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was a businessman at heart, even if he only owned bakeries. His mind was ever on improving his position. While he would have preferred me to study more practical subjects, not even he could deny my proclivity and talent for music. That is why the new performance with some of the most celebrated musicians in the Reich was so important. It was my uncle’s hope—and thus my hope—that it would give me even further exposure. The ultimate goal was to be offered state employment with the Nazis. He had grand ideas of my return to Munich or, better yet, my arrival in Berlin to play for the highest of the high ranking members of the party.
    It would serve twofold. It would get me out of his hair, and it would also elevate him. He longed to be seen as a man of vast patriotism to the German fatherland. He would go on at length about what he should do or how he would act if given the opportunity to meet Hitler.
    It would bring me pleasure to be able to give that honor to my uncle. Perhaps then he would see my true worth.
    But tonight, I returned home with nothing more than memories of a nearly failed rehearsal.
I was not acknowledged until I entered the sitting room, bowed my head, and wished my aunt and uncle “Good evening.”
“Ah, Kurt!” my aunt greeted, rising from the sofa and crossing over to me. She put her hands on my upper arms, then kissed my cheek. “Are you hungry?”
“He can get his own food,” my uncle interrupted from the plush chair by the fire. “Sit.”
I did as he asked. He did not lower the paper in front of his face, but I didn’t need to see his expression to know it was critical. “How did you perform?”
I furrowed my brow as I tried to think of the best possible phrasing for what I knew to be a relatively dismal performance. “There are some issues to work out, but as first rehearsals go, we sounded very nice.”
The paper folded, and I was met with the cold blue eyes that had sent waves of shame through me from the time I was a boy. “I did not ask how everyone performed or how the group sounded. I asked how you performed.”
“Very well, sir,” I lied.
    “Good.” The paper went back up, and I drew my eyes up as well. “I hear we may have visitors from Germany. Peter Waldenheim is highly thought of in sophisticated circles. This is an opportunity of a lifetime for you, Kurt. I expect you’ll be making the most of it.”
    “Yes, sir,” I replied. “I will practice as much as possible and will spend every waking moment perfecting—”
    “Waking moment?” my uncle said loudly. Once again, his paper folded down. I was pinned under his glare. “You should be dreaming of this as well. The Reich has need of musicians. Every day they broadcast music to keep morale up, as well as deflate the enemy. You are skilled. This is your chance to let them see you as an asset instead of a drain.”
    I knew the last words were a direct commentary on how he saw me. To him, I was a drain on his resources. He hadn’t wanted me, but he could not deny his wife the pleasure of “saving” her sister’s son from poverty.
“Yes, sir,” I said again—my most repeated phrase.
     
“You performed well?” he asked again.
    “Yes, sir.” The way he was looking at me made me feel as though he knew something more. As if he’d been in the concert hall and watched my blunders. “Well, sir, I had a small issue with my timing in relation to when to come in, but other than that—”
“Then you’d best start practicing. You have another rehearsal tomorrow.”
     
I stood up, his words dismissing me. “Yes, sir.”
     
My aunt stopped me from going directly to my room. “Not before dinner, Kurt.”
    It earned her a glare from my uncle, but I was delighted that she cared enough to speak up. I was hungry. I did not relish the idea of practicing for another two hours before they retired, leaving me free access to the kitchen.
    My aunt took me by my hand and led me to the dining room. The food was already in