Aharon Appelfeld - All Whom I Have Loved

As we walked slowly behind the coffin, the gates of light in the sky opened up and a great brightness poured down on us. The people bowed their heads so as not to see Halina rising to heaven. I wasn't afraid because I knew that she would return to me soon.

The skies closed and we didn't approach the grave. The priest spoke, and the village elder, too. They talked about Halina's youth and her love of life, and reviled the murderer. I was happy that I understood Halina's language.

After the funeral they declared that there would be a feast. Mother and I did not join the mourners but returned to the carriage awaiting us. There was no doubt now that Halina was making her way toward me, and out of sheer foolishness I told this to Mother. Mother looked at me and said, “There is no life after death. We have to get this fact into our heads.” There was tremendous impatience in her voice.

“Halina told me that Jesus rose after His crucifixion,” I insisted for some reason.

“It's a legend.”

“And a legend is always a lie?”

“On the whole.”

Mother does not believe in God; she had told me this on one of our outings during the summer vacation. How could you not believe in God, when He's there in every single place? Even the trees and the flowers thank Him every morning. On that vacation I was so happy to be by the water and to be so close to Mother that I didn't bother her with lots of questions. To tell the truth, I didn't care. But since meeting Halina, I know for sure that there's a God and that He's watching over us, that He loves those who are good and hates and punishes the wicked.

Halina told me that the new Jews do not believe in God and so they are in constant danger. Mother of course does not like those who believe. And now, too, all the way to Storozynetz, she spoke harshly against the rabbis and priests, and didn't stop until she had said, “Those people darken the world with their primitive rituals.”

My head was spinning from all this talk. So as to hold on to my faith, I kept repeating to myself that Halina only appeared outwardly to have died, that she was in hiding, and the day was near when she would reveal herself to me.

We returned home and didn't speak of Halina's death. Mother was concerned that she had not yet found a suitable woman to take care of me. This was a very real threat for me, but I was not afraid. I knew that Halina was faithful and that at the first opportunity she would come back to me.

That night I did not sleep at all. As soon as Mother had slipped out of the house, I got up and stood by the window. The darkness was thick, and I searched for the path behind the house; I was sure this was the way by which Halina would return. Toward morning I was certain that I saw a woman climbing over the gate, but I was mistaken. I opened the window and called, “Halina!” On hearing my shout, the woman fled. Mother returned in the morning and I pretended to be asleep.

In the meantime, to keep me busy Mother filled up a notebook with math problems. They weren't hard and I solved them in less than an hour. Mother came back, checked them, and declared, “Excellent!” I told myself that if she saw that I solved math problems and practiced my handwriting day in and day out, she'd give up on her search for a woman to look after me. I swore to myself that from then on if I saw Halina at night, I wouldn't call out her name, but I'd wait for her patiently.

The surprise came from where I least expected it. While I was wandering the streets and returning to places I had been with Halina — sad and happy by turns — I saw Father. He was so glad to see me that he immediately snatched me up, lifting me high. We went straight into a café.

I hadn't seen Father for a long time. I'd almost forgotten what he looked like, and only in dreams did I see him. I had asked Mother many times why he didn't visit me. Mother gave long, indirect answers, and I didn't understand a thing. Now he stood in front of me as I remembered him: very tall, a peaked cap on his head, and a thin, shy smile hovering about his lips.

I told him about the murder.

Father listened without asking questions. He did not ask and did not argue. Sometimes I thought that he didn't know how to share other people's sorrow. Of course this wasn't so. He was a man without words, and you had to gaze at his face and his hands to learn from them. It was from his trembling hands that I knew he'd been drinking a lot recently. His eyes were swollen, which meant that he had not been sleeping much.

After I finished my cocoa he told me that Mother was about to be married, and he was going to take me with him.

“And what will become of Halina?” I asked.

“It will be fine,” he told me with a nice smile.

The rumor about Mother's marriage had reached him. It was hard to know if he was depressed or angry. When Father was angry his hands shook and he held his head to the side. On the way home, I wanted to ask him not to be angry, but I didn't dare. Mother was at home and let us in silently. Father immediately told her that he intended to take me with him to Czernowitz. Mother didn't ask why, as I had expected her to, but she said, “I'll get his clothes ready, and in a week everything will be clean and packed in a suitcase.”

“I won't be able to come in a week,” Father said without looking at her.

“I don't have a housekeeper, and all the clothes are dirty.”

“It doesn't matter,” he said, and he covered his mouth with his hand.

Mother must have been scared, for she immediately began to put my clothes into the green suitcase. Father stood there, looking at her without saying a word. He must have been angry. His anger now had a dark aspect. When she started to put in my toys, the dominos and the balls, she burst into tears. Father watched her crying without interfering. I went over to her and hugged her. Mother kissed me again and again, and her tears covered my face. Father muttered something and then swallowed his mumbling.

The suitcase was overflowing and would not close. Father got down on his knees, grasped it with his two hands, pressed on the lid, and latched it shut. He looked at me and said, “Let's go.”

“Paul.” Mother turned to me with a choked voice. “I'll come to see you in a few days.” And immediately she added, “I've put the math book and the notebook for practicing handwriting in a folder.”

“I'll do all the problems,” I said, wanting to please her.

“See you soon,” she said, and raised her right hand, as if she were about to take an oath.

I looked up at her; her face was swollen, stained with red blotches, as if she had fallen or been slapped. And so we left the house. Mother stood on the steps, and as we walked away I could feel her following us with her eyes, but I didn't turn to look at her. Father walked along with his large strides, and I stumbled after him.

I felt the sudden parting from Mother only at the snack counter in the railway station. It seemed that I had parted from her long ago, and that only now did I feel it. Father bought me a sandwich and a bottle of lemonade and sat next to me.

“Father,” I said, trying to start a conversation.

“What?” Father's eyes widened.

“What will I do in Czernowitz?”

Father fixed his gaze on me, and I immediately felt that my question had made him uneasy.

The train was delayed, and Father lit cigarette after cigarette. At last, when it did come, people burst onto the platform and rushed for the doors. The conductors tried to stop the crowd, but the people were stronger than they were. It was not long before everyone was pressed inside.

The train moved slowly, stopping at the small stations and taking on many passengers at each one. I was tired and dozed most of the way. In my sleep some of the sights from Halina's funeral returned to me, and for a moment it seemed that Halina would be waiting at the station in Czernowitz, and that we should hurry to get to her. Father took several gulps from the flask in his pocket. His face lit up and he gazed at me. Whenever this happened I felt waves of warmth flowing out from within him.