Aharon Appelfeld - All Whom I Have Loved

“You'll speak to me with respect!” He turned on her in a choked voice.

“I'm not afraid, you're not my husband,” she said defiantly.

“I'm your fiancé, so mind your language.”

“I'll do as I please.”

“You certainly won't!”

“I will.”

“You will not.”

“Get out of here, this isn't your house!” she screamed at him.

When he heard this last pronouncement of hers, he loaded his rifle and took aim. It was a very strong shot, and it shook the house. Immediately there was silence. Halina fell to the floor with a groan. The neighbors burst in. The fiancé made a dash for it, slipping away as the neighbors shouted, “Catch the murderer!”

“Murder! Murder!” everyone was shouting. In no time at all, the police arrived, accompanied by the doctor and a medic. The doctor knelt down and exclaimed, “She's wounded! Take her to the hospital at once.”

“Is she breathing?” the women in the doorway asked.

The doctor ignored them. He and the medic carried Halina to the open cart outside, laid her on the flat surface with her arms dangling, and were off at once.

“God, spare Halina!” I cried, breaking down. Meanwhile, there were people all over the house. Everyone knew that Halina had already been taken to the hospital, and yet they stood there as if rooted to the spot, as if a secret was still lurking within. The news spread rapidly and reached the school. Soon Mother pushed her way through the crowd and hurried toward me. André was with her, which stripped the meeting of all emotion.

Mother did not ask, “What happened? What did you see?” as once she would have. She just stood there and explained to André about Halina's life. I was hurt that she could tell him things that were only for us and Halina. I was about to shout, “Shut up!” but didn't dare. I moved aside and went into the bedroom. I saw the disheveled bed where we had been romping about a short while ago, and my heart tightened and my legs trembled.

Mother and André were engrossed in their conversation and didn't even look for me. “God, give me back Halina!” I cried out, feeling pain in my stomach. The pain spread to my thighs and stayed there. And for a moment it seemed to me that Halina was hiding beneath the bed, as she used to do. I lifted the cover and bent down carefully. The musty darkness assaulted my nostrils.

I told myself that Halina was in a deep sleep and that the doctors were taking care of her. Last spring, Father and Mother had taken me to the hospital to have my tonsils removed. They had been inflamed and had hurt me the entire winter. Father had said, “It will be as easy as removing a hair from a glass of milk.”

I had believed him. A short time after that one of the doctors, a large, strong woman, had put a mask over my face and suffocated me. I don't remember anything of the operation, only the suffocation before it and the pain that followed it, and the ice cream that Mother fed me. The ice cream had looked wonderful but didn't taste good. I could taste the medication in it.

I envisioned Halina lying in bed and one of the nurses giving her ice cream. Halina tells her about the pain and the nurse explains to her that the ice cream heals like medicine. I got into bed and covered my head with the blanket. I immediately felt more certain that Halina would get better and that, in a short while and to everyone's astonishment, she would rise, like Jesus, and come to me.

I slept until late morning. When I woke up, Mother said, “I'll be leaving for school soon. There are sandwiches and drinks in the pantry; you'll have to look after yourself.”

“Where is Halina?”

“In the hospital.”

“When is she coming back?”

“Let's hope she recovers.”

Only when Mother had gone to school and I was all alone did I again see Halina as she fell to the floor. Everything spun around me.

I went outside. The garden was quiet, illuminated by the muted morning light. I approached the fence between us and the bearded Jews. An elderly man came up to me and asked how I was. I told him that the day before, Halina's fiancé had wounded her and now she was lying in the hospital.

“And who's looking after you?” he asked with concern.

“I'm on my own, but I'm not afraid.”

The old man smiled and said, “God will look after you.”

He held me in his gaze, and I felt as if he knew not only what had taken place the day before, but all that had happened to us since Father had left the house and we arrived here. I wanted to enter the synagogue and pray for Halina, but I didn't dare. So I locked up the house and went into the street, thinking that I'd make my way to the hospital. On our walks outside the city, Halina had once pointed out a low structure, saying, “That's the municipal hospital.” The building was hardly welcoming; it resembled the orphanage. The forecourt was neglected and some Ruthenian horses harnessed to miserable carriages stood around listlessly, as if they had lost all will to live.

I knew the main street and some of the side streets well; I'd spent so many hours walking with Halina. Now the sidewalks were drowning in fallen leaves, and I waded through them. I passed the tavern and thought of Father. Now I often saw Father in my dreams. In a dream his silence is more tangible. A black flame flickers in his eyes and his lips are pursed. Once I asked him in a dream why he doesn't speak. He looked at me with his black eyes and said, “That's how it is.” He often said that.

The gate and the front door of the hospital were open, and it was easy to enter. The main corridor was empty, and so was the corridor that led off it. At the end of the corridors there were steps, and I went up them.

“Who are you looking for?” a man in orange overalls addressed me.

“I'm looking for Halina,” I replied immediately.

“Go to the information counter,” he said, and turned away.

The information counter, it turned out, was right alongside me. The man there glanced at me and asked, “Who are you, son?”

I told him.

“Halina has had two operations, and we have to pray for her recovery.”

“When can I see her?”

“When the Almighty will open her eyes.”

It was eleven o'clock, but I was in no hurry to return home. The man's answers sounded unclear but not without hope, perhaps because he had mentioned God. I passed the orphanage and remembered what Halina had said to me about the place. Then I stopped at the home of Princess Josephina, which is surrounded by a large garden and has a high iron gate in front. Halina had told me a lot about the princess, who was related to the royal family and was now living there by herself. At each step I could hear Halina, even by the trees at the post office. Next to the post office she once told me, “Only letters leave here, never people. People get stuck here forever.”

At the chapel next to the post office I saw a woman kneeling and praying, and for a moment I told myself that I would also kneel and pray for Halina's recovery. But it was a long line and the people who were waiting did not look nice.

I didn't return home until one o'clock. I did not touch the sandwiches that Mother had left. The empty house seemed to me like a body without a soul. Halina had taught me that a person's soul is in the middle of his chest, but you can't see it because it's pure spirit. When a man dies, his soul ascends to heaven and merges with Jesus. One mustn't be afraid of death because death is light and not darkness. That's what Halina taught me.

Mother returned late and brought me a gift: a cotton shirt and gym shoes. I should have thanked her and been happy, but I was angry with her and with her red lips. Whenever she left the house she put lipstick on her lips and reeked of perfume.