Aharon Appelfeld - Blooms of Darkness

“They’ve broken through the front, and they’re rushing forward.”

“Only God knows what the day will bring.”

Mariana hands him the two packets, and the old man holds them in his trembling hands. “All winter long I haven’t smoked,” he says. “Without cigarettes, life is tasteless. I don’t have the money to buy them. In the past my sons used to bring me tobacco, and I would roll my own cigarettes. This last year they haven’t come. They forgot their father.”

“They didn’t forget. The war blocked the roads.” Mariana defends them.

“If a son wants to see his father, he gets there. Now everyone is waiting for the father to die. An old father is a curse. After his death, they come and finger his possessions and fight over every pillow. That’s it. Who am I to complain? Would you like some potato soup that I made?”

“Gladly, grandfather.”

The hot soup fills them, and Mariana thanks him again.

“People have forgotten that we are commanded to help one another,” the old man murmurs.

Later, they fall into bed and sleep like stones. Mariana wakes up several times and kisses Hugo hard on the neck. He sinks between her breasts and sleeps dreamlessly.

They awaken late and expect the old man to offer them a hot cup of tea or a hot herbal brew. The old man doesn’t offer them anything. His eyes are filled with anger. “He’s your son?” he asks.

“Indeed,” she says.

“That’s not how a mother sleeps with her son.” He doesn’t conceal his opinion.

Mariana is stunned by the old man’s sharp comment and freezes in her place.

The old man shuts the door behind them without saying anything.

The morning is bright and quiet. From time to time the muffled thunder of cannon fire breaks through and then fades. Mariana sips from the bottle, curses the old man, and says, “In every old man there lurks a fornicator.” Hugo doesn’t know that word, but he imagines that it refers to something bad.

“What time is it?” asks Mariana, like someone who has suddenly lost track of time.

“Exactly nine-thirty.”

“That’s a good hour. A cup of coffee or something else hot would immediately drive away my thirst. My late mother used to say, ‘Man doesn’t live by bread alone,’ and may I add, preferably with coffee. I wasted my life for nothing. If I had married a Jew, my situation would be different. A Jew supports his wife, takes care of her, and pampers her.” The word “Jew,” which they didn’t use often in his home, now sounds, in the open field, like a mysterious term, cut off from time and place, hovering above the earth like a little hunted bird.

They advance, and Mariana continues to curse the old man. “There are ghosts everywhere. Sometimes they take on the form of Madam, and sometimes of an old fornicator. There’s no cleanliness in this life. Everything is malice or filth.” After a pause she adds, “Don’t listen to Mariana’s chatter. She’s got to talk. If she doesn’t talk, she’ll explode.”

Hugo has noticed that it is hard for Mariana to listen and not easy for her to speak in complete sentences. But when she drinks from the bottle, the words well up inside her, and she speaks about her father and mother and sister, and sometimes about the friends who haven’t been loyal to her.

Suddenly she asks him, “Do you know what a whore is?”

“Not everything.”

“Better that way.”

Mariana goes on to talk about the pollution of the body and the urgent need to take a bath. “Without a bath, a woman is a chunk of pollution.” But she immediately changes her tone and says, “I yearn for a big bathtub, just for us.” Hugo likes this mood. When Mariana yearns for something, her yearning brings forth a picture: a broad bathtub full of fragrant suds to lie in for hours, buoyed by warm water, and then to doze off in. “A snooze in the bathtub is heaven on earth. Do you agree?”

They walk on without speaking. Hugo is hungry, and his head is spinning. Mariana suggests making a little fire, melting some snow, and adding chocolate to the boiling water. The idea brightens her eyes, and she says, “The world isn’t only darkness. Madam gave us back a little of what she stole. What would I do without brandy?”

As they are about to break off branches and start a fire, Mariana notices a small hut. “A grocery store!” she shouts. “A grocery store in the middle of the white desert. Who would have believed it?” Mariana’s senses haven’t deceived her. It is indeed a village grocery store. An elderly woman stands at the counter.

“Good morning, mother.”

“The morning has already passed, my daughter.” The woman corrects her.

“I’m still holding on to the hem of its apron,” Mariana jokes. “We came to buy a loaf of bread, and some oil, and if you can graciously add some onion, we’d thank you greatly.”

“I have no bread. The war has impoverished us.”

“We’ll make do with rye bread or black bread, any kind of bread. We haven’t eaten for two days.”

“I have no bread, daughter. Potatoes and a little cheese is what I can sell you.”

“Give it to me, mother, and I’ll pay you.”

“With what money will you pay me?”

“With German money.”

“They say that the Germans have retreated. Who will want their money?”

“Take this bracelet. It’s silver with jewels, and add on some smoked meat or sausage.”

The woman is stunned by the offer, but she is immediately captivated by the charm of the glittering jewelry.

“Is it silver or tin?” She tries not to show her interest.

“Pure silver, on my word of honor.”

“God knows the truth. I’ll go see what I have.” She bends down and takes a few potatoes from a crate. “Be generous, mother.”

“A person has to take care of himself, isn’t that so?”

She takes a piece of cheese, a small sausage, and two onions out of the pantry. “I’ll put it all in a sack for you.” Her voice softens.

“God bless you,” says Mariana.

They return to the fields. The sun stands in the middle of the sky, and it’s warm. Water is already burbling beneath the snow. Here and there they can also see it running. The light returns to Mariana’s face, and it’s evident that the supplies she has just bought have made her happy. “In a little while we’ll stop and light a bonfire and make ourselves a meal fit for kings. But not under the open sky. Mariana is looking for a tree with broad branches. Mariana doesn’t like sitting out in the open.”

Along the way they come upon trees, but not with broad branches. Finally, they find a tree that pleases her. They put their belongings under it and go out to gather firewood. Mariana puts a few papers among the twigs. Before long a fire is kindled.

“I love bonfires. They remind me of my childhood,” she says, and her face is full of light.

They sit and look at the fire. The flames are thin and blue and give off a good smell of burning wood. For a long while they just stare at it. The potatoes in the middle of the fire take on a dark crust. It’s pleasant to sit and not do anything.

“God knows what will be, but meanwhile we have something to eat. As long as there are supplies to stave off hunger, there’s nothing to worry about. If the weather stays the way it is now, we can get to the mountains in two or three days, and there it will be easier for us. In the mountains they don’t pursue people who have committed no misdeed.”

The gleaming snow covers the earth, leaving no bare spots. Mariana is apparently apprehensive. “In the mountains, they won’t pursue us,” she repeats. “In the mountains they don’t dig into a person’s past. They respond to his deeds. I’m prepared to do any kind of work and to earn my bread by the sweat of my brow. They’ll see that Mariana’s not lazy,” she says to herself. Suddenly she’s silent.