Blooms of Darkness (22 page)

Then Mariana falls silent and walks with her head bowed, sunk within herself. Hugo doesn’t disturb her. When Mariana is silent, she’s gathering her thoughts in order to reveal them to him later. When she’s thinking, she’s connected to other worlds. Sometimes she reveals a bit to him. Once she said, “Don’t forget, there’s an upper world and a lower world. We’re mired in the lower world. If we’re good, God will save us and take us to Him up above. I have no patience for all the little acts of deceit that we have to experience here. I want Him to redeem me now. He knows how much I’ve suffered here. I’m sure He will take that into account when He comes to judge me. I’m not afraid. Whatever He does, I’ll accept with love. I feel great closeness to Him and to His holy son.”

Suddenly a man comes out of one of the houses and strides toward them. Mariana is frightened and says, “Let’s step aside.”

Hugo has noticed that people who appeared suddenly frightened her. There were people she recognized from a distance and avoided. It’s strange how many people she knows. Once she said, “I know that bastard, and also his brother, and also his cousin. I wish I didn’t know them. Every time I remember them, my body weeps. Good God, what have I done to my miserable body? I’m a criminal.”

Two days before they set out, Hugo heard Mariana say to
her friends in The Residence, “There’s no sense in running away. They’ll identify us easily. If the father doesn’t, the son will.” Everybody laughed. Then he heard one of the women say, “Whores and Jews are always persecuted. There’s nothing to be done.”

Night falls, and Mariana decides to knock on the door of a meager hut. An old woman opens the door and asks, “Who are you?”

“My name is Maria. This is my son, Janek. Our house is close to the front, and we’re looking for a place to spend tonight.”

“What will you give me in return?”

“A bottle of good drink. That’s what I have.”

“Come in. I don’t want to waste the heat.”

The hut is tidy and clean. The smell of starch fills the two rooms. “Sit down,” says the old woman, and she serves them hot herbal tea. Mariana tells her that they have been on the road for days because the front is getting close to their house.

“The Russians are coming back?”

“They’re coming back.”

“Woe is me for those who were here and woe is me for those who are coming. The first are murderers, the second are heretics. God is sending us difficult trials.”

Mariana takes an ornate bottle of liqueur out of the suitcase and hands it to the old woman. The old woman grabs it and says, “A pretty bottle. Let’s hope the drink inside is worthy of the vessel that preserves it. In our times, everything is deception.”

The bed is wide and soft, and they sleep in each other’s embrace all night long. Hugo tells Mariana that the brandy in her mouth is sweet and tasty. Mariana is enthralled. In her great enthusiasm, she hugs him and says, “Kiss me anywhere you feel
like it. You’re my knight. You’re better than anything I ever knew in my life.”

Afterward, he sinks into her and into a deep sleep. In his dream, people are trying to snatch Mariana away from him. He grips her with all his strength and drags her back. In the end, they both fall into a pit and are saved.

54

Outside the sun is already high in the sky, a warm sun. The snow, which sparkled only yesterday with its poignant beauty, has already lost its crispness and turned into muddy slush.

“What’s the matter with you, snow?” Mariana lifts her head and calls out. The sight of her raised head reminds Hugo of an animal whose master has abandoned it. “Now all the roads are open, and the Russians will advance as they please. Until now the snow and the storms protected us. Now all the fortifications have collapsed. The tanks will speed right through to us, but you’ll protect Mariana. You’ll tell them that Mariana protected you and loved you. Am I lying?”

“You’re telling the truth,” replies Hugo.

“Say it a bit louder.”

Hugo raises his voice and shouts, “Mariana is telling the truth. Let everyone know that there’s no one like Mariana. She’s beautiful, good, and loyal.”

Now a new spirit grips her, and she speaks of the different life that is in store for them in the mountains. “People in the mountains are quiet, they work in the fields and in vegetable gardens. We’ll also work in vegetable gardens, and at noon we’ll sit under a broad-branched tree and eat corn porridge with cheese and cream, and finish off with a cup of fragrant coffee. It
will be warm and pleasant, and we’ll doze a little. After our nap, we’ll return to the vegetable gardens. Tilling the soil is good for the body and the soul. We’ll work till sunset, and in the evening we’ll return to our hut, and no one will find fault with us.”

But meanwhile, they gather wood and light a fire. Mariana makes tea and is about to soar off again in her imagination when some bad luck appears, as though emerging from beneath the earth—a peasant. He fixes her with an angry look and says, “What are you doing here?”

“Nothing,” she answers, stunned.

“Get out of here.”

“What harm have I done?”

“You’re even asking?”

Now it seems as though he is about to come over and hit her. Mariana rises to her feet and cries out, “I’m not afraid of death. God knows the truth, and He will judge me with justice. God hates hypocrites and self-righteous people.”

“You’re talking about God?” he says, and spits at her.

“You’ll pay for that spit. God remembers every injustice. You’ll get yours in this world and in the world to come. His account book is open, and He writes everything down.”

“Whore,” he hisses, and goes on his way.

Mariana sits back down, boiling with rage. Hugo knows he has to leave her alone now. When Mariana is furious, she falls silent and bites her lips, and then she curses for a long time, swigging from the bottle and mumbling. Hugo likes to hear her mumblings. They burble like running water.

Suddenly, as though just waking up, she says, “Mariana is too concerned with herself and forgets that she has a darling of a lad. We have to learn how to see the good. My grandma used to say, ‘The world is full of His goodness, too bad our eyes don’t see it.’ Do you remember your grandma?” Again she surprises him.

“Grandpa and Grandma live in the Carpathians,” replies
Hugo. “They have a little farm, and we go to them for summer vacations. Life in the Carpathians is very different from life in the city. There a different clock ticks, with different hands. You go out for a walk in the morning and come home in the evening, day after day.”

“Are your grandparents religious?”

“Grandpa prays every morning. He wraps himself in a prayer shawl, and you can’t see his face. When Grandma prays, she hides her face in both hands.”

“I’m glad you got to see them.”

“Everything there is very beautiful, very quiet, and wrapped in mystery.”

“There are things that we see and don’t understand, but in time they become clear. I’m glad you saw your grandparents praying. A person who prays is close to God. In my early childhood I knew how to pray. Since then, much water has flowed.”

They heed their feet and move on. From the villages near the main road they hear the roar of tanks and the cheering of the peasants. They move away from the main road and are bogged down in the melting snow. The wetness penetrates Hugo’s shoes, and he is sorry he left his other pair in the closet.

Once again he sees the closet before his eyes, and Mariana’s room, and the hall where the young women gathered. The many days he spent there now seem as though they belong in a hidden world within him, a world that will be revealed to him in detail one day. For now, it’s locked behind seven locks.

“What are you thinking about?”

“About the closet and about your room.” He doesn’t hide it from her.

“Better to forget that. For me it was a jail cell. The people and the walls only darkened my life. I thank God for freeing me from that prison and giving you to me.”

As they slog through the snow, another mood grips Mariana. “You’ll forget me,” she says. “You’ll grow up, and you’ll
have other interests. Women will chase you. I’ll be remembered as a strange woman in the flow of your life. You’ll be successful. I have no doubt that you’ll be successful. Your success will be so great that not even for a moment will you ask yourself, ‘Who was that Mariana, who was with me in The Residence and in the open fields?’ ”

“Mariana,” he dares to interrupt her, “I’ll always be with you.”

“It’s customary to say that.”

“I love you,” he says, and his voice chokes.

“So you say.”

“I’ll go with you wherever you go. Remove doubt from your heart.”

Mariana chuckles and says, “It’s not your fault, darling. It’s man’s rotten nature. A person is just flesh and blood, enslaved to the day and to the needs of that day. When she doesn’t have a house, and she doesn’t have food, and she doesn’t have a living soul, she does what I did. I could have been a laundress or a servant in the house of some rich people, but I went to The Residences. In a residence, you’re not yourself. You’re a chunk of flesh that they roll and turn over, pinch, or just bite. At the end of the night, you’re bruised and wounded and you bury yourself in the pit of sleep. Do you understand what I’m trying to tell you?”

“I’m trying.”

“Mariana doesn’t like the word ‘trying.’ Either you understand or you don’t. ‘Trying’ is a word for spoiled people, for people who don’t know how to decide. Listen to what Mariana is telling you, don’t say ‘I’m trying’—do it!”

55

The day, which began with a clear, bright sky, suddenly clouds over, and a fierce rain beats down on them. While they are looking for a tree to hide under, they notice an empty storage shed, and Mariana, in high spirits, immediately proclaims, “God preserves the innocent. God knew that we had no house and He provided us with a roof over our heads.”

Mariana doesn’t pray often, but she frequently announces that God is in heaven and that, because He exists, there’s nothing to fear. If troubles come to you, examine your deeds and accept the troubles with love.

Mariana is inconsistent in her faith. Often, when she was in distress, despair overwhelmed her. Once Hugo found her pounding her head against the wall and shouting bitterly, “Why was I born? What is my purpose in this world? Only to serve as a mattress for soldiers? If that’s it, I’d rather die.”

Now her spirits are high. She is singing and joking, and she calls the Jews good and delicate creatures whose lives were spoiled by mental confusion. Even Sigmund, who was as addicted to his liquor as a Ukrainian, even he didn’t know how to shake off niggling thoughts.
Now I won’t think
, he would say to himself.
Now I’m giving myself over to the caprice of my heart
. “More than once I begged him, ‘Sigmund, call out loud, God is
in heaven. You don’t know how much good that will do you.’ Hearing my request, he would burst out laughing, as if I’d said something foolish. He never agreed to admit that God exists. He kept saying, ‘How do you know? If you give me one little proof, I’ll start to believe.’ ‘The soul,’ I kept saying, ‘doesn’t your soul announce to you that God exists?’ And what was his answer? ‘Even the existence of the soul needs proof.’ That’s why I say, the Jews can’t live without proof.

“But you, my sweet, you already know that there’s no need for proofs. You just have to direct your soul in the correct manner. Faith is a simple matter. If you believe in God, you’ll see a lot of beauty. And another thing, don’t use the word ‘contradiction.’ Sigmund used to say to me sometimes, ‘There’s a contradiction in what you’re saying.’ I loved every word that came out of his mouth, but not that word. I often tried to uproot that strange word from his head, but he stood his ground. I hoped that at least in his drunkenness, he would discover and admit that God exists. But all my efforts were in vain.”

These reminiscences don’t make them sad. Mariana and Hugo make love as though they were in a wide double bed, not an abandoned storage shed. Hugo again promises that he will always be with her, in good and bad times.

“In a little while your mother will come and take you away from me,” Mariana says.

“The war isn’t over yet.”

“The war will be over soon, and they’ll do to Mariana what they did to the Jews.”

“You’re exaggerating.” He allows himself to correct her.

“Realistic predictions don’t exaggerate, they show you what will be. You have to be alert and listen to them. Don’t be afraid, darling, Mariana’s not afraid of death. Death isn’t as horrible as it’s described. You pass from this world to a better one. True, there is a heavenly court, but you should know that
it takes not only deeds into account but also intentions. Do you understand?”

The rain, which seemed to be determined and angry just a while ago, stops all at once. The sun comes out again, and the fields are spread out, flat and broad. The isolated trees in the heart of the plain look like forgotten signposts from another age.

Later Hugo falls asleep. He barely hears the last words that Mariana says. He sleeps and dreams many dreams, but all he remembers is his mother’s face. His mother was in the pharmacy, completely absorbed in the effort to decipher a prescription that had been handed to her. It was noon, just before the pharmacy closed for lunch. At that hour the pharmacy was usually full. His father was in the adjacent room, mixing a prescription for a customer. That familiar picture, of which Hugo knew every detail, made him happy. He expected his mother to notice him and be surprised. But although she was apparently aware of him, she didn’t pay him any notice. For a long time Hugo stood and wondered why. Finally he decided,
If they’re ignoring me, I’ll be on my way
.

The sun is setting, and again the nagging question arises. “Where will we sleep?” Mariana knocks on several doors, but no one is willing to let them stay the night. In the tavern, she is immediately recognized, and everyone mocks and curses her. Mariana isn’t silent. She calls them adulterers and sanctimonious men who lord it over the weak. “The time will come, and it’s not far away, when God will punish you. God doesn’t forgive adultery or self-righteousness. He adds punishment upon punishment.”