Aharon Appelfeld - Blooms of Darkness

Like what? he wants to ask, but he doesn’t ask.

Hugo drinks the warm milk, and he feels that every sip eases the thirst that has tortured him since he woke up. Meanwhile, Mariana tidies her room, puts on makeup, changes her blouse, and when she comes back to him, she is already different: her face is open. The smile of a contented woman lights it.

“Sweet puppy, Mariana’s locking the door. If somebody knocks, don’t answer.”

Mariana’s way of referring to herself in the third person amuses his ear for a moment. He has never heard anyone talk about himself that way. Mariana repeats her instruction: “If someone knocks on the door, don’t answer. You mustn’t make a mistake, do you hear?”

Sometimes Mariana talks to him in German — faulty German, a little like children’s speech. Several times he wants to correct her mistakes, but in his heart he knows that Mariana won’t like that.

Before going out, she says to him, “If you’re hungry, eat the sandwiches that are on the dresser. They’re tasty.” And without another word, she leaves and locks the room.

Hugo stands in place without moving, and for a moment it seems to him that his previous life has sunk into the world of dreams, that it is far away and unattainable. Now reality is the closet, Mariana’s room, and Mariana herself.

That thought seeps into him, and sharp longings flood him. Self-pity quickly follows.

Soon Hugo collapses and bursts into tears. The crying fills him, and he feels the cold walls of loneliness. He whimpers for a long time, and in the end the weeping becomes the broken whine of a dog thrown out of a warm house into a kennel.

Hugo cries so much that he falls into an exhausted sleep on the floor and notices nothing. Not even Mariana’s arrival wakes him. Only when she touches him with her foot does he rouse and realize he has slept.

“My puppy took a nap.”

“I slept,” he says.

“Now we’ll bring you hot soup. Why didn’t you eat the sandwiches?”

“I was asleep,” he repeats, trying to recover his wits.

“Did anyone knock on the door?”

“I didn’t hear a thing.”

“Darling, you were sleeping like a log,” she says, and chuckles.

Mariana immediately leaves and returns with soup and two meatballs. Hugo sits on the floor and eats. Mariana sits on the bed and observes him.

“How old are you, darling?” she asks, apparently forgetting that she has already asked him that.

“I’m eleven. A little while ago I had a birthday.”

“You look older than your age.”

“When will Mama come and visit me?” The question escapes his mouth.

“Outdoors is very dangerous for Jews. She’s better off sitting inside.”

“I’m protected, right?” he asks.

“You’re in Mariana’s house. It’s a bit strange, but you’ll get used to it. If somebody asks you whose you are, tell them out loud, ‘I’m Mariana’s.’ Do you hear?”

That instruction astounds him again, but he doesn’t open his mouth.

“I’ve thought about it a lot. You’ll have to improve your Ukrainian. You look a lot like Mariana. Your hair is dark blond, and your nose is small. If you improve your Ukrainian, they won’t identify you. We’ll do everything slowly. You don’t do things like that hastily,” she states without explaining.

Mariana remains seated on the bed, following his movements. It’s hard to know what she’s looking for in him. Hugo feels pressured. He finishes the meal quickly and hands the bowl to Mariana.

“Mariana’s tired. Now she’ll sleep for an hour or two. And you, darling, you’ll go back to your kennel.”

Hugo gets up and goes to the closet. He has acquired a hunched-over way of moving here — the way animals hang their heads when they are ordered to leave the house.

Hugo takes the chess set out of the knapsack. He arranges the pieces and starts to play right away. The game goes well. He remembers his father’s warnings about the opening. A small mistake in the opening, and the game is lost. As he plays, his father appears. He looks like a man who has stayed in a mildewed hideout for many days. His face is pale, yellowish, and a tired gaze emanates from his eye sockets.

“Where were you, Papa?” Hugo raises his eyes from the board.

“Don’t ask,” he answers, having forgotten, apparently, that he is speaking with his son and not with an adult. “You’re very pale, Papa.”

His father bows his head and says, “For many days I was in a closed place.”

“Will I become as pale as you?” Hugo’s question is not slow in coming.

“You, dear, won’t stay in the closet for a long time. Mama and I will come and get you immediately at the end of the war. You must be patient,” he says, and withdraws into the darkness.

“Papa,” Hugo calls out.

His call remains unanswered.

Later Hugo’s father appears to him again, and Hugo holds a long, silent conversation with him. Hugo tells him that he is now under Mariana’s protection. Mariana is very busy and hardly sees him. But the meals she serves him are tasty. Life is a riddle, and every day the riddle gets bigger. Sometimes Mariana seems like a magician and sometimes she sounds like the owner of a restaurant. People visit her in her room, but the meetings aren’t always pleasant. Hearing that information, Hugo’s father smiles and says, “Mariana is Mariana. You, in any event, must be careful.”

“Of what?”

“You’ll see for yourself.”

That was his father’s way of talking. Always a single word or a short sentence. He always mixed reservations into his speech.

One morning Hugo dares to ask Mariana, “What is the name of this place?”

“The Residence,” she answers clearly.

“I never heard that name before.”

“You’ll hear it, don’t worry,” she says, and smiles.

The days pass, and autumn makes its mark on everything Hugo’s eyes take in. Clouds descend from the sky and spread out over the meadows. Wrapped in the last darkness of the night, children saunter to school. Here and there is a wagon laden with beams, a peasant carrying a long scythe on his shoulder.

Hugo stops counting the days. If he read or did arithmetic problems, as he’d promised his mother, his days would have been clear of twinges of conscience. He has not yet opened a book or notebook. Everything that was in his house, in school, in their yard, or in the playground now seems detached from his life.

He is heedful of what Mariana says, dependent on her daily schedule, on her occupations and moods. When her mood is foul, her face changes. She mutters, curses, tears papers, and breaks bottles. He prefers her drunkenness. In her drunkenness she is merry, speaks about herself a lot in the third person, and kisses him hard.

Every day Hugo promises himself he will read tomorrow, do arithmetic problems, and write in his journal. He promises but doesn’t keep the promise. He doesn’t even manage to finish a single game of chess. All his attention is given over to Mariana.

He looks forward to her arrival, and when she is late, he worries. Sometimes it seems to him that she is standing outside and guarding him, but sometimes he has the feeling that she doesn’t care about him. She is totally occupied with herself, with her dresses, her makeup, and her perfumes. “Mariana is cursed. Everybody sucks her blood and nobody gives her anything.” That’s what she mumbles when she is angry or in a bad mood. Hugo feels guilty and wants to go to her and tell her, I don’t want anything, it’s enough for me that you’re with me .

Once she said to him, “Don’t be afraid. Mariana is guarding you like a lioness. If anyone tries to touch you, I’ll rip him to shreds. I swore to your mother that I would watch over you like a hawk, and I’ll do it. Julia is dearer to me than my sister.”