The Light at the End of the Day

by Eleanor Wasserberg

  Karolina bit the inside of her cheek. She must be about sixteen, seventeen, Jozef thought. I should be more careful.

  ‘It’s only that,’ she faltered, her own face flushing. ‘Thank you for the thought, but Papa and Mama would never think of it. It’s only Alicia they’d want.’

  ‘But,’ he said, moving towards her and trying not to smile, ‘I painted a portrait of you and your mother, years ago. Don’t you remember?’ As he asked her, he felt vertigo from trying to reach back to those days, trying to align the little child he had painted, all chubby arms and squirming, with this still, barefoot creature fixing him with a level gaze.

  ‘That was before Alicia was born.’ She spoke simply, without bitterness.

  Jozef had been the favourite himself. He was the only boy, and his sisters had been lumped together and dismissed, while his voice was always heard, his work celebrated, his whims indulged. He considered comforting Karolina with denial, a claim that Adam had also asked for a portrait of her this time, and explaining to him afterwards. But he could see the sharpness in Karolina’s eyes, and saw that she would resent the platitude.

  ‘Parents love all of their children, but there is always a favourite. It’s no one’s fault,’ he tried. She nodded. He went on, ‘It’s not always good to be the golden child, either. The pressure.’

  ‘I don’t think Alicia feels any pressure.’

  He hadn’t meant to get pulled into petty family politics.

  ‘We should find your sister. I’d like to work in the morning light.’

  His encounter with Karolina had made him even less interested in Alicia. They found her in her room with a pile of dresses, an obscene frothy pile of silk and frill and lace.

  ‘I don’t know which one,’ she said as they came into the room. ‘I should have asked Papa before he left for work.’

  ‘Good morning,’ Jozef said, unable to resist the rebuke to her manners. He wouldn’t indulge her any more than he had to.

  ‘Good morning,’ she replied listlessly. She seemed genuinely worried about the dresses, and Jozef felt a flash of exasperation.

  ‘It really doesn’t matter about the dress,’ he said, trying to keep his voice soft. ‘It’s just sketches today.’

  ‘Alicia? Did you hear? Don’t worry,’ Karolina said, kneeling down to where her sister was rummaging, almost feverishly. She was sitting on a pile of fabric.

  ‘You look like the Princess and the Pea, Ala,’ Karolina teased her.

  ‘It has to be perfect,’ Alicia almost whispered.

  ‘What you are wearing today is fine for now,’ Jozef said.

  They went back to the window where Karolina had been reading. The older girl found another window seat, with a dog curled in her lap, to watch them and sometimes make notes in a leather book. Jozef wondered if she was also sketching, but thought better of asking her. He asked Alicia to stand naturally by the window so the light found one side of her face.

  It was like navigating in a snowstorm. There was nothing to catch the eye, to create a composition from. A blank of plain face and dull hair and the white smock he assumed was day wear in the house, a kind of rich girl uniform. To relax her, he asked Karolina to hand Alicia the dog, which lolled in her arms.

  He’d expected laziness, distraction; he had a stock of wheedling phrases and false jollity stored up, expected long breaks and trifling chatter. Instead she was so focused as to be unnerving, stood almost too still, breathed in shallow sips as though afraid. Karolina was also puzzled, he could see, glancing up from her notebook and watching her sister with a small smile that told her surprise.

  Jozef tried to relax her. He asked questions about her education, what she was reading, what her favourite game was. Who was her best friend? Alicia, her head and face turned slightly from him as directed, answered from a tiny opening at the side of her mouth in the shortest possible answers, until she crossed into rudeness.

  ‘Alicia,’ Karolina said. ‘Mr Pienta asked you about Mimi, did you hear him?’

  Alicia broke the pose and glared at him. She put down the dog, which trotted away primly, tinkling bells. ‘She is three, I heard the question. Why don’t you want to sketch?’

  ‘Alicia!’ her sister rebuked her.

  Jozef smiled at her, repressing his dislike. ‘I am sketching. Only you are a little … stiff. Try to relax a little. Try—’

  ‘I’m standing how you told me to stand.’

  Her face was reddening in a warning of tears. Jozef retreated to the sketch, pretended to be engrossed in the dull lines. His own petulance threatened to overspill and wash away his mask of deference; he allowed himself, half ashamed and half satisfied, to think vicious insults against Alicia as he sketched the same line again and again. By the time he got to spoiled little bitch he had exorcised some of his irritation. He glanced up again, to where Alicia was still standing in the odd puppet-like way, the muscles on her neck so taut they looked painful. Her arms in the white smock were bare and goose-bumped; he saw they were still carrying some puppy fat.

  ‘Come, come,’ he said, softening his voice and soothing his conscience a little. ‘Let me show you what I’m doing, maybe that will help.’

  He had only meant this for Alicia, but they both came, Karolina breaking the spine of her book as she laid it face down. They stood behind him and he tried to explain.

  ‘For now I’m just trying to get an idea of the shape and the pose. See?’ He ran his finger over the edge of the composition. ‘At the moment it’s too much of a block, like a square. Best is if there is some graceful line, here—’ he broke off to curve the edge of the line where Alicia’s arm and side could make an oval with his finger, smudging the pencil line. ‘And on the other side, something different. See now you are like a stiff old photograph, like—’ and he turned to them, made a rictus face, his arms pinned to his side, leaned onto his toes so his calves strained. It worked; the girls laughed. ‘There is no interesting line in the shape to—’

  ‘Yes, I see,’ Alicia said. Karolina was also nodding, but her eye was wandering back to her book. Jozef smiled at Alicia but it was clear to him she had no idea what he was talking about. At least she might relax a little.

  She went back to her position, curved her right arm into her side, placed her left arm on the edge of the windowsill, tilted her right shoulder slightly forward. Jozef laughed in surprise. Professional models in the big studios needed more coaching.

  ‘That’s it, just exactly as I said, absolutely perfect. You’re quick.’

  The girl flushed with pleasure. That’s how to handle her, Jozef thought. No one tells her she’s clever.

  ‘See,’ Jozef went on, ‘now the light is catching you in interesting ways. Let me just …’ He rummaged, found his chalk. ‘Karolina, you see?’ but she was reading now, looked up briefly, smiled and nodded, returned to her other world. Alicia made a movement when he said ‘see’ but he held up a hand, showing her his palm, and she stayed still with a smile.

  He began to dart chalk over the sketch: here, the crook of that elbow, here, the left cheek, pushing the right further into shadow. A small crown of light here towards the forehead: Adam would like that, but it also drew the eye up to the face. He felt specks of excitement, worked quickly to anchor the ideas. His own work, that wispy ghost back in his studio, evaporated. He fell into a rare state of focus, vaguely aware of the two girls and the turning of Karolina’s pages, her occasional yawn and stretch, noting the movement of light, its creep across the carpet and angular growth along the curtains. A portrait like this would usually be punctuated with rests for the child, but after her brief lesson Alicia was perfectly still, moved just so when directed, her eyes fixed on some far-away point. The sunlight warmed the room, the low hum of the city outside was soothing in its monotony, the contrast between the hush inside and the bustle below; the three of them stayed as though under a spell. There was no awkwardness in the silence between them now, but a quickly strengthening thread of purpose.

 
8

  ANNA HAD WORN the wrong shoes. They pinched around her toes, and a low throb of pain had begun in a ridge where the leather dug in. The sun had coaxed her into walking the short way from the apartment into the shopping district around the Ulica Floriańska.

  She had been in the apartment too long, absorbing Adam’s nerves, the crying of the servants, the quiet confusion of her daughters over their parents’ lies and pronouncements. Restlessness tickled at her as she sat for hour after hour in the stiff-backed chair in her husband’s study, listening to him read out sections of news reports, watching him fiddle with the radio, echoing the reports as though continuing a long debate, though she had said nothing, a half-read magazine in her lap.

  When she’d said she was going shopping, Robert had gone to ready the car, and Janie began collecting her outdoor things: boots, coat, gloves. But then the doorbell had rung and the painter arrived, and there was tea to order and small talk to be made, and she would have been trapped with the man all day if she hadn’t slipped out as he ate his pastries, giving instructions to Karolina to take care of him.

  It was poor manners, she knew, but he was only a portrait painter. Besides, she thought, as she walked as slowly as she dared, hoping for a stately rather than hobbling effect, Karolina would soon need to learn how to host. She was seventeen now, and couldn’t curl up like a little beetle with her books much longer. Perhaps they would send her to university, all her beloved books and their musty smell; she would meet a husband there, or perhaps she might marry one of Adam’s business associates. A society wedding, with a reception at the Wentzl or at a villa out near Zakopane, perhaps. The newlyweds would settle in Kraków, one of the nice apartments near the river. The ghosts of Anna’s parents would say to each other, Look at the way our little Aneczka’s daughter lives. Look how our blood has trickled upwards.

  With the distraction of her daydreaming Anna had crossed the Glowny, barely registering the Cloth Hall and its crowds. She stopped now to look back at the square, pleased she had forgotten to feel anxious. So, the air tasted the same, people seemed friendly, even happy enough. She couldn’t see any posters, any signs. Milo’s face drifted across her mind, its satisfied sneer. A man stepped in her way, apologised, moved around her. A small group was gathering to hear the bugler on the hour. All was as it should be. Anna turned and tripped over a little as she did so. A man caught her arm.

  ‘Oh! Thank you.’

  ‘Watch your step, the cobbles are so uneven here.’

  ‘Yes, I know, I—’

  ‘Not from here, are you?’

  ‘Excuse me?’

  ‘I saw you, looking around. Waiting to hear the bugler?’

  She set her mouth a little, annoyed with herself for falling, literally, into conversation with this overfamiliar man, who up close she saw was wearing a dirty coat and no gloves. She gave a tiny nod, started to move away.

  ‘He’ll be playing in a minute,’ the man said, touching her arm again.

  She should just keep walking, but instead she said, ‘Yes, I know that.’

  ‘Lived here all my life. Good time to visit.’ He tapped his nose, and his eyes began wandering over her face.

  This was too much. She turned sharply and walked, ignoring her screaming feet. With a jolt she saw that he was following her.

  ‘Oh, don’t want to hear him? I said it’s a good time to visit.’

  ‘Yes, I heard you.’ She sped up.

  ‘Don’t you want to hear why?’ He took hold of her arm.

  She felt a heat rising, began to glance around for, what? Police? The Glowny was full of people, so why did she feel so afraid?

  ‘I live here, and I’d appreciate if you left me alone.’ She was dismayed that her voice had a tiny shake in it. He was too close, she could smell vodka on his breath, and he still had hold of her arm. He was studying her face.

  ‘Kraków accent, is that?’

  ‘Excuse me?’

  ‘You’re from across the river.’

  What she had thought was aggressive flirtation, the vague threat of a strange man talking to her, a pretty woman, in the street, became something else. He was looking not with admiration or even with open, disgusting lust. She began to feel cold.

  ‘I beg your pardon? I live right here in the centre.’

  ‘Hmm.’ He smiled, gripped still tighter. ‘You hide it well, but I can hear it in the vowels.’ He tapped his nose with his other hand, grinned at her. ‘I know all the sounds of Kraków. I bet you speak Yiddish, don’t you?’

  ‘Let me go,’ she hissed, and wrenched her arm away. ‘How dare you touch me?’ Her voice rose. ‘Excuse me!’ she called out to a group of men nearby. ‘This man is—’

  The man backed off as the men approached. He seemed amused. She waved the men away, feeling that her throat had closed and if she were to speak, her voice would betray her and get stuck.

  Ignoring the pain in her feet, she almost stamped to the Ulica Floriańska, rehearsing how she should have spoken to the man, angry with herself for falling into such a young girl’s trap, angry that Adam’s fears had seeped through the apartment walls and followed her through the streets. In the old neighbourhood it was rare for strangers to approach you like that; everyone knew each other, but as she’d grown up and the family had got richer there had been more and more forays into the city, and she had had catcalls, looks, even a touch once or twice. It had been an annoyance, like flies in summer. Strange that in the middle of a crowd, older, in the day, she should feel so afraid. No. She was spooked by Milo and his needling, by Adam’s childishness. She wouldn’t look at it.

  She stopped at the window of a favourite millinery shop, where the displays were always imaginative. The assistant was arranging ribbons, dangling silk butterflies around the jewel-coloured hats. She caught Anna’s eye for a moment, gave a courteous nod. Anna indulged in a quick thought to her younger self: You can just walk in and buy one, Aneczka, if you want. Leaning a little against the glass to relieve the pressure on her feet, she looked like her childhood self, she thought. Her little fingers splayed, she moved so her nose was pressed against the glass for a second, felt its cold bite. It was so like the way Alicia stood against the windows at home that she felt a tiny tug of warmth for her. In the glass she studied her face, looking for Alicia and Karolina there, finding, with a jolt, her mother instead.

  ‘Anna?’

  She jumped. What did she look like, peering into the window like a street child? Worse, it was Janina Kardas, holding her hand up and squinting in an ugly way, a kind of twisted smile. Oh, go away, Anna thought, of course it would be you who would catch me off my guard.

  ‘Mrs Kardas, hello,’ Anna said, limping a little as she came to take her hand.

  ‘Janina, please.’

  ‘I was just … I came to see if any of the new season’s clothes … I love these displays, don’t you? Isn’t it mild today? Aren’t you hot in that thick dress?’

  Janina frowned at the barb, which Anna instantly regretted. I should just go home, she thought.

  ‘Oh Anna, your shoes!’ Janina cried. ‘What on earth? Is that blood?’

  ‘No, of course not.’

  ‘It is, it is!’ Janina crowed. ‘It’s seeping right through your stockings! Won’t you sit down?’ Her grip on Anna’s arm was strong, guiding her into the shop where the sweet smell of leather, the tick of an ornamental clock, soothed some of Anna’s nerves. The shop girl from the window offered a chair, then tea, biscuits. Would madam like some water? As she bustled away, Janina, who had also accepted a chair, took Anna’s hand with alarming tenderness.

  ‘Are you all right, my dear? Are you …?’ Her face was open with glee. Anna almost laughed.

  ‘Oh my goodness,’ she said, shaking her head. ‘I was just remembering … at the window. I used to shop here when I was younger,’ she lied. Imagine, another baby, at her age! She felt a pang of affection for Adam, prone on the bed the night before, imploring her to be a friend to him. The idea that the
ir neighbours took for granted that they were still lovers pleased her.

  Janina gave her hand a squeeze. ‘It’s only that you looked so strange.’ She kept her hand on Anna’s. Her older soft skin made Anna think of her mother, who had loved her granddaughters so much. Neither of them could remember her, though Karolina had written poems about her that Anna had secretly read, sense memories that had clutched at her: the surprising strength of her grip, the smell of slightly burnt hair, her way of cupping the girls’ faces in her hands. Anna released Janina’s hand, picked up a hat, began turning it over in her hands, feeling a familiar terrifying hollowness gaping inside her. She could never imagine holding her children’s hands, or cupping their faces in her mother’s way.

  ‘Anna?’ Janina said.

  ‘My feet do hurt, you’re right. My own fault, I rushed out this morning without thinking.’

  ‘Is everything all right?’

  ‘I wonder if I shouldn’t have come into town today.’

  ‘But there’s nothing to fear.’

  ‘A man—’ she broke off as the girl arrived with a tray of tea things. What would she say? A man touched my arm, and told me this was a good time to visit, and then heard something in my accent? The girl was very young, wore too much make-up. The tea was in good quality china, and Anna felt she would have to buy something.

  ‘This is a beautiful style,’ she said, gesturing behind her, as the girl clinked saucers around. ‘I’ll take three.’

  The girl smiled. ‘Of course, madam.’

  Janina said, ‘Yes, you must feel you should be at home, comforting the children.’

  ‘To them it’s just some broken windows in another country.’

  Janina flushed. ‘Well.’

  ‘It’s Adam who is so affected.’

  ‘But you’ve come out? A wife should—’

  ‘Yes, yes, but he’s gone into work today.’

  Janina was silenced by Anna’s tone. They sipped their over-sweetened tea. Anna watched the people outside, strolling, linking arms, nannies with their charges. Some glanced inside, and she felt on display, but oddly grateful for the glass and ribbons, the girl’s manners, even Janina.