Her only son had already slipped from her grasp.
34
Ursula closed her eyes and leaned over the contents of the large black pot, allowing herself a brief, warm respite from the biting cold that seeped through the cracked kitchen windows. The ersatz soup smelled of boiled potatoes and rutabaga, and Ursula’s stomach protested against its emptiness. She crossed to the oven and used a wad of cloth to protect her hand as she checked on the black bread. The aroma made her mouth water, even as she considered that the “flour” she had used to fashion the dough had been equal parts milled grain and sawdust.
She adjusted her purple, knitted hat. When she’d returned to the barracks with a bald head, women had crowded around her asking what happened. She had refused to speak about either her black eye or shaven head, repeating, “It’s nothing. Don’t worry,” over and over, until people had eventually given up trying to talk to her. It was only when she was alone with Marika that she had shared her terror. Marika had listened intently and said little, occasionally nodding in solidarity. When Ursula’s words were spent, Marika had crossed to her bunk, lifted the pallet, and removed a purple, knitted cap. “I used the last of my yarn on this hat.” She had placed it gently on Ursula’s bleeding scalp. “There. You look lovely. Shall we go to work?” They had walked quickly to the kitchen, arms linked, and huddled together against the cold.
Ursula appreciated Marika’s kind ear, her willingness to listen without reproach or judgment. In Marika Ursula had found a mother figure she hadn’t realized she needed or wanted. And although she didn’t want to admit it to herself, Marika’s ability to move forward in the face of adversity was becoming critical to her survival.
“Ursula,” Marika whispered.
Ursula turned to her friend.
Marika ensured that the kitchen guard was facing away from her before removing something from the waistband of her skirt.
Ursula stared at the small can of sardines and then motioned with her head toward the pantry, indicating that Marika should put it back.
Marika shook her head and replaced the tin in its hiding place.
Ursula glanced at the guard, who yawned and rubbed his eyes. She whispered, “You’ll be shot, Marika.”
“They won’t know.”
Ursula angrily rolled her eyes and gritted her teeth. “They always know. I’ve seen the kitchen guards count and recount the supplies. They’ll know!”
Marika peeked at the guard, who was leaning against the doorjamb with his eyes closed. “Do you know what I can get for this?”
“From whom? No one has anything left to barter.”
“That’s not true. Anissa Wagner has some yarn she would trade.”
“How do you know?”
“Because her husband’s birthday is tomorrow, and she would like to give him something special.” Marika raised her eyebrows and smiled.
Ursula glanced at the guard, who seemed to be asleep. “You would trade your life for some yarn, Marika?”
Marika crossed to the oven and removed the bread. “I believe this is done, and yes, I would. Knitting reminds me of my life before, much as singing must remind you. Speaking of which, have you met Karel Ancerl or Rafael Schächter yet?”
The guard snorted, waking himself up and drawing their attention. He glanced at them, then left his post to walk down the hallway. Ursula knew he would return in under a minute. She stopped stirring and faced Marika. “I’d heard they were here, but I haven’t met them.”
“They’re organizing a choir.”
“A choir?”
“Apparently there’s a piano in the basement of Magdeburg barracks, and they’ve been meeting there to rehearse.”
“The SS allows this?”
“They ordered it.”
“Really?”
“Yes. Rafael Schächter was ordered to perform Verdi’s Requiem.”
Ursula reflected on the number of times she had sung Verdi’s masterpiece, the work he’d completed in honor of Alessandro Manzoni, an Italian poet and humanist. She had soloed in the Requiem a half-dozen times, but never in dire circumstances and never in response to an edict. She wasn’t some circus animal who would sing on command. As she had told Willy, her voice was her gift, and she would use it when and where she chose. On the other hand, she desperately missed singing, and she found herself humming the Libera me section of the work.
Marika cut the steaming black bread into fifty-gram slices, exact in her measurement lest she incur punishment. “You need to stop thinking so much about death, Ursula, and begin focusing on life.”
“How can I when we’re constantly reminded of how precarious our situation is? Look at me, Marika! My nose is broken, and I can’t see out of my right eye. My scalp is bare and covered in blood! Don’t tell me not to think about death. It stalks me in my sleep.”
Marika continued to slice. “I don’t need to look at you, Ursula. Your damaged face is burned into my memory. But that doesn’t mean that you should focus on death.”
Ursula shook her head. Marika’s perseverance was admirable . . . and sometimes irritating. “Some say that another transport to the east will be leaving tonight.”
Marika shrugged. “I’ve heard that rumor as well, but what of it? We must enjoy today because there may not be a tomorrow.”
The guard appeared and loomed over the bread. “The old woman is correct. There may not be a tomorrow.” He grabbed three slices and stuffed them into his mouth, chewing loudly. “Yech! This tastes like shit. Perfect for the dogs who will eat it.” He spat the half-chewed remnants on the floor. “Clean up this mess!” he ordered as he resumed his post outside the door.
A silent look of understanding passed between the two women.
“I shall mix more dough,” Ursula announced loudly as she removed the flour and yeast from the pantry. While she pounded the heavy bag of flour onto the wooden table and made a show of dragging down a bowl from a high shelf, Marika knelt, scooped up the semi-masticated bread into a towel and stuffed a large wad into her mouth. After she had eaten half of the mound, she turned to Ursula and said, “Let me help you with that. We’ll swap positions.”
“Thank you,” Ursula said as she kept her back to the guard and took several bites from the towel. Marika mixed the bread ingredients and kneaded the dough with gusto as Ursula finished her meal. She couldn’t remember when her stomach had felt so full.
She returned to the soup and considered Marika’s suggestion that she concentrate on living instead of dying. The two men Marika had mentioned were fine musicians and conductors. Karel Ancerl hailed from Prague and led that city’s symphony, and Rafael Schächter was an acclaimed Czech composer and choral conductor.
“Perhaps I’ll find a way to contact Herr Schächter to see if he’s in need of a soprano,” Ursula whispered.
Marika smiled knowingly. “No need, my dear. He’ll be seeking you out this evening when he works the transport. As you know, the collection point is directly in front of Dresden, so look for him.”
Ursula shook her head in amazement. Marika had planned the entire conversation so that Ursula would come to her own conclusion about taking up singing again. She smiled, wondering if it were possible that Marika had been sent by her deceased mother to protect her.
The rest of the afternoon passed without incident. It was well past six p.m. when Ursula and Marika finished cooking. After cleaning up, they returned to Dresden to find the entire building empty except for two little girls playing with a handmade doll on the second floor. The girls glanced at them before resuming their game, their bald heads seeming too large for their wasting bodies.
“Where is everyone?” Ursula asked.
The older girl shrugged and rubbed her head. “They’re getting their hair cut like we did.”
“Like you did too!” the smaller girl squealed, a black spot gaping where she’
d recently lost a baby tooth. Ursula removed her cap and ran her hand over her prickly scalp. Although she missed the warmth of her longer hair, she was surprised to find that once the initial shock had passed, she didn’t mind that much. Besides, she knew her hair would grow back and once it did, she had already resolved to cut it only when necessary. She would have a long, thick, raven mane again. She was sure of it.
“You’re the singer,” the gap-toothed girl said.
“Yes. My name is Ursula.”
“I’m Anna and this is Sophia,” the older girl said.
Ursula smiled. “My sister’s name is Anna.”
“Is she here?” Sophia asked.
Ursula shook her head.
“Did she die?” Sophia asked, her little face scrunched up in concern.
“No. She’s alive.”
“That’s good to hear,” Sophia announced, sounding older than her years. “Would you like to play with us? My mother made this doll for me before she was sent away.”
Ursula’s heart seized. The girl spoke so matter-of-factly about her mother’s departure, probably assuming that she would return. The older of the girls, Anna, stared resolutely at Ursula. Stories about the transports’ destinations flew like wildfire around the camp. Although it wasn’t known exactly where the trains went, everyone appreciated the fact that no one had ever returned after heading east.
“No thank you, Sophia, but I appreciate the offer.”
The sound of multiple footfalls on the stairs drew their attention. A group of about fifty women and girls entered the room and collapsed onto their bunks or on the floor, all of their heads roughly shorn. Addi trailed the pack and grimaced at Ursula as she deposited herself on the floor.
Ursula crossed over to her. “You’ll find that you don’t miss your hair as much as you think you would.”
“Actually, I believe that this look suits me,” Addi said, striking a pose.
Ursula marveled at Addi’s gaiety amidst chaos and filth. She started to say so when she heard the unmistakable sound of SS boots clomping up the old, wood stairs. The women knew what was coming and hugged the little ones close as a guard appeared at their door and removed a sheet of paper from his coat pocket.
“You will stand!” he ordered.
They gathered quickly and quietly. A girl of about ten years whimpered and her mother whispered, “They wouldn’t have taken our hair if . . . we’ll be alright, sweetheart.”
The guard scrutinized his paper. “Numbers forty-nine through seventy-five, step forward!”
The prisoners obeyed. Ursula’s heart sank as she realized that the ten-year-old and her mother were among the chosen ones. The girl started hyperventilating and her mother knelt to calm her as others looked on.
“You will go immediately downstairs and enter the train. You need take nothing with you,” the guard clipped.
The despondent group said their brief good-byes and walked slowly out of the room as the rest of the women returned to their bunks.
“I’m not finished!” the guard yelled. “On your feet!”
Panicked glances were exchanged. Normally there was only one announcement. The remaining inmates formed a line.
“Numbers nineteen through thirty-five, downstairs!”
Ursula’s mouth dropped. For some ridiculous reason she had thought that she’d remain inoculated from a transport. She looked at Marika, whose ashen face betrayed her surprise.
“What are you waiting for! Go!” the guard ordered.
Ursula took a halting step forward, still disbelieving that she’d been chosen. She turned toward Marika with a desperate look.
“May I walk with her?” Marika asked the guard. He glared at Ursula but nodded curtly to Marika.
Ursula trudged with heavy feet, wondering what awaited her. Terrible visions assaulted her imagination, and she wondered if she might collapse. But Marika held her elbow, assuring her with empty platitudes that they would see each other again. Ursula comforted herself with mental pictures of Willy and Otto, but reality took hold when she descended the stairs and saw the look on Jakob Edelstein’s face.
Although the SS set the laws and the Czech guards enforced them, the Council of Jewish Elders was responsible for daily administration within the camp. One of the council’s duties was to assign prisoners to various transports, and as chairman of the council, Jakob Edelstein supervised the loading of each transport.
Edelstein’s face looked pained, as if he had eaten something that didn’t agree with him. Ursula caught his eye, and he shook his head. She stopped, thinking that perhaps a mistake had been made, that she shouldn’t enter the car. But he inclined his head toward the train, indicating that she should board. Confused, she continued to look to him for guidance, but he had turned his attention elsewhere. She reluctantly turned to Marika and hugged her tightly while fighting back tears. She didn’t want Marika’s last memory of her to be a blubbering mess.
“Thank you for everything you’ve done for me. You’re a true friend, Marika.”
The older woman cupped Ursula’s face in her hands. “I’ll miss you,” she whispered as tears flowed openly down her lined face. “You will always be my beautiful girl.” Ursula wasn’t sure if Marika was speaking to her or to the daughter she’d already lost. Either way, she’d spoken from her heart.
She gently removed Marika’s hands from her face and stepped onto the train. She turned to walk to a seat and came face-to-face with the guard from the kitchen.
“Well, look who it is. The thieving Jew.”
Ursula knew better than to respond. She cast her eyes downward.
“Where is the can of sardines you stole?”
She looked at him with a blank expression. Without warning he raised the butt of his pistol and whipped her with it. The skin on her cheekbone under her bruised eye split open and she crumpled to the floor. She curled into a ball, her arms wrapped protectively around her head, and awaited the inevitable kicks from the guard’s heavy boots.
Marika leapt onto the train and screamed, “It was me! I stole the sardines!”
A grotesque smirk worked its way across the guard’s face. He ignored Marika and continued to speak to Ursula. “You thought I was sleeping, but I wasn’t.”
Ursula peeked past the guard and saw Jakob Edelstein’s sorrowful face. She now understood why he’d shaken his head. He’d been attempting to warn her. But what could I have done? She sat up slowly and looked at the other inmates on the train. Emaciated, dirty bodies with vacant eyes stared at her. What kind of life is this? Maybe I should let it happen. Maybe I should let them kill me. She suddenly felt incredibly tired. She looked at Marika, whose wild eyes radiated desperation. Ursula didn’t want to see her friend die, nor did she want her to witness the cold-blooded murder of her second chance at a daughter. Faced with another impossible choice, Ursula swallowed her despondency and dragged herself to her feet. “She’s lying. I stole the sardines.”
Marika turned on Ursula, her eyes ablaze. “No, Ursula! Don’t lie to protect me.”
The guard laughed and turned to the prisoners in the train, some of whom watched the horrific scene unfolding while others stared at their hands. “You Jews are all the same. Liars and thieves.”
The guard’s black eyes bored into Ursula. “Maybe next time you won’t steal from the Reich.”
For the second time in one day, Ursula closed her eyes and waited for the bullet. She had taken action. She had made the decision to end her life. She was sad, but in the end, it had been her choice. She released all the tension in her body and breathed deeply, enjoying the cold air as it hit her lungs. She smiled and pictured Willy, secure in her belief that they would meet again someday.
Taking precise aim, the guard leveled his Luger and fired.
35
Willy gazed upwards at the War Office building that stood at the cor
ner of Horse Guards Avenue and Whitehall. A relatively low structure with four domed turrets that erupted from each corner, Willy thought it looked more like a museum than a place where generals had strategized the Great War. Brushing some lint from his overcoat, he climbed the steps and greeted the bored young man seated behind a tall, oak desk.
“Hello . . .” Willy leaned forward and squinted at his name tag. “Private Washburn. I’m hoping to speak to someone about enlisting in the armed services.”
The young soldier examined Willy’s expensive, wool overcoat and necktie before answering. “It’s Sergeant, and go through that door, sir. Take a right and it will be the first door on your left.”
Willy tilted his fedora in thanks. He followed Sergeant Washburn’s directions and found himself standing in front of a glass door labeled “Recruitment Officer.” He opened the door to find a corpulent, bald man blowing on a cup of steaming tea. “Sorry to interrupt, sir, but I was hoping to enlist in the army.”
The man glanced at Willy and pointed to the chair opposite him. Although Willy felt confident in his decision to enlist, this man made him nervous with his large frame and hooded, heavy brow. He continued to blow on his tea and then took a huge, loud gulp.
“Ahhhh. Too hot,” he said as he sucked in air.
Willy took a seat and evaluated the small space. The walls were bare save for a framed commendation for bravery and a picture of the man and a woman Willy presumed to be his wife. “Are you sure about enlisting, son? It’s a lot of paperwork.”
Willy looked at him in confusion. The man’s light blue eyes crinkled at the corners. “I’m joking, son. Relax.” He stood and held out his hand. “The name is Captain Stephen Hicks.” Willy stood and took his hand. “I’m Willy.” Hicks retook his seat and leaned forward, his chin in his hand. “So, tell me why you want to enlist.”
Swan Song Page 25