Swan Song

by Elizabeth B. Splaine

  She continued to scrutinize the ant. “Is that why you asked me to dine with you, Willy? To recruit me for your uncle?” She lifted her eyes and searched Willy’s face. She saw no deception or guise.

  “No, Ursula. It is just that Uncle Alf—”

  “Uncle Alf?”

  Willy nodded. “That’s what I call him. Anyway, he likes to surround himself with pretty things—artwork, music, and, yes, women. Not because he wants to bed them, but because they are unique, like him. Like you.” He took her hand and enclosed it in both of his. She wanted to resist but found that her hand would not disengage from his tender grasp. “You are unique, you know.”

  She stared at his perfectly buffed nails.

  “Uncle Alf isn’t interested in you romantically. He just wants to get to know you. You fascinate him.”

  Ursula shook her head. “Why is he so interested in me?”

  Willy smiled. “Well, he adores the opera, and you embody the art. Secondly, you remind him of someone he loved.”

  “Who?”

  Willy leaned back in his chair. A cloud crossed his features. “His niece, Geli.”

  “I see. We’re the same age, Geli and me?”

  “Yes. Well, you would have been, if she were still alive.”

  Ursula was quiet as she examined his face. His eyebrows were knitted, and his gaze had fallen to the tabletop.

  “Did you know her?”

  Willy shook his head. “No, I arrived in Germany years after she died.”

  “Was she ill?”

  “Physically? No. She shot herself with uncle’s pistol.”

  Ursula drew back. “What? Was it an accident?”

  Willy shrugged. “It’s difficult to know. No one talks about it. It’s an unspoken rule that no one is to speak of it in Uncle Alf’s presence. Her bedroom is a shrine in the Munich apartment he shared with her.”

  Ursula raised her eyebrows. “They must have been very close.”

  Willy fixed her with a stare. “Extremely close.”

  Ursula looked at her hands, embarrassed at the implication. She couldn’t imagine that the most powerful man in Germany, a man who could have almost any woman he wanted, would choose to consort with his own flesh and blood. His niece, no less. She shuddered.

  “You could be her twin, you know.”

  Ursula’s head shot up.

  “It’s true. Your hair and eyes. The way you carry yourself. Your dimples.” Willy smiled, then looked away. “Everyone says that there was something about her, a star quality. Apparently, she was captivating. From her photographs she was beautiful, full of life.” He returned his soft eyes to meet hers. “Like you.”

  Ursula blushed and averted her gaze. “I believe that you’re being a brash Englishman, Herr Hitler. I’m sure that I might resemble this unfortunate young woman, but to be her twin?” Ursula shook her head. “It’s difficult to believe.”

  But doubts niggled at the back of her mind. If what Willy said were true, it would explain the lingering looks the Führer had thrown her way, the manner in which he repeatedly touched her hand as they dined. As she had risen to leave, his hand had found her lower back, an intimate gesture that bespoke care and concern . . . and ownership.

  Ursula shook her head to clear the ugly memories. “What do you think happened to Geli?”

  Willy smiled sadly. “Ursula, I don’t want to speculate. Besides, we’ve spoken enough of my uncle. You and I are together on this beautiful evening eating wonderful food. Let us speak of happier topics.”

  Ursula found herself trembling as she imagined how unhappy someone would have to be to take her own life. “Willy, you raised the issue of your uncle. Not me.”

  Willy took her hand again. His touch felt comfortable, as if she’d known him a long time. “You’re right. I did, so let me finish the thought. Please, just dine with him one time. I will be in attendance as well, and I assure you that if he were to try anything untoward, I would be there in an instant to defend your honor.”

  Ursula noted how small her hand appeared encased in his. His fingers gently caressed her palm, and she felt herself softening. She looked at his eyes, so clear and blue. So warm and honest.

  “I suppose if you’re attending the opera this Friday, then I can attend a dinner with Uncle Alf.”

  Watching his face light up made her happy she had agreed. “But—” She raised a finger toward him. “You do realize that I must lie to my father, which makes me feel ill.”

  “Why must you lie to your father?”

  Ursula sighed heavily, then took a large sip of wine. “Papa doesn’t believe that your uncle is good for Germany.”

  Willy glanced around nervously. “Ursula, mind your tongue.”

  Ursula blinked, astonished that Willy would speak to her like that. “Excuse me? Did you just tell me to mind my tongue?”

  He held up his palms. “I’m sorry, but you must be careful how you speak about my uncle.”

  Ursula’s blazing eyes narrowed. She crossed her arms over her chest.

  Willy leaned forward and held out his hand, which she regarded with a haughty stare. His shoulders slumped as he withdrew his hand and whispered, “You need to understand, Ursula. The Gestapo is everywhere.”

  Ursula looked at the unoccupied tables and onto the near-empty street. His stern reprimand annoyed her, and the wine loosened her tongue. “I don’t see any Gestapo, Willy.”

  Willy closed his eyes in a silent appeal for patience.

  “Am I not able to speak freely anymore, even with the Führer’s nephew?”

  Willy leaned forward again, a pleading edge in his tone. “You need to be careful, Ursula. Being well-known can protect you and harm you at the same time. Just like knowing me can protect you and harm you at the same time.”

  “You’re speaking enigmatically, Willy. All I’m saying—”

  Willy placed his index finger on his lips in an effort to quiet her. She rolled her eyes and leaned across the table to whisper, “All I’m saying is that Papa disagrees with your uncle’s political philosophies, and I’ll need to lie to him in order to dine with the Führer.”

  “Fine. Lie to you father. Just, please, keep your opinions to yourself or share them only with me. Quietly.”

  Ursula leaned back in her chair and studied him, a sly smile forming on her full lips. “I thought I was sharing them only with you. Tell me, do you agree with your uncle’s decision to rid Germany of the vermin he calls the Jews?”

  Willy gazed into her eyes. She didn’t want him to see how much his opinion mattered to her. He smiled and she had to remind herself to be strong, not to concede her point. She noticed that he focused on her dimple as he spoke. “I wholeheartedly disagree with him!”

  Her fears appeased, she nodded her approval and offered Willy a double-dimple grin. “I knew there was a reason I liked you.”

  7

  When Otto realized that Willy’s surname was truly Hitler, he had forbidden Ursula to see him again. It had taken much convincing to assuage Otto’s fears that Willy was sympathetic to his uncle’s tenets. Truly, it was the passion and vehemence with which Ursula spoke of Willy’s impeccable character that finally convinced Otto. Willy and Ursula became almost inseparable over the ensuing months, and Otto had continued to quietly voice his displeasure about their relationship.

  “There are things in this world out of Willy’s control, Ursula.”

  “Papa, Willy loves me.”

  “I know that. But what about his uncle?”

  “What of him?”

  At this point Otto would usually turn away and shake his head, as if speaking of Adolf Hitler would summon bad luck.

  Although he admitted he liked Willy personally, Otto was concerned for Ursula’s safety due to her being involved with a Hitler. He told her, in no uncertain terms, that he hoped th
at she and Willy would have a falling out so she could find someone else. She had responded that Willy loved her and would keep her safe no matter what.

  When Ursula and Willy were alone together, however, outside influences were mostly forgotten and the rest of the world fell away. Often Willy would go the opera house and sit quietly while Ursula rehearsed. Afterward, they would stroll along the river or lounge under a tree, discussing music or art, until one of them complained of bitter hunger. At that point they would either find somewhere to dine or Willy would walk Ursula home. They would linger outside the apartment door until Otto opened it and cleared his throat, at which point Willy would tip his hat and bid Ursula good-bye until the following day, when they would do it all over again.

  In the last several weeks, Willy had repeatedly raised the issue of dining with his uncle. In deference to her father’s concerns, Ursula would either change the subject or simply not respond when Willy pressed her on setting a date. Finally, out of frustration, Willy decided to arrange the dinner himself. The previous night he had informed her that they would be dining with his uncle immediately following the final performance of her current show. She had started to object but was silenced when Willy had thrown her a pleading look. Although she didn’t want to disappoint Otto, she realized that she was falling in love with Willy and didn’t want to risk losing him.

  For the first time in her life, Ursula planned not only to deceive her father, but to openly defy his wishes. If only she could keep her father’s concerns at bay long enough, Otto would see what a wonderful man Willy was and how much he cared for her.

  She primped in the mirror while evaluating her father’s mood. He had just finished a meal of bratwurst with onions, courtesy of Willy’s generosity, and sat smiling and rubbing his belly in contentment. It’s now or never. She tried to appear casual as her stomach churned. “Papa, I shall be attending a party immediately following our final production and will not return home until the wee hours.”

  Otto smiled. “Then I shall meet you at the close of the festivities to ensure your safe return.”

  Ursula’s heart skipped a beat. She turned slowly to face him, her most winsome smile affixed to her lovely face. “Papa, I’m grateful for your kind offer, but I’m old enough to attend to my own security.”

  “Don’t be foolish, Ursula. It’s not a bother.” He stared hard at her. “Unless Willy will be attending as well?”

  Ursula resumed her self-evaluation in the mirror and steeled herself for another outright lie. “No. But I have many admirers who would be more than willing to see me safely home.”

  “That is precisely what I’m worried about,” Otto responded. “Who will be attending this party?”

  Ursula paused, warming to her own deceit. She pictured the last post-performance party she had attended. “Oh, just the usual, Papa. The rich, the powerful, the hangers-on.”

  “You have hangers-on?” He laughed. “My, my, daughter, you must be more popular than I realized.”

  She kissed his cheek and hugged him. “You know what I mean, Papa. The people who like to be seen.”

  “Again, those are exactly the people whom I do not want escorting you home.”

  She knelt and grasped his large hand. “Have I not made meticulous choices in friends over the years?”

  Otto crossed his arms. “Until recently I would have answered yes to your question, but your choice of late saddens me, as you are well aware.”

  “And yet you currently enjoy a full stomach because of Willy’s generosity.” The comment had escaped her lips before she’d considered its implications. Although her words rang true, she immediately regretted her rash statement. How could she blame her father, who had lost so much weight due to stress and illness, for taking advantage of an opportunity to dine on such delicious food? Otto’s face registered surprise, then hurt and guilt as he considered her words. He hung his head.

  Ursula placed her hands on his crossed arms. “Papa, please look at me.”

  Otto’s mouth twisted and his eyes remained focused on his knees.

  “I really enjoy spending time with Willy. As I’ve said, he strongly disagrees with his uncle’s principles and actions.”

  “Yet he works at the Reichskreditbank and benefits from the misfortune of a displaced Jew.” Otto shook his head.

  “Papa, we’ve discussed this. You want me to find a gentleman who cares for me and is able to provide. I want to find a gentleman for whom I care. Willy meets our criteria.”

  “But his uncle . . . mark my words, Ursula, Adolf Hitler will lead this country to ruin.”

  Ursula knitted her brow. “Papa, this country was already in ruins. Although I don’t particularly care for some of the Führer’s methods, the fact is that most people are working again and can afford to put food on the table.”

  “But at what cost?”

  “Papa, sometimes I believe you’re too smart for your own good. Try not to think so much. Just enjoy the bounty that comes our way. Willy is kind to me, and to you and to Anna. Did you see the new violin he gave Anna? She cried when she opened the package, Papa. She was so grateful. Willy has all but promised that Anna will soon be playing in the orchestra.”

  “Soon is an elusive word, Ursula. Soon can feel like an eternity.”

  Ursula’s shoulders fell as she realized the depth of her father’s concern. She wished she could relieve him of the mental burden, but she didn’t know how. She sighed and wrapped her arms around him. “Papa, we have our health, each other, and good food on the table. We cannot look a gift horse in the mouth. We must acknowledge and show gratitude for what we’ve been given. From God and from those made in his form.”

  Otto sat still for a moment and then returned Ursula’s embrace. She felt the tension melt away as she held him, much as he had done when she was a child. “Of course, you are correct, my smart daughter. I just worry. That’s all.” He withdrew from her and took her face in his hands. “Now go. Have a wonderful performance and enjoy the party afterwards. You’ve earned it.”

  ***

  Ursula took a fourth curtain call before flitting back to her dressing room, flying high on adrenaline and sweet accolades. She pulled off her false eyelashes and removed her wig, then slipped out of her floor-length gown and threw it on the chaise for the dressing assistant to collect. She plucked out the sixty-four hairpins that Hilde had used to segment her mane into small rings, then shook her head, allowing ringlets to cascade down her back and shoulders. She glanced in the mirror and was pleased with her reflection. She slipped into a simple lavender frock that fit snugly against her small waist and flared towards the hem. She twirled several times and giggled as the skirt lifted, and she stopped abruptly when the door to her dressing room opened.

  “Forgive me, Ursula, but I knocked twice. Did you not hear me?”

  Ursula rushed over to Willy. “I’m sorry. I was being a silly girl, twirling and admiring my reflection.”

  “Admiring you is my job. Please don’t put me out of a job,” Willy joked.

  “Never.” Ursula stood on tiptoe and kissed him, catching him off guard.

  When they parted, he said, “That’s also my job, Ursula. Initiating kisses.”

  Ursula put her hands on her hips. “Who says it’s only your job? Are you complaining because I kissed you?”

  He stepped forward and placed his hands around her waist. “I would never in a million years complain about that.”

  He smiled and kissed her deeply, leaving her breathless. “I was wrong, and you were right. You should be in charge of that.”

  Willy laughed. “We should leave now. Uncle admires promptness.”

  ***

  Ursula squeezed Willy’s hand as they approached the Old Chancellery. He turned to her. “There’s no need to be nervous, Ursula. Uncle Alf is one of your biggest fans, truly.”

  “I have not seen hi
m in some time.”

  “Well, you should know that he absolutely adores you.”

  Ursula fidgeted. She didn’t care to be adored by Adolf Hitler any more than she already had been.

  Willy stopped to face her, then took her hands. “Ursula, please, don’t worry. Just have fun.”

  She didn’t want to disappoint Willy, so she allowed his warm gaze to calm her nerves. She realized that in addition to her own feelings toward Hitler, she had taken on her father’s concerns as well. She admonished herself for being so foolish and decided to enjoy the evening. It was a simple gathering in which she would say polite things and laugh at mediocre jokes. She squeezed Willy’s hand and smiled. “Alright. Let’s go.”

  They entered the Chancellery and were shown to the reception hall, where Ursula immediately recognized the Reich Minister of Public Enlightenment and Propaganda, Joseph Goebbels. When Willy excused himself to get some champagne, Goebbels sauntered over. Although his shoulders sloped down, his posture was ramrod straight and his brown hair was slicked straight back, accentuating his beaklike nose and deep-set brown eyes. She was shocked to find that he was several inches shorter than she, yet he somehow managed to give the impression of looking down at her.

  “Fräulein Becker, what a lovely surprise to see you.”

  “Herr Goebbels, the pleasure is mine.”

  “I must tell you that you took my breath away with your performance this evening.”

  “I was not aware that you were in attendance.”

  “I was, and you were simply magnificent. Tell me, what do you think of the changes made to the performance venue?”

  “I love singing in our opera house. The air is less dry, and my voice favors the acoustical advantages. I must say though, Minister, that I don’t understand why the seating was altered. The house sits two hundred people less than it used to.”

  “My dear, the changes were made to accommodate our Führer’s vision of what an opera house should be. The Führer’s special seating boxes were incorporated so that he might maximize his viewing and listening pleasure.”