Marika shook her head. “It won’t stop until we get there.”
“Where?”
“East.”
“Where in the east?”
A cloud crossed the older woman’s features. “I was told that we’re being sent to a new town for our own safety. It’s referred to as a spa town. Can you imagine? My husband was part of a transport that left a while ago in order to prepare for our arrival. He’s a carpenter, you see. I’m anxious to see him again.” She glanced about the train car. “All of us in this car are Jews. All except for you, at least. We were told that the move is temporary until a suitable place for us can be found. Although I didn’t want to leave my home, the choice was clear. The conditions for the Jews in Berlin were very bad. We were confined to a small living area, and food was becoming scarce. None of us were allowed to work anymore, so as much as I didn’t want to leave, perhaps the new living conditions will be better. We met at a synagogue on Levetzow Street and then walked to the railway station. I was allowed to bring fifty kilos of personal items.”
Ursula glanced at Marika’s embroidered bag. The woman smiled. “Of course, I couldn’t carry fifty kilos of anything, so I packed as much as I could into this bag, and the rest of my things will be shipped to me.”
Ursula’s stomach dropped. “Who told you that?”
“The officers who delivered the notice of my transport.”
“Do you trust what they said?”
Marika looked away. “I’ve heard about other trains, Ursula. Ones that are packed with the living dead, who arrive at camps where people are beaten, starved, and gassed. You and I are on a regular railway car traveling to a spa town. We’re fortunate. Don’t you agree?”
Ursula was torn between disgust and resignation. Marika seemed intelligent. Surely, she understood that their destination fell far afield from what she’d been told. But the unfortunate woman didn’t really have a choice. Like her, Marika was merely a puppet to be manipulated for Hitler’s enjoyment.
Ursula’s head felt as if it were stuffed with cotton. The aftereffects of the drug she’d been given made her lethargic and nauseous. Her stomach seized as details of the attack flashed intermittently through her mind, and she wondered if Willy had realized that she’d been kidnapped and was searching for her. If the situation were reversed, she would explore the ship first, which would take at least a day, and then expand the search from there. A rush of adrenaline surged as she considered her father. Despite what Marika had been told, had her attacker made good on his commitment to kill Otto?
“Ursula, you look concerned. Everything will be alright. I just know it.” Marika pressed her hand against Ursula’s knee as she spoke. “Besides, if you’re thinking about Willy and your father, they’re safe. Please try to relax.”
Avoiding her throbbing nose, Ursula gently wiped tears from her eyes and sat up straighter to examine the train car and its passengers. The spacious, comfortable seats were upholstered in brown leather, and each window had its own set of gold-colored curtains. The floor was covered in a patterned, wool runner that ran the length of the car. Most passengers were over the age of sixty and were dressed in upper middle-class attire, many coats sporting a star identical to the one Marika wore. Many women wore ornate jewelry and openly stared at her wounds, their faces displaying extreme distaste. Ursula made eye contact with a man who looked away after his wife slapped his hand. “Best not to get involved,” Ursula heard his wife whisper.
“So, Ursula, why did your uncle put you on this train?”
Ursula shifted in her seat. She attempted a laugh but ended up coughing up phlegm and blood. Marika shook her head and admonished, “Be still, child!” as she grabbed the towel and gingerly wiped Ursula’s face.
“You wouldn’t believe me if I told you the truth.”
Her companion seemed unmoved. “You’d be surprised what I can believe.”
Ursula sighed. “That man wasn’t my uncle, and I was placed on this train because I angered the Führer so badly that he wanted me to disappear.”
Marika narrowed her eyes. “You mean that you angered an SS man, or you didn’t follow an order, perhaps like my daughter?”
Ursula shook her head but quickly stopped as her nausea threatened once more. “No. I mean that I angered Adolf Hitler.”
“How?”
Ursula stared out the window. She didn’t know how to answer. There were so many reasons, but none of them seemed rational. “By deigning to sing a song he didn’t like. By not agreeing to join the Party. By not falling prey to his advances. By looking exactly like a woman he once knew and loved. By falling in love with his nephew, who asked me to marry him and planned on taking me to England, where I could live and sing freely.”
Marika’s confusion was evident. “I don’t understand, dear.”
“Do you attend the opera?”
“Of course.”
“Have you heard of a singer named Ursula Becker?”
Marika nodded. “Oh, yes. She is marvelous. I had the opportunity to see her when my husband and I—”
Ursula watched her make the connection. She leaned in, examining Ursula’s puffy, altered face. “You are Ursula Becker! Oh, my goodness! What an honor! Why have you not been singing? It was as if you disappeared. One day a star and the next, poof! You were gone. Oh!” She caught herself as her recollections collided with the facts in Ursula’s story. “Oh, Ursula. I’m sorry.” Marika looked down, continuing to draw the puzzle pieces together. “So . . . your fiancé is . . .?”
“Willy Hitler, the Führer’s nephew.”
“Oh, my.”
“Yes. Oh, my.”
“And this Willy is—”
“According to the man who hit me, drugged me, and put me on this train, Willy is on his way to England with my father, who supposedly is safe.”
“And you are here on this train,” Marika added quietly.
“Yes. I am here,” Ursula said as she watched the desolate landscape fall away. “Wherever ‘here’ is.”
26
Willy downed his champagne and searched the deck for Ursula. It had been twenty minutes since they’d agreed to meet, and he was beginning to wonder if she’d lost track of time. He turned to Otto and noted the vigor with which the old man waved to people on shore. Willy had never seen him so lighthearted and didn’t want to spoil his mood, so he decided he would find Ursula himself.
“Herr Becker, I will return shortly.”
“What?” Otto shouted over the din.
Willy patted his back and yelled, “Back soon!” Otto nodded and continued to wave.
Willy placed the glasses on a waiter’s tray and returned to Ursula’s stateroom. He knocked three times. Receiving no response, he found a steward and asked the young man to unlock the door.
Willy entered her room to find it empty. As he turned to leave, he saw a small white box lying open on the bed. His eyes found the pictures on the nightstand and went to the folded piece of paper tucked in one of the frames. Smiling, he picked it up and reread the note he had penned that morning. All of his words had been heartfelt. He had been so worried that something might go wrong along their journey—that their documents might be confiscated at a checkpoint, or that once aboard the ship, their tickets might not be honored, or that his uncle might intervene in some way—that he had written the letter just in case he wasn’t able to express his thoughts directly.
But everything had gone smoothly, much better than he’d expected, and now they were on their way to a better life without chaos or persecution. Sure, Willy didn’t have the fortune he’d planned on amassing during his tenure in Germany, but he had Ursula. He was certain that with her by his side, anything was possible. He grinned as he imagined the first interaction between his beloved mother and her. Bridget Dowling Hitler, an Irishwoman by birth, would embrace her future daughter-in-law, immediately
accepting her into their family without question. Ursula, a German to the core, would take a moment to warm to Bridget. But once she did, Willy knew that the bond would remain unbroken.
Willy picked up the empty white box and smiled. Ursula must be wearing the necklace. He reflected on his mother’s words the day she’d entrusted him with it. “Place it around the neck of the person your soul chooses to be your mate for life. If she accepts it, then be confident that you’ve chosen wisely.”
“I’ve chosen wisely, Mum,” Willy murmured as he pocketed the letter and exited the room, determined to find his love. He passed the steward in the hallway.
“Ms. Becker had some trouble understanding me earlier, but we worked it out. I can’t speak German, so I acted it out.”
“What are you talking about?”
The young man waved his hand. “It’s okay, sir. It happens all the time. I’ve learned to pantomime quite well.” He brought his hand to his ear with his middle fingers closed and pinky and thumb extended, mimicking a phone call.
“Are you telling me that Miss Becker received a telephone call?”
“Yes, sir.”
“From whom?”
The steward shrugged. “I don’t know, sir, but she seemed eager to take the call.”
Willy felt a surge of relief. He had been concerned that Ursula might be frantically searching for him in the throngs of people on the Lido deck, but she was most likely still talking on the telephone. “Where’s the telephone room?”
“This way, sir. Follow me.” The steward led the way up some stairs, weaved his way through a small crowd of slightly inebriated passengers, then stopped before a door marked “Telephones.”
“Here we are.”
“Thanks.”
Willy entered, and the door automatically closed behind him. The small room felt sterile. The walls were painted pristine white, and four black telephones sat on a green marble counter. There were no chairs or stools. Clearly the room was meant for brief telephone communication. He turned to leave and noted a reddish-brown streak on the wall behind the door. He removed a handkerchief, swiped it across the substance, then raised it to his nose. The unmistakable aroma of copper filled his nostrils, and Willy knew, without a doubt, that the smear on the wall was blood. He leaned forward to examine the area more closely and drew a sharp breath. The hair on the back of his neck stood at attention as he stared at the bright pink blotch under the blood. He heard himself mumbling, “No, no, no, no,” as he remembered how excited Ursula had been when he’d given her a tube of lipstick several weeks ago. Given the rationing, it was next to impossible to obtain such a frivolous item, even on the black market. Only Nazi wives enjoyed such luxuries. But he had traded fourteen packs of cigarettes and a large sack of flour for Ursula’s prized, hot pink lipstick, and she had been ecstatic.
Willy threw open the heavy door and sprinted down the stairs. He found the steward who had guided him to the telephone room and commanded him to unlock Ursula’s stateroom. The surprised steward obliged, then watched in confusion as Willy rushed into Ursula’s bathroom and rummaged through her toiletries. He emerged gripping a lipstick tube.
“Follow me,” Willy said, as he ran past the steward. The young man sprinted to keep up with Willy as he remounted the staircase and burst through the telephone room door. Panting, Willy removed the lipstick cap, twisted the tube until the lipstick appeared, and drew a line on the wall directly underneath the bright pink smudge. He dropped his head when he realized that the colors were identical, an exact match.
“God damn it!” he screamed. “I knew it was too good to be true! Ahhhh!” he raged as he picked up phones and slammed them against the wall. The horrified steward gawked in helpless confusion, unable to imagine what might cause such fury.
“Sir! Please. The telephones. You’re destroying them.”
Willy doubled over, desperately trying to regain control over his anger. Breathing heavily, he rasped, “Who originally accepted the phone call for Miss Becker?”
“I did.”
“But you’re assigned to our stateroom hallway, are you not?”
“Yes.”
“Then how is it that you took the phone call?” Willy’s eyes became accusatory.
The steward unconsciously took a step backward. “I . . . I . . .”
“Spit it out, boy!” Willy’s fury was barely contained as he jammed the steward against the door.
“I happened to be walking by and the telephone was ringing, so I answered it.”
Willy glared at the frightened young man and suddenly realized that his anger was misdirected. He felt foolish as he turned away and raked his hands through his hair. Thoughts were flying through his mind. He closed his eyes in an effort to harness them.
“Was there anyone else in this room when you answered the phone?”
“No, sir.”
“But someone might have come in between the time you answered the phone and the time you retrieved Miss Becker from her stateroom.”
“Um, yes. Maybe.”
Willy’s mind was racing. “You said that a woman phoned Miss Becker. Are you certain?”
“Absolutely.”
Willy quickly reviewed the small group of people Ursula called friends and came up with only one person who might have phoned the ship. Anna. But how would she have known Ursula was here?
“Listen, I’m sorry that I scared you. I didn’t mean to. It’s just that. . . well. . . can you please make a ship-to-shore call for me? Right now?”
Relieved to no longer be the hapless target of Willy’s animosity, the steward picked up the receiver and requested an operator. An excruciating minute later Willy heard a nasal voice come on the line. The steward handed the receiver to Willy.
“I need to be connected with the Chancellery in Berlin.”
“I’m sorry, sir, but I can’t—”
“It’s a matter of life and death. Literally. Please,” he begged, his voice cracking.
A long pause ensued, followed by an exasperated sigh. “Hold please.”
Several minutes passed before a young woman’s voice came on the line. She sounded tinny and far away.
“Hello?”
“This is Willy Hitler. I need to speak to Anna Becker. Is she there? And if she’s not there, do you know—”
“She is here. Hold the line.”
Willy breathed a sigh of relief. A minute later Anna said, “Hello?”
“Thank God! Anna, it’s Willy.”
“Willy, why are you phoning? Are you not on the ship with Ursula?”
“That’s the problem, Anna. I can’t find Ursula and there’s blood on the wall in the telephone room.”
“Oh, my goodness!”
“There’s more. A smear of Ursula’s lipstick is underneath the blood. Did you phone her earlier?”
“Yes. To wish her well. But—”
“How did you know we were on the ship?”
“Adolf told me. Why?”
Willy took a shuddering breath. I should have realized that Uncle Alf would know our plans. It seemed too easy. “Tell me, Anna, and do not lie to me! Did my uncle harm Ursula?”
“Willy, what are you talking about? Of course not!”
“Stop it, Anna! You and I both know the ill will he harbored. And now, when we were so close to happiness, did he steal her from me? Tell me, please.” Willy felt like he was being strangled. “I couldn’t bear it.”
“Willy, you’re being ridiculous. I’m not aware of any plan to harm her.”
“Is Uncle Alf with you?”
“No. He’s at the Berghof. I’m to join him later this afternoon.”
“You tell him that I need to speak to him immediately. Do you understand? Immediately!”
“I understand.”
Willy’s eyes found the bloodstain on the wa
ll and he squeezed them shut. “Tell him that he needs to contact me on the ship. Right away!”
“Willy, you already said that. I’ll relay your message. But you need to calm down. I’m sure that Ursula is fine. She’s probably elsewhere on the ship searching for you.”
“What about the blood and lipstick?”
“Willy, the blood could be from someone else. And what shade was Ursula’s lipstick? Pink? She always favored pink. Do you know how many women wear pink lipstick?”
Willy opened his eyes. He hadn’t thought of that. “How many?”
Anna huffed. “I’m not sure exactly how many, but my point is that you’re being rash in your judgment of Adolf. He loves you and he’s a good man. What you’re suggesting he’s done is outside of his moral compass.”
Willy’s eyes went wide. “His moral compass? Anna, do you hear yourself? Uncle Alf has no moral compass. He wouldn’t hesitate to harm Ursula, or me or you, for that matter, if we stood in the way of the Reich. Don’t fool yourself. You’re sleeping with a madman.”
Anna drew a quick breath, and Willy knew he had stumbled. “How dare you say such a thing to me!”
Willy pinched the bridge of his nose, instantly regretting his antagonistic attitude toward Anna. His harsh words had been accurate, but he might have found a kinder manner in which to express them.
“I must get off the line now, as I need to search for Ursula. I desperately hope that she’s still on the ship, as you suggest. But listen closely to me. I’m not mistaken in my perception of my uncle, and I pray that you realize your naïveté before it’s too late. You’re useful to him now, but someday, maybe not too far into the future, if you become a liability, you will be discarded like the Jews.”
Silence buzzed across the miles. “I am not a Jew.”
“You’re not Aryan either, no matter what the paperwork says. The fact is that if you become an inconvenience, you will be cast aside.”
Swan Song Page 19