Amor vincit omnia
Disclaimer: see chapter 1
Chapter 10: In deep water
Author's note: There's some "strong language" in this story. Dear children, if you read this: Don't use such words. Your mummy wouldn't like it and as the story shows, it's only allowed when you're in a really, really dangerous situation.
And once again: Thanks to Trapper for the great beta-ing!
Autumn 1942
Georg von Trapp wasn't a man for cursing. His upbringing, his sense of decorum and his beliefs had always forbidden him to express himself using vulgarities. On the other hand, he was rather familiar with them. He had spent a good part of his life among seamen who certainly didn't feel the same compunction about salty language that he did.
And now he felt like cursing loudly and banging his fists against the wall. He was incredibly angry with himself and, while a part of his mind was desperately searching for a way out of the situation he had gotten himself into, another was running down an extensive catalogue of derogatory descriptions for himself, starting with "bloody imbecile" and not quite finishing with "damn, blithering idiot." How could he have been so utterly stupid, so totally dense, so laughably half-witted? For the rest of his life – and no, in this case it certainly wasn't a comfort that the "rest of his life" most likely encompassed a rather short time span – he wouldn't forgive himself that he had been so clumsy, so thoughtless and so bloody arrogant! Considering the level of asininity he had demonstrated, he really should run his head against the wall – though that thought didn't make the idea of the Nazis using said head as their punching bag more pleasant.
If the situation weren't so dire, he could almost laugh about it! Georg von Trapp, the master spy – he had really felt like that over the past several days. It had all been so easy! Tony, the truck driver, had taken him to the shipyard where he had met Darko, the leader of the local workers. Darko had immediately taken a liking to Georg and hired him. He had gotten a job and a bunk in the barrack attached to the building site. And in the evening he had kept close to Darko and had made him laugh – and considering that Darko wasn't the sharpest tool in the shed it had been a rather easy task.
Sharing laughter, beer and cheap Slibowic (1) had gotten Georg Darko's trust rather quickly. By the third day Darko had already admitted to him that he always felt at a loss when one of the architects gave him a plan. He couldn't read it properly, didn't understand it, and was always afraid he would give his men incorrect orders and get in trouble for it. Georg had of course helped the man out by explaining the plan for the bunker. From then on, all plans Darko received had landed directly in Georg's hands – and Darko hadn't minded when Georg studied them at night. On the contrary – he had praised him for being "such a good mate."
Of course, Georg had had felt lousy about betraying Darko like that. But Darko loved his homeland as much as Georg loved Austria, so Georg rationalized that working to free Croatia from the Nazis wasn't really betraying Darko … was it? And the plans – to get them in his hands had been more than Georg had ever hoped for. They had given him insight into the workings of the bunkers and the shipyard, and he had memorized them until he was sure he could recreate them.
After one week in the shipyard Georg had known his way around perfectly. He had known where everything was and he had even known where the bunkers were most vulnerable and how to approach them from the sea. His plan for destroying the facilities was ready in his head, he had only needed to go back to Cyprus and to set it in motion.
Why hadn't he disappeared then? He had discovered enough and going away would have been so simple: Just a matter of telling Darko in the evening that he would like a bit of fresh air and then wandering off. Darko certainly wouldn't have followed him, and considering how drunk he was every night, he certainly wouldn't have noticed that Georg was even missing until the next morning. Georg would have had plenty of time to hike to the peninsula and to hide there. He knew where to find fresh water there. He would have been able to get enough berries and fruits and fish to make it through the few days until the USS Liberty was scheduled to pick him up.
Only he had become too smug. He had believed he could gather even more information, taking advantage of every day until his boat came to get him. And so he had walked directly into their clutches.
During his first days at the shipyard he had been very cautious. Whenever he had seen a German uniform, he had kept his head down. But this morning he had just come out of the architects' office where he had gotten a few plans for Darko when he had seen three officers in black SS uniforms heading directly towards him. There had been no way to avoid passing them, but Georg hadn't worried much about it. The Nazis normally ignored the local workers – and he looked like one in his dirty clothes and with his long, tousled hair and the beard that hid half his face.
The problem had been that he hadn't entirely ignored them. He had suddenly recognized the voice of one of the officers – and he had been so startled that he had dropped his papers. When he bent down to retrieve them, he had bumped into one of the officers who had snapped at him, "Can't you look where you're going, imbecile?"
He had looked up then – what could he have done otherwise? He had even said "Sorry," faking an accent and lowering his voice to a mumble.
It hadn't been good enough. The moment he had raised his head, the middle one had looked at him – and of course, Ernst Zeller knew him too well to not recognize him, even with a beard and long hair.
Admittedly it had taken a moment for it to dawn on Zeller. For a few seconds he had stared at Georg as if he had see a ghost. Then a broad grin had spread across his face and he had bellowed: "Hold this man!" Rubbing his hands together gleefully, he had smirked at Georg, whose arms had been gripped by Zeller's henchmen. "Indeed, Baron, you are a man of hidden talents!" Zeller had sounded as if Christmas, Easter and the Führer's birthday had come together for him in that moment.
"So are you, Herr Zeller! I would never have thought to see you in uniform – though I must say it doesn't suit you too well. Too much beer and schnitzels – and you know, Herr Zeller, a belly and a uniform don't go together well," Georg had retorted.
Zeller had shaken his head. "Still the old arrogance, von Trapp? You know, it was always the main reason why I couldn't stand you!"
"I'm glad to hear it. You know, if you had liked me, I would have thought I'd done something wrong." Georg had known that provoking Zeller wouldn't better his situation. He had been aware what deep trouble he was in. But it actually couldn't get worse – and so he had wanted to at least go down with guns blazing.
"Von Trapp, you're obviously not aware of your situation!" Zeller had fumed, his face becoming as red as a ripe tomato. "You're a deserter and a traitor. If I were to order my men to shoot you on the spot, no one would care."
"You won't kill me just here," Georg had replied. "You're too curious what I'm doing here. And as a dead man I couldn't tell you."
For a moment Zeller had looked at him as if tempted to throttle Georg personally. Then he had nodded. "You're a clever man, von Trapp. It's a pity you didn't join us."
"As you just said: I'm clever." Georg had grinned.
"I really want to know what the hell you're doing here. Last I heard, you had gotten your smart ass to America. So what brings you back here – and in such a state?"
"Well," Georg's grin had become even broader. "My smart ass and I probably got homesick. You know, I grew up in this area – and it is beautiful, isn't it? The air and the sea and the hills …"
Zeller had shaken his head. "Brazen to the end! But I think we should find a nicer place to talk." Nodding at his men he had added: "Take him to the car. But be careful – he specializes in escapes!"
"You flatter me, Herr Zeller!" Georg had said. He had felt relieved that Zeller wanted to get him away from the shipyard. The longer Zeller kept him around, the better his chances of escape.
For the moment his chances certainly didn't look good. Zeller's men had brought him to a house outside of Trogir – obviously Zeller was now commanding a SS squadron and had set up his headquarters in a villa that had probably once been an Austrian aristocrat's summer home.
During the drive Georg had learned something interesting: Zeller's second in command worried about the Gestapo not liking the fact that Zeller had captured Georg. Obviously the security of the shipyard was their responsibility, and his penetration reflected poorly on them. Georg didn't know yet what to make of this piece of information, but it might come in handy sooner or later.
But now he needed to take stock. He had had another talk with Zeller, but of course he hadn't revealed anything about his mission – which had made Zeller furious. He had ordered his men to "convince" Georg to tell the truth. Their method of persuasion had been a severe beating – and there was no doubt that they knew how to hurt a man without killing him! They had given Georg a black eye, a nasty cut on his bottom lip, a burn wound on his cheek – one of them had crushed his cigarette there. In addition, Georg was sure that at least two or three of his ribs were broken and he didn't even want to think what the kicks he had endured had done to his private parts.
Georg knew he was tough and could bear a lot of pain. But he also knew that no one could keep up against torture forever – and that the Nazis were very good at torturing people. Sooner or later they would break him. He had to get out of their grasp before it happened – if only he knew how! They had imprisoned him in a cellar with only single, small window. There was no way to slip through. And the door wasn't an option either – heavy wood with iron on it. The furniture of his cell – if the smelly, old paillasse, the rusty bucket, and the broken chair could be called furniture – wasn't of any use either.
Laying down on said paillasse, Georg searched for a position that didn't hurt his broken ribs too much. About his groin and the pain there he really didn't want to think. Instead he closed his eyes and remembered his last holidays at home. The one night he had spent with Maria in the officers' club, dancing – she had looked so lovely in the sea-green dress with the flared skirt! And how it had swung around her beautiful legs and how perfect she had felt in his arms. He loved dancing with her – her grace still touched him as much as it had during their first dance on the terrace in Aigen. It had been the night when he had become aware that he was falling in love with his children's governess – only to learn that she had run away to the abbey.
When he found her note – only a few words – he hadn't been able to believe that she had really left. He had gone to bed, only to get up again and walk to her room, where he had sat on her bed, looking at the open closet full of the clothes she had made for herself. He had been convinced that he had scared her away – she had seen the desire and passion in his eyes and it had made her run.
How could he have hoped otherwise? Why would a girl like her – young, lovely, smart and full of life – want to become close to a grumpy widower with seven children who was at least 25 years her senior?
In the days after her departure he had felt as if his loneliness would finally consume and break him. But there had been Elsa, witty, elegant, sophisticated Elsa who always seemed to understand him and never minded when he brooded. In fact, she had specialized in getting him out of his dark moods. It had been the first thing he had liked about her when they met in Vienna three years previously. Elsa had been able to make him laugh, and with Elsa he had always felt alive. And she had tried so hard to get along with his children and to show him that he didn't need to feel so alone!
The night before Maria's return he had been with Elsa. After dinner he had taken her out for a carriage ride, driving the horses himself. Afterwards they had sat on the terrace – Max had been away that night, so it had been only Elsa and him and a bottle of very old Tokayer (2).
Georg certainly had drunk too much of it and Elsa – with her such things were hard to tell. In any case she had landed in his lap and their kisses had become rather heated. Of course, he had kissed her before, but their "courtship," if it could be called that, had always been a rather casual one – mostly because he had always kept himself back, still unsure of his feelings. He had desperately wanted to fall in love with her and sometimes he had convinced himself that it had happened, but there had always been doubts – doubts that had kept him from deepening the relationship.
On that night on the terrace in Aigen he hadn't thought of his doubts. He had only thought of the warm, pliable body in his arms, of her smell, of the feeling of her breasts against his chest and how wonderful it felt to kiss and to hold a woman. And she had combed through his hair and had snuggled against him and then she had whispered, "You know, Georg, if we were in Vienna I'd ask you now if you wanted to see my stamp collection."
"I didn't know you collect stamps," he had replied.
"That's because I keep the collection in my bedroom, darling!" She had looked at him expectantly.
For a moment Georg had been tempted. To lose himself in her arms, to make love to her until he forgot all about his misery, to sleep with her next to him – it had been very hard to resist. However, he had been aware that Elsa deserved better than him using her for comfort. "Elsa," he kissed the tip of her nose, "I'm very, very flattered, but I don't think it's a good idea. There are seven children in the house and sometimes when they can't sleep they come to my room unannounced."
She had looked at him, her beautiful eyes full of warmth. "I love you, Georg von Trapp," she had stated simply.
At that moment, proposing to her had seemed the right thing to do. He had been very fond of her, he had desired her, she would make a perfect Baroness von Trapp – and his infatuation with Maria would pale with time and separation. She didn't want him. She had gone and would become a nun soon.
Yet the next day Maria had come back – and the moment he had seen her standing in the garden, surrounded by his excited, happy children, he had known that he couldn't marry Elsa. She deserved a man who loved her – and he had never really loved her. He had loved Maria from the moment she stepped into his life and he knew that he would love her for the rest of his days.
"Von Trapp!" Someone was kicking him again. With a moan, Georg turned around and opened his eyes. Zeller, flanked by two of his men, was towering over him, looking rather annoyed. "I'm so sorry, but we must take leave of each other, dear Baron!" he sneered. "I've other obligations to look after. So I'm offering you as a little gift to our friends, the Gestapo. I'm sure they'll appreciate it, and they'll certainly make you admit what you were doing in Trogir."
One of the men bent down, gripped Georg's arm and yanked him to his feet. He took a rope and bound Georg's hands in front him, and then he pushed him forward. "Up you go!"
Georg stumbled up the stairs and out of a door into the yard. It had become dark and rather cold, but the sky was clear, the Southern Cross gleaming brightly over the landscape. Without turning his head, Georg looked around. There was a big fence around the yard – no chance to jump over it – and the iron gate was watched by two soldiers with guns. There was no chance to escape from here, but Georg didn't give up hope. He climbed into the jeep and waited until Zeller and his men were in too. The youngest of them sat in the back next to Georg while the other drove and Zeller had taken the seat next to him. Turning around, he looked at Georg. "Too bad I don't have enough time for you, von Trapp." His little eyes glimmered in the dark. "I would have so liked to talk to you more. On the other hand – I'm rather disappointed in you. I always thought you're a family man - and now you're here on your own? What made you leave the little nun you married? Were you bored in your marital bed?"
Georg didn't answer – some things he considered simply too low.
But obviously Zeller hadn't even expected an answer. He was chattering away, his voice full of glee: "You know, I actually thought it rather harsh of you to make the poor children and your young wife escape with you over the mountains. The cold nights out there and the long, long distance – they must have suffered!"
"Don't worry, Herr Zeller – my children and my wife are tough." Georg produced a cool smile.
"They'll need to be in the future; they'll need to!" Zeller turned, showing Georg his back and bellowed at the driver. "Don't go so fast! You know how dangerous this street is!"
The jeep slowed down and Georg looked around. They had just driven through a small forest with umbrella pines. Now the road curved and then followed the line of the ledge running along the coastline that lay around 20 metres beneath it.
Georg knew the road well. During his holidays as a cadet he had biked along it more than once. In his mind he could clearly visualize it, knowing that there was one very sharp bend where the car wouldn't only need to speed down, but would also be only one or two feet away from the edge of the ledge. Of course, at the same point the sea was far below – at least 30 metres. And there were rocks in the water.
Georg's heart started to beat quicker. In approximately three or four minutes they would arrive at that bend in the road – and he would take his chance. As soon as the car slowed to go round the curve, he would jump. Naturally, it was very dangerous. His chances of landing on one of the rocks instead of in the water were 50:50. However, the alternative was the Gestapo, and there his chances of survival were nil.
They were approaching the curve. Once more Zeller nagged the driver about slowing down while Georg dug his feet into the floor, tensed his muscles, and breathed as deeply as his broken ribs allowed. One minute – and there they were. The jeep would never get closer to the ledge. Georg leaned sideways and let himself tumble out of the jeep, almost yelling in pain as his broken ribs hit the street. One roll sideways and he was over the ledge and falling, desperately pulling at the rope that held his hands together. He heard the brakes of the car and a furious scream from Zeller and then his knee hit a rock while the rest of his body fell into the ice-cold water, going down like a stone.
Delivering bad news wasn't something Admiral Charles Jamison Forrester had ever avoided. Being an officer who felt responsible for his men, he had never backed down from the task of informing wives, mothers and other relatives personally about the death of their loved one. However, years of practise in this matter hadn't numbed his suffering shared with the people he had to talk to. And in this case – Forrester sighed, lighted a fresh cigar and stared out of the window of his office to the port where the USS Liberty bobbed up and down next to the old battle cruiser that served as a mother ship to the submarines of his fleet.
It had only been yesterday that the boat, under the command of Morgan Grammings, had arrived in port, but the bad news had travelled ahead of it. Three days earlier, the Admiral had gotten a radiogram from the USS Liberty, saying: "After waiting 72 hours for our captain, we were discovered by German aircraft and had to leave without him. We were bombed, can't dive anymore due to damage in a diving cell and are in urgent need of air support."
The Admiral had of course sent two American aircraft to help the submarine to Malta. At the same time he had talked to intelligence – and only 48 hours later he had received a report from Trogir that said that one of the local workers in the shipyard, a certain Ivo Crovic, had been taken away by three SS officers. Another report that had come in a few days before that stated that the local SS squadron in Trogir had gotten a new leader: Ernst Zeller, former Gauleiter of Salzburg.
Connecting those reports, it was evident what had happened at the Trogir shipyard – and knowing how the SS treated their enemies, the hope that Georg von Trapp had survived his capture had diminished. The Admiral was a man who was accustomed to facing facts, so he had folded his hands and had prayed that at least his protégé hadn't suffered too long in the hands of the enemy. Afterwards, he had ordered his yeoman to call the USS Shiloh. She was on her way back to port and the Admiral wanted to see Ensign Friedrich von Trapp, who served on her, as soon as the ship arrived at Cyprus.
Now the Shiloh was there. Just one hour earlier she had berthed at the pier, only a few steps away from the Liberty. Charles Forrester had watched a jeep pick up a tall young man. It was only a matter of seconds now until he would arrive at the Admiral's office.
A knock at the door and then the yeoman stuck his head in. "Ensign von Trapp is here, sir."
Forrester cleared his throat and stood up. "Send him in – and don't disturb us!"
The door opened and a tall young man in a black uniform marched in. "Ensign von Trapp at your command, sir."
"At ease and take a seat, Ensign!" Charles Forrester surveyed the young man who removed his cover and sat down stiffly in one of the chairs. His blond hair was bleached by the sun, his small, handsome face was tanned, the mouth was firmly set, and the piercing blue eyes looked serious and sad.
Forrester sighed inwardly. He had watched the young man's career since he had joined the academy and was more than pleased with it. Friedrich von Trapp was everything the Navy wanted in a young officer: devoted, hard-working, polite, engaged, highly intelligent, efficient and good at dealing with his people. Besides he was everything that a father could want in a son, and sometimes Charles Forrester, father of three daughters, had almost envied von Trapp for this boy.
Forrester hated what he had to tell Friedrich von Trapp. On the other hand – the way the Ensign watched him now made pretty clear that he suspected something. Or had he already seen the Liberty's flag flying at half mast? The Admiral breathed deeply. "I'm terribly sorry, Ensign, but it's bad news I've called you in for."
Friedrich von Trapp nodded. A little nerve in his cheek was twitching as he answered quietly, "I was afraid so, sir. Is it about my father?"
"Yes, Ensign. We've lost him." The Admiral cringed inwardly – he wished he could have said it softer, more comforting.
"Dead?" The one word, hardly more than a whisper, seemed to hang over the room like a dark cloud.
For a moment Charles Forrester felt tempted to soften the blow. There wasn't a body, there wasn't even a report about the Captain's death. Therefore the official statement said "Missing; presumed dead."
However, the Admiral knew how slowly hope died and how often relatives of missing men clung to the belief that their loved one would come back. In most cases it only made their life more miserable because they couldn't even grieve properly. No, Friedrich von Trapp and his family deserved the truth, as cruel as it was.
"We must suppose so," the Admiral replied. "Your father was on an undercover mission in an Adriatic port. As far as we know he was caught by the SS – and in this port the commanding officer of the stationary SS squadron is an Austrian, a certain Ernst Zeller."
"Oh!" Friedrich paled. "Then there isn't any hope left." He said after a moment. "Zeller has loathed my father for years."
The Admiral nodded. "There's another problem. The Nazis certainly don't care about laws anymore, but in the case of your father their laws support shooting him on the spot. You know they ordered him to take a commission in their Navy. Him not accepting makes him, according to their law, a deserter. We know that he was sentenced to death in absentia."
"Yes – and under their law my father joining the American Navy was high treason," Friedrich von Trapp said.
The Admiral walked around his desk and, for a moment, he laid his hand on the young man's shoulder. "Your father was an incredibly brave man and he died for what he believed in. The American Navy will always be proud and grateful for him serving with us. You should be proud of him also."
"I am and always was, sir." Now Friedrich sounded a bit affronted. "I didn't need him to die to make me aware that he is," he immediately corrected himself, "was a hero."
"No, certainly not. I know how close you were to each other. And as I've said before: I'm terribly sorry, Ensign. You know I appreciated your father very much."
"Admiral," Friedrich was looking up at him, "who's going to tell my mother? You know, she's expecting a baby."
"Yes, I do know." The Admired allowed himself a sigh. "I intend to send you home on the next available flight. My wife will pick you up at the airport – you know, she's become a close friend of your mother's and cares a lot about her. I've suggested a medal for your father. There will be a ceremony in a few days – a chance for the family and friends to say farewell."
Friedrich only nodded and breathed deeply. "My older sister needs to be informed too. She lives in New York."
"Give me her address and we'll look after her." The Admiral pushed a pen and a sheet of paper towards Friedrich. "Your family is Roman -Catholic, isn't it? I'll send the New York Navy priest to talk to your sister. He'll get her home to the family."
"When am I to fly home?" Friedrich asked.
The Admiral looked at the clock on his desk. "In one hour – one of my men will drive you to the airfield." He turned and went back to his side of the desk where he took a big, brown manila envelope out of a drawer. "My chief of staff, Captain Soller, was in your father's quarters last night, collecting and packing his belongings. He found this …"
He handed Friedrich the envelope. On its cover stood, written in an energetic, but elegant hand: "To give to my family in the event of my death. Georg v. Trapp."
The airplane was up over the clouds now, its engines filling the entire cabin with their whirring. Friedrich, who had gotten a row of rather uncomfortable seats to himself, opened the duffel bag he had set next to him and pulled out the manila envelope. Under the flap was a seal, bearing the family crest: a bustard (3) over an anchor. He looked down at the ring he wore on the little finger of his left hand that showed the same crest. It had been a gift from his father on his 16th birthday and had once belonged to his great-grandfather. In his mind, he thought he heard his father's voice, "I think you're a man now, Friedrich – and not only a man, but a von Trapp. I believe that's not too bad a name to go through life with."
Friedrich thought so too. He had always been proud of his name and the ancestors who had established it. And in a way he was even proud of belonging to a part of the von Trapp family that wasn't high aristocracy. In his case, the ancestors who had earned the honour hadn't been dead for hundred of years, but were rather closely connected with him. It had been his great-grandfather who had begun his career as a naval officer as a simple Cadet Friedrich Trapp. In the end he had become Admiral von Trapp, decorated and honoured by the emperor himself. His grandfather then had been Kapitän zur See (4) Ludwig von Trapp, and it was said that he could have achieved admiralty too if he wouldn't have died at the age of forty-one. His son Georg had made up for that – it had been he who had received the Maria-Theresien Order and with it the rank of a Ritter and the right to be addressed as "Baron von Trapp."
Of course, being a Ritter von Trapp didn't mean much in the American Navy. But it meant a lot to Friedrich personally. He was determined to bring honour to his name and to become his father's true son.
Turning the envelope once more, Friedrich studied the inscription. "To my family" – who was to open it? Only a few days earlier, something addressed to the von Trapp family would have been opened by the head of the family. But now? Was he to give the envelope to Maria? She was the head of the family now, wasn't she? On the other hand, he was the oldest male member in said family and he longed to know what his father had wanted to tell his family.
Breathing deeply, he opened the envelope. Looking in it, he discovered that the big envelope contained several smaller ones. Friedrich let them drop into his lap and sorted through them. The biggest one with a lump in one corner was addressed to "Maria" and it was the only one that was only closed with a drop of wax with no seal on it. Friedrich didn't wonder about it – the shape of the lump told him that his father's seal ring and his wedding band were in the envelope. Of course, he couldn't have taken them with him on an undercover mission. Friedrich knew that there was an inscription inside the wedding band. It read "Amor vincit omnia – G.v.T. + M.v.T." and the date of their wedding.
Sorting through the other envelopes Friedrich had to fight back tears. His father had written to every single one of his children. There even was an envelope with the address "My unborn child" and another one to "Max Detweiler."
Friedrich thought he knew what was in that letter. Max had been his father's best friend – the one man he trusted totally. The letter probably asked Max to be the guardian of the younger children.
And there was the letter addressed to "Friedrich." Putting all others back in the manila envelope, Friedrich opened his with trembling fingers and pulled out two folded sheets in his father's handwriting.
Friedrich felt his eyes start to burn and closed them for a moment. A memory swam into view: his father sitting on his desk in the study in Aigen, writing letters. As a small boy Friedrich had loved to be with him then, quietly leafing through one of the many fascinating books his father owned. And one day as his father had written to his wife – she had been visiting her parents for a few days – he had set Friedrich on his lap and he had been allowed to use his father's fountain pen to scribble his name on the letter.
He still remembered the fountain pen well: a black one with an artfully crafted golden feather. And when one looked very closely at it, one could still see a paled gravure on the shaft, reading "Georgie." The pen had been a gift from Friedrich's mother and she had been the only person ever who had called his father anything other than "Georg."
The letter now – once again Friedrich had to swallow and wipe his eyes before he could begin reading.
"Naval Base Cyprus, September 16, 1942
My dear Friedrich,
it feels rather odd to write a letter in the hope that you'll never read it and it feels even odder to think that this may be the last time I will talk to you.
However, I'm to start on a dangerous mission in the next few days and I'd hate to leave you behind without a proper goodbye. You are my oldest son and that is something special. As much as I love your older sister and as proud as I ever was of her – the moment the midwife put you in my arms, announcing 'Here's your son' I knew that the two of us would develop a very special relationship.
One day you too will probably feel what it means to have a son as you watch someone close to you grow up and as you discover yourself in him. It means hope – hope that you can help that boy become a better man than you were; hope that he'll develop to his full potential; hope that he'll become as special to the world as he was always special to you. Children are our future, our way to become immortal, and our one great chance to better the world. For me, watching you was always like looking to a better time, hopefully a time of more peace and freedom in the world.
Yes, Friedrich, I was always proud of you. You have been all that I could have hoped for in a son: bright, brave, kind-hearted, caring, talented at so many things, hard-working and loving. I know I didn't show you enough how much you meant to me and I certainly didn't tell you often enough how much I loved you. Instead I always demanded a lot of you and was often too strict. There even was a time when I thought I should toughen you up with too much discipline and coldness – and I'm well aware that I was harder on you and Kurt than I was on your sisters. I believed you should never be as weak as I felt in these dreadful days, and I wanted to make sure that you would never suffer as much as I did. I was wrong, utterly and absolutely wrong. Maria showed me, but even after learning it I was too proud and too pig-headed to admit it to you and Kurt. Now I want to, and I want to ask your forgiveness.
I want even more: I want you to become a braver man than I was. If you ever lose someone close to you – please, don't run away from your memories and grief and the people closest to you. It doesn't work. Stay with your family and keep everyone together, my son.
I trust you, Friedrich, to be the man in the family now. Although I've asked Max to be the younger children's guardian, I want you to stay at your mother's side and guide your younger brothers through their lives. I don't worry much about Kurt – he's stronger than he's aware of. But I want you to look after Johannes and the baby who will come. If it's a boy, he will – like Johannes – need a man to look up to.
I know that I am demanding much from you; however, there is something else I need you to know and to think about: After the death of your mother I thought I could never become happy again. Then I found Maria and you know how she changed my life and how happy she made me. Yet I've always been aware that she is many years younger than me and that she would become a rather young widow one day. I hate the idea of her wasting her life on grieving. I want her to be as happy as she deserves – and I expect you and your siblings to support her in finding a man who gives her what she needs. I know she'll always remain your mother, but that certainly doesn't and shouldn't mean she can't become another man's wife.
And for you, my son, I hope for happiness too. You're rather young, but knowing you, I believe you've already found the woman who will become your Baroness von Trapp one day. You don't need my approval for that, but I want you to know that I would have liked to have Julie as a daughter and that I would have enjoyed dancing with her at your wedding.
I must write to your siblings, so I need to get close this letter. Time is running short and so there only remains one thing to say: God bless you, my son!
Your loving father, Georg v. Trapp."
Maria sat on the windowsill in her bedroom, looking out at the two horses in the pasture. In the moonlight their white coats looked like silver, but there was something very sad about the picture. It was as if the two stallions felt the grief that weighed down their owners and suffered with them, neither one interested in feeding, both standing there with their heads hanging. And perhaps they really knew – Louisa had disappeared to the stables after dinner and Maria was sure that she had cried at Conversano Theokratia's shoulder.
Maria hadn't cried – not when Patricia and Friedrich told her, not when Liesl and Max arrived, not when she read Georg's letter, and not even when she took his wedding band and put it on her finger. Although his hands had been so elegant and slender, the ring was too big for her. She would need to have it newly fitted for her, but not yet. For the moment, she had pushed her own ring under Georg's to secure it.
It felt odd to look at it because it reminded her so much of the first time she met Georg. As he had pulled out the whistle, she had noticed that he wore two wedding bands – his own and, over it, the one that belonged to his late wife. The two rings had touched her and whenever she had looked at them, they had made her aware that the man who acted so distant around his children and ordered them about like little sailors wasn't simply cold-hearted, but a grieving widower.
And then, the day after their engagement – in the morning at breakfast he had announced the happy news to the children and then he had disappeared, murmuring something about "business in town." He had come back after lunch, finding her – it had been a rainy day – with his offspring in the nursery. "Children," he had said, "I need your governess for a while. I trust you to behave until I've returned her to you. I'd be especially grateful if you could refrain from breaking the house down or sneaking animals into beds." He had grinned at the children, softening his words with his expression and then he had taken Maria's hand, leading her down to his study and placing her on the sofa. With an awkward smile he had kneeled down in front of her and had taken her hand. "Now let's do this proposal business properly: Maria Augusta, you know that I love you. Would you do me the honour of becoming my wife?"
"Of course, Georg – I love you too!" She had wanted to hug him, but he had kept her back.
"We're not done yet. There's still the ring thing. Let's see …" He had taken her left hand, playfully nibbling at her thumb before putting a golden band on her ring finger (5). "So, that's that." Then he had opened her hand and lain another gold ring, bigger than hers, in her palm.
Blushing she had put the ring on his left ring finger and, in doing so, she had registered that he had removed the two wedding bands from his right hand. Pulling his right hand to her mouth she had kissed the place where he had worn the bands. It had felt as if she had claimed him in that moment – not the late Agathe von Trapp's widower anymore, but her future husband.
Now she was his widow – "the relict of the late Captain von Trapp," as some people would say. And at the same time the baby in her belly was kicking, reminding her that in only six weeks she was to give birth to a child who would never know its father, would never be kissed and hugged by him. How was she to raise this child on her own? And what about her other children? The older ones at least had memories of their father, but Barbara – the little she knew about him she would probably forget. And Johannes – how was he to become the man he was supposed to be without his father to look up to?
Brigitta – she couldn't help thinking of her. She was so like her father and she had always been his special child, though he would never have admitted it.
Hearing about his death, Brigitta hadn't cried either. She had only sat there, her eyes huge in her pale face, clinging to her book as if it were her lifeline – and of course, it had been Hölderlin poems again, a book out of her father's library and a favourite of his. Liesl had lain her arm across Brigitta's shoulders, but she had shaken it off almost furiously. Like Georg she needed to deal with her grief alone and, like Georg, she would probably distance herself from the rest of the family. It would be Maria's task to get her back – or could Liesl help with that?
Liesl – the oldest child and the strong one, the girl who had always looked after her younger siblings and who was now looking after Maria too. Just one hour earlier Liesl had accompanied her to her bedroom. "Would you like me to stay with you tonight?" she had asked.
Maria had shaken her head slowly. "Thank you, darling, but I'd like to be alone for a while."
"Are you sure? You know, you should get some rest – the baby needs it."
"Don't worry, Liesl – I'm going to bed soon," Maria had replied.
"But you won't cry all night, will you?"
Once again Maria had shaken her head. "No, darling. I know the baby needs sleep." As close as Liesl had always been to her, she hadn't wanted to tell her that she had already cried throughout the last few nights.
It was odd, but a week earlier as she cleaned up the kitchen after lunch, Maria had suddenly felt as if something deep within her had been broken. Her first thought had been the baby, but there hadn't been any pain in her belly, only a feeling of sadness and desperation. It had been as if the connection she had felt to Georg since their first kiss had suddenly been severed. With it, all hope to see him again was gone. Even the fear for his life she had become accustomed to in the previous weeks hadn't been there anymore, only grief and gloom. She had cried during the nights since then and through the days she had scolded herself for being silly, but nevertheless she hadn't managed to suppress the loneliness. Her heart had known that something terrible had happened and therefore she had been neither surprised nor shocked as Patricia and Friedrich had told her about Georg's death. She had expected the blow and she had been prepared for it.
Even the letter hadn't come as a surprise. Georg hadn't been a man to go on a dangerous mission without being prepared for the worst. Maria remembered only too well how he had taken her to a lawyer a few days before he had first left for Europe, deposing his will there. Georg had always kept his affairs in order and Maria had expected him not to leave her without a last farewell.
Gliding down from the windowsill she pulled her dressing gown tighter around her, walked over to the bed, sat down and opened the drawer of her nightstand. There was the letter and she took it, slowly reading it again.
"Naval Base Cyprus, September 18, 1942
My beloved Maria,
was it really only four years ago I promised you 'till death do us part"? It feels like a lifetime – a wonderful one. But part of it was another promise I gave you only a few weeks ago. I said I'd come back to you.
If you are reading this letter, I've obviously kept the first promise and broken the second one.
I think I needn't tell you how sorry I am, and, whatever has happened to me when you get this letter, I'm sure of one thing: my last thoughts went to you. From the day you walked into my home and my life with your ridiculous hat and the dress the poor didn't want, I was yours, entirely and utterly and with all that I am. You overran every wall I'd erected to protect my vulnerable self and with you I learned that I don't need any protection other than your love. You made me happier than I thought possible; you were everything I ever dreamed of.
I know I was far from being an ideal husband. I'm too pigheaded, too proud, too impatient, too moody, often brooding, certainly not good at talking about my feelings, often enough egotistical, and always demanding. To live with me certainly isn't easy, but you nevertheless managed it and even more: Thinking of you makes me think of a song I always wanted to sing for you – and now I wonder why I never did.
"You are rest, you are peace,
you are bestowed upon me from heaven.
That you love me makes me worthy of you;
your gaze transfigures me;
you raise me lovingly above myself,
my good spirit, my better self!" (6)
Thinking back on these wonderful years with you I actually can't help laughing at myself and what a fool I was when I married you (no, I don't think it was foolish to marry you, on the contrary – it was one of the wisest things I ever did in my life. But my thoughts then were infantile). My young bride, so inexperienced in the ways of the world – I really prided myself on the idea that I would be the one to protect you, to guide you and to spoil you.
Instead it was you who protected me, who guided me to become a better father to my children, and it was you who spoiled me with your tenderness and passion.
As much as I loathe the thought of leaving you, I know that you'll be able to manage without me. You'll bring our children up, you'll keep the family together, and you'll help them through their grief.
However, there's one thing in which I want you to follow my advice. You never wanted to talk about it, but now we can't avoid the subject any longer. I was always aware of the age gap between us and that it means you will become a young widow. Now you are 26 years old – and that's certainly much too young to spend the rest of your life as my relict. As your wise Reverend Mother said so rightly: You have a great capacity to love. And you deserve to be loved back and to be cherished and adored.
I can't give you these things anymore. As the one who went through losing a partner I can tell you: memories aren't enough to keep you warm during cold winter nights; memories aren't enough to drive the loneliness and the longing away, and memories certainly aren't enough to fill a heart. I want you to sing and to laugh and to love again, to live a happy life.
You know, two years after I lost Agathe, I met a widow just around my age who told me she would never marry again due to the great love she'd had for her late husband. Saying that, she actually made me doubt the happiness of her marriage because I felt that loving and losing Agathe had made a big hole in my life – and that my memories of our life together made me want to fill this hole and to belong to someone again. And even more: as I fell in love with you, I knew that Agathe would have been happy for me. She had loved me and she would have wanted me to be happy again. Love isn't really love when it can't let go, love isn't really love when it can't put the other's happiness above one's own feelings.
Therefore I want you to marry again. I know there are a lot of wonderful men out there, younger and better than me and just waiting to make a woman like you happy. Give one of them a chance! Give yourself a chance to love again and to be loved. And trust in our children supporting you – I've told them that it is my wish that you marry again."
Despite her sadness Maria almost laughed. Ordering her to marry again – that was so typical of Captain Georg von Trapp, the man who had been used to planning and commanding. Actually she wondered that he hadn't presented her with a list of candidates to be her second husband!
Only in this case she wouldn't obey his order too soon. She simply didn't want to think about it at the moment. Her heart belonged to Georg, and Maria knew that she would need a long time to let him go.
The next part of the letter was about the children, his hopes and wishes for their future and how glad he was to know that Maria would be there for them.
Then he had come to their unborn child:
"The hardest thing now is to leave without having seen our youngest child, not even knowing if it's a boy or a girl. I think you know how happy it made me to learn that you're expecting again and how much I looked forward to holding our new baby in my arms.
I've written a letter to our unborn child. I want you to read it and to keep it until our child is old enough to understand it. Of course, the decisions about this child's future are up to you, but I would like to suggest that you ask the Forresters to be its godparents. Patricia Forrester is very fond of you, and the Admiral is a good man who cares a lot about our family."
He had then asked her to get his seal ring copied. The original was to go to Kurt, one copy was to go to Johannes, and another one to their unborn child if it was a boy. After that he had written about finances and how to deal with the estate in Austria when they got it back after the war. And finally he had become personal again, writing about his love for her and how blessed he had felt for having lived with her, finishing with the words:
"Live happily and God bless you, my beloved! Yours to the last hour – Georg."
To be continued
(1) Slibowic: Typical schnapps in this area.
(2) Tokayer: Red wine from Tokay in Hungaria. It's rather famous and was once named "The Emperor's wine" because it was often served at the court in Vienna.
(3) The German word for "bustard" (a big bird) is "Trapp(e)". Therefore the bustard is part of most crests used by the von Trapp family and, yes, even nowadays noblemen in Germany and Austria wear seal rings with their family crest on the little finger of their left hand.
(4) Kapitän zur See – the rank equivalent to the British/American Captain. In this case the movie was inaccurate: Georg von Trapp wasn't a Captain, but only a Korvettenkapitän – a rank equivalent to the British/American Lieutenant Commander.
(5) I think European customs in this department are slightly different to American ones. Here the bride doesn't get a big diamond as an engagement ring, but her future wedding band. During the engagement both partners wear it on the ring finger of their left hand. At the wedding it changes to the right hand.
(6) The text is from Friedrich Rückert (1788-1866), and the translation from German was done by Emily Ezust. The text was set to music by a few composers – like Bela Bartok and Carl Georg Grädinger. Yet the version Georg is here thinking of is the one done by Robert Schumann as "Widmung", op. 25, No.1 from "Myrten".