Until the Dawn's Light (8 page)

AT THE POLICE STATION
Blanca learned that the two patrolmen who had been summoned to the Jewish old age home that morning went out right away, gathered testimony, and submitted a report.

“Didn’t they search anymore?” Blanca asked.

“Where are we to look for him, madam?” the officer in charge said. A sharp laugh, like that of someone who had seen reversals in his life, burst from his thick lips.

“I’m sorry,” said Blanca.

“If we knew where he was, we would go out and get him. We have a total of three policemen in this town. Two of them patrol, and one sits here. We relieve one another every few hours. In this town, for our sins, there are quite a few thefts.”

“I don’t know what to do,” Blanca said, and she really didn’t. Her head felt like a void, as though all the thoughts in it had been uprooted, leaving only the walls.

Seeing her helplessness, the policeman looked at the report that lay before him and said, “I see that your father was in Heimland yesterday. What was he doing in Heimland?”

“He came to visit me. He missed the town,” Blanca answered hurriedly, glad that the words left her mouth in that order.

“And when did he return to Himmelburg?”

“On the last train,” she said, hoping that would be an end to the questions.

“And who accompanied him to the train?”

“I did,” Blanca said with a feeling of relief.

“Old people usually don’t like to go back at night,” the policeman remarked in a matter-of-fact way.

“True.”

“So why did he return at night?”

“He wanted to return.”

“I understand,” he said.

“I offered to accompany him, but he said he wanted to go back alone.”

“Was he in a bad mood during the past few days?”

“He was a little depressed in the old age home,” Blanca said, sensing that the policeman was starting to rummage through her private life.

Indeed, he didn’t let up.

“He’s fifty-three years old, I see. What’s a fifty-three-year-old man doing in an old age home?”

“He had no home. He had to sell his house.”

“And why didn’t he live with you?” It was an arrow fired directly at her forehead.

“My husband absolutely opposed it,” Blanca said, the words sticking in her throat.

“Is your father sick?”

“No.”

“So why did your husband refuse to keep him in your home?”

Blanca burst into tears.

The policeman stopped his questioning.

“I didn’t have the strength to stand up to him,” she muttered.

“There’s nothing to worry about,” he said, now trying to console her. “Every day people disappear and then reappear the following day. That’s how the world works. How long has he been living in the old age home?”

“Three weeks, no more.”

“Every month somebody runs away from there, usually new residents. But don’t worry, they come back. They have no choice. The cold at night forces them to come back.”

“A lot of people run away from the old age home?” For a moment she tried to meld her voice into his.

“Quite a few. They also run away from the Catholic old age home.”

“And you look for them?” She forgot that she had already asked this.

“How is it possible to look for them?” he replied. “After all, this is a far-flung region, with groves, forests, swamps, and whatnot. If someone wants to run away, the hand of the law won’t touch him. We don’t even find murderers, unless they give themselves up voluntarily.”

“I didn’t know.”

“That’s how it is in this region. I don’t know whether it’s different in other places.”

“What can I do, sir? What do you advise me to do now?”

“Not to do anything. That’s my advice.”

“And he’ll come back?”

“He will certainly come back. He went out wearing his street clothing, it says in the report, which means that he can survive for three nights. My advice: go home and wait for him to come back.” His rough face was filled with a simple humanity, as though he weren’t a policeman, but someone in whom much wisdom of life was stored up.

“He’ll come back, sir?”

“I’m sure he’ll come back,” he said, and rose to his feet.

“My heartfelt thanks,” she said, and bowed her head.

Blanca didn’t immediately realize what the policeman had done to her. Only later, as she sat in a tavern downing drink after drink, did she understand that this stranger, without the superior airs of a judge, had laid her shame before her eyes and made her see that her father had fled because she hadn’t taken him into her home and he didn’t want to live in the old age home. That sharp insight burned her eyes, and she closed them. But the pain kept spreading. In vain she tried to dull it with cognac. But every sip merely heightened her awareness, and her pain.

WHEN BLANCA RETURNED
to the old age home, it was already evening. In answer to her question about whether her father had come back, one of the inmates answered loudly, “Erwin didn’t return.”

Blanca went over to her father’s bed and made it. Contact with the blankets reminded her of her mother’s dried-out face. During the last months of her life, a heartbreaking spirituality radiated from her.

“Don’t worry about me,” she kept saying. “I’m absolutely fine.” She apparently felt the end coming and tried to cover her weakness with her last remaining strength. During her final days, she was alert, remembered many details, and wasn’t confused about dates. She resembled someone preparing for a long journey, unafraid for her own body.

One of the workers roused Blanca from her memories.

“Come, Blanca, and eat something,” she said. “We have a summer squash quiche. You’ll like it.”

“Thank you. I must go.”

“Where?”

“I have to get home. I live far away.”

“Happiness doesn’t await you at home,” said the woman with a simple directness.

“How do you know?” Blanca wondered.

“From my body,” said the woman.

Blanca lowered her eyes. The woman took her by the arm and led her to the kitchen. The kitchen was in disarray. A blackened pot stood on the sooty stove, and it was clear that the pot had belonged to that stove for many years. The woman sat Blanca down at a table, served her a bowl of soup, and said, “Eat this first. It will warm you up.”

Blanca realized that no one had served her with such attention since her mother’s death. She raised her eyes and looked closely at the unfamiliar woman. She was short and full-figured, and her head was planted on her shoulders as if she had no neck. She wore a stained blue shirt, and it was evident that she was hardworking and liked to serve people the food she had cooked.

Unaware of what she was doing, Blanca rolled up her sleeve and said, “I have a wound that won’t heal. Perhaps you have a bandage.”

“I certainly do,” the woman said and hurried to the first-aid cupboard. When she returned, she fell to her knees and cleaned the wound with a cloth.

“That’s an ugly wound,” she said. “Who hit you?”

“Don’t ask.”

“I used to be beaten sometimes, too. Now he’s sick,” she said, revealing a mouth in which only a few teeth were left.

“You, too?” Blanca looked up, suddenly recognizing in her a sister in suffering.

“Indeed.”

“What did you do?”

“What could I do? I tried to stay far from home.”

“And when would you return home?”

“Only once a week, to give him the money. Here no one does you any harm. You sleep comfortably.”

“How many years have you been working here?”

“It’s been twenty years now.”

“And he always hit you?”

“Always.”

When Blanca finished the soup, the woman served her a portion of the squash quiche and said, “You’ll like this.”

Blanca was hungry, and the hunger made her forget the turmoil of the day. A half-remembered warmth enveloped her.

“You have to find yourself work in an old age home, far from the house. You’re still young, and you mustn’t give in.”

“Thank you,” said Blanca, feeling that the woman was speaking with a guileless heart.

“If you feel like having a fellow at night, you’ll find one here, too. A man for one night will always spoil you. I’m speaking the truth. I’m no liar.”

Blanca chuckled.

“Why are you laughing?”

“There’s truth to what you say.”

“In the old age home you’re like a princess. The old people are good-hearted, and if they have a penny, they’ll give it to you. They aren’t stingy.”

“Thanks,” Blanca said, and tears welled up in her eyes.

“You mustn’t be stupid.”

Blanca bit her lip and brushed away her tears. “Can I get a job here?” she asked.

“Here they’ve run out of money. They haven’t paid us our salaries for the past few months. But in Blumenthal, which is nearby, there’s a nice, well-organized old age home. Much nicer than this one. The old people are wealthy, and they shove banknotes into your hand every time you approach their beds. You’re still young. You should go to Blumenthal.”

“You’re kind to me. What’s your name?”

“My name is Theresa.”

“Mine is Blanca.”

“Women suffer everywhere. Why didn’t you marry a Jew?”

Theresa’s comment surprised her.

“I don’t know.”

“You can’t cry over spilt milk,” Theresa said, and gave her another serving of squash.

“I thank you from the bottom of my heart,” Blanca said, rising from her chair. “Now I have to go home. My husband is coming back from an occupational training course, and if I don’t make him a good meal, he’ll hit me.”

“They always go off to training courses,” said Theresa, laughing.

“Why are you laughing?”

“That’s what they call their bashes. My husband also used to say he was going to a training course. They come back fired up like randy horses.”

“What do they do there?”

“They get drunk and screw peasant women.”

“And that’s what they call a training course arranged by the factory?”

“Yes. Didn’t you know?”

Theresa dear, I now have no one at all in the world,
Blanca was about to say.
I’ll stay here. I’ll wait for my father to come back. I’m afraid to go home
.

Theresa seemed to guess Blanca’s thoughts. “You have to go home now,” she said. “Prepare the house as if nothing has happened, and the first chance you get, go to Blumenthal. The old age home in Blumenthal is splendid.”

“And he’ll let me go?”

“If you bring home money, he’ll let you. They desire money more than women. The main thing is not to be afraid. Those who are afraid are punished doubly. You have to say to yourself,
Nothing will frighten me anymore. If I have to die, I’ll die, but I won’t be afraid
. Fear, my dear, is our ruin. Fear is our enemy. The moment you free yourself from fear, you’ll be a new person, you’ll be free and your movements will be free. You’ll walk in the street with your back straight.”

“Thank you, Theresa.”

“Don’t thank me. Do what I told you to do.”

“And that will take away my fear?”

“Without a doubt.”

Blanca took Theresa’s words in like the soup she had served her earlier. Her entire body was filled with the events of the day. It was already dark, and she went to the station like someone whose fears had been drugged.

ADOLF RETURNED THE
next day, and when Blanca asked him how he had enjoyed the Tyrolean Mountains, he answered, “We didn’t enjoy ourselves. We worked hard.” Blanca served him roasted meat, cabbage, and baked potatoes. He was hungry and asked for seconds. When he took off his shirt, she was astonished to see how solid he was. His arms appeared to belong to another race of men.

Later she told him that her father had disappeared the previous day and that she had been summoned by the old age home in Himmelburg. He didn’t respond, but when she went on to tell him about everything that had happened to her, he said, “That’s the Jewish muddle-brain.” When he finished the meal, he lit a cigarette and said, “You don’t have to go back there. It’s a rotten place.”

Blanca remembered that right after her mother died, Adolf had said, “Jews don’t know how to live, and they don’t know how to die.” She had been overcome with grief, and that surprising comment had struck her like a hammer. Now she remembered exactly when he had said it: right after the funeral, at the gate to the cemetery. That evening he had made some general statements about the Jews, statements with which she concurred in her heart. If he had said them quietly, without poison, she would have agreed with him completely. At that time she was dreaming about changing herself in a way that would infuse her life with patience and calm. Her arms would swell to the size of Adolf’s sisters’, her body would harden and broaden, her chest would fill out, and she would be able to work without her back bothering her. Adolf insisted that she change herself and said that if she didn’t do so of her own free will, he would change her by force. And that was indeed how he behaved. He beat her with his hands and with his belt, and did not lack for occasions to do so.
Great God,
she whispered to herself,
why is my life so painful?
Her bereaved, confused father was so immersed in his own misfortune, he didn’t see his daughter’s pain. She learned to close her eyes and keep silent, to bite her lips and not utter a syllable. Sometimes, when she could bear no more, she would plead, “Don’t hit me. You’re hurting me.” But Adolf paid no attention.

“You’re a weakling,” he would say. “You have no muscles. You’re shouting like your crazy grandmother.” Sometimes it seemed to her that he didn’t mean to hurt her but, rather, to uproot her weakness. He said he would destroy everything that she once was. In an effort to improve herself, she would slave away and say to herself,
Adolf is right, I must get stronger. Only a strong person stands on his own two feet. Weak people fail in the end
.

Adolf’s absence had made her body forget slightly the pain he inflicted on her. Now everything reverted to the way it had been, but in a harsher way, as if he had left only to gather more rage.

Blanca’s father’s disappearance came to appear to her as a voyage to the realm of his youth: his love of mathematics. Now, in his hiding place, he had become again what he once was: a genius. There he was planning his great discoveries: his marvelous equations, about which he had been thinking for years. As soon as the equations were known, all the humiliations would be erased in a single moment, and he would be what he was meant to be: the genius who was going to bring a blessing to the world.
Papa,
she would say to herself,
I can guess where you’re hiding, but I won’t disturb you. You’re preparing the final draft, and victory will not be slow in coming
.

But Blanca also had moments of dreadful mental clarity, and she knew that no garment could cover the shame, that no words would atone for her crime. That evening in the railroad station—God would not forgive her for it. To dull her hidden pains Blanca would work from morning till night, baking and cooking, but Adolf was not content. There were always faults: the potatoes were burned, the roast was dry, the vegetables weren’t properly seasoned. He spent the evenings with his friends in the tavern, and upon his return he would peel off her clothes, beat her, and mount her.

“Don’t hurt me,” she would plead. But her pleas would only make his fury burn hotter.

I’ll run away,
she said to herself more than once,
and no one will know where I’ve disappeared to. I’ll live among the bulrushes or on the edge of the hills. Better to live in the forest than to endure this shameful suffering
. The desire would burn brightly within her, but fear would put it out. Her secret plans eventually shrank to something more reasonable.
I’ll sneak away to Himmelburg and find out what has happened with the searches for my father. If I learn that he is living in the mountains, I’ll go to him, no matter what
.

As the autumn rains pelted down in fury, Blanca hurriedly put on her raincoat and went to the railway station. By nine o’clock she was in Himmelburg. The familiar houses and the road to the old age home made her dizzy. For a moment she forgot why she had come, and she went into a café. The strong coffee refreshed her memory, and she recalled that she had been there three weeks earlier. It had been cold, but no rain was falling. The courtyard had been lit, and a motionless silence had filled it. She had spoken with the director and gone to the police, and when she had returned, Theresa had served her soup and summer squash quiche.

After sitting for an hour, Blanca gathered herself up and went to the old age home. She went in through the main entrance and headed for the corridor where her father had lain. When she reached his bed, she saw an unfamiliar old man in his place, his eyes sunk in dark sockets and his face hardened.
What are you doing here?
she was about to call out.
This is my father’s bed. You can’t just grab a bed like that. If he comes back today, where will he sleep?

The director’s face was blank and inspired no hope. When Blanca asked whether there was any point in going back to the police, she replied, “My dear, what can I tell you? They do what they want. I bribe them, but it’s useless. God has died in their hearts.”

“Where did he disappear to?” Blanca suddenly asked, as though he had been gone for just a day.

“Who knows?” answered the director, alarmed by Blanca’s question.

Theresa was more open.

“They wait for seven days,” she said, “and if after seven days the person doesn’t return, that means he’ll never return, that he decided of his own free will to go to the world of truth. He had enough of the confusion and the lies and the suffering that disfigures us. I’ve been working here for twenty years. It’s never happened that someone has come back after a long absence.” Her voice had a grave and direct quality, like that of someone who has decided not to conceal the truth, even if it’s cruel.

Blanca drew near to her. “Have we lost all hope?”

“One mustn’t deceive people. I hate deceivers. Death isn’t as horrible as we imagine it to be.”

Blanca held out her hand, as though trying to cut her off, but Theresa wouldn’t stop.

“The next world is better,” she said, as she went to get Blanca a bowl of soup. “Believe me.”

“Thank you, but I have to return home,” said Blanca. “Adolf comes home at three thirty, sometimes even at three. If his meal isn’t ready, he’ll beat me.”

“Just don’t be afraid, my dear.”

“I’m not afraid anymore,” Blanca said, and hugged her.

“You mustn’t despair. We aren’t alone. There’s a God in heaven.”

“I know,” said Blanca, and she ran out to catch the noon train.