “She is quite a handful.”
Willy raised his eyebrows and stuffed his hands into his trouser pockets. “Yes. That she is.”
Morell’s eyes lingered on the bedroom door. “She is quite lovely. Quite.”
Willy paused and lifted his chin. “Yes, she is. We are to be married.”
Morell tore his gaze from the door and smiled. He raised an eyebrow. “You might want to marry her soon, lest someone else snatch her up. Her exquisite eyes burn holes when she is angry. She is . . . truly breathtaking.”
20
Weeks had passed since Otto’s attack, and during that time Ursula had rarely left her father’s side. His ribs were slowly healing; he was now able to inhale without significant pain. Ursula had propped him on the living room’s small, bedraggled couch and had spoon-fed him each meal. When she couldn’t mash up the food in advance, she would chew each bite before gingerly removing it from her own mouth and slipping it through Otto’s parted lips. Otto remarked through gritted teeth that he was like a baby bird who relied on its mother for sustenance.
“Stop fussing, Papa. You’re healing and I suppose we should be grateful that the injuries weren’t worse. If I hadn’t—” She broke off when Otto placed his hand on her arm and shook his head. He patted her arm as his eyes crinkled at the corners, his new version of a smile.
“You’re remarkable,” she said as she examined his gaunt frame. He had lost weight since the attack, not only from consuming less calories, but also from worry. “Papa, you’re becoming so thin. I’m concerned.”
Otto shook his head. “Fine. More.”
Ursula dipped the spoon into the bowl and lifted it to her father’s mouth. He tilted his head back and swallowed, but a little dribbled down his chin. “We’re becoming quite a team, you and I,” she joked. “Only a small amount wasted this time.” Ursula gently wiped Otto’s chin with a cloth and showed him the bowl. “You ate the entire bowl. Excellent!”
She rose and crossed to the kitchen as the door flew open. She didn’t need to turn around to know who it was. Anna had come to entering her former home in this manner, throwing open the door as if she owned the room and everyone in it. As was usually the case, she walked to the bedroom she shared with Ursula and closed the door, leaving the front door ajar. Ursula sighed and looked at her father, who shrugged and then winced from the effort. Ursula closed the front door and returned to the kitchen to wash the spoon and bowl. Anna emerged from the bedroom, her hands on her hips.
“Ursula, where is my black shawl?”
“What black shawl?”
“The one with the embroidery on it.”
“Oh. I borrowed it because I was chilly in the opera house. I didn’t want to catch a cold.”
Anna threw her arms wide. “So . . . where is it?”
“I’m sorry, Anna. I must have left it in my dressing room. I’ll retrieve it after my next rehearsal.”
Anna rolled her eyes. “Which will be when?”
Ursula smiled. “You tell me, Anna. Since Max Schmidt left the country, it seems that rehearsals are on hold. Besides, I’ve been busy with Papa.”
Anna noticed Otto for the first time. “Oh, Papa. How are you?”
Otto’s eyes smiled and he bobbed his head from side to side.
“Well, I’m glad you’re feeling better.”
Ursula’s eyes widened. “That’s all you have to say to Papa, Anna? You haven’t visited him since the attack. Is it because you feel guilty?”
Anna drew back in surprise, her hand drawn to her chest. “Why should I feel guilty?”
“Because you’re closely associated with the man—no, the animal, that did this.”
Anna glanced at her father. “Ursula, don’t be ridiculous. Adolf didn’t hurt Papa.”
Ursula felt her face flush as frustration swelled. She stepped forward and spoke through clenched teeth. “How can you be so blind? Himmler was carrying out orders directly from Hitler!”
“You don’t know that for a fact. Adolf told me that he had nothing to do with it.”
“So, you think that Himmler and the Gestapo acted on their own?”
“Yes. That’s what Adolf told me.”
Ursula threw up her hands. “So that’s it, then? He said it so it must be true?”
“Yes.”
“Even if logic dictates otherwise.”
Anna crossed her arms, her stony blue eyes boring into Ursula.
Ursula shook her head in disgust. “Anna, I don’t understand what has happened to you. You were such a bright, kind child. Yet you’ve grown into an egotistical, selfish woman who chooses to believe the vile lies of a dictator instead of the truths of family members.”
Anna rounded on her sister. “I am selfish? It is you, not I, who has caused Papa such pain. Who are you to lecture me on being selfish? If you hadn’t sung that ridiculous aria, none of this would have happened!”
They glared at each other, their noses inches apart, until a small groan caught Ursula’s attention. She turned to find Otto’s large eyes riveted on the two most important people in his world as they verbally tore each other apart. A single tear tracked down his cheek and clear mucous ran from his nose. Ursula threw a nasty look to Anna, then kneeled next to Otto.
“Papa, I’m sorry. I’m so sorry I did this to you.” Otto hung his head as his body shook with grief. Ursula carefully gathered him in her arms. When he had calmed, she stood and turned to Anna. “For Papa’s sake, you and I need to find a way to get along. We have so much shared history, and we shouldn’t let one man get in the way of that.” Ursula opened her arms, inviting Anna to hug her. Anna paused, but then walked forward and returned Ursula’s embrace. Ursula felt her anger fall away as she enjoyed Anna’s closeness. She allowed her mind to fly back to happier times and, after a moment, realized that she was smiling.
“What of Papa being classified as Arya
n, Anna? Has the Führer made a decision?”
Anna pulled away. “He had made a decision that Papa could be classified as Aryan.”
“That’s wonderful!” Ursula clapped her hands together and looked at her father, whose face bore no expression. “Isn’t that wonderful, Papa?” Otto slowly shook his head and stared at Anna. It was then that Ursula realized the verbiage that Anna had used. “You said that the Führer had made the decision that Papa could be classified as Aryan. Why do you say it like that?”
Anna sighed, seemingly older than her twenty-one years. She looked at Ursula, and for the first time in months, Ursula saw her sister. Not Hitler’s toy whom he strung along for his own amusement, but the girl with whom she’d shared the dream of one day performing in the finest performance halls in Germany. “Anna, what is it?”
Anna took Ursula’s hands. “Your performance at the Berghof had several consequences, Ursula. Papa is no longer allowed to be classified as Aryan. I’m truly sorry.”
Ursula stopped breathing. Although her choice of aria was unintentional, her rebuffs to Hitler’s advances were not. She was certain that current circumstances, Otto’s beating and Hitler’s refusal to classify Otto as Aryan, were retribution not only for her choice of song, but also for rejecting Hitler’s overtures. She couldn’t tell Anna what had happened on the terrace. Anna wouldn’t believe her and nothing good would come of it. Anna would simply blame her.
Ursula shook her head and started babbling. “No, no, no. Anna, you must do something. You must speak to him. Willy told me that circumstances will get worse for the Jews, and certainly that extends to anyone related to a Jew. You must make Hitler see reason. You must make him change his mind!”
Anna laughed mirthlessly and turned away. “Ursula, you and I both know that one cannot make the Führer do anything he doesn’t want to do.”
Swan Song Page 15