Aharon Appelfeld - Until the Dawn's Light

“Adolf beats me,” Blanca said.

A thin smile spread across her mother-in-law’s face, as though this were a trivial misdemeanor.

“I’m afraid for the baby that’s in my womb.” Blanca sought a different kind of mercy.

The smile left her mother-in-law’s face all at once. “Every decent husband hits a little. Nobody dies from it.”

“I’m not used to it,” said Blanca.

“You have to get used to it,” her mother-in-law said, as though they were talking about a type of housework. “Jews spoil their girls. That kind of spoiling is despicable, and one mustn’t become addicted to it.”

Blanca knew now that salvation would not come from her mother-in-law. Nevertheless, she bared her thigh and showed her the wound.

“You shouldn’t show things like that,” her mother-in-law said, shocked. “A husband who beats is a loving husband. That’s what we say. A woman without a beating becomes wanton. A husband not only supports her, he also watches over her.”

“I’m not used to it,” Blanca repeated helplessly.

“You have to get used to our way of life. Among us, husbands beat their wives. There’s nothing wrong with that. That’s how to love a wife, too.”

Blanca hung her head, and tears welled up in her eyes.

For a month she vomited. The vomiting weakened her, but she still rose early to clean the house and prepare breakfast for Adolf. Adolf kept saying, “When my sisters were pregnant, they didn’t vomit. You should have a stiff drink, not tea. Among us, only sick people and old people drink tea.”

Before long the bleeding began. Adolf brought the medic. He examined her and said, “A doctor must see her.”

The next day, Dr. Nussbaum came. Dr. Nussbaum was one of the town’s best-known doctors. After finishing his studies, he converted and began to work in the public hospital. Blanca knew him well. She had studied with his daughter, a thin and sensitive girl named Celia. Any excessive movement, not to mention any harsh sight, would overwhelm her with emotion and make her cry. Once, on a class trip, they had ended up on a farm where pigs were snorting. The squealing of the pigs, which were trying to escape the slaughterers’ axes, amused the class. Celia, seeing the slaughterers, fainted, falling into what seemed to be a coma; for a long time they tried to rouse her from it. In the end they had to summon her father from the hospital, and he resuscitated her himself.

“Blanca,” the doctor called out with fatherly fondness.

Hearing that familiar voice, Blanca burst into tears.

“Don’t cry. Nobody’s done anything to you,” Adolf commented.

“I’d like to ask everyone present to leave the room,” Dr. Nussbaum ordered.

When he asked her what had caused all the wounds on her body, Blanca answered, “I fell down. I wasn’t careful.”

Dr. Nussbaum was an experienced physician, and he knew what some men did to their wives. He didn’t hold his tongue. “Animals,” he said.

“We’re going to put you in the hospital,” he continued, and took her under his protection.

Adolf had come back into the room and was about to say something, but seeing the doctor’s anger, he didn’t dare.

Thus Blanca left her prison. Her pains were sharp and her weakness was great, but the people who surrounded her were kind and pleasant. Every morning she would wake up as if she were in her parents’ home. “Mama,” she said, “you sent me these good angels.”

Dr. Nussbaum visited her twice a day, and when he was off duty, he would sit and converse with her. He had known her parents well and had just heard about her father’s disappearance. “We were friends from youth,” he said, burying his face in his hands. “How is it I knew nothing? How is it I didn’t sense anything? Are they still looking for him?”

“Not anymore.”

IN THE HOSPITAL, Blanca was cared for with great concern. Christina, the nurse, sat at her side and told her about her life. Her parents had died when she was a child, and she had been forced to go out and work at a young age. First she had worked as a practical nurse. The medical staff had valued her work and sent her to Vienna to study at the nursing school. That was her profession, and this was her home. Blanca noticed: her steps were quick, but her upper limbs were somewhat stiff. A pallor covered her face, and she looked like someone who had not seen sunlight for many days.

Adolf visited her once and didn’t return. Her mother-in-law would visit her after church on Sunday. She brought Blanca apples that had grown in her garden and urged her to taste them. Here she seemed softer, maybe because of the green scarf she wore on her head, but she still preached a little, even here.

“A woman must learn to suffer,” she said. “Suffering purifies her. In the end, the children grow up and submit to her discipline.” It was evident she was speaking from her own experience, but her words sounded as if they were the priest’s.

“How is Adolf?” Blanca asked.

“He’s working. He works hard.” She protected her son.

“Send him my greetings,” she said, as though he were not her husband but a distant relative.

“He’s working hard,” his mother repeated.

Every time Dr. Nussbaum came to see her, he brought her a chocolate or some fruit. With the death of the senior physician, he had become the chief doctor. The public hospital was on the brink of the abyss. During the past two years it had been running on a deficit. There were many debts, the creditors threatened to bring a lawsuit, and the maintenance staff went on strike from time to time. Dr. Nussbaum struggled on every front, and his back was bent from the great burden.

“How is Celia?” Blanca asked, because she was certain she was studying at the university.

“She’s been in a convent, my dear, for more than a year. My daughter is a mystery to me. I see her once a month, talk with her, and I don’t understand a thing.”

“Did it happen suddenly?”

“She was engaged and about to be married. A date was even set, and then she suddenly decided she wanted to be among the servants of God, and the engagement was canceled.”

“Good God!” Blanca said. “We neglect the ones closest to us. I was so involved with myself during the past two years, I didn’t see anything around me.”

The next day, Celia came to visit her. Seeing her friend in a nun’s habit, Blanca burst into tears.

“Why are you crying?” Celia asked softly.

“I don’t know,” said Blanca, wiping her eyes.

Blanca told Celia that since her mother’s death, her life hadn’t gone well. Her father had disappeared mysteriously, and Adolf didn’t allow her to go to Himmelburg to keep searching for him.

“I actually do sneak out and go there,” she said, “but I’m too afraid of what I might discover to ask anything. And now the pregnancy’s not going well, either. And you?”

“I live in the convent in Stillstein, and I’m preparing to become a nun. What happened to your father?”

“I don’t know; I can’t tell you anything,” said Blanca emotionally. “Papa was my handhold on this world, and I, in my great stupidity, in my great fear, lost him. He slipped out of my hands. Fear is our undoing. Fear makes me a person with no substance. I never learned to have courage, and without courage a person is dust and ashes. Do you understand?”

“Certainly I understand you.”

“Life was bitter for my father, and I didn’t know how to help him. Since my marriage, I’ve been afraid of every shadow. How is it in the convent? Are people frightened there as well?”

“I have only been there for a year,” said Celia, bowing her head.

“Sometimes it seems to me that prayer would help me, but I don’t know how to pray. My mother used to pray sometimes. When I was a little girl I used to watch her lips. I would say to myself, If only I knew how to pray like Mama .”