The papers fluttered in Otto’s hands and fell to the ground. Otto clutched his chest and collapsed, his breathing labored. Willy flew to his side, turned him on his back, and unfastened the top buttons on his shirt. “Otto, try to breathe. I’ll get help.” He ran to the top of the stairs. “Mum! Otto collapsed! Call the doctor!” Willy heard a plate shatter on the kitchen floor, then his mother’s thick-heeled shoes running to the telephone. Her voice sounded frantic as she spoke with Dr. Morgan, who lived two houses away.
Willy ran back to Otto. “The doctor will be here soon, Otto. Hang on.”
Otto’s ashen face became beet red as a jolt of pain shot through him. His entire body tensed and then relaxed as the spasm passed. “It’s my heart.”
He had reverted to German again and Willy responded in kind. “I know. Help is coming.”
Moments later Willy heard Dr. Morgan’s heavy footfalls on the stairs, and then he was in the room, black bag in hand. Bridget stood behind him in the doorway, her arms crossed protectively across her chest and her face a mask of worry. The doctor knelt by Otto and calmly smiled down at him. “Well, well, Otto. What have we here?”
Otto groaned. “My heart.”
Dr. Morgan removed a stethoscope from his bag and listened to Otto’s heart and lungs, then placed a small white aspirin under his tongue. He leaned back and sat on his heels. “How long have you had heart palpitations, Otto?”
Normal color was returning to Otto’s cheeks. “For years.”
“Have you been under any undue stress recently?” A knowing glance passed between Willy and Bridget. Dr. Morgan didn’t know Otto’s history. No one did. The neighbors had been told that Otto was a distant relative visiting from Austria.
Otto blinked rapidly before answering. “No.”
Dr. Morgan nodded. “Well, keep it that way. I could take you to hospital and run some tests if you like, but I think you had significant heart palpitations. Although it most likely wasn’t a heart attack, these symptoms should be taken seriously because they can lead to complications, including a heart attack. Do you understand?”
Otto nodded and slowly sat up.
“You need to avoid stress and walk daily to maintain good blood flow.” Dr. Morgan stood and smiled at Bridget, who fussed with her hair and tried not to cry.
“Thank you for coming so quickly, doctor. I’ll see you to the door,” Willy said as he escorted him back downstairs.
When Willy returned to his room, Bridget was seated on the floor next to Otto. His head leaned on her shoulder, and her arm was draped around him. Her hand gently stroked his cheek and they spoke in hushed, intimate tones. Willy stopped on the threshold, transfixed. He had been so focused on himself that he hadn’t noticed the relationship that had blossomed. He realized that he was smiling at seeing them together. Both had lost so much, and they were entitled to happiness.
Then his thoughts turned to Ursula, and his smile faded.
There would be no happy ending for Ursula and him.
There would be only revenge.
And that would have to be enough.
40
Months of rigorous rehearsals had ensured that the choir had mastered the Requiem. Despite having only one score, the 150 inmates had memorized the words, practicing until Schächter’s exacting diction and dynamics requirements had been exceeded. The last rehearsal prior to the performance had been held the previous evening. The month of November had been unseasonably warm, and there was an electricity in the air as people gathered in the basement.
Schächter clapped his hands to draw everyone’s attention.
“Have you seen them? The flowers?” He made eye contact with each member of the group, some of whom had trouble standing due to illness or undernourishment. “Even in the cold, in this most desolate of places, I saw a bloom, ignorant of the horrors that surround it. The flowers reappear, year after year, despite the chaos and ugliness into which they are born. And why?”
He walked among the singers, touching them lightly on backs and shoulders as he passed. Reminding them that they were humans who required touch, love, and beauty.
“Because life always vanquishes death. Because there is always a chance to be reborn, no matter the circumstances.” He crossed to stand in front of the group. He radiated serene, passionate intensity.
“Verdi has allowed us the unique opportunity to be transported into his exquisite musical world. You will be warm, and your bellies will be full. Pain will cease, replaced by a euphoria that will bring you closer to God. Are you with me?”
Ursula reflected on the fact that there are people in the world who draw others toward them. They have an irresistible pull that cannot be denied. Hitler had this quality, and he used it to destroy. Rafael Schächter used it to create.
She pulled her eyes from the maestro and scanned the choir. Every single person was nodding reverently. He had captured the hearts and minds of souls whose bodies were already imprisoned. The silent crowd waited expectantly.
“You are the flowers. Do you understand? The flowers that refuse to yield in the face of overwhelming adversity. You continue to rise from the ground and bloom, even though others seek to crush your souls. It will not be so! You will rise. Physically, emotionally, spiritually, and musically. You. . . will. . . rise.” He lifted his hands and the choir burst into grateful applause, many weeping openly. After a moment, he held out his arms, palms down, indicating the group should settle. When it was silent, he smiled.
“Tonight we have the opportunity to show how capable we are, that we are worth more than we have been given. I’ve had the pleasure of working with you, some of the brightest and most talented musicians in the world, and I look forward to exhibiting our skill to Adolf Hitler when he arrives.”
Ursula’s legs gave way beneath her, and she fell to the packed earth. Although there had been rumor about Hitler potentially attending the performance, she hadn’t believed that he would actually lower himself to enter a prison camp. Like all bullies, at heart he was a coward and didn’t like to witness the devastation he caused.
Addi knelt next to her. “Ursula, are you alright?”
Ursula started hyperventilating and Addi forced her head between her knees. “Slow your breathing, Ursula. Breathe with me.” Addi inhaled and exhaled, her hand on the back of Ursula’s neck. Eventually, Ursula’s inhalations returned to normal, and she noted with embarrassment that a circle had formed around her. She briefly wondered if they were concerned for her, or for themselves if the soprano soloist wasn’t able to perform.
The maestro broke through the line and grinned. “No need to worry, Ursula. Your melodious voice will carry from here to Berlin. You will sing to the Nazis what we, as Jews, cannot say.” He held out his hand. She took it and he pulled her from the ground. He turned to the choir. “Remember, whatever we do here is just a rehearsal for when we will play Verdi in a grand concert hall in Prague in freedom.” He turned back to Ursula and nodded, and she felt strengthened by his confidence.
He strode back to the front of the room. “I understand that you have a warm meal waiting for you and washed clothes in your barracks. Please eat and dress, then go to the Town Hall, where I will meet you at seven p.m. We begin singing promptly at eight.” He clapped his hands twice in dismissal, and immediately tongues started wagging about the meal and fresh clothing.
Ursula and Addi rushed to the dining building, where they took their place in queue. Aromas of boiled potatoes, cabbage, and meat wafted from the kitchen. Ursula’s mouth started watering, and she found she couldn’t control her saliva. By the time she and Addi collected their food and sat at a table, she was wiping her mouth with the back of her hand. They were silent as they ate, and Ursula reminded Addi several times not to eat too quickly, lest she regurgitate her food before her body had a chance to digest it. Ursula ingested half of her food, then wrapped the rest in a handkerc
hief and stuffed it into her pocket. Their energy levels increased almost immediately after eating, and they ran to Magdeburg, where Ursula found a large, rectangular box lying on her mattress. As the other choristers ejected squeals of delight upon seeing freshly washed shirts and dresses, Ursula approached the box cautiously, wondering why her outfit was not laid out like the others.
Moments later Addi appeared at her side. “Look, Ursula!” Addi turned in a circle, her skirt rising and falling as she spun. Ursula was reminded of the day she had twirled in front of her dressing room mirror, the day Willy asked her to marry him. That had been seventeen months, nine kilos, and one headful of lustrous hair ago. It may as well have been a lifetime.
“Open the box, Ursula!” Addi ordered. Ursula looked at her, resplendent in her full stomach and warm clothes. She didn’t want to spoil Addi’s mood but couldn’t shake the feeling that she’d just ingested her last supper. She evaluated her peers preening for one another. Their fresh clothes weren’t a reward for a job well done. They were designed to hide the true state of the prisoners’ physical malnutrition and degradation.
“Ursula!” Addi stomped her foot and crossed her arms, looking very much like the teenage girl she was. Ursula slowly unfastened the raffia string that surrounded the box, then removed the lid.
A deep-green silk gown lay gracefully within pristine, white paper. Ursula’s heart skipped a beat as she withdrew it from its paper cocoon. She held it up and stared at its full length, then held it against her body. “It’s exquisite,” Addi breathed. Ursula glanced at the box. A pair of matching green, silk shoes lay in the box, along with an envelope addressed to her. She picked it up and read silently.
Dearest Ursula,
I had this dress fashioned specifically for you. Commandant Seidl was kind enough to provide me with your dimensions. My intention was for the green to highlight your fiery, feline eyes. I looked forward to seeing you wearing it when you perform for me, but alas I am unable to attend this evening’s performance. Duty calls. After the performance, however, I have a surprise for you, and you alone.
Yours truly and always,
Adolf
Ursula ran her fingers through her short hair and clenched her teeth. Hitler’s comment about Seidl was surely meant to belittle her by reminding her of the devil’s deal she’d made regarding Fritz. She threw the dress and the note on her pallet. Addi picked up the paper and read it aloud.
“Wow,” she breathed. “‘When you perform for me’ and ‘Yours truly and always’? Is there more to this story, Ursula? The Führer writes as if he knows you intimately.”
Ursula whirled around. “He does not!”
Addi held up her hands in surrender. “I believe you, but I’m not sure they do.”
Ursula turned to find the other inmates staring at her. One woman spoke for the group. “I had heard that you knew the Führer, but for him to have a dress designed for you . . .” The woman left the thought unfinished as she and several others whispered.
Ursula sat heavily, her head in her hands. “I can’t do it,” she moaned.
Addi sat next to her. “You can do it. The question is, will you? It’s your voice, so it’s your choice. But you must recognize that the fate of the choir lay in your decision.”
Ursula laughed derisively. “Why are we constantly surrounded by terrible choices, Addi? Watch someone be shot or intervene and risk dying ourselves. Offer food to a starving man and risk starvation ourselves. Give succor to a diseased person and risk acquiring the illness.” She glanced out the window. “I remember a time, not too long ago, that my hardest choice was where to dine with Willy or which skirt to wear. Oh, how I yearn for those mindless, easy decisions.” She turned back to Addi whose glassy eyes were far away. “What is it, Addi?”
Still staring into the distance, Addi spoke quietly. “I had to make a difficult choice.”
Ursula waited, knowing that she would speak when she was ready. The pain in her eyes was almost unbearable. “When the brownshirts came to arrest me, they asked if either of my sisters preferred women like I do. I assured the soldiers that my older sisters were pure as the driven snow. But they didn’t believe me, so they had me—” She stopped abruptly and broke down. Loud bursts of emotion broke through her carefully constructed façade.
Ursula rubbed her back. “Take your time,” she whispered.
Addi’s sobs subsided and became gulps of air. She wiped her nose. “They made me choose a sister to be killed as a reminder to follow the rules.”
Ursula had imagined several scenarios, but not this. Even now, her imagination struggled against such cruelty. “What did you do?” she whispered.
Addi’s unblinking eyes filled with tears. “I did nothing. How could I possibly decide? It was an impossible choice. So, I didn’t choose. I did nothing.” Tears spilled down her cheeks.
Ursula’s eyebrows knitted. “What happened?”
Addi’s eyes darted back and forth as they relived the past. “They shot both of them, right there in our apartment, before dragging me away. My parents were left childless in a matter of seconds.”
Ursula couldn’t speak. There simply weren’t words to express her feelings. She squeezed Addi’s hands and glanced at the group of women clustered in the corner. Her eyes traveled to the beautiful gown that lay crumpled on her filthy pallet. Addi’s earlier words played through her mind—“the fate of the choir lay in your decision.” Her mind wandered to the death of Markus Appel in the train car many months ago. Her indecision had directly caused his murder, and his vacant eyes still haunted her nightmares. If she chose not to sing tonight, she knew that the choir would most likely be killed. Like so many other instances in the ghetto, the outcomes of each choice were clear.
Sing and live. Or refuse to sing and cause the deaths of more than one hundred people.
She stood, undressed quickly, and slipped the dress over her head. Although it was too large, the effect was immediate. Standing erect, she felt the diva awaken inside her. The women sensed the change and congregated around her, her confidence luring them to her light. She lifted her chin and held out her hand to Addi, who wiped her eyes and stood. Ursula gave Addi a reassuring nod and smiled proudly as she addressed the women.
“Herr Schächter is correct. Tonight, it’s our turn to shine. Let’s show our captors that our voices will never be silenced. Let us sing the words that we cannot speak. Remember the words of the Requiem: ‘Deliver me . . . whatever is hidden will be revealed . . . nothing shall remain unavenged . . . from the ashes, the guilty man to be judged . . . how great will be the terror, when the Judge comes.’ It’s only a matter of time before our captors are judged, if not by other men, then certainly by a higher power. Let us lose ourselves in music while simultaneously making a statement.” The women cheered, then chatted excitedly as they rushed downstairs.
“Are you coming?” Addi asked.
“Just give me a moment.” Ursula watched from the window as the animated group walked down the street. The choir had worked so hard, and she wanted to look forward to the concert. But the dread she’d felt earlier sat like a stone in her stomach. She picked up Hitler’s note and re-read it.
After the performance, however, I have a surprise for you, and you alone.
The first time Hitler had surprised her was when he’d had Otto beaten and left him for dead. The second time was her kidnapping. Bile rose in her throat. She wasn’t certain her sanity could handle any more of his surprises.
III
41
“It’s not a very flattering picture of me,” Bridget sniffed.
Willy wrapped his arms around her waist. “What do you mean? I think you look stunning. Otto, what do you think?”
Otto took the magazine from Willy and perused the article, “Why I Hate My Uncle,” before focusing on the pictures that accompanied the story. When he spoke, he was blushing. “I
believe you appear strong and beautiful, Bridget.”
Bridget twisted her mouth in an effort not to smile. She waved her hand toward Otto and stomped to the kitchen, muttering about dinner. Otto glanced at Willy and shrugged. “Sometimes I don’t understand your mother.”
Willy rolled his eyes. “Welcome to the club,” he joked.
“What are you going to do about the telegram?”
Willy held his finger to his lips. “Shh! Mum doesn’t know yet.”
Otto’s eyebrows shot up. “She doesn’t know you’re traveling to America?”
A look of consternation crossed Willy’s features. “Again, hush!”
“What do I not know?” Bridget appeared, wiping her hands on her apron. “Dinner is ready. What do I not know?” Her stern gaze swept between Willy and Otto. Willy remained silent and glared at Otto, willing him to hold his tongue.
“Willy is going to America!” Otto blurted. Willy dropped his head and sighed.
“What?” Bridget threw up her hands. “The armed services won’t take you so now you’re rushing off to America? When were you going to tell me? When you were on the ship?”
Willy looked at his mother. She meant business. Her hands were on her hips and dinner had been forgotten. “Mum, listen. I received a telegram from a man named William Randolph Hearst.”
“Who in the bloody hell is he?” she fumed. Willy hadn’t heard his mother swear in years. If he were honest, he’d admit that the curse word struck a wee bit of fear into him.
“He’s a businessman in the United States. Very powerful. He read my article and wants me to come to the States for a speaking tour.”
Bridget drew back. “Speaking tour? What would you talk about?”
Swan Song Page 29