Aharon Appelfeld - Until the Dawn's Light

Blanca was sorry that her mother had told her so little about her childhood in the Carpathians. Her family had left the mountains when she was five, but she had retained some images of it in her heart. Blanca’s father, on the other hand, had harbored resentment against his parents because of their poverty and because they had made it impossible for him to study at the university, and so for him everything there had sunk into an abyss.

“Thank you, Celia.”

“What are you thanking me for?”

“For the anthology by Martin Buber.”

Upon hearing Martin Buber’s name, Celia inclined her head, as she undoubtedly did in the convent in Stillstein.

AT THE END of that week the gates of the hospital were closed, and Blanca started for home. She knew that strewn in every corner would be beer bottles and butcher’s waxed paper in which sausages had been wrapped, and that the kitchen sink would be full of dishes. She knew, but even so, she didn’t feel miserable that morning. The sun shone warmly, and Otto made her happy with every one of his gestures. In My Corner she was greeted with cheers. They served her coffee and poppy seed cake, and everyone made a fuss over Otto and agreed that he looked like Blanca.

When she got home, Blanca found the house as she had imagined it. She began at once to wash the dishes, pick up the papers, and empty the ashtrays. Otto fell asleep, and Blanca kept going to his bed to watch him as he slept.

After cleaning the house, she took Otto to her breast and then they went back to town to buy food for dinner. It was eleven o’clock, and Blanca hurried to return home. Near the butcher’s shop, she looked up and to her surprise saw Grandma Carole. This time her grandmother wasn’t standing and shouting; she was just sitting on the steps of the closed synagogue, curled up in a corner. Without thinking, Blanca rushed to the gate.

“Hello, Grandma Carole,” she said. “I’m Blanca. Do you remember me?”

“Who?” she said, startled.

“Your granddaughter, Blanca.”

“What do you want from me?”

“I wanted to tell you that I had a son, and his name is Otto.”

“Who are you?”

“Blanca.”

“What are you talking about?”

“Grandma.”

“What?”

“Don’t you remember me?”

Her sightless eyes began to blink nervously.

“What do you want from me?” she said.

“I wanted to beg your pardon.”

“What are you talking about?”

“I’m Blanca, your daughter Ida’s girl.”

“Don’t bother me,” Grandma Carole said, and she made a gesture of rejection with her right hand. Blanca recognized that gesture and recoiled.

Blanca knew that Grandma Carole wasn’t rebuffing her in anger. Her memory had faded, and she simply didn’t remember Blanca any longer, just as she had probably forgotten her two other granddaughters who now lived in faraway Leipzig. But she was still angry.

When Adolf came home, he said, “You’ve come back, I see.” It was evident that he wanted to say more, but the essence was conveyed in that sentence.

“I feel better,” Blanca said. For a moment they both looked at Otto while he slept. He was relaxed, and his face, lit by the sun, seemed content.

Blanca rushed to serve Adolf his dinner, and while doing so she told him that Dr. Nussbaum was in despair. The wealthy people who had said they would provide assistance hadn’t kept their promise.

“Why are you telling me all this?” he asked without raising his head.

“What will the poor people do who need help? Whom will they go to? To whom will they turn?”

“Who told them to be poor?”

Blanca fell silent. She was familiar with those coarse pronouncements of his, but now they scraped her flesh with an iron brush.

After dinner, Adolf went to the tavern and Blanca remained where she was. The long day had left her hollow. It took her a while to find the words within her. Adolf hates me, she said to herself, because I’m thin and weak, and because my parents were Jews. Apparently my conversion to Christianity changed nothing. And now I’m even thinner. I weigh less than one hundred and ten pounds. What must I do in order to change? I have to eat more and work in the garden, but I’m very weak, and it’s hard for me to stand on my feet .

Adolf returned from the tavern very late.

“Where are you?” he shouted from the doorway. Blanca, awakened by his loud voice, hurried over to him and helped him over to the bed. He immediately fell down onto it, and Blanca took off his shoes and covered him with a blanket.

That Sunday Otto’s baptism ceremony was held, and everyone wore festive clothes. After the baptism, the priest spoke about love and compassion, and to Blanca it seemed that he was talking to Adolf, asking him to behave like a Christian toward her. The little church was full of people and the fragrance of incense. Blanca made a great effort to remain on her feet, but toward the end of the ceremony she stumbled. Adolf picked her up and reprimanded her for not being careful.

“I’m sorry,” Blanca said, standing up again. Then her mother-in-law passed Otto back to her, and Blanca looked at him and hugged him to her breast.

After the ceremony they served strong drinks and honey cake to the guests. Some girls from school, whom Blanca barely remembered, approached her and hugged her. Adolf looked content in the company of his friends, who surrounded him and congratulated him. He was especially happy with his cronies from work, who looked like him, suntanned and strong.

Now Blanca remembered the bar mitzvah celebrations in the synagogue. Her mother used to take her to them now and then. It was crowded there, too, but most of the people were short, and their presence wasn’t crushing. She and her mother would stand together and watch everyone celebrating. At the end, they would go up to the bar mitzvah boy, congratulate him, and depart. Public places and crowds of people had made Blanca sad since her childhood. Her mother knew that and would bring her to these ceremonies only occasionally. Now she had to learn how to cope with that, too.

“How do you feel?” Adolf’s eldest sister asked her.

“Fine,” said Blanca, glad she had said so.

THEN CAME LONG, hot days, and Blanca worked in the garden early every morning. The neglected garden bloomed again. On rainy days she tidied the house, did laundry, and decorated Otto’s cradle. When Otto woke up at night, she got out of bed, fed him, and sang to him. Adolf wasn’t pleased by these nightly attentions.

“Let him cry,” he said. “The devil won’t take him.” But Blanca wasn’t at ease with this approach. She would go over to Otto’s cradle and rock it. Once Adolf commented, “He’ll turn into a slug.” Blanca noticed that his sentences, like his movements, were abrupt; he explained little, and what he said cut like a razor blade.

The good thoughts that had made her throb with life in the hospital died out on their own, and again she became what she had been: a maidservant, working from dawn till dark and crushed under Adolf’s heavy body at night.

Dr. Nussbaum tried with all his power to raise money to reopen the hospital, but his efforts were in vain. Having no choice, he turned his home into a hospital. Dozens of people crowded the gate of his courtyard and sought his aid. Whatever he could, he gave.

One day, the doctor met Blanca downtown and invited her to join him for a cup of coffee in My Corner. Blanca was embarrassed to admit to him that Adolf treated her the way he did and, also, that he kept grumbling, “Jewish doctors won’t tell me how to behave.” Dr. Nussbaum looked into her eyes and knew what was on her mind.