Swan Song

by Elizabeth B. Splaine

  “Why I hate Uncle Alf.”

  Bridget looked at Otto and then back at Willy. “You’re joking.”

  “I’m not.”

  Bridget’s mouth hung open. Finally, she said, “But . . . can you get a visa? I thought that all of the UK visas are spoken for this year.”

  “Mr. Hearst has offered to sponsor me.”

  “What does that mean?”

  “It means that he’ll be responsible for me, financially and personally.”

  “He’ll pay you for speaking?”

  “Handsomely.”

  “He’s certain that people want to hear you discuss why you hate your uncle?”

  Willy approached his mother and put his hands on her shoulders. “Mum, magazines sold out within two hours of hitting newsstands. Americans are concerned that Uncle Alf might try to jump the pond, so they want to better understand what they’re up against from someone who knows him.”

  Bridget shook her head quickly, as if to rid herself of an idea. “Why are Americans so bloody curious? Why can’t they just let things be?”

  “There’s another benefit to my going, Mum. I’m certain that knowing people like Mr. Hearst will get me closer to finding Ursula. I’ve hit only dead ends here in England. My hope is that the clout of wealthy people like him will aid in my search. Who knows? Maybe the American president will get involved.”

  Willy could see that Bridget was trying to find fault in his argument. He decided to press his point. “There’s something else you should know.”

  Bridget threw up her hands. “What could be more important than the fact that my only son is leaving me. Again.”

  Willy smiled and glanced at Otto. Bridget noted the look and narrowed her eyes. “What have you two schemed?”

  “You and Otto are coming with me. I’ve already negotiated it.”

  Bridget slowly turned to Otto, who was smiling from ear to ear. She crossed her arms. “You knew about this and didn’t say anything to me?”

  Willy pulled her into an embrace. “Mum, don’t blame Otto. I told him just this morning. This is a good thing. We’ll be welcomed in the States. You’ll have a beautiful home—”

  “I have a beautiful home.”

  “You’ll have an automobile.”

  “My legs work just fine, thank you.”

  “But most of all, Mum—” Willy withdrew and held her at arm’s length. “You’ll have me.”

  Bridget glared at him, pursed her lips, and then shook her head. She huffed, then turned to Otto. “Well, don’t just stand there. We need to start packing for America.”

  ***

  Willy walked down the gangplank first, followed by Bridget and Otto. A man dressed in a black suit and cap awaited them holding a handwritten sign that said “William Patrick.” Following the treatment he’d received in England, Willy had requested that his surname not be listed anywhere other than the speaking circuit. He approached the man. “I’m William Patrick.”

  The man tilted his cap. “Hello, sir. My name is Matthew. I’ll be driving you to your hotel. Your luggage will arrive in a separate car and be delivered to your rooms. Please follow me.” Matthew led them to a black Cadillac limousine. He opened the door for Bridget, who peeked inside, then withdrew. “How many other people will be traveling with us?”

  Matthew’s eyebrows knitted in confusion. “No one, ma’am.”

  Bridget shook her head. “Surely this enormous car is not just for the three of us?”

  “It is, ma’am.”

  Willy laughed. “Mr. Hearst sent it for us. Get in, Mum.”

  They rode in silence, Otto running his hands over the velvety leather while Bridget’s nose remained glued to the window. As they traveled past Central Park, Bridget commented on the lush greenery in the middle of the city.

  “Yes. It’s beautiful, Mum, and our hotel is up ahead on the right.”

  Matthew pulled up in front of the Ritz Carlton. Valets approached and opened the car doors, then escorted them into the hotel, where they checked in. When the three of them were finally alone, Bridget breathed out a heavy sigh. “My goodness, William! This Mr. Hearst must value you greatly.”

  A knock sounded. Willy crossed to the door and opened it to find a tall, blue-eyed, elderly man who wore a colorful tie and a wide smile. He lifted his fedora in greeting. “Willy, I presume?”

  Willy returned the smile. “Mr. Hearst, I presume?”

  They shook hands and Willy made introductions. Bridget was uncharacteristically quiet, leading Willy to assume that she was overwhelmed by the opulence and overt “Americanism” of it all. Mr. Hearst wasted no time in getting to the point.

  “Willy, your tour starts tonight here at the Ritz. My people have booked the ballroom, the large one, and it’s already sold out. As word spreads, they’ll book larger venues in various cities around the country. By the time I’m done with you, the name Hitler will have a new, better connotation, and you’ll be a wealthy man.” His hand landed heavily on Willy’s back.

  Willy smiled. “Thank you, Mr. Hearst. That sounds wonderful, and I’m hoping that shining a light on my uncle’s motivations will aid America in fighting the war.”

  Otto cleared his throat. Willy glanced at him and nodded. “There’s one more thing, Mr. Hearst. Do you remember I told you about my fiancée, Ursula Becker?”

  Hearst’s face became stern and he pinched his lower lip. “Yes, yes. I remember. A bad business, that.”

  “Well, I’m hoping that this speaking tour will highlight her situation and put pressure on my uncle to release her if she’s still alive.”

  Hearst nodded in thought. “Based on what I’ve heard about Adolf Hitler, I don’t think your speeches will have an impact. But, by all means, feel free to mention her in your talk and we’ll see what happens. See you downstairs at seven p.m.”

  ***

  Bridget peeked behind her at the hundreds of people who packed the ballroom. She straightened Willy’s tie. “You’re very brave, William. I would faint if I had to speak in front of this crowd.”

  “Mum, if Ursula is still alive, she’s the brave one. For all we know, as we eat caviar and enjoy luxurious beds, she’s sleeping outside and starving. Every move I make is with the intention of finding her.” Willy looked at Otto. His pained expression captured the immense sadness in Willy’s heart.

  Bridget squeezed his hand. “Good luck, son.”

  Willy took the podium to muted applause. Perusing the sea of expectant faces, he realized that all he wanted to do was talk about Ursula and his desperation to find her. But the audience had paid a tidy sum to hear the Führer’s nephew speak, so he gathered his thoughts and began.

  “Ladies and Gentlemen, thank you so much for attending this evening. My name is William Patrick Hitler, and I am the nephew of Germany’s leader, Adolf Hitler. I would imagine you’re here because you read my piece in LOOK magazine. I believe it’s clear in the article that I detest my uncle. So, now that we’ve addressed the elephant in the room, let me open by saying thank you. On behalf of all those who resist, thank you for stepping in to aid the fight against my uncle and all he stands for. I know your country has made a sacrifice in entering the war, and I know many men will die, but I’d like to tell you what the German people are thinking at this most crucial point in German history. Imagine for a moment that you have become crippled. Through no fault of your own, you lost your leg in an accident. You are now unable to work and over time, become destitute. Your children turn to you, their father, and say, ‘Dad, why don’t we have food on the table and fresh clothes on our backs?’ What’s your response? Would it be enough to answer, ‘I have no leg, child, and therefore cannot work?’ Of course not. Just because you’ve lost your leg doesn’t make you any less responsible for taking care of your family. It simply means that you need to find another way to put food on the table. Such it w
as with Germany after the Great War. After losing badly and signing the Treaty of Versailles, the people of Germany were ashamed and destitute. They turned to their government for help but received nothing because it, too, was broken and destitute.

  “Now, I know what you’re thinking. ‘We cannot compare Germany to the father in my story because the father lost his leg through no fault of his own. But I submit to you that the people of Germany, like the children in my story, are not at fault. It was the kaiser who was greedy, but the children of Germany, its citizens, ended up losing everything. They became desperate and despondent.” Willy paused and made eye contact with people in the front rows. He had their complete, undivided attention. It felt good to be taking action. He stood straighter.

  “The fact is . . . when people feel hopeless, they turn to the man who offers them the most promising chance of a bright future, even if it seems implausible. In fact, I would argue that the actual idea one proposes is less important than the person who is delivering the message, and the manner in which it is delivered. My uncle, Adolf Hitler, arrived on the scene with strong optimism of once again delivering to Germany a respected place in the world. His initial message of hope was like a balm to a burn victim or a job for the crippled father. Citizens thronged to his ideas, and to him. His success become synonymous with Germany’s success. Over time, he became Germany. As he grew in stature and power, so did the country. Suddenly food was on the table and men were back at work, able to hold their heads high, as they were providing for their families.

  “What did it matter that first one group, and then another group’s liberties were constrained? It didn’t affect average Germans, so they looked the other way as their neighbor’s shop was destroyed or as books were burned. What did it matter that soldiers patrolled the streets, killing those who spoke out?”

  Willy stopped again. Eyes were riveted to him, some disbelieving, but most intrigued. “I’m sure that you’ve heard stories, rumors. I’m here to tell you . . . they are true. Every single one of them. For each rumor you’ve heard, there are fifty other truths that have yet to be revealed about the horrors perpetrated against those who don’t agree with my uncle. He is abhorrently cruel and will not stop until he’s taken over the world.” Willy drew away from the microphone and took a sip of water. “I don’t need to lecture you on how we’ve arrived at this point in history, and you already know that the wolf is on your doorstep. Many of you think you understand my uncle, his ruthlessness, his insatiable desire for control. I’m here to tell you that the situation is far more dire than the newspapers have reported, and that any promise Adolf Hitler makes will be broken if it aids his quest for greatness. Thank you. Any questions?”

  Hands shot up around the room. Willy pointed to an elderly man in the second row. “Yes, sir?”

  The man stood. “We’ve all heard rumors that Jews are being persecuted, sent away to work in camps. Is that true?”

  Willy nodded. “Yes. They’re sent by train to camps in Germany and Poland where they’re worked to death in many cases.” Murmurs rippled through the audience.

  A voice called out from the back of the room. “Why didn’t the Jews just leave?” Heads bobbed up and down. The nods of agreement surprised Willy. He supposed it was a fair question for a person who had not lived through it. Yet it was difficult to hear without becoming angry. How easy it was for these well-to-do men, safe in their powerful country, tucked away from the chaos across the ocean, to toss out callous comments. Willy swallowed and reminded himself that he had an opportunity to educate the people sitting before him. They’re here because they want to learn, to be informed. Perhaps, even to help.

  “I would invite you to put yourself in the shoes of a Jewish family. Can you imagine leaving everything you’ve ever known, including extended family, to start life anew somewhere else, where you might not even know the language?” His eyes swept the crowd, driving his point home. Someone said, “I would leave if my life depended on it. I certainly wouldn’t assume that countries like the U.S. would swoop in save me. Why didn’t they leave?”

  Willy smiled so that he wouldn’t scream. “Because they didn’t know their lives were at risk. Not in the beginning, at least. By the time many realized that they might be killed, it was too late to leave. Many countries, including the United States, closed their borders to refugees. By the time people realized that they should get out, there was no place left to go.”

  Again, Willy paused and took a sip of water. “Don’t you see? I’m here to warn you. It’s not too late for you like it is for the Germans. Some Germans are committed Nazis, but others support Hitler out of fear. They don’t know about the atrocities. And if they do, they turn a blind eye because they’d rather be an unwilling participant than dead. But you don’t have to be like the Germans. By informing yourselves and continuing to fight, you choose to stand up against Adolf Hitler.”

  Someone called out, “We just finished a world war. I say we pull our boys out and let the Krauts deal with their own mess!” Assent trickled across the room.

  Willy shook his head. “Forgive me for hiding behind stories and niceties. I now see that the time has passed for all of that. So, let me state the issue clearly and unequivocally. People are being murdered by the thousands at the hands of amoral, power-hungry zealots who will stop at nothing to dominate the world. Nothing! If you choose to remove your support, Hitler will attack the United States. It’s only a matter of time. And that time, gentlemen, is shrinking by the day.”

  Chaos erupted in the large room as men stood and shouted at him and at each other. Willy glanced at Mr. Hearst, who was drawing his hand across his throat. End it! he signaled.

  Willy cleared his throat, then leaned into the mic. “Her name is Ursula Becker.” The brief, confusing statement stunned the raucous crowd into silence. Willy glanced to his right and nodded. Otto emerged and placed a large photo of Ursula on a pre-positioned easel.

  Willy stared at the photograph and swallowed the lump in his throat. “Her name is Ursula Becker, and she is my fiancée. Not only is she exquisitely beautiful, but her voice is angelic. My uncle kidnapped her. She may already be dead, or she may be locked away in one of the work camps I mentioned.” Willy choked back a sob before continuing. “I requested the help of the British government, to no avail. I tried to enlist in the British military but was denied because of my surname. That’s why I originally wrote the article that brought me here today. I implore you to continue aiding the Allies, to protect your country and its democracy. Otherwise, like me, before you know it, you might find yourself searching for your Ursula. Thank you.” Willy stepped away from the podium and removed a handkerchief. He turned away and wiped his eyes.

  Otto approached and patted him on the back. “Well done, Willy.”

  “Thanks, Otto. Let’s hope that my speech made an impact.”

  “Excuse me,” a voice said.

  Willy turned to find a tall, balding man staring at him. His clear, blue eyes were warm, and he carried himself with an air of competence and authority.

  “May I help you?” Willy asked.

  “My name is Raoul Wallenburg. I enjoyed your talk, Mr. Hitler. I’m sorry about your fiancée.”

  Willy shook his hand. “It’s a pleasure to meet you, Mr. Wallenburg.”

  “I’ll get right to the point. The United States has created a War Refugee Board, WRB for short. It’s working with the Swedish government to save as many Jews as possible from persecution. To that end, I’ve been tasked to work with my fellow Swedish countrymen to rescue Jewish victims in Budapest.”

  “That’s wonderful.”

  Wallenburg shook his head quickly. “No, no, you’re misunderstanding me.”

  “Alright.”

  He leaned closer to Willy. “I know about the camps to which you referred in your speech.”

  Willy stared at him, waiting. Finally, he said, “Yes? And?”


  “How would you like to become my assistant, Mr. Hitler?”

  Willy shook his head. “I appreciate your kind offer, but I’m touring the country speaking like I did here this evening.”

  “The International Red Cross is slated to visit one of the camps you mentioned.”

  “Really? Why?”

  “Some six hundred Danish Jews have recently been sent to the camp and the king of Denmark insists that the Red Cross visit to ensure they’re being treated well.”

  “I see.”

  “As a delegate of the WRB, I might be able to arrange accompanying the Red Cross during its visit. If you were my assistant, you would, of course, come along as well. You would enjoy diplomatic protection not normally afforded to foreign citizens on Nazi soil. Do you understand?”

  Willy’s arms tingled as he processed Wallenburg’s implication. “Will you be visiting other camps as well?”

  “The Red Cross has been given access to only one camp this June. But if things go well there, who knows? Perhaps Hitler might allow us to visit other camps. It would be a start in your search for Ursula.”

  “Which camp are you visiting?”

  “It’s called Theresienstadt, or Terezín for short. I’m told that many artists are housed there.”

  42

  Ursula rushed to catch up with the rest of the women but stopped short when she saw a large black car parked in front of the Town Hall. It looked exactly like the one she and Willy had taken from the airstrip to the Berghof so long ago. She breathed deeply and continued up the stairs to join the rest of the choir. The side door opened, and laughter spilled out. She glanced inside and saw rows of chairs filled with inmates.

  In the front two rows sat guards and SS officers. Looking more closely she recognized Heinrich Himmler, the SS animal who’d overseen Otto’s beating. Next to him sat a woman dressed in a calf-length, periwinkle, silk dress with matching shoes. What a lovely profile his wife has, she thought. The woman’s pixie short hair curled around her pearl-studded ears, and she laughed gaily. Ursula cocked her head. The lilt of laughter sounded familiar, and she squinted to get a better look.