Aharon Appelfeld - Until the Dawn's Light

Unaware of what she was doing, Blanca rolled up her sleeve and said, “I have a wound that won’t heal. Perhaps you have a bandage.”

“I certainly do,” the woman said and hurried to the first-aid cupboard. When she returned, she fell to her knees and cleaned the wound with a cloth.

“That’s an ugly wound,” she said. “Who hit you?”

“Don’t ask.”

“I used to be beaten sometimes, too. Now he’s sick,” she said, revealing a mouth in which only a few teeth were left.

“You, too?” Blanca looked up, suddenly recognizing in her a sister in suffering.

“Indeed.”

“What did you do?”

“What could I do? I tried to stay far from home.”

“And when would you return home?”

“Only once a week, to give him the money. Here no one does you any harm. You sleep comfortably.”

“How many years have you been working here?”

“It’s been twenty years now.”

“And he always hit you?”

“Always.”

When Blanca finished the soup, the woman served her a portion of the squash quiche and said, “You’ll like this.”

Blanca was hungry, and the hunger made her forget the turmoil of the day. A half-remembered warmth enveloped her.

“You have to find yourself work in an old age home, far from the house. You’re still young, and you mustn’t give in.”

“Thank you,” said Blanca, feeling that the woman was speaking with a guileless heart.

“If you feel like having a fellow at night, you’ll find one here, too. A man for one night will always spoil you. I’m speaking the truth. I’m no liar.”

Blanca chuckled.

“Why are you laughing?”

“There’s truth to what you say.”

“In the old age home you’re like a princess. The old people are good-hearted, and if they have a penny, they’ll give it to you. They aren’t stingy.”

“Thanks,” Blanca said, and tears welled up in her eyes.

“You mustn’t be stupid.”

Blanca bit her lip and brushed away her tears. “Can I get a job here?” she asked.

“Here they’ve run out of money. They haven’t paid us our salaries for the past few months. But in Blumenthal, which is nearby, there’s a nice, well-organized old age home. Much nicer than this one. The old people are wealthy, and they shove banknotes into your hand every time you approach their beds. You’re still young. You should go to Blumenthal.”

“You’re kind to me. What’s your name?”

“My name is Theresa.”

“Mine is Blanca.”

“Women suffer everywhere. Why didn’t you marry a Jew?”

Theresa’s comment surprised her.

“I don’t know.”

“You can’t cry over spilt milk,” Theresa said, and gave her another serving of squash.

“I thank you from the bottom of my heart,” Blanca said, rising from her chair. “Now I have to go home. My husband is coming back from an occupational training course, and if I don’t make him a good meal, he’ll hit me.”

“They always go off to training courses,” said Theresa, laughing.

“Why are you laughing?”

“That’s what they call their bashes. My husband also used to say he was going to a training course. They come back fired up like randy horses.”

“What do they do there?”

“They get drunk and screw peasant women.”

“And that’s what they call a training course arranged by the factory?”

“Yes. Didn’t you know?”

Theresa dear, I now have no one at all in the world, Blanca was about to say. I’ll stay here. I’ll wait for my father to come back. I’m afraid to go home .

Theresa seemed to guess Blanca’s thoughts. “You have to go home now,” she said. “Prepare the house as if nothing has happened, and the first chance you get, go to Blumenthal. The old age home in Blumenthal is splendid.”

“And he’ll let me go?”

“If you bring home money, he’ll let you. They desire money more than women. The main thing is not to be afraid. Those who are afraid are punished doubly. You have to say to yourself, Nothing will frighten me anymore. If I have to die, I’ll die, but I won’t be afraid . Fear, my dear, is our ruin. Fear is our enemy. The moment you free yourself from fear, you’ll be a new person, you’ll be free and your movements will be free. You’ll walk in the street with your back straight.”

“Thank you, Theresa.”

“Don’t thank me. Do what I told you to do.”

“And that will take away my fear?”

“Without a doubt.”

Blanca took Theresa’s words in like the soup she had served her earlier. Her entire body was filled with the events of the day. It was already dark, and she went to the station like someone whose fears had been drugged.

ADOLF RETURNED THE next day, and when Blanca asked him how he had enjoyed the Tyrolean Mountains, he answered, “We didn’t enjoy ourselves. We worked hard.” Blanca served him roasted meat, cabbage, and baked potatoes. He was hungry and asked for seconds. When he took off his shirt, she was astonished to see how solid he was. His arms appeared to belong to another race of men.

Later she told him that her father had disappeared the previous day and that she had been summoned by the old age home in Himmelburg. He didn’t respond, but when she went on to tell him about everything that had happened to her, he said, “That’s the Jewish muddle-brain.” When he finished the meal, he lit a cigarette and said, “You don’t have to go back there. It’s a rotten place.”

Blanca remembered that right after her mother died, Adolf had said, “Jews don’t know how to live, and they don’t know how to die.” She had been overcome with grief, and that surprising comment had struck her like a hammer. Now she remembered exactly when he had said it: right after the funeral, at the gate to the cemetery. That evening he had made some general statements about the Jews, statements with which she concurred in her heart. If he had said them quietly, without poison, she would have agreed with him completely. At that time she was dreaming about changing herself in a way that would infuse her life with patience and calm. Her arms would swell to the size of Adolf’s sisters’, her body would harden and broaden, her chest would fill out, and she would be able to work without her back bothering her. Adolf insisted that she change herself and said that if she didn’t do so of her own free will, he would change her by force. And that was indeed how he behaved. He beat her with his hands and with his belt, and did not lack for occasions to do so. Great God, she whispered to herself, why is my life so painful? Her bereaved, confused father was so immersed in his own misfortune, he didn’t see his daughter’s pain. She learned to close her eyes and keep silent, to bite her lips and not utter a syllable. Sometimes, when she could bear no more, she would plead, “Don’t hit me. You’re hurting me.” But Adolf paid no attention.

“You’re a weakling,” he would say. “You have no muscles. You’re shouting like your crazy grandmother.” Sometimes it seemed to her that he didn’t mean to hurt her but, rather, to uproot her weakness. He said he would destroy everything that she once was. In an effort to improve herself, she would slave away and say to herself, Adolf is right, I must get stronger. Only a strong person stands on his own two feet. Weak people fail in the end .

Adolf’s absence had made her body forget slightly the pain he inflicted on her. Now everything reverted to the way it had been, but in a harsher way, as if he had left only to gather more rage.

Blanca’s father’s disappearance came to appear to her as a voyage to the realm of his youth: his love of mathematics. Now, in his hiding place, he had become again what he once was: a genius. There he was planning his great discoveries: his marvelous equations, about which he had been thinking for years. As soon as the equations were known, all the humiliations would be erased in a single moment, and he would be what he was meant to be: the genius who was going to bring a blessing to the world. Papa, she would say to herself, I can guess where you’re hiding, but I won’t disturb you. You’re preparing the final draft, and victory will not be slow in coming .