Chapter Text
In the summer of 1979, Hans’ cancer came back. Just as they had always feared it would. This time, it metastasized, and there was simply nothing they could do. Hans needed oxygen and painkillers, but that was all. Neither he nor Sylvia wanted their room to feel like a hospital room. They spent many hours just sitting in bed together, reading or talking or watching TV. It felt almost normal. Almost. Hans was so weak, she had to help him walk to and from the bathroom. She supported him while he showered. There were times he would have slipped and fallen had she not been there to catch him.
Life had become quiet and peaceful. Their world was small. They held each other and basked in each other’s company. Soft kisses, gentle touches, and whispered ‘I love yous’. There were times Hans slept almost the entire day. But Sylvia didn’t mind. She patiently waited for him to wake up, and they would go on like everything was normal. This was their new normal.
He was too weak to dress himself. Sylvia had to help him put on his pajamas. But he insisted on feeding himself, even though his hands shook, and he was always exhausted afterward. If Hans couldn’t feed himself, he would just starve. He was too proud to be treated like a baby. Sylvia tried to honor that as much as possible. She wanted to help her husband, but she didn’t want him to feel like an invalid or a child either.
So they tried to find a balance. Keep Hans comfortable and free of pain, but not sedated. He didn’t want to spend his last weeks drugged out of his mind. She knew he needed to keep his mind sharp. On his better days, he wanted to work on his memoir. Sylvia set him up with a typewriter on a tray. He was so excited, so zealous about his writing, it was easy to forget he was dying. Sylvia always gave Hans his privacy while he wrote, but she stayed close by in case he needed her.
One day, slumped against a mountain of pillows, Hans announced he just couldn’t do it anymore. He’d been hacking up blood. A bright red stream ran down the front of his pajama shirt.
“Angel…I’m so very sorry, but…I just don’t think I can do this any longer. I’m afraid I’ve run out of strength.” He shuddered, and burst into another coughing fit. His eyes drifted close.
Sylvia grabbed a fistful of tissues, frantically mopping up the blood. “Hans, you’re coughing up blood, and you’re worried about your damn memoir?” she looked at him with fear in her eyes.
He weakly shook his head. “What I’m saying is…I want you to take over for me. Why don’t you have a look at what I’ve written?” he gestured at the paper in the typewriter.
It read: My time has almost come. I fear I am nearing the end of my life. It was very difficult just to type all of this. I need to conserve what little strength I have. My body is getting weaker by the day, and everything is a struggle now. I don’t want to leave, yet I have no choice. Despite all my charms and impeccable observational skills, not even I can bend nature to my will. Death is the greatest detective of all. It’s almost amusing, isn’t it?
He always finds you, regardless of whether you are ready. So I will go to him. I’ll meet him with my head held high and a smile on my face. Death and I have an intimate relationship. You might say he’s an old comrade- we have quite a bit of catching up to do. Yes, I have much to answer for. I’m not sure what awaits me in the next life, if indeed there is one. But I know this for certain: I entrust my manuscript to my beloved wife, Sylvia. I trust her to complete my memoir after I am no longer living. I trust her with my life. Sylvia, you are extraordinarily brave, and I have tremendous faith in you. I love you.
With tears in her eyes, Sylvia threw her arms around Hans’ neck and hugged him tightly. She buried her face in his shoulder, sniffling.
“Hans, oh God, Hans…”
Hans patted her back. He leaned forward, looking at her with pain in his eyes. “Sylvia…Is this too much to ask of you? You’re aware how I feel about our situation, and I’ve never been the world’s greatest invalid. I don’t want to be a burden on you in my final days. I assure you, that’s the last thing I want.”
Sylvia took a deep breath. Her cheeks were blotchy and wet now. She wiped her damp eyes on the back of her hand. “No, it’s not too much. I can handle this. I’ll finish your book, I promise. I owe you that much.” She gently took his face in her hands. “Hey. Hans, you are not a burden. You never have been, and you never will be. I’m doing all this because I love you, and I’m sure you would do the same for me.”
She kissed him, and they held it for a long time. There was passion in it. Lust. Desperation. They both craved intimacy, they had to make the most of what little time they had left. Sylvia’s answer seemed to satisfy Hans. He gave a slight nod.
“You’re a clever girl. I knew you would make the right choice…” he reached to take her hand, and Sylvia held it.
Then, Hans closed his eyes. He was asleep within minutes. Sylvia sighed. Everything tired him out now. It was difficult for them both.
There were some days it felt like the phone never stopped ringing. The hospice people. Hans’ agent. His doctor. The publisher. Sylvia fielded many of these calls, but if it was for Hans, she passed it along to him. She suspected Hans was the only reason she hadn’t gone crazy by now. His smile and his words of affection kept her going. Even now, his hazel eyes were still so bright. Full of life. It was crazy to think about him dying, but here they were.
Sylvia knew it wasn’t healthy to stay cooped up in the house all day. But she couldn’t bring herself to leave Hans’ side. He was her first priority at all times. When Hans felt up to it, Sylvia helped him walk outside, if only for a few hours. The fresh air was good for both of them. At night, they spread a blanket on the grass and watched the stars. The stars were there long before they were born; and would still be there after they were gone. There was something both sad and comforting in that. How could something so beautiful be so distant and out of reach? They were mortal, finite. But the stars could go on for nearly forever until they simply burned out.
“Sylvia?” Hans asked one night, his arm wrapped around her shoulder.
“Yeah?”
There was complete silence except for crickets chirping in the distance. It was glorious. It was only them and the night sky.
“I once said I’d love you until the stars faded. Do you remember that?”
Sylvia smiled. “I do, actually. Why?”
He gave her shoulder a gentle squeeze, then reached out to stroke her cheek. “Because it hasn’t changed. I will never stop loving you. Did you really believe death would stop that?”
Sylvia flinched. She knew it was childish, a knee-jerk reaction, but she couldn’t stand it when Hans talked about death. She hated acknowledging it. Every day brought him closer and closer to the end, but when would that be? It could be days, weeks, even a month. The hospice told them to just take it one day at a time.
“No, I didn’t.” she finally said, frowning. “It’s just, I don’t know what’s worse: knowing, or not knowing.”
Hans gave her one of those sad-but-knowing expressions. “It’s unfortunate to think about, but all we’re doing is merely prolonging the inevitable. Death is patient, but one can hardly expect him to wait forever.” He cleared his throat. “That reminds me…There’s an excellent poem by one of your poets, Emily Dickinson. I’m certain you know it: Because I could not stop for death, he kindly stopped for me…”
Sylvia grimaced. Her whole body tensed. She said, a little tersely:
“Hans, I just don’t understand how you can be so…So nonchalant about this. If I were the one dying, I’d probably have a damn breakdown. I don’t want to sound selfish, but once you’re gone, my whole life will change forever. I can’t even imagine spending the rest of my life without you.”
“I know it must be difficult to conceive now, but I wasn’t always a part of your life. You got along perfectly well without me for thirty years, didn’t you? Try looking at it that way. Do I think that there’s something after death? An afterlife, perhaps another world? No. But not even I know everything- shocking, I know! If I am wrong, I’ll wait for you for however long it takes. If not…” Hans looked up at the flickering stars, trying to find the words he needed. He sighed. “If not, well, then I suppose this is all there is. There’s not much either of us can do about that. But either way, Sylvia, I want you to remember me. When you feel sad. When you feel alone. When you remember the time we spent together. It’s not much, I know, but it’s something. Talk to someone, if you absolutely must.”
Sylvia knew Hans was referring to a therapist or psychiatrist. The thought had admittedly never crossed her mind. She’d never gone to a psychiatrist before or known someone who had. There was such a big stigma surrounding it.
“I’m not crazy.” She said, very softly. Again, she wondered how she would handle all this. It was so overwhelming. Like nothing she had ever experienced.
“Did I say you were?” Hans retorted, sounding the slightest bit hurt. “It might do you good to see a psychiatrist, that’s all I’m saying. It’s only a suggestion, nothing more…”
Sylvia shifted around slightly on the blanket, trying to get more comfortable. She was trying so hard to hold it all together, but inside, she was falling apart. “No, no, you’re right….Maybe I should. I didn’t want to sound harsh, I’m sorry. But the fact is, we’re dealing with uncharted territory. And I’m scared. I’m so scared.” She admitted, sounding frightened and a little breathless. Here she was, baring herself to Hans. Would any person understand her better, or know her more intimately?
“So am I.” Hans rested a protective hand on her shoulder. “I need you to tell my story, angel. It’s the only way you can keep me alive…”
“I will.” She whispered; her expression somber. “I’ll make it my damn life’s work if I have to.”
Hans ran a hand through her hair. “Just don’t work yourself too hard, you know I don’t like it when you do that…”
They lay down together and watched the stars for the longest time. Hans pointed out some of the constellations and explained their significance. Although it got colder at night, neither of them minded much. They were just happy to be outside. They stayed up to watch the sunrise. The sky was awash in brilliant shades of orange, pink, and blue. Though it was something that happened every day, it was indescribably beautiful. When morning finally came, they staggered inside for a quick breakfast, then promptly passed out in bed.
One afternoon, they were sitting in bed, watching one of the James Bond films on TV. Hans said, in the most ridiculous faux British accent: “You disgust me. Pigs, the lot of you!” They both burst out laughing.
“God, I’m going to miss you…” Sylvia said, without even thinking. She instantly regretted it. “Shit. I shouldn’t have said that.” She stiffened and wrapped her arms around her chest.
“No, no, it’s quite all right…” Hans gently chided her. He quickly silenced her with a kiss. “I don’t really want to die, you know. But I suppose I have nothing to complain about. I’m eighty-five, and I’m fortunate to have made it this far. I hate to sound morbid, but I’m twenty years older than you, angel. We knew this was going to happen eventually.”
He just stared off into the distance. He looked serious, but so terribly frightened. It was the face, Sylvia realized, of a man who had come to terms with his own mortality. And she realized he was right. Maybe she always had known, if only subconsciously. Even if she couldn’t face it until now.
“We did, but we weren’t ready. Fuck, I don’t think anyone knows how to prepare for this…” Sylvia sounded much more bitter than she intended.
Then she held him, because what else could she do?
When the day finally came, they instantly knew. But neither of them were ready. Hans started declining very quickly one afternoon. He struggled to breathe and faded in and out of consciousness. It would not be too long now.
Sylvia stayed in bed with him, gently holding him in her arms.
“Hey…I need you to stay with me just a little while longer, all right?” She pleaded.
Hans nodded almost imperceptibly. She could tell how difficult this was for him.
“Are you in pain?” she asked, stroking his damp hair.
“No.” he whispered, his voice barely audible.
“Good. That’s great…” Sylvia exhaled deeply and managed to blink back tears.
“I’m sure you thought I had some grand speech prepared for this momentous occasion…” Hans teased her. “But as that wonderful old American saying goes…The joke’s on you!” he smiled, but it quickly turned into a grimace. He broke into a coughing fit.
“Water?” Sylvia asked, eyeing the glass and pitcher on the nightstand.
“Please.”
She poured Hans a glass, supporting his head while he drank. “Don’t talk so much, you’ll wear yourself out…”
When Hans was done drinking, he lay back against the pillows, his hands clasped on his chest. “I understand. I’m trying to save my strength, as it were. But, if you’ll allow me, I have a few things I need to say.”
“Of course.”
Hans reached up to stroke her cheek. He said, in the most adoring, reverent way: “Without you, Sylvia, my life would have taken a very different path. You opened my eyes. You showed me a way out. And for that, I will be forever grateful.”
Sylvia kissed his lips. “Yeah, you weren’t exactly who or what I thought you were.” She smiled at him, but her sad eyes betrayed her.
“Thank you, for these thirty-five years. My life with you has been…Beyond my wildest dreams. It’s certainly more than I deserve. Thank you for loving me, in spite of what I’ve done…” Hans’ breathing had become more shallow, and he closed his eyes to rest for a few minutes.
Sylvia hesitated, then asked: “If…If there really is something afterwards, say hi to Bunny and Donny for me, would you?”
Hans opened his eyes and gave her a tired smile. “If I see them, I’ll give them your regards.”
Sylvia brought Hans’ hand to her lips and kissed his fingers. “I love you.” She gasped, feeling the tears start to stream down her face.
“I love you too, angel. Forever.” He said, without hesitation.
They looked into each other’s eyes for the longest time. For just a moment, Sylvia wished time would stop. She would have been happy to live in that moment forever.
“I’m scared.” She said, for what felt like the thousandth time.
“I know. I know…So am I.”
There was a long and heavy silence between them.
Then, Hans gripped her hand and squeezed it tightly. He told her: “My brave girl…You can do this, I know you can…I’ll always be with you. I promise…” his eyes slowly closed. His chest heaved, and he took one last shaky breath.
He died in her arms. Sylvia double-checked, triple-checked: no faint heartbeat, no thready pulse. He really was gone.
She couldn’t take it anymore. It was too much. She ran from the bedroom, out of the house. She knew she couldn’t go back to their room. Couldn’t face the sight of her husband, cold and motionless on the bed. She went out to the garden and cried for what felt like hours, on and off. Sylvia felt shattered. Eviscerated. Cut loose from her moorings. There were no words to describe this. She cried until her eyes stung and her throat was raw. Then, finally, she pulled herself together, and called Moira- their hospice nurse- to let her know what happened.
It didn’t take Moira long to arrive. She went up to their room and pronounced Hans dead. Confirming what Sylvia already knew.
“Yeah, he’s gone. I am so, so, sorry…I know nothing can really prepare you for this...”
Sylvia said nothing. She could have been a thousand miles away; she was so numb. She didn’t want anyone’s pity. But she didn’t want to take her emotions out on Moira, either. She was great, and had been such a big help to them. She was unconventional, a pale scrap of a girl with short, dark, hair.
Moira said nothing as she bathed Hans’ body, while Sylvia watched. As much as she wanted to, she couldn’t bring herself to touch him. He had already grown cold. Once the body was clean, Sylvia handed her a suit to dress it in. Hans would have wanted to look nice, even after death, at least she knew that much.
When the coroner’s van came, Sylvia stood in the background, watching as her husband’s body was placed on a stretcher and covered with a white sheet. She wanted to cry so badly, but the tears wouldn’t come. Then, finally, everyone left, and she was alone. For the first time in thirty-five years. Alone with her pain.
She stayed outside, in the garden. She collapsed into a nearby iron chair and wept, clutching her face in her hands. She felt completely lost. There were a million people to talk to, calls to make, and things to be done, but she was just too exhausted to do them. How would she ever go on without Hans? It seemed impossible. They’d discussed it countless times, but it was nothing compared to the reality.
I can’t believe I have a funeral to plan. She thought numbly. She could plan tonight’s dinner, but that was about it. She looked up at the sky, the colors changing with the sunset. It was difficult to imagine Hans was there- or anywhere, really.
Neither of them had been religious. If they had been, well, that would have presented its own set of issues. Would they have gone to separate afterlives? There was nothing crueler than the idea of being separated after death.
“I miss you.” She thought aloud.
I’ll tell your story. Sylvia told herself. That was the promise she made to him. First she just had to survive this funeral. After that, she would gladly jump in with both feet. At least it gave her something to do.
Tell our story, angel. It’s as much yours as it is mine. She heard Hans’ voice in her head, gently correcting her. Of course, it was just a figment of her imagination, though part of her wished it wasn’t.
Our story. She had never really thought of it that way. That was the one thing she could hold onto, with everything falling apart. She would get their story out there. It was the best thing she could do to honor Hans’ memory.
It was finally released in the fall of 1980. It was entitled: Hans Landa: From SS Mastermind to National Hero. Sylvia kept a hardcover copy in their library at home. Every so often, she would take it from the bookcase and skim through it. The sum of her husband’s life was between the covers, from his childhood in Vienna to his death from cancer. Reading it was almost like hearing his voice again. Sometimes she read it at night, sitting on his side of the bed, because she still couldn’t get used to it being empty.
The nights were always the hardest. It had been a year, she had carried out Hans’ last wish, and she still felt dead inside. Maybe she always would. Again, she found herself thinking: I miss you.
Why do I still feel like this? I did everything right…
She still kept in touch with Moira, and once in a while they went out for coffee together. She always had some funny story about Hans that made Sylvia laugh or smile. If only for a moment. She’d even taken Hans’ advice and started seeing a psychiatrist. But even now, her pain was still just as raw. Hans had died at home, in her arms. He was free from the disease that caused him so much pain. But none of these things brought Sylvia comfort. Living without him was the hardest thing she had ever done. Yes, perhaps even harder than dismantling the Third Reich.
These thoughts continued to torture Sylvia, and she got very little sleep that night. The next morning, a Saturday, she drove out to the cemetery to visit Hans’ grave. Maybe, just maybe, that would give her some closure. It was gray and overcast, as so many autumn days were. Cold, too- but at least her coat kept away the chill. Sylvia walked slowly down the stone path, among the graves, clutching a bouquet of red roses.
The brown grass was littered with leaves that crunched under her feet. Most of the trees were bare. Autumn was here in full force. She noticed some plots that were less well-cared for: names had faded away, and weeds sprung up around the weathered tombstones.
Then, finally, she reached the small plot she and Hans had chosen. His grave was a simple affair made of granite. It read:
HANS LANDA
1894 – 1979
BELOVED HUSBAND AND FATHER
And just below…
HIS WIFE, SYLVIA
1914 –
Someday she, too, would be buried here. Not that she was in any hurry. Sylvia gently laid the bouquet on the ground in front of the headstone. A sudden pain shot through her knees. Goddamnit, not now… The last thing she needed was a reminder of her age, least of all here.
Her hair was gray, and she didn’t bother to dye it. Her joints ached, and her skin was more wrinkled than she felt comfortable with. She was really starting to feel like an old woman now. Of course, Hans wouldn’t have cared. He still thought she was the sexiest, most attractive woman on earth. Why did she feel like she’d aged so much in only a year?
“I can’t believe it’s been a year.” She said, to no one in particular. “So much has happened, and sometimes I feel like you died yesterday. Between Miri, the grandkids, and the book, I’m just exhausted on all fronts.” She threw up her hands. “I am seeing a psychiatrist, like you wanted me to. But I don’t think I’m getting better. I’m not seeing a difference yet…”
Sylvia looked around to make sure there was no one to overhear. Then, she continued: “I feel crazy talking to you, Hans. Maybe I’ve finally lost it. I feel like any minute now the men in the white coats will come take me away.” She laughed, and it was genuine.
“Just so you know, Moira is still your biggest fan. I still see her every once in a while, and it’s nice catching up with her. It’s a distraction, at least. I think you’d be very happy with the book. I keep a copy at home, and I’m always reading it. It feels really strange seeing it in bookstores. I don’t think I’ll ever get over that. I just wish you were here to celebrate with me, everything feels kind of pointless otherwise…” she kicked a brittle leaf away.
“I don’t know what I’m going to do. Everything still feels so overwhelming. When I get out of bed in the morning I feel like I’m running on autopilot. I don’t know what I was expecting, to be honest. I guess I thought that a year later it wouldn’t be so bad. But clearly, I was wrong!” Sylvia sighed heavily.
“I feel so silly asking this. I don’t even really believe in this sort of thing. But Hans, if you’re out there, if you’re listening, I want you to tell me it’s okay. That I can move forward. Because I miss you so fucking much and it’s killing me!”
She looked up at the moody gray sky, at the bare trees surrounding her. Almost as though expecting an answer. Why the hell not? But there was nothing. Of course there was nothing.
“Oh, fuck it. I guess you’re not home.” She muttered under her breath.
She went back to her waiting car and drove home, feeling a bit more sullen than an adult her age probably should have. Of course I wasn’t going to get an answer. What was I thinking? Hans is DEAD! She thought on the way home. The more she thought about it, the more foolish and embarrassed she felt.
The rest of the day was slow and uneventful. That night, she showered, changed into her pajamas, and went to bed. But when she picked up Hans’ book from the nightstand, she noticed something very strange: It had been left open at a different place than where she left off.
…Let me say that I am incredibly grateful to my wife, Sylvia. If not for her, I likely would have been condemned as a war criminal at Nuremberg. Because of her, my life has taken an entirely different trajectory. I make no excuses for my actions, but at least allow me to explain them. I fell in with the nazis because they were, as they say, the only game in town. And for a long time, it paid off. I was all too happy to ignore the countless human lives it took to get me where I was. I was never taken in by Himmler’s anti-semitic tirades, mind you. I had no special hatred for the Jews. They had done nothing to me whatsoever. It’s ironic, isn’t it?
They were merely easy prey. Enemies of the state. Names to be crossed off a list. When Sylvia came into my life, she complicated everything. I’ve never met a complication I couldn’t resolve, but she was the exception! I fell for her. She captivated me with her wildness. It’s not exactly every day a Jewish-American agent falls into an SS officer’s lap. I loved her madly, and yet she was a Jew. She was a person, not another quarry, or a box to be checked. It was impossible for me to compartmentalize, and soon I knew I would have to make some very difficult decisions.
I’m not so sure I deserve my happy, comfortable life in America. I’ve done things I know I can never atone for. But somehow, Sylvia loves me regardless. I owe so much of my success to her. Although this is the story of my life, it is, in so many ways, her story as well. Thank you, Sylvia, for staying beside me through everything. You are everything I ever dreamed of and more. You inspire me to continue writing, even on days I feel too weak to do much of anything.
Sylvia just stared in astonishment. It was hard not to feel a little taken aback. There had to be a natural explanation for this, though. Of course there was. No need to go jumping to ridiculous conclusions. Still, it did make her feel the slightest bit better.
“Hans, was that you, or am I just losing my mind?” Sylvia asked, but her tone was light. Almost playful. “If it was, then thank you. I needed to hear that…” she turned back to where she left off and continued reading.
She was still thinking about it later, as she tried to sleep. Although she didn’t believe in heaven or any sort of afterlife, it comforted her to think Hans was watching over her, somehow. She remembered his last words: “I’ll always be with you, I promise.” Until today, she’d seen nothing to actually suggest that was true. But she didn’t want to get too hopeful. It was likely this was a one-time thing, or just a coincidence.
Part of her felt ridiculous for even thinking this. But part of her desperately wanted to believe it. I miss you, Hans. I think about you constantly. I still don’t know how to live without you! I hope you’re still out there, and that you still love me. I actually felt something today, for the first time in God knows how long…
Maybe now, finally, things would start to get better. Maybe there were better days ahead.
Sylvia remembered Hans on the good days and the bad days. When she went out walking, alone, with only her shadow behind her. And perhaps most importantly, she remembered him when the sun shone after it rained.