Aharon Appelfeld - Until the Dawn's Light

“The Jews have lost their essence,” he used to say, “and their emptiness is annoying.” His usual soft expression would change when he spoke about his brethren.

When he was young Blanca’s father wanted to convert, but his mother, who didn’t observe the traditions but was very devoted to her family, forbade it and made him swear that he would not. At first he planned to ignore the oath, but when he realized how much it would pain her, he abandoned the idea. For years he had regretted that.

“If I’d converted to Christianity,” he used to say, “my life would have been different.”

His wife didn’t agree with him. “The Jews are no worse than other people,” she would reply.

Blanca’s father stuck to his opinion. “They are worse.”

Those of his friends who had converted had graduated from the university and done better than he. Some of them were physicians, attorneys, and industrialists, and he barely could support his family. He attributed all his failures to his Jewishness. Jewishness was an illness that had to be uprooted. That brutal statement didn’t go with his soft temperament. Nevertheless, he repeated it regularly. In Winterweiss he was at ease. He swam in the river, solved chess problems, read mathematics books eagerly, and if there was a piano, he would play it. That was the father Blanca loved, affable and overflowing with humor.

A week before the end of the school year, three weeks before Blanca and her parents left for Winterweiss, Blanca met Adolf near the school laboratory, and they spoke for a few minutes. Adolf’s words had no special content, but they struck her heart; it was as though he had whispered a secret to her. After that, he never left her sight. Adolf wasn’t an outstanding student, but the teachers were fond of him because of his height and strength, and they didn’t fail him. Even the tall teachers looked short next to him. They saw him as a phenomenon of nature, sometimes saying, “Adolf will pick that up. Only Adolf can do it.” Once, he lifted a teacher’s desk up on his shoulders, and everyone cheered him. On the playing field, he wasn’t one of the swifter athletes, but his strength stood him in good stead there, too. The girls admired him but were afraid of him. Sometimes, when he managed to overcome a mathematics problem, a wild smile would spread across his face, like that of an animal whose hunger was satisfied.

Adolf wasn’t particularly kindhearted, but he was always ready to help carry building materials or move cabinets. In the spring he would help the gardeners, and if a boy got hurt, he would carry him to the infirmary in his arms. He was a friend of the principal and assistant principal because they also needed his help from time to time. Only one person was his adversary: Dr. Klein, the Latin teacher. At first he would scold Adolf for not doing his homework properly. But in the end he just ignored him, as though Adolf weren’t sitting in the classroom. Adolf hated Dr. Klein, and everyone was afraid he would do something impulsive. At the end of the year, Dr. Klein refused to give him even a barely passing grade, as he had done the year before. That task fell to the assistant principal. He examined Adolf again and awarded him a low passing grade. Adolf gnashed his teeth and threatened revenge.

Adolf was different from anyone Blanca had ever known, and not only because of his height and strength. His movements were also different. Blanca was certain not only that those movements suited him, but that they were attractive in themselves. Even his way of sitting was different. Two days before her departure for the mountains, Adolf passed by her father’s store, as though by chance.

“What are you doing this summer?” he asked.

“We’re going to Winterweiss,” she replied.

“What will you do there?”

“I’ll read.”

“You always read, don’t you?”

“I love to read,” Blanca said, blushing.

The next day they set out for Winterweiss. Her father’s face took on a pleasant look. The second-class car was half empty, and the green landscapes rushed past them as they did every year.

“What are you planning to study, Blanca?” her father asked jovially.

“Mathematics,” Blanca said without hesitation.

“That’s just what I wanted to study, but my parents wanted me to be a merchant. I’ll never forgive them.”

“Not even now?”

“Papa has forgiven them,” her mother interrupted.

“No, I haven’t.” Her father didn’t give in.

On vacations, her father didn’t talk about his parents or about the miserable store. Rather, he meandered among mathematics books, chess books, and literature. His suitcase was the heaviest of all, because it contained only books.

They easily found a house next to the Danube. Blanca’s father was pleased, and his happiness was evident with every step he took. He swam, sunbathed, and read. Her mother prepared the foods they liked, and Blanca dreamed about Adolf. Even in her dreams she was a little frightened of him, but when she awoke, she would console herself and say, “Adolf is a sturdy person. Sturdy people are generous.”

Eventually, she forgot about him. She was with her beloved parents, and it was summer. They sat at the water’s edge for hours, enjoying the long sunset, drinking lemonade, and being quiet together. Sometimes, in the evening, a peasant would stop his wagon in front of the house and offer them fish that he had just then caught in his net.

“Mama,” Blanca said anxiously.

“What, dear?”

“Nothing.”

The thought that she would have to part from her parents one day shocked her.

THAT WAS THE last summer Blanca spent with her parents, and she remembered it in full detail. During the winter her mother became ill, and the doctors promised that she would feel better in the spring. As if in spite, the winter was long, and her mother tried in vain to rise to her feet. Her father promised repeatedly, “In the spring, you’ll get some relief,” and it seemed to Blanca that the tone of his voice was not as it had been in the past. He spoke as though he had rehearsed what he was saying.

In high school Blanca was hugely successful. Once again, her grades glowed on her report card. Her mother took the card in her hands, and the joy that had been on her face during the summer lit it once again.

“There’s an excellent mathematics department in Berlin,” her father announced, as if he were capable of paying for it. The store stood on rickety foundations and barely supported the family. Her father would return home every evening and immediately sit down next to her mother. His look was full of devotion. The store and his partner depressed him to the dust, and only at his beloved wife’s side did he receive some solace.

At the beginning of the next term, the assistant principal proposed that Blanca help Adolf in mathematics and Latin, and Blanca agreed. Adolf came to her house in the afternoon, and they did their homework together. The work was very difficult for him, and when he left the house his face would be red and sweaty, as after hard labor.

“How’s Adolf coming along?” her mother asked.

“It’s hard for him, but it seems to me that he’s improving.”

Sometimes her mother would address him directly.

“How are you, Adolf?” she would ask.

“Fine, thank you, ma’am,” he would say, blushing.

Adolf did do his homework, but he failed the oral examination in Latin. Dr. Klein had no pity on him, and at the end of the term he gave Adolf a failing grade. Dr. Weiss, the mathematics teacher, was more generous and gave him a barely passing grade. Blanca tried to soften his disappointment, but Adolf was angry. It had always been the case, he argued, that the mathematics and Latin teachers had mistreated him. In the other subjects, he did fine. Blanca didn’t correct him. She saw his shame and felt sorry for him.