Aharon Appelfeld - Until the Dawn's Light

“I remember your mother, and sometimes I see her before my eyes.”

“My mother went to her final rest without any complaint,” Blanca said.

“I found a lot of books about Judaism in the convent library, and I read them constantly. That’s strange, isn’t it? Did you ever happen to hear of Martin Buber?”

“No. Never.”

“In my room I have books about the Ba’al Shem Tov, including a very precious anthology. I’m sure you’d find it interesting.”

“What is it about?”

“About faith, if I may make a generalization.”

“I feel empty, like an abandoned vessel.”

“Martin Buber’s anthology gave me a lot of light.”

“I’m so distracted, as if I were born without a nest.”

“I’ll bring you the anthology. You’ll find value in it. Isn’t that what we once used to say?”

“Thank you,” said Blanca. “I don’t know what’s wrong with me.”

LATER BLANCA’S PAIN grew more intense, and Dr. Nussbaum gave her something for it. The pain did indeed die down a little, but the medicine made her woozy. Then Christina sat by her side and said something. Blanca didn’t absorb what she said, but it seemed to her that Christina’s lips were moving in prayer. For a moment she wondered about that prayer, and this made her faintly recall small scraps of her childhood. When she was sick, her mother used to sit next to her bed and observe her. Blanca would feel her hovering gaze, and she would sigh in relief. Then, surprisingly, a marvelous sort of contact would take place between her mother and her. Blanca’s hidden fears would fade all at once, and she knew that her mother would always be with her. But the full joy would come afterward, when she was recovering, a time that lasted many days and was full of glowing little things, like games of dominoes or cards, or books by Jules Verne. Her mother would read a chapter and say, “Now we’ll take a little break and nibble something. What shall it be? Maybe we’ll peel a pear.”

The weakness would pass, and Blanca’s appetite would return. She even found a slice of bread and butter tasty. Later the quiet hours would come, when nothing happened, just a feeling of pleasure and the happiness of light. While she was recovering, her father would try to entertain her with mathematical puzzles. She couldn’t solve them, but her father would do so effortlessly, like a magician. During those marvelous, brightly lit days, sharp, sudden fears would sometimes strike her, and she knew that her pleasure would not last long, that parting was inevitable. She would cry bitterly, and her mother would try in vain to console her.

These bright scraps of memory, which had been hidden within Blanca for many years, now appeared before her with new clarity. She opened her eyes, and Christina was sitting next to her. For some reason she thought Christina was Celia, and she said, “Celia?”

“How are you, Blanca? How do you feel?” Christina asked.

“I dreamed about my mother,” said Blanca.

Blanca felt better, but Dr. Nussbaum didn’t release her. Adolf came and stood at the door. In his work clothes, alongside the white iron bedsteads, he looked like one of the sturdy maintenance men who carried beds and chests of drawers to the upper floor.

“When are you coming back home?” He spoke in his mother’s voice.

She had noticed: Adolf resembled his mother and was full of superstitions. Once she had been sure that only weak people were subject to moods, daydreams, and superstitions. Later she learned that Adolf was careful to avoid the number thirteen. He had nailed a horseshoe above the door of their house, and sometimes he would say, “My mother says that a gate that doesn’t have a cross on it doesn’t protect the house.” At first she didn’t believe her ears, but in time she conceded to herself that superstitions were held by strong people, too, and in fact they enhanced their strength.

Without a doubt, Adolf was his mother’s son. His mother always protected him and spoke about his work in the dairy with admiration. His father loved him less, but through him Adolf belonged to the Hammer clan, which was known for its industry, religiosity, and devotion to family. All of these were, of course, merely fictions and wishful thinking. The family was full of drunkards, adulterers, cheaters, and idiots. But she had to learn all this painfully, over the years. Now she knew nothing but aches. Don’t release me, she was about to say to Dr. Nussbaum, I’m afraid to go back home . But Dr. Nussbaum spoke first, telling Adolf, “Blanca will be with us until she regains her strength and her wounds are completely healed.”

“I don’t understand,” said Adolf.

“What don’t you understand?”

“My sisters gave birth at home, not in a hospital.”

“So you’re an expert in medicine, too, I see,” he said and dismissed him.

OTTO AWOKE FROM a bad dream and shouted, “Mama, Mama!”

“What’s the matter?”

“Somebody wanted to catch me.”

“Who, dear?”

“A tall, strong man.”

“It was just a bad dream.”

“Why did he scare me so much?”

“Dreams are frightening.”

“If dreams are nonsense, why are they frightening?”

“There’s nothing to be afraid of. I’m with you, dear.”

Blanca wrote without letup. She spent most of the night at the desk, struggling with the order of events, the words, and the clarity of the sentences. The fear that soon they would have to leave this protected place gave her no rest. To overcome her fear, she remained wakeful, watching over Otto’s slumber and writing.

They had been here for six weeks now. The garden produced tomatoes, cucumbers, onions, and radishes, and there were also beds of lettuce and squash. In addition, the landlady brought them apples and pears from the orchard at her house. Her old age was passing quietly and her face glowed, leaving a pleasant feeling that stayed in the house for hours.

I’m very much afraid that quite soon we’ll lose this hidden Garden of Eden, Blanca wrote in her notebook, and we’ll have to set out for a lengthy exile. When did I hear the word “exile” for the first time? The religion teacher, Dr. Kaltbrunner, used to put out his long arm and say, “Were it not for Adam, we would have remained in the Garden of Eden. Because of his sin, we were exiled.” Why did I remember Dr. Kaltbrunner? He used to intimidate the class . Blanca finished that sentence and lay the pen down on the notebook. She immediately sensed that Otto’s eyes were wide open and that he was observing her.

“Why aren’t you asleep, dear?”

“I’m waiting for the morning.”

“The morning is still far off. Meanwhile you can close your eyes.”

Otto didn’t answer right away. He would absorb a sentence and take it in. That secret internalization usually took long minutes, and sometimes an hour or two. But the response would finally come. He had stopped asking about his father. Every day Blanca supplied his soul with new sights and words to erase his home from his memory. It generally worked. Nevertheless, sometimes someone’s name or a place emerged. Blanca didn’t flinch, but cut off his question and hurried to distract him. Fortunately, Otto didn’t insist. He heard her voice and clung to it. Now, as she looked at him, it seemed to her that he had changed. His face had darkened and his gaze was concentrated. He could count to twenty without making a mistake. At the start of the trip, he had still shouted with Adolf’s frightening voice, but on the train he had already calmed down, his voice was softer, and he stopped throwing things. On the train he learned to touch things gently, to move them carefully, and to observe them.