Swan Song

by Elizabeth B. Splaine

  Willy paused. He had decided that he would divulge as little information as possible. “I want to serve my country, sir. It’s that simple.”

  Still maintaining eye contact, Hicks picked up his tea, blew on it, and took another sip. He sighed and replaced it on the blotter. “I remember being enthusiastic like you, son. That was many years ago. Back when I earned that thing.” He nodded his head toward the commendation hanging on the wall.

  “I noticed that, sir. Impressive.”

  Hicks smiled ruefully. “It’s not so remarkable when you hear how I earned it. I got shot in my ass trying to retrieve my superior’s wedding ring, believe it or not. The damned thing slipped off in the mud during a skirmish, and I was the idiot private sent to retrieve it. Got hit and sent home. That’s how I ended up here.” Hicks took another sip. “Worked out for the best, though. The wife is happy with my situation.”

  Willy wasn’t sure what to say, so he smiled.

  Hicks observed him. “You haven’t really answered my question. Why do you want to serve your country?”

  Willy felt the situation slipping away from him. He hadn’t thought he’d have to explain himself. He’d believed he could walk in, sign on the dotted line, and receive a uniform. Apparently, the military had become more selective. He decided to offer some of the truth. “My father left when I was young, sir. To Germany. You see, he was German by birth, so I’m fluent in the language. I thought the army could use soldiers who speak German.”

  Hicks’ eyebrows shot up. “Well, well. That changes things, son. We do need people who speak German. Hold on.” Hicks held up a finger toward Willy and lifted his phone receiver. “Come in here, Nigel.”

  Ten seconds later the sergeant from the front desk entered the office. “Yes, sir?”

  “Nigel, Willy says he knows German. Say something to him.”

  “Of course, sir.” Nigel turned to Willy. “Sie sehen nicht aus wie der normale Rekrut, der durch die Tür geht.”

  Nigel’s German was passable, but his accent was horrendous, the result of learning in the classroom but never having spent any time in a German-speaking country.

  “Ich kenne. Ich konnte es an deinem Gesichtsausdruck erkennen.”

  Nigel laughed and nodded.

  Hicks’ forehead furrowed in concentration as his eyes darted between the two younger men. He leaned forward with his heavy arms on the desktop. “Well, what did you two talk about?”

  Nigel became serious. “I told him that he didn’t look like a normal army recruit. He responded that I looked at him funny when he entered the building.”

  Hicks tilted an eyebrow toward Willy. “Alright. You can speak German, but what makes you think the army will need you to speak German on its behalf?”

  Willy sat up straighter. “I’m sure you’re familiar with the history between Germany and the USSR?”

  “I know that Germany signed a non-aggression pact with the USSR in 1939 that resulted in the two countries dividing Poland.”

  “That’s right. Then the USSR went on to invade Finland and the Baltic states.”

  “And eventually Germany took note and began Operation Barbarossa, during which it attacked Italy, Romania, and eventually, the USSR.”

  “Yes. And in 1941 the siege of Leningrad began, which has been waging ever since. When Germany eventually gave up trying to take Moscow, the USSR fought back with brute force.”

  Hicks leaned back in his chair and evaluated Willy. “Well, I’ll give you this, you certainly know your recent military history.”

  Willy smiled. “Anyone who’s following the political happenings would be aware of what we discussed.”

  “Alright. So, what does all of this have to do with you speaking German on behalf of Britain?”

  “It’s my firm belief that the Leningrad battle might well result in Germans surrendering to the Soviets in the coming months.”

  Hicks’ already stern countenance darkened, and his eyes flitted in Nigel’s direction. “You’re dismissed.”

  “Yes, sir.” Nigel saluted and left the small room.

  Hicks glared at Willy, evaluating him more seriously than three minutes previously.

  “What makes you say that?”

  “Because Hitler is now fighting wars on both fronts and his resources are dwindling.”

  Hicks’ face went from concentration to suspicion in a matter of seconds. “You sound very confident in your analysis.”

  Willy held his gaze. “I am, sir.”

  “Have you studied the history of war, son?”

  “Not in school, sir.”

  Hicks lifted his chin. A long moment passed before he spoke again. “You seem sane and quite frankly, credible. Although I can’t exactly say why.” He sighed heavily and leaned back in his chair, his cup of tea forgotten. He tented his fingers and placed his chin atop them. “Based on recent reports, I happen to agree with your assessment. This Hitler is insane. I’ve even heard rumors of work camps where he sends people who disagree with him.”

  Willy’s heart hammered in his chest. He swallowed to quell his nerves, afraid his voice would give him away. “I’ve heard those same rumors, sir.”

  “By God, we just got through one world war. I can’t believe we’re doing it again.” He breathed heavily and shook his head. “But if the rumors are true . . .”

  “They’re true, sir. I’m sure of it.”

  Hicks paused, looking Willy up and down. “You’re motivated. I’ll say that for you. Looks like you’re going to be the army’s newest recruit.”

  Relieved, Willy stood quickly. “Thank you, sir. You won’t regret it. I promise.”

  Hicks waved his hand. “Well, well, let’s not be too eager. There’s paperwork to complete, son. Sit down.” He removed a manila folder from a drawer and slid it across the desk. “Fill these out and then we’ll talk about next steps. A physical exam will be required. Assuming you pass that, you’ll be issued a uniform and we’ll figure out whether you’ll be housed in a barracks or if you can remain at home and report daily.”

  Willy could barely contain himself. His hands were shaking as he opened the file and completed the application. He kept thinking of Ursula, willing her to remain strong as the wheels turned to get him closer to her. It might take some time, but his plan was moving forward.

  36

  Ursula touched the hollow in her neck where Willy’s locket used to be. She couldn’t get used to the empty space. Her fingers kept returning to twirl the chain that was no longer there.

  After Marika had been shot on the train, the guard had pistol-whipped Ursula again before ripping the locket from her neck. Bloodied and battered, Ursula had looked on helplessly as he had pocketed the necklace and dragged Marika’s still twitching body from the train. Her muddled brain wrestled to understand why Marika had been killed instead of her. The only logical explanation was that the guard had known the truth and was toying with Ursula when he aimed the gun at her. Ursula had been directed to carry her friend’s body almost a mile to the Little Fortress. Once there, she’d been forced to dig a shallow grave while several SS men verbally and physically threatened her.

  The ground was almost frozen. Each time the metal shovel hit the earth it sent a jolt up the wooden handle into her hands. She didn’t mind the pain, however. It was small price to pay for surviving. The guilt surrounding Marika’s death started as a niggling in the back of her mind but burst to the forefront as she shoveled, numbing her to the cold. She was certain that as soon as she completed the hole she would be shot and tossed in next to her friend. She shoveled with gusto, even as the blisters on her hands burst. The sooner she completed the hole, she reasoned, the sooner she’d be free. She welcomed the notion, as she was certain that she couldn’t survive knowing the part she’d played in Marika’s murder. After digging the shallow hole, Ursula stood sweating and breathless, waiti
ng for the shot that would end it all.

  “Put the body in,” the larger of the two guards said.

  Of course, Ursula thought. Get Marika in the hole and then shoot me. Less work for them. With great effort, she dragged Marika’s body into the grave, then carefully arranged her limbs. She stood, fully expecting a bullet in her back. When the shot didn’t come, she turned around to find the guards smiling.

  “Fill in the hole.” The guard gestured with his gun.

  Ursula was confused. Are they going to let me live? Why? She felt miserable but climbed out of the grave and shoveled dirt on top of the body. Starting at Marika’s feet and working upward, Ursula held her breath as she poured dirt over her friend’s mouth. “I’m sorry,” she mouthed. When the burial was complete, the guards ordered her to recite a prayer in Hebrew.

  She faced them and blinked several times. “I can’t do that.”

  The smaller guard raised his pistol and took careful aim at her chest. “Do it,” he said quietly.

  Ursula felt an exhaustion she’d never known. She glanced at her freezing hands, covered in drying blood. Blood on my hands. Literally and figuratively. She touched her cheekbone and felt the gash. Blood had clotted and frozen, creating a makeshift bandage. Hopelessness and fatigue overwhelmed her, and she swayed on her feet.

  I should join Marika in sleep. I should step toward the guard.

  But then her mind turned to Willy and Otto.

  She closed her eyes. “I don’t know Hebrew.”

  The guards laughed. “But you are a Jew.”

  Her eyes flew open. She shook her head, then stopped herself, acutely aware that any opposition would fuel their anger. “Yes, but I don’t know Hebrew.”

  The guards snickered at her perceived ineptitude and called her condescending names as they pushed her back and forth between them. She allowed herself to be shoved and showed no reaction to their taunts. It wasn’t a challenge to remain silent. Her mind escaped the torment, leaving the shell of her freezing body behind as it soared to the warmth of Willy’s embrace.

  Receiving no reaction from Ursula, the guards quickly tired of their game.

  “You will go there.” The smaller guard gestured toward the Little Fortress.

  So, I am to be killed, she thought. But very slowly. She entered the stone structure and was shoved into the first cell on the right. Inside were four other people who barely acknowledged her entrance, too cold or despondent to care. No one spoke as night fell and they came together for warmth. In the morning they were given a liter of water but no food. The day passed slowly. When not dozing, Ursula spent her time leaning against the frigid stone wall, staring at Marika’s resting place, wondering if her friend’s soul was at peace and questioning if she’d made the correct decision in not forcing the guard’s hand to end her own life. Early into the second day, a light snow began to fall. Ursula watched the fat flakes float down and lay a soft, white blanket over her friend, as if nature had found a way to tuck Marika in for her last, long sleep.

  On the third day Ursula awoke to find a man curled around her. She struggled to lift his arm and realized that he was frozen solid. She managed to disengage from him, then scuttled away from the body as fast as her cold, aching limbs would allow. When the other inmates realized he was dead, they fell on the body like hyenas. Frozen hands clawed at the buttons on his coat as they stripped him of his clothing. Despairing, she turned her attention outside. The snow had completely obscured Marika’s grave. She was truly gone. As if she had never existed.

  Ursula was alone.

  Terror enveloped her in a black shroud. Her breath came quickly until she thought she’d faint. But she remembered her conversation with Marika about concentrating on life, and she forced herself to focus. She slowed her breathing and made a silent promise to Marika that she would honor her legacy. As she considered the best manner in which to do that, her attention shifted to two guards walking quickly toward the prison. Ever efficient, they dragged her back to Dresden barracks, where they dumped her on the threshold. Her knees shook as she stood and surveyed the stairs she would need to climb to get to her pallet. All at once Addi appeared, put Ursula’s arm around her tiny shoulders and helped her up the stairs. They were both breathing heavily when they arrived on the third floor. Ursula collapsed and immediately fell into a deep slumber.

  “Ursula, wake up,” Addi said. “You must eat. I’ve saved half of my rations for you.” Ursula swam up from the depths of exhaustion. She desperately wanted to sleep but knew that Addi was correct. Her body needed sustenance. She opened her eyes, and Addi placed a small piece of stale bread in her mouth. Her tongue rolled the bread around to soften it before she swallowed. The effect was instantaneous. Her salivary glands reacted, and she felt ravenous. She sat up, took the chunk of bread from Addi and shoved it in her mouth.

  “Slowly, Ursula.” Ursula nodded but added the potato peels Addi had scrounged to the mélange in her stuffed mouth.

  “Take care you don’t choke, Ursula,” Addi admonished as she looked on worriedly.

  Ursula washed down her meal with a cup of water and then sighed. “Thank you, Addi.”

  “You’re welcome. I was worried about you.”

  Ursula shook her head. “Poor Marika . . . I had to . . .” Her mouth wouldn’t form the words.

  “I know. I’m so sorry.” Addi gathered her in her arms and rocked her. Ursula couldn’t believe that a sixteen-year-old possessed such grace and maturity. She was so thankful to have found another true friend.

  ***

  Over the ensuing months Ursula’s physical wounds healed, but her spirits remained dampened, matched only by the dreary weather that continued into the Spring. Addi encouraged her to attend drawing classes that she offered to the children, but Ursula always begged off, claiming fatigue.

  Concerned about Ursula’s waning morale, Addi furthered Marika’s plan by speaking secretly with composer/conductor Rafael Schächter, who suggested that Ursula become the soprano soloist in his fledgling choir.

  Under the guise of attending a Council of Jewish Elders meeting, Addi dragged Ursula to the basement of Magdeburg barracks. Once her eyes had adjusted to the relative darkness of the underground space, Ursula had at first stared, and then shaken her head in disbelief as she processed the scene before her.

  A legless, Wurlitzer piano rested on the packed earth, and in front of the keyboard sat a very focused young man pouring over a tattered, dog-eared music score. His brown hair flopped over his eyes as he hummed to himself. He was so engrossed in his task that he didn’t notice the two onlookers until Addi cleared her throat.

  Rafael Schächter looked up quickly, his soulful brown eyes registering panic. When he realized that his visitors were friendly, he visibly relaxed.

  “Forgive me. I was in the middle of reviewing music.” He stood suddenly and broke into a lopsided grin. “Ah, my goodness. If I had not been taken to this terrible place, I might never have had the pleasure of making your acquaintance, Fräulein Becker.”

  His graceful bow stood at odds with the dismal surroundings, but Ursula responded in kind with a curtsy. “The pleasure is mine, Herr Schächter. Your wonderful reputation precedes you.”

  “You are too kind.” His glanced about the subterranean space and spread his hands. She examined his long, slender fingers that moved with strength and grace. A pianist’s hands. She smiled as he continued. “Alas, I have no seat to offer you.”

  Ursula waved away his concern and looked past him at the musical score that sat atop the broken piano. “What is that score?”

  Schächter grinned again, and his entire face came alive. “It’s Verdi’s Requiem. Have you sung it?”

  Ursula pulled back, her hand at her heart. “But of course! I performed it several times when studying Italian repertoire in Vienna.”

  “Dare I ask that you become my soprano soloist?”<
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  Ursula looked uncertain. “Certainly, you don’t mean to lead a choir in a performance of this magnificent work?”

  “I do.”

  Ursula scanned the dank basement. “Here?”

  “Yes.” His earnest eyes bolstered her confidence and filled her with hope. If she’d learned one important lesson since arriving in Terezín, it was that hope could be simultaneously inspiring and dangerous. Hope implied a future.

  “How will you muster the bodies to compose a choir?”

  “Well, I have about fifty members, but if you agree to sing, I’m certain that I can rally others to the cause.”

  Ursula examined his open, triangular face. He was a natural leader, a practical, logical dreamer. She liked him. But she harbored doubts about the reality of executing such an enormous work with so few resources.

  “How can we perform such a majestic piece in this desolate place?”

  “It is precisely because of our surroundings that we must perform such a masterpiece. Music allows the soul to soar. During that flight, bleakness vanishes, like so much dust on a windy day. You know that. You’re an artist, like me. Like Addi. Time stills when you’re creating. You’re transported to another world, another time.” He stepped forward and locked eyes with her. “Art is not what we do. It is who we are.”

  Ursula gasped. Did I not say those exact words to Willy on our first date? Schächter’s statement seeped into her mind and warmed her wounded soul. In the depths of despair, unsure how she would carry on after Marika’s murder, a lifeline had been thrown to her.

  She reached for Willy’s locket, and once more was disappointed when her fingers found it gone. Willy would want her to accept Schächter’s generous offer to sing, as would Marika, who had set this in motion prior to her death. After a beat, Ursula nodded as her eyes danced between Schächter and Addi. She hadn’t been this happy since Willy asked her to marry him. “It would be my honor to be your soprano soloist, Herr Schächter.”

  Schächter turned to Addi. “My apologies, Addi. Would you care to join the choir as well?”