Aharon Appelfeld: Adam and Thomas

They walked quickly, hand in hand, and at sunrise they reached the edge of the forest. “Adam, dear,” said his mother, “we’re there. Don’t be afraid. You know our forest very well, and everything that’s in it. I’ll try very hard to come this evening. But if I’m late, go to Diana’s, and I’ll come later and pick you up.”

Adam stood next to his mother, still drowsy, and he didn’t know what to ask. His mother repeated: “Don’t be afraid. You know our forest very well, and everything that’s in it. Sit down under a tree, like that one with the round top, read the book by Jules Verne, or play jacks. The time will pass quickly.”

His mother hugged him and said, “I have to run. I’m going to hide your grandparents.” She slipped out of his arms and set out. Adam stood where he was. He wanted to call out, “See you later, Mom,” but he didn’t manage. His mother was already out of sight.

The forest was waking up, and the first rays of light scattered on the ground. Adam walked forward slowly. He knew the trees and the paths, but still this was a slightly different forest: an early morning forest. He was used to coming to the forest with his parents, usually in the afternoon, and sometimes toward evening, but never early in the morning.

“Strange,” he said to himself. “I’m walking in the forest by myself.”

Meanwhile he reached the tree with the round top, placed his knapsack at his feet, looked around, and said, “Nothing has changed here. It’s the same forest, except my parents aren’t with me.”

Adam was nine and about to finish fourth grade. He wasn’t an outstanding student, but on his last report card three A’s stood out, which pleased his parents, and they bought him a new soccer ball.

The war and the ghetto had put an end to walks in the forest. For a moment he was happy that his mother had taken him out of the walled-in ghetto. She had brought him here and was sure he would manage by himself.

A stream ran near the tree. It was still covered in thin darkness, but spots of light flashed on the flowing water.

Adam felt hungry and took a sandwich out of his knapsack. The sandwich was wrapped in brown paper. Adam remembered how his mother had stood next to the kitchen window and sliced the round loaf of bread to make him sandwiches.

They had left the house at dusk. They went from cellar to cellar, scurrying through dark tunnels, crawling in narrow places, and at last, after an effort, they had come out of the darkness into a field. They crossed the Johann Bridge and in a few minutes they were at the edge of the forest.

“You know our forest very well, and everything that’s in it.” He heard his mother speaking to him again. Now he sat down and looked at the light spreading at his feet.

Suddenly he rose, knelt, scooped some water from the stream with his hand, and brought it to his mouth. The chilly water tasted good. He kept drinking until his thirst was slaked.

“Interesting,” he said. “Mom’s not here, but I can see her clearly, and I feel her hand in mine.”

He had come to this enormous forest with his father and mother in the spring and summer. They had trees they liked to sit under, streams whose water they liked to drink. Miro used to run and skip and add his joy to the pleasure of the walk.

“Miro!” Adam called out. Suddenly he could feel the dog’s round body in his hands. Everybody loved Miro. He wasn’t as big as a German shepherd, but he filled the house, and even when he was napping in the entrance, he was alert. Now Adam saw the house, the carpentry shop, his father and mother, and his grandparents, and Miro jumping from place to place, or standing still in surprise. The more he saw those familiar sights, the more his fear died down. His eyes closed, and he fell asleep.

When he woke up, the sun was already high in the sky. In his sleep he had been at home, in the kitchen, and for a moment he wondered how he had come to the forest, but he immediately remembered that his mother had brought him and told him: “We’re there. Don’t be afraid. You know our forest very well, and everything that’s in it.” Her sentences echoed in his mind for a moment, and they pleased him. Adam was very familiar with the forest in the afternoon. After a day of work, his parents went out to refresh themselves among the trees. His father carried sandwiches, cake, fruit, and vegetables in his backpack. His mother put two thermos bottles in her long handbag, with coffee in one and hot cocoa in the other.

Adam used to look forward impatiently to these excursions. In the forest his parents were relaxed. They conversed and listened to each other. In the end all three of them would play ball.

After an hour of play, Adam’s shirt would be wet, and his mother would say, “You’re absolutely soaked. Too bad I didn’t bring a change of clothes.”

For a moment Adam felt sad because he was alone. He went back to the stream, sipped some water, took an apple out of his pack and bit into it. The bite brought his father and mother back before his eyes, and he felt they weren’t far away.

While he was wondering what to do and where he would go, he heard noises. He pricked up his ears: the noises sounded like shuffling through dry leaves.

He couldn’t see a thing from where he was sitting. He rose to his feet, and to his surprise, not far off, a boy was walking heavily, with a pack on his back.

“Hello, boy. Who are you, and what are you doing here?” Adam called out loudly.

“My name is Thomas,” the answer came quickly.

“Come over here.”

“Here I am.”

Once he was close, Adam saw he was a classmate. “Who brought you here?” Adam asked in a friendly way.

“Mom brought me here this morning and told me to wait for her. Since then I’ve been wandering around the forest and getting tired.”

“My mom also told me to wait for her. Let’s wait together,” said Adam, smiling.

“Strange,” said Thomas.

“What’s strange?” asked Adam.

“Suddenly we’re alone.”

Thomas removed the pack from his back, sighed like a grown-up, and sat down.

“Have you eaten already?” asked Adam.

“Not yet. I’ll do it now. I’m hungry.”

“I’ve already eaten, and I drank from the brook.”

Thomas pulled a sandwich out of his pack and bit into it.

At school Thomas sat in the first row, because he was nearsighted. Now you couldn’t tell he was nearsighted, maybe because of the green cap that changed his looks.