Aharon Appelfeld - Blooms of Darkness

“In what service?” the military voice keeps asking.

The woman says something Hugo doesn’t understand, and everybody bursts out laughing.

The atmosphere changes all at once. The men are served soft drinks, because one of them, apparently the commander, says, “We’re on duty. Alcoholic beverages are forbidden while on duty.” They praise the coffee and the sandwiches, and to the woman’s invitation to stay and enjoy themselves, the military voice answers, “We’re on duty.”

“A little entertainment never hurt anyone,” the woman’s voice cajoles.

“Duty first,” answers the military voice.

And then they leave.

Silence returns to the place, but the dread doesn’t release Hugo’s body. It’s clear to him that this time, too, his mother protected him, the way she guarded him during the first days of the ghetto and afterward, when danger lurked in every corner, and especially at the end, in the cellar. He always believed in his mother’s hidden power, but this time it is fully revealed.

When it first gets dark, Victoria brings Hugo a bowl of soup and some meatballs.

“You were saved this time, too,” she says.

My mother saved me , he’s about to say, but he doesn’t. “Thank you,” he says instead.

“Don’t thank me, thank God.” She rushes to teach him a lesson.

“I’ll give thanks,” he quickly replies.

Without another word, Victoria goes out and locks the closet door.

That night it’s merry again. The accordion bellows and people dance and shout in the hall. The wild laughter rolls loudly and shakes the closet walls. Hugo is so tired that he falls asleep and dreams that Mariana has abandoned him and Victoria doesn’t hesitate to turn him in. He tries to cover himself in the sheepskins, but they don’t cover him.

Toward morning the accordion falls silent. The people scatter, and no one enters Mariana’s room.

At nine o’clock the closet door opens and Mariana stands in the doorway. It’s Mariana, but it is also not her. She’s wearing a black dress, a peasant kerchief is on her head, and her face is pale and sunken. For a moment it seems she’s about to kneel, put her hands together, and pray. That’s a mistaken impression. She stands there, and it’s clear that she doesn’t have the power to utter a word.

“How are you?” Hugo gets to his feet and approaches her.

“It was difficult for me,” she says, and bows her head.

“Come, let’s sit down. I have sandwiches,” he says, and takes her hand.

A glum smile spreads across Mariana’s face, and she says, “Thanks, darling, I’m not hungry.”

“I can tidy up your room, mop the floor, whatever you tell me to do. I’m so glad you came back.”

“Thanks, darling, you mustn’t work. You have to be in hiding until the troubles pass. My poor mother was very sick and died in great pain. Now she’s in the good world, and I’m here. She suffered a lot.”

“God will watch over her,” Hugo quickly says.

Hearing that, Mariana goes down on her knees, hugs Hugo to her heart, and says, “Mama left me alone in the world.”

“We’re not alone in the world.” Hugo remembers what his mother wrote to him.

“I have had some very hard days. My poor mother died in agony. I didn’t manage to buy the medicine for her. I’m guilty. I know.”

“You’re not guilty. The circumstances are guilty.” Hugo remembers that phrase, which they used a lot at home.

“Who told you that, darling?”

“Uncle Sigmund.”

“A marvelous man, an extraordinary man. I’m nothing compared to him,” she says, and she smiles.

After Mariana’s return Hugo’s life changed beyond recognition. Mariana still forgot him sometimes, returned from town drunk and abusive, but in her moments of sobriety she fell to her knees, hugged and kissed him, and promised him that nothing bad would befall him. She would watch over him no less than his mother. Closeness to her was so pleasant for Hugo that he forgot his loneliness and the fears that surrounded him.

The baths were especially pleasant. Mariana soaped him down, washed and rinsed him, and she no longer said, “Don’t be embarrassed,” but whispered, “A proper young man, in a year or two the girls will gobble you up.” When she was depressed, her tone changed, and she turned things around: “If only they washed me like you. Believe me, I deserve it. They crush me every night like a mattress. Not even one word of love.”

“But I love you.” The words slipped out of Hugo’s mouth.

“True, you’re good, you’re loyal,” she said, and hugged him.

After her mother’s death, fear of God came over Mariana. She kept repeating that they would roast her in hell because she hadn’t watched over her mother, hadn’t called the doctor in time, hadn’t bought her medicine, hadn’t sat by her bedside. And not only that: instead of working in the fields or in a factory, she was working here. For that God would never forgive her.

Once Hugo heard her say, “I hate myself. I’m filthy.” He wanted to approach her and say, You’re not filthy. A good smell of perfume comes from your neck and your blouse . But he didn’t dare. When Mariana was sunk in depression, she was unpredictable. She didn’t talk but, rather, spat out harsh words like pebbles. Hugo knew that at times like that, he mustn’t talk to her. Even a soft word drove her out of her mind.

Hugo takes out his notebook and writes:

I’m trying to keep up continuity in my diary, but I’m not managing. The place is feverish. Since Mariana returned, her moods rise and fall, and sometimes several times a day. I’m not afraid. I feel that behind her suffering hides a good and loving woman .

Mama, sometimes it seems to me that what once was will never be again, and that when we meet after the war, we’ll be different. How that difference will be expressed I have no notion. Sometimes it seems to me that we’ll speak in a different language. Things that we didn’t used to talk about or ignored will concern us. Each of us will tell what happened to him. We’ll sit together and listen to music, but it will be a different kind of listening .

Before I yearned for this meeting, and now, God forgive me, as Mariana says, I’m afraid of it. The thought that at the end of the war I won’t recognize you and you won’t recognize me is a very hard thought for me to bear. I’m trying not to think it, but the thought won’t let me be .

There’s no doubt I’ve changed a lot in these months, and I’m not what I was. For a fact: it’s hard for me to write and hard for me to read. You remember how much I loved to read. Now I’m entirely immersed in listening. Mariana’s room, my eternal riddle, is a house of pleasure for me, and at the same time I feel that evil will come from there. The tension that pervades me most of the day has apparently changed me, and who knows what else will be .

By the way, Mariana always complains that everybody exploits her all the time, wrings her out, and crushes her. I often want to ask her, Who’s oppressing you? But I don’t dare. I mainly observe your instruction not to ask but to listen, but what can I do? Listening doesn’t always make you wiser .

The nights are cold. Hugo wears two pairs of pajamas, wraps himself in one of Mariana’s cloaks, and covers himself with sheepskins. Even that heavy covering doesn’t keep him warm. Sometimes in the middle of the night Mariana opens the closet door and calls him to come to her.

For a long time Hugo’s body hurts him from the piercing cold, but gradually sensation returns to his arms and legs, and he feels her soft body. That pleasantness is unlike any other, but, sadly, it doesn’t last for long. Suddenly, with no warning, a feeling of guilt breaks out within him and spreads over him like a searing flame. Mama is suffering on the cold roads, and you are embraced in Mariana’s arms. Mariana isn’t your mother. She’s a servant, she’s like Sofia . But amazingly, that sharp twinge of the heart is quickly swallowed up in feelings of pleasure, and there is no trace of its having entered him. Sometimes Mariana whispers in her sleep, “Why don’t you kiss me? Your kisses are very sweet.” Hugo does her bidding gladly, but when she says, “Bite, too,” he hesitates, afraid to hurt her.