Blooms of Darkness (21 page)

“I knew we had something in common,” she says, and they both laugh.

They advance with short steps, and without hurrying. “I would give all the money in the world for a cup of coffee and some cheesecake,” Mariana says. “I’m not hungry, but a cup of coffee and some cheesecake would strengthen the faith within me. What about you, sweetie? You haven’t eaten all day. Mariana is very selfish, and she’s always tied to her own belly button. Sometimes she forgets the people she loves. That’s a flaw in my character. I doubt I can correct a flaw like that. But you forgive me. You always forgive me.”

Meanwhile, night has fallen, and it has gotten colder. Mariana gives Hugo her thick sweater and the kerchief. The coat that he brought with him from home is short on him now, and it won’t button. “Now you’ll be warm,” she says, and is pleased with his new look.

Suddenly, a cabin appears before them, a rather meagerlooking hut with no fence.

“Let’s ask. Maybe they’ll let us spend the night,” she says, and knocks on the door.

An old man opens it, and Mariana quickly tells him that they have fled from the front and are looking for a place to sleep—for payment, of course.

“Who are you?” asks the old man in a sharp voice.

“My name is Maria, and I’m a widow and a mother. This is my son, Janek.”

“What will you pay me with?”

“I’ll give you two packets of German cigarettes.”

“Come in. I was about to go to sleep. A person doesn’t know what the night will bring him.”

“We’re quiet, and we won’t disturb you. In the morning we’ll be on our way.”

“Have the Russians come already?” the old man inquires.

“They’ve broken through the front, and they’re rushing forward.”

“Only God knows what the day will bring.”

Mariana hands him the two packets, and the old man holds them in his trembling hands. “All winter long I haven’t smoked,” he says. “Without cigarettes, life is tasteless. I don’t have the money to buy them. In the past my sons used to bring me tobacco, and I would roll my own cigarettes. This last year they haven’t come. They forgot their father.”

“They didn’t forget. The war blocked the roads.” Mariana defends them.

“If a son wants to see his father, he gets there. Now everyone is waiting for the father to die. An old father is a curse. After his death, they come and finger his possessions and fight over every pillow. That’s it. Who am I to complain? Would you like some potato soup that I made?”

“Gladly, grandfather.”

The hot soup fills them, and Mariana thanks him again.

“People have forgotten that we are commanded to help one another,” the old man murmurs.

Later, they fall into bed and sleep like stones. Mariana wakes up several times and kisses Hugo hard on the neck. He sinks between her breasts and sleeps dreamlessly.

51

They awaken late and expect the old man to offer them a hot cup of tea or a hot herbal brew. The old man doesn’t offer them anything. His eyes are filled with anger. “He’s your son?” he asks.

“Indeed,” she says.

“That’s not how a mother sleeps with her son.” He doesn’t conceal his opinion.

Mariana is stunned by the old man’s sharp comment and freezes in her place.

The old man shuts the door behind them without saying anything.

The morning is bright and quiet. From time to time the muffled thunder of cannon fire breaks through and then fades. Mariana sips from the bottle, curses the old man, and says, “In every old man there lurks a fornicator.” Hugo doesn’t know that word, but he imagines that it refers to something bad.

“What time is it?” asks Mariana, like someone who has suddenly lost track of time.

“Exactly nine-thirty.”

“That’s a good hour. A cup of coffee or something else hot would immediately drive away my thirst. My late mother used to say, ‘Man doesn’t live by bread alone,’ and may I add, preferably
with coffee. I wasted my life for nothing. If I had married a Jew, my situation would be different. A Jew supports his wife, takes care of her, and pampers her.” The word “Jew,” which they didn’t use often in his home, now sounds, in the open field, like a mysterious term, cut off from time and place, hovering above the earth like a little hunted bird.

They advance, and Mariana continues to curse the old man. “There are ghosts everywhere. Sometimes they take on the form of Madam, and sometimes of an old fornicator. There’s no cleanliness in this life. Everything is malice or filth.” After a pause she adds, “Don’t listen to Mariana’s chatter. She’s got to talk. If she doesn’t talk, she’ll explode.”

Hugo has noticed that it is hard for Mariana to listen and not easy for her to speak in complete sentences. But when she drinks from the bottle, the words well up inside her, and she speaks about her father and mother and sister, and sometimes about the friends who haven’t been loyal to her.

Suddenly she asks him, “Do you know what a whore is?”

“Not everything.”

“Better that way.”

Mariana goes on to talk about the pollution of the body and the urgent need to take a bath. “Without a bath, a woman is a chunk of pollution.” But she immediately changes her tone and says, “I yearn for a big bathtub, just for us.” Hugo likes this mood. When Mariana yearns for something, her yearning brings forth a picture: a broad bathtub full of fragrant suds to lie in for hours, buoyed by warm water, and then to doze off in. “A snooze in the bathtub is heaven on earth. Do you agree?”

They walk on without speaking. Hugo is hungry, and his head is spinning. Mariana suggests making a little fire, melting some snow, and adding chocolate to the boiling water. The idea brightens her eyes, and she says, “The world isn’t only darkness. Madam gave us back a little of what she stole. What would I do without brandy?”

As they are about to break off branches and start a fire, Mariana notices a small hut. “A grocery store!” she shouts. “A grocery store in the middle of the white desert. Who would have believed it?” Mariana’s senses haven’t deceived her. It is indeed a village grocery store. An elderly woman stands at the counter.

“Good morning, mother.”

“The morning has already passed, my daughter.” The woman corrects her.

“I’m still holding on to the hem of its apron,” Mariana jokes. “We came to buy a loaf of bread, and some oil, and if you can graciously add some onion, we’d thank you greatly.”

“I have no bread. The war has impoverished us.”

“We’ll make do with rye bread or black bread, any kind of bread. We haven’t eaten for two days.”

“I have no bread, daughter. Potatoes and a little cheese is what I can sell you.”

“Give it to me, mother, and I’ll pay you.”

“With what money will you pay me?”

“With German money.”

“They say that the Germans have retreated. Who will want their money?”

“Take this bracelet. It’s silver with jewels, and add on some smoked meat or sausage.”

The woman is stunned by the offer, but she is immediately captivated by the charm of the glittering jewelry.

“Is it silver or tin?” She tries not to show her interest.

“Pure silver, on my word of honor.”

“God knows the truth. I’ll go see what I have.” She bends down and takes a few potatoes from a crate. “Be generous, mother.”

“A person has to take care of himself, isn’t that so?”

She takes a piece of cheese, a small sausage, and two onions
out of the pantry. “I’ll put it all in a sack for you.” Her voice softens.

“God bless you,” says Mariana.

They return to the fields. The sun stands in the middle of the sky, and it’s warm. Water is already burbling beneath the snow. Here and there they can also see it running. The light returns to Mariana’s face, and it’s evident that the supplies she has just bought have made her happy. “In a little while we’ll stop and light a bonfire and make ourselves a meal fit for kings. But not under the open sky. Mariana is looking for a tree with broad branches. Mariana doesn’t like sitting out in the open.”

Along the way they come upon trees, but not with broad branches. Finally, they find a tree that pleases her. They put their belongings under it and go out to gather firewood. Mariana puts a few papers among the twigs. Before long a fire is kindled.

“I love bonfires. They remind me of my childhood,” she says, and her face is full of light.

52

They sit and look at the fire. The flames are thin and blue and give off a good smell of burning wood. For a long while they just stare at it. The potatoes in the middle of the fire take on a dark crust. It’s pleasant to sit and not do anything.

“God knows what will be, but meanwhile we have something to eat. As long as there are supplies to stave off hunger, there’s nothing to worry about. If the weather stays the way it is now, we can get to the mountains in two or three days, and there it will be easier for us. In the mountains they don’t pursue people who have committed no misdeed.”

The gleaming snow covers the earth, leaving no bare spots. Mariana is apparently apprehensive. “In the mountains, they won’t pursue us,” she repeats. “In the mountains they don’t dig into a person’s past. They respond to his deeds. I’m prepared to do any kind of work and to earn my bread by the sweat of my brow. They’ll see that Mariana’s not lazy,” she says to herself. Suddenly she’s silent.

The potatoes and cheese are tasty. Mariana melts some snow in a pot and prepares tea. The tea and the chocolate-covered wafers remind Hugo of the trips his family would take when the season changed from winter to spring. His mother
loved the white snow flowers that would peek out of the earth that was suddenly laid bare, black and moist.

The vision of those distant and forgotten mountains dazzles Hugo, and he closes his eyes. Now he clearly sees his mother kneeling, looking with wonder at the white flowers, and his father, seeing her wonderment, kneeling as well. For a moment they marvel together without speaking.

This vision, buried within him, breaks through and appears before his eyes, stunning him. Tears catch him unawares and flood his face.

“What’s the matter with you?” says Mariana. “A big fellow like you doesn’t cry anymore.”

“I remembered my parents.”

“You mustn’t cry. We’re setting out on a long and dangerous journey. Who will watch over Mariana? A spoiled fellow cries, but a strong and brave lad mustn’t cry. We’ll have to climb mountains, cross rivers, and get our bread from the earth. A strong boy knows how to suffer and never cries.” Her voice is determined, and Hugo feels that he has made a mistake, that he must overcome his weakness.

“I’m sorry,” he says, and wipes his eyes.

“Crying is hard to forgive. All those years I wanted to cry, but I restrained myself. A person who cries announces to the world that he’s lost and needs pity. A person who asks for pity is a sad sack. You can be anything, but not a sad sack. Do you understand?”

“I understand,” Hugo says, and without doubt he does understand.

“From now on not even a single tear.”

“I promise.”

For quite a while they sit and drink tea. Mariana’s face doesn’t soften. She sinks deep into thought, and her eyes express dour seriousness. In his heart he knows that if he asks
her pardon now, she won’t be forgiving. He must wait and, when the time comes, prove to her that he’s brave, that emotions and weakness have no control over him.

“I’ve been thinking about you,” Mariana says, rousing him from his thoughts. “You’ve changed and matured, but you still have quite a way to go. Jews spoil their children, and they don’t prepare them properly for life. A Ukrainian child works in the field, and if they hit him, he doesn’t cry. He knows that life isn’t a plate of strawberries.”

Then she takes a few swigs from her bottle and stops punishing him. Hugo gathers some twigs and brings the bonfire back to life. “Come to me, baby, and I’ll give you a kiss. It’s good that you’re with me. It’s hard to be alone. Bad thoughts strangle you.”

“Should I melt more snow?”

“There’s no need. We’ve drunk enough. What time is it?”

“Three o’clock.”

“In a little while we’ll have to set out. We can’t sleep outdoors. Let’s hope that God sends us decent people,” she says, and puts the bottle in the fire. Strangely, that motion, which had nothing superfluous about it, implants itself in Hugo’s memory with great clarity. In time he will wonder:
When did the tears freeze in me?

53

The sun sinks toward the horizon, glowing like a red-hot iron. Mariana doesn’t stop marveling at the splendid sight. “If there is beauty like that, it’s a sign that God is in heaven. Only God can create colors like that. My grandma used to say, ‘God created goodness and beauty, and people only spoil what God created.’ ”

They walk on, toward houses that are scattered along the road. Mariana keeps thinking out loud. “I’m amazed at the Jews. An intelligent people, everybody agrees, yet most of them don’t believe in God. How many times did I ask your mother, ‘How is it that you don’t believe in God? After all, you see His deeds every day, every hour.’ ”

“And how did she answer you?” Hugo dares to ask.

“To her credit it must be said that she didn’t talk cleverly and say things beyond what my mind could grasp. She simply said, ‘I lost my faith while at gymnasium, and since then it hasn’t returned to me.’ I’m sorry for your mother and for your uncle Sigmund, who lost their faith in God. I liked to laugh with Sigmund, laugh with my whole heart. I thought that if we married, I could lift myself and him up from drunkenness. But every time we would talk about a wedding, he would make a
dismissive gesture with his right hand, as if to say,
I’ve already tried that. There’s no point to it
.

“At first I thought that he didn’t want to marry me because I’m a simple woman. Later I understood that he was a lost person. I was willing to marry him as he was, to cook his meals and wash his clothes, but then the hard days came, the persecution and the ghetto, and he told me something I’ll never forget: ‘I can’t be saved any longer. Save yourself. The Jews have been condemned to death. You’re still young.’ Every time I remember that, I choke with pain. What a marvelous man, what a great soul.”