Aharon Appelfeld - Until the Dawn's Light

Adolf’s behavior became more brutal. In the past, when he took her wages he would leave her with money for the train fare and a little pocket change. Now he gave her only her train fare, and he would always say the same thing: “They’re exploiting you and not paying you properly.”

“What can I do?” She would stand before him as though paralyzed.

“Demand more.”

Otto would awaken at night and burst into tears, and Blanca would rush over to soothe him. One Sunday she secretly brought him to Dr. Nussbaum. Dr. Nussbaum quickly determined that the child was neglected. Blanca told him she was working away from home and saw Otto only on weekends.

Dr. Nussbaum had changed a lot since Blanca last saw him. The battle he was waging against the municipality and against the health authorities in Vienna had left its mark on his face. His fingers trembled. There was now some hope that the gates of the hospital would soon be opened, but not all its departments. Meanwhile he continued treating patients in his home and courtyard, and if he was summoned at night, he didn’t refuse.

“How is Celia?” Blanca asked.

“She’s in seclusion. That is her path now. What can I do?” When he spoke about his daughter, the physician’s authority evaporated from his face.

The Sunday parties continued as usual. Blanca would do the cooking on Saturday night, rise early for church, and then quickly prepare herself to receive guests. She was anxious because her in-laws spoke about Otto as a weak-bodied child, doubting that he would be able to meet the demands of life. To strengthen him Blanca fed him chopped liver that she brought from the old age home.

“Otto must be strong,” she said. “Here you have to be strong. You have to eat a lot and stand powerfully on your own two feet. Grandpa Erwin and Grandma Ida would have taken care of you differently, but they’re no longer with us. What can I do? Don’t cry. People who cry are weak. And you’re not weak. You’re as strong as a lion cub, and no one will dare to touch you.”

Adolf would return home late at night half drunk and shout, “Why’s he crying? Shut him up!” His threatening voice was very frightening, and Otto would quiet down. Adolf would then collapse on the bed and fall asleep.

Blanca’s anxieties no longer gave her rest. She worked many night shifts, and in return Elsa would free her for a few hours during the day. She would rush to catch the noon train and come back by the evening train. Once Adolf caught her and said, “What are you doing here in the middle of the week?”

“I came to see Otto.”

“What for?”

Otto’s features, as though in spite, became more delicate. A quiet intelligence glowed in his eyes. It was as if he understood that the people surrounding him were putting him to a hard test. When Blanca appeared, he would stretch out his arms, hug her around the neck, and cling to her. Blanca kept promising him that his suffering would not last long, that soon they would set out on a long journey. In the few hours that she was with him every week, she taught him new words. Otto would look at her lips and try to imitate the sounds.

Parting from Otto on Monday mornings was agonizing. If it weren’t for the two shots of brandy that Blanca had in the buffet car, the pain would have been constant. But by the time she returned to the old age home, the pain, roused from its slumber, would torture her again. Finally, though, her work wiped that pain away, too. After a day of labor, she would lay her head on the pillow, her thoughts scattered to the winds.

Meanwhile, Sonia also got into trouble. One of the janitors informed on her for making soup for two old people in the middle of the night. Sonia confessed, and Elsa decided to adopt a new method of punishment: to deduct from her wages. Sonia responded with fury and threatened to complain to the old age home’s board of trustees. Upon hearing her threats, Elsa dismissed her on the spot.

The residents repeatedly asked Elsa to forgive her, but Elsa stuck to her guns.

“If everybody in the old age home does whatever he feels like,” she said, “anarchy will reign here, not order.” “Order”—that was the ideal for whose sake she tormented both the workers and the residents. She never tired of proclaiming, “There will be order here. This is not some Jewish market.”

True, the old age home didn’t look Jewish from close up. The old people didn’t sit in the lobby or in front of the entrance to the building. Flowers and houseplants were placed in every corner. In that matter, as in others, there were disagreements among the residents. Some of them claimed that Elsa had turned the place into a grim Protestant temple, or into a prison where they punished old people for being old. Others argued that strict discipline was better than Jewish commotion. Elsa was strong in her resolve to dismiss Sonia, but in the end, because of the residents’ pleas, she forgave her. She informed her that from now on she was working there on probation. Any infraction, even a small one, would result in her immediate dismissal. Elsa used to punish the residents in similar fashion. For example, anyone who didn’t dress neatly or who neglected to tidy the area around his bed wasn’t taken on the weekly excursion to the river.

“We’re Jews, not Germans,” one of the residents stated, daring to raise his voice.

“Order is the honor of life,” replied Elsa. “Without order, there is no honor. Jews are negligent about order and discipline, and that’s to their discredit.”

“To hell with discipline.”

“Not here.”

Despite everything, there were little pleasures. When the tale-bearing janitors were soundly asleep, Blanca and Sonia would take out the pot of compote and serve anyone who was hungry.

THUS PASSED THE WINTER. In the spring Sonia got into another fight with Elsa and she was fired, just as Elsa had threatened. Sonia stuck to her guns and didn’t mince words.

“This isn’t a home for people,” she said, “it’s a prison. I’m going to walk through the streets of Blumenthal and tell everyone that there’s a jail in the middle of their city where they torture old people.” Before she left, she addressed the residents.

“People are born in the image of God,” she said, “and they have to preserve His image.” She was about to say more, but the two janitors took hold of her and dragged her outside. Even after she was outside, she didn’t hold her tongue.

“A jailer, not a woman!” she shouted. “That’s what she is.”

In the evening Blanca sneaked out to the Lilac Café, where she used to sit between shifts. Sonia was waiting for her. It was the Sonia she knew so well, but somehow different. A storm raged in her eyes, and every gesture throbbed with anger. Sonia told Blanca that she intended to leave for Galicia on the very next train. She spoke about Galicia with fervor, like someone speaking about his beloved native city.

They sipped brandy and drank coffee, and Sonia talked about outer freedom and inner freedom, and about the obligation to destroy institutions like Elsa’s old age home, to set the tormented old people free. Blanca was alarmed. Sonia’s face was firm with the resolve of believers who had removed all fear from their hearts. Blanca tried to get her to delay her departure, but Sonia said that Austria was a prison and that she must reach Kolomyja as soon as possible to purify herself from this contamination.

They sat for a while in silence, and then Blanca saw Sonia to the railroad station. The station was dark and enveloped in a damp fog. The train soon arrived, and Sonia said, “Blanca, you also have to free yourself from the bonds that they put on your hands and feet, and go forth from bondage to freedom, to the place where your ancestors worshipped God.” Fire burned in her face, but her words were serene, rising from a tranquil heart. The train rushed away, and for quite a while Blanca stood where she was in silence. It was hard for her to drag her feet back to the old age home and start the long night shift.