Aharon Appelfeld - Until the Dawn's Light

“You have to come to see me every month,” he said. “And if your husband abuses you — tell me immediately.”

After that she thought of going to Himmelburg, but she put off the trip. She was afraid to travel with Otto. Adolf would have said, “He’s weak. He’s pale. With us, children aren’t like that.” Blanca used to bring the cradle out into the garden so he’d get some sun. To her dismay, this only brought out his delicate features, and she stopped. One night in a dream she saw her father standing in the courtyard of the old age home, as though he were trapped. His face was gaunt, and an unfamiliar expression of irony, not his, flickered in his eyes.

“Papa!” she called out, and awoke.

The next day she gathered her strength, diapered Otto, prepared food, and set out. At the old age home, Theresa hurried over to her and cried, “Here’s Blanca!” and everyone was excited.

“The child looks a lot like you,” Theresa said. “What’s his name? Otto? A nice name. His features are very delicate. Let’s pray that fortune favors him.” They sat in the kitchen and drank coffee, and Blanca knew that her life had no attachment to any place now. Theresa wasn’t a delicate woman; she was straightforward and understanding. You didn’t have to explain to her what harm a cruel husband did. She had felt it on her own flesh.

“The situation here couldn’t be worse,” Theresa told Blanca. “The treasury is empty, and the Jews of Himmelburg are no longer as generous as before. Conversions are many, and the children deny their parents. They do send us some money from Vienna, but it isn’t enough for regular maintenance.”

“So what are you going to do?” Blanca asked anxiously.

“I don’t know. I simply don’t know.”

“Doesn’t the church help?”

“Have you forgotten, dear, that this is a Jewish home?”

Theresa mentioned the old age home in Blumenthal again, and all the advantages Blanca would have if she worked there.

“You have to be far out of his reach,” she said. “Every hour that a woman saves herself from a beating is a pure benefit.”

“What should I say to him?”

“Tell him that you want to work and contribute to the livelihood of the house.”

“And who will watch over Otto?”

“A housekeeper. I raised three children that way.”

“I’m so afraid of the beatings, and now I’m afraid he’ll hit Otto.”

“You mustn’t be fearful, my dear.”

“I tremble all the time.”

One of the old people approached her and said, “We sometimes remember your father here. He was a very special man. We all liked him. Since he abandoned us, we’ve missed his great soul. You know that Jewish saying, don’t you?”

“No.”

“It’s a marvelous expression. It’s more than an expression.”

Blanca didn’t know how to respond, so she said, “This is my son, Otto. He’s growing and developing nicely.”

Theresa continued to speak about children who neglected their parents, and about old age, with its diseases and torments. If it weren’t for God, whom we believe in and cleave to, she said, were it not for the strong feeling that He is close to us, our lives would be a horror.

“Blanca, my dear, it seems to me that the Jews have lost their connection with God, and that makes their lives so much harder.”

“Do you stay in touch with your children?” Blanca asked.

“If they need money, they write to me.”

“And who comes to visit you?”

“Only my sister. She lives very far from here, but she always comes, and she brings me things. She knit this sweater with her own hands.”

“Strange,” said Blanca.

“Why do you say that it’s strange? That’s how it always was, and that’s how it always will be.” Her face displayed a frightening honesty, as though the years had engraved every injustice and distortion on it. Anyone who looked at her knew that life was flooded with sorrow and filled with clouds.

THE MONTHS PASSED. Otto was already crawling, and Blanca reconciled herself to her painful body and clouded life. Sometimes she would remember earlier times, and they seemed hidden to her, as though they were part of the life of another woman. Even the town, where she knew every corner, now seemed to belong to the church.

Every Sunday she went to mass. The family made a point of attending on Sundays and holidays. There Adolf was also surrounded by friends, embracing them, chatting with them, laughing. Blanca never missed confession. She would kneel and say, “I didn’t want to see my mother’s death, and I fled from the house. Afterward I abandoned my father in the cemetery. I’m a sinner and worthy of death.” The priest listened and asked no questions.

Once, however, he commented, “Our Lord Jesus has already atoned.”

“But my sin is unbearable.”

“Pray. Prayer will drive away your bad thoughts.”

“It’s hard for me to pray, Father.”

Sundays were the hardest day of the week: in the morning in church and afterward, the gathering in her house. Those parties brought together many of Adolf’s friends as well as his relatives, and they became merrier and dizzier from week to week. Blanca would serve the guests and chat with her mother-in-law. Her mother-in-law had suffered a lot in her life, but she didn’t complain.

“Man is born to labor,” she would repeat, “and let him make no reproaches to his fellow.” It was clear that this saying wasn’t hers. Still, it sounded as if it was.

Adolf knew no mercy now, either. For every mistake or forgetfulness she would pay, but sometimes he would also hit her for no reason, the way you beat an animal.

“You’re not a woman,” he would say. “You’re a monster. You’re like your father, like your grandma.”

“Don’t hit me,” she would beg, but that only increased his anger. In the end she would lie on the floor, absorbing the blows without reacting.

If it weren’t for Otto, for the look in his round eyes, she would have gone to the river and leaped into the water. But Otto would rescue her and draw her out of despair. He would wake up, open his eyes, and call out, “Mama,” and immediately all the clouds scattered and fled.

More than once, after a night of searing pain, Blanca was about to say, I want to go out to work and help support the household. All the women work, and I want to work, too . But she was afraid to say it, lest Adolf agree. Otto was now her life and her support. She took him everywhere with her. When she worked in the kitchen, she placed the cradle next to her, and when she worked in the garden, she would take the cradle outside. Blanca spoke to him and told him stories, and when he laughed, she laughed with him.

Adolf was completely given over to his comrades. Over the past few months his face had grown fleshier and had become flushed, like the face of a drunkard. He resembled his father more and more: the same drunken look, the same arrogance. He spent most of his wages in the tavern, and he gave Blanca only a few coins, over which he also got angry. Blanca was frugal, and she made their meals with everything that the garden produced. Sometimes she couldn’t afford milk. Her body bled and hurt, but she was afraid to say, I’m going out to work . Once, the pain was so great that she said, “You’re driving me out of this world.”

“What are you talking about?” he said, and headed out the door, as though she were nothing but a ghost.

In the end, it was Adolf himself who declared, “You have to go out to work.”

“How?” She was stunned.

“All the women work. My mother works, too.”

“And who’ll take care of Otto?”

“We’ll bring a woman in from the country.”