Swan Song

by Elizabeth B. Splaine

  Ursula’s eyes were wild as she searched for a solution. “Then we must somehow make Papa valuable to the Reich.”

  Anna shook her head. “It’s far too late for that, Ursula. You’ve severed any goodwill that existed.”

  Ursula turned away from Anna, her brain reeling. “Then I must marry Willy immediately and be classified as Aryan. I will join the Party and protect Papa that way.”

  “Ursula, marrying Willy will change nothing, and I’m not sure that given recent events you’re considered valuable enough to classify.”

  “What are you saying? If I join the Nazi party, surely that would—”

  Anna shook her head.

  Ursula’s panic twisted itself into anger. “Who are you to come into an apartment that you no longer call home and inform me of my value to the Reich? I know you’re jealous of the way the Führer feels about me. Are you trying to destroy me, Anna? To destroy Papa?”

  Anna sighed heavily. “I’m not trying to destroy anyone, Ursula. I’m telling you what is realistic given the circumstances.”

  Ursula’s eyes searched Anna’s, desperate to find a solution to her insolvable problem. “You can do nothing to help us? Truly?”

  Anna’s eyes dropped to the ground. “I cannot. I have tried. Honestly.”

  Ursula sat heavily on a kitchen chair and stared out the window. Two SS officers stood on the pavement, smoking and leering at passing women. “You would choose that madman over your own father and sister?”

  “It’s an impossible choice, Ursula. But I’m choosing life over—” Anna paused.

  Ursula’s head swiveled back to Anna. “Over what, Anna? Death? Is that the word for which you were searching?”

  Anna’s eyes hardened. “Adolf is a decent, kind man who loves me.”

  “He doesn’t love you.”

  “He does!”

  “He’s using trains to ship Jews and dissidents to camps where they’re worked to death. Does that sound kind and decent, Anna?”

  “That’s not true.”

  “It is.”

  “Well, then . . . they deserve it.”

  Ursula gaped at her sister. “These men and women have done nothing illegal, Anna. They are Jews. That’s all. Please tell me that you think sending people to their deaths simply because they are Jewish is wrong. Please.” Ursula was begging, desperate to find her sister once more among the aloof attitude, stylish clothes, and dyed hair that stood haughtily before her. But Anna turned away. She had been re-absorbed into Hitler’s brainwashed, clandestine concubine.

  “I must go. Papa, I hope your health continues to improve. I’m not sure when I’ll be able to return, so I’ll hug you and take my leave.” She approached Otto and hugged him gently. “I love you,” she whispered before running out the front door.

  Ursula chased her down the stairs, yelling, “You’re a coward, Anna! A coward!” Arriving at the bottom of the stairwell, she was stopped by the arm of a young man smoking in the doorway.

  “You’re in my way,” Ursula said as she tugged at his arm.

  “Are you Ursula Becker?”

  “Yes.”

  “The opera singer?”

  “Yes.”

  The man bowed formally. “I love your singing, Fräulein Becker, and I’m happy to make your acquaintance. I wish it were under better circumstances.”

  “What do you mean?”

  The man handed Ursula an envelope, then took a step back, clicked his heels and announced, “Heil, Hitler!” He turned and walked briskly down the pavement.

  Ursula stared after him, then slowly climbed the stairs to the apartment. She entered to find her father staring at her, his look of sadness quickly replaced by curiosity as he spotted the envelope. Ursula tore it open and quickly scanned the page. She returned to the top of the letter to reread it, believing that she has misconstrued the letter’s intent.

  Fräulein Becker,

  It has come to the attention of the National Socialist German Workers’ Party that you have undertaken actions that are contrary to its tenets. Additionally, you have not offered an Aryan certificate in order to become a member of the Chamber of Culture and are considered a mischling of the second degree.

  Therefore, under article 3, section 17, you are hereby banned from rehearsing and/or performing in any capacity within the Reich.

  Be assured that violation of this decree will result in immediate corporal punishment up to and including death, if deemed appropriate.

  Signed this day, November 9, 1941

  Joseph Goebbels

  Reich Minister of Chamber of Culture

  “What . . .?” Otto managed.

  Ursula looked through Otto. “They have banned me from singing.”

  Otto’s eyes bulged and he attempted to rise. Ursula watched him stagger and fall to the floor, groaning. She knew that she should go to him, but her legs felt leaden.

  “He may as well kill me,” she whispered. She gathered herself and knelt by Otto, who gazed at her with the openness of a child.

  “How . . . live?” he asked.

  Ursula stroked his head. “How will we live? Is that what you asked, Papa?”

  Otto nodded.

  Ursula’s mind had already moved to what must be done next. “Don’t worry, Papa. I have a plan.”

  21

  Ursula sat at the kitchen table and traced a scratch with her fingernail. She stared at Goebbels’ letter as she listened to Otto snore quietly on the couch. She glanced at the clock and realized that Willy would arrive any minute for their evening stroll. Such had become their new routine, Willy stopping by after Ursula had ensured that Otto was safely tucked away for the evening. They would steal away for a walk along the Spree River, hands entwined as they discussed Willy’s day at the car factory or Otto’s improvement. During one of these walks Willy had suggested that they wait no longer, that they marry the following week. Ursula had hugged him and smiled, reminding him that they had committed to wait until the political situation had cooled. After all, Ursula said, “Wasn’t it you who said that people wouldn’t support a Hitler marrying a Jew, even if she is only a mischling of the second degree?” She had spoken in jest, but the reality was that she feared for Willy’s safety if he married her. She had almost lost her father. She wasn’t prepared to lose Willy as well if his insane uncle decided on retribution against him for marrying her.

  A gentle knock jostled her from her reverie. She rushed to the door, threw it open, and launched herself into Willy’s arms.

  “Whoa, whoa. What’s happening?”

  Ursula glanced at her father who lay on the couch, his breathing deep and even. Satisfied that he was asleep for the night, she grabbed her coat from the hook on the wall and closed the door gently, motioning for Willy to follow her downstairs. As they stepped into the cold night, Ursula buttoned her coat and took Willy’s arm. She inhaled deeply and coughed as the frigid air hit her lungs. Willy looked at her.

  “Care to tell me why you’re so upset?”

  Ursula shook her head and continued walking until they reached the river. She sat on a bench and removed the letter from her pocket. Without speaking, Willy took it and sat next to her, tilting it so the light from a nearby streetlamp shone on it. As he read, Ursula watched his facial expression change from curiosity to confusion to anger. When he was done reading, he stared in the direction of the Chancellery.

  “This will not stand. I’ll speak to my uncle first thing in the morning, Ursula. You have my word.”

  Ursula took the letter and refolded it, then placed it in her pocket. She took Willy’s hand as they stood and resumed walking along the river. “Ursula, did you hear what I said? I’ll speak to Uncle Alf and you’ll be singing by the end of the week.”

  Ursula smiled sadly. “No, Willy. I’ve given up the fantasy that I have control over my fate. The
world is on fire. I can feel the change happening. It was swirling around me, but I was unable or unwilling to see it. But now I do.”

  “This doesn’t sound like the Ursula that I know and love. Where has she gone?”

  “She’s still in here.” Ursula pointed to her heart. “But unfortunately, my head must take over now.” She sighed heavily. “Willy, I can no longer remain in Germany. It breaks my heart, but I fear if I stay, life for Papa and me will become only more complicated.”

  “I don’t understand.”

  She stopped and took his hands. “Anna told me that Papa will not be classified as Aryan and I’m no longer able to join the Party. My value to the Reich is gone. I know that emigration has been halted for German Jews, but I must find a way to leave.”

  “No, Ursula. I can speak to my uncle. He will allow you to be Aryanized.”

  Ursula shook her head. “Even if that were true, Papa would still be vulnerable. I cannot abide him being bullied. Or worse.” She shuddered. “He’s been through enough.”

  Willy shook his head, refusing to concede. “You’ll see. When I speak to uncle Alf—”

  Ursula placed her hand on his arm. “Enough, Willy. Our entire relationship has occurred in the shadow of your uncle. We’ve never once been simply Willy and Ursula. We never will be, not while he’s in power.”

  Willy’s eyes became suddenly intense. “Then come with me.”

  “Where?”

  “England.”

  “England?”

  “Yes. You told me that the former opera director was working there and invited you to join him. You could even sing with Max Schmidt once more.”

  “But how?”

  “I know people who can forge the necessary documents.”

  Ursula narrowed her eyes. “You’ve obviously been thinking about this for some time.”

  “I always hope for the best but prepare for the worst.”

  Even in the depths of resignation, she felt a surge of love for Willy as she considered his determination to ensure her safety and happiness. She couldn’t imagine a more wonderful life companion. She squeezed his arm and regarded the dark water of the Spree as it traveled its winding path to the ocean. Just as a stick gets swept away by the current, so had her career and family become collateral damage in the tide of anti-Semitism. She finally understood that she must find a way to successfully negotiate the current or drown. “When I said I was leaving, I meant to go elsewhere in Europe. I’m not sure that Papa could survive a trip across the ocean. It’s so far.”

  “It’s not that far, Ursula, and you would have a strong partner in me.”

  Despite the circumstances, Ursula smiled. “But I don’t speak the language.”

  Willy pulled back. “You, of all people, will be able to master English in less than a year. You sing in multiple languages already. English will be the final feather in your operatic cap. Repeat after me.” Willy cleared his throat and switched from German to English. “My name is Ursula.” Willy spoke slowly and deliberately and then motioned for Ursula to try the English phrase.

  Ursula stared at him. “This isn’t a game, Willy.”

  “I know. But I’m trying to make you understand that coming with me to England will be good for you and your father.”

  Ursula turned away.

  “Is there something else?” Willy asked.

  “I’m not sure that I can leave Anna.”

  Willy’s eyebrows shot up. “You must be joking. She left you and your father a long time ago. You emigrating to England will not affect her in any way.”

  “That’s not true. Whatever relationship we still enjoy will be demolished in an instant.”

  “You’re kidding yourself if you still believe that she cares for you and Otto.”

  “And you are an only child who can come and go as he pleases, with very little regard for those around him and how they’re affected.”

  Willy physically withdrew. In their years together, they had fought only once, and that was in regard to Ursula’s belief that Willy was working too many hours. The issue had been resolved in compromise and their relationship had been strengthened from the experience. But this was new territory.

  “Excuse me?” Willy asked.

  Ursula closed her eyes and sighed. “I apologize, Willy. I shouldn’t have expressed my feelings in those words. It was hurtful.”

  “But you’re not apologizing for what you said, Ursula, only the way in which you said it.”

  Ursula nodded. “That’s true.”

  “Do you really think me that selfish?”

  “You are not selfish, per se. It’s just that you’ve not had to worry about how your actions directly impact those around you like I have, like anyone who has a larger family does.”

  Willy ran his hands through his hair and walked several steps before turning to face her. “Ursula, I grew up in England with a mother and no father. Why? Because my father came to Europe for a gambling tour and apparently got trapped in Germany after the Great War, or so I was told. All I know is that he abandoned my mother and me. So, when I was old enough, I crossed the ocean to visit him here in Germany and ended up falling in love with you. It wasn’t enough that I worried about you, given your . . . circumstances, but I willingly took on the responsibility of your father and sister, before she decided to fall in love with my uncle. Your family became the family I never had. I love all of you. But I’ve been denied promotions because of my engagement to you, and I’ve saved your father from persecution on many occasions of which you have no knowledge. So please don’t stand there and tell me I don’t have to worry about how my actions affect others. I live with it, literally, each and every day, just as you do.”

  Ursula gazed at the blackness of the water so Willy wouldn’t see the blood staining her cheeks. The rushing river provided a soothing respite as she gathered her thoughts.

  “I’m sorry, Willy. I had no idea.”

  “I know. I wanted to keep it that way.”

  Ursula stole a glance at him. “Thank you for protecting us.”

  “It was my pleasure.”

  Ursula twisted her mouth and cut her eyes. “Was it? Truly your pleasure?”

  Willy caught her insinuation and shrugged. “Sometimes.”

  She turned and unbuttoned his coat, then slipped her arms around his waist. She gazed up at him. “Like when?”

  He stared into her warm eyes. “Like when I do this.” He leaned down and kissed her neck, then transferred his attention to her lips. “I love you,” he mumbled into her mouth.

  Ursula giggled. “I love you too, Willy Hitler. Perhaps when we go to England you might consider changing your name.”

  Willy pulled her away from him. “You said ‘when,’ not ‘if.’ Does that mean you’ll come with me?”

  Ursula grinned.

  Willy hugged her hard until she squirmed out of his embrace. “I was serious. Would you consider changing your name?”

  He tilted his head and frowned. “Why? I like the name Willy.”

  22

  Ursula burst out laughing and shook her head. “Not your first name! Your surname.” Willy linked his arm through hers and they continued walking, taking a right onto Friedrichstrasse.

  “I knew what you meant. Yes, I have considered it.”

  “What would you call yourself?”

  He raised his chin and mimicked an announcer’s voice. “William Patrick Stuart-Houston.”

  Ursula laughed. “I’m not sure I can pronounce that very long name!”

  “Well, you should practice, my dear, as you could be Ursula Estelle Becker Stuart-Houston.”

  “That’s a mouthful, to be sure.”

  A shrill scream pierced the air. The shriek was followed by the sound of glass shattering and muted cries of terror. They arrived at a busy thoroughfare to f
ind the entire street littered with debris. Broken windows lay in jagged shards on the cobblestone. Terrified bodies huddled in shadowed, recessed doorways.

  A woman carrying a small child wrapped in a blue blanket sprinted toward them as a blast erupted, hurtling her several meters to land with a grotesque thud. At the same moment, an explosion shattered a building’s lead glass windows. Orange, red, and blue flames licked its granite walls. Ursula screamed and covered her eyes as a man broke through the front door and zigzagged down the street, his clothes on fire. His shrieks echoed against the buildings, magnifying as he ran blindly, streaks of flames following him.

  “Willy!” Ursula screamed.

  “Get down!” Willy yelled and pushed her to the pavement. Ursula raked her nails against Willy’s coat, her futile effort to stop him as he raced toward the burning man. She watched in horror as he tore off the man’s coat and tackled him, both of them entwined as Willy rolled to extinguish the flames. After a minute they both stopped moving and Willy pushed himself away from the man as Ursula rushed over.

  Willy lay on his back, his heaving breath coming in waves. His hair was singed, and he was covered in dirt and soot, but otherwise he seemed unscathed. The other man lay in the fetal position, unmoving, his long gray beard burnt away and still smoking. His clothes had melted to his body, yet his yarmulke remained pristine and intact. Ursula couldn’t take her eyes from his charred corpse. She covered her nose and mouth to stifle the stench.

  “He’s a rabbi,” Willy whispered.

  “He was a rabbi,” Ursula corrected him. Her eyes wandered to the building that was being consumed by fire. “That was his temple.”

  The woman who had been thrown by the blast wandered past them, a bloody blue blanket clutched to her chest. Her vacant eyes wandered over Ursula and Willy, then rested on the rabbi. “He is dead?” she asked. Willy nodded. She hummed and rocked her unmoving baby. After a few moments, she gently tucked her child against the rabbi’s chest. Ursula stifled a sob. The broken mother couldn’t save her son’s life, but she could ensure his soul’s deliverance in death.