That night Hugo sleeps with Mariana in the big bed. Her soft body and her perfumes surround him with sharp pleasure. “You’re mine, you’re all mine. Men are bullies and coarse in spirit, and only you are strong and sweet.” Thus, with a wave of her hand, Mariana drives away the darkness, which just a few hours earlier was about to smother him.
34
But over the next few days, there is no light. Mariana keeps saying that without brandy she’ll go out of her mind. The guests don’t complain about her, but some of them say, “What’s the matter with you? Where has the fire in you gone?”
Mariana is suffering, and Hugo can feel it in everything she does. She scrubs the room every day, and shakes out the mattress and the blankets. Hugo notices that her movements are fierce, and that when she lights a cigarette, her fingers tremble.
Mariana’s guests are soldiers and officers, and Hugo soon learns that the war is going badly for them now. Many soldiers are being sent to the front. Once he hears one of them tell her, “Tomorrow they’re sending me to the East. Take this ring with my name engraved on it. I passed the nicest hours of this cursed war with you.”
Hearing his words, Mariana bursts into tears.
“Why are you crying?”
“I feel sorry for you,” she says, and cries some more.
One evening she brings Hugo a bottle of brandy and says, “You’ll watch over it. You won’t let me drink too much. I’ll sip a little before my morning sleep, and a little at night, when I don’t have clients. You’ll be on watch and say to me, Mariana, now you’re not allowed to drink. You’re smart and know exactly when I’m allowed to drink and when it’s forbidden. I lose track. You’ll be my bookkeeper.”
Hugo knows in his heart that the job is a thankless one, and the day is not far when Mariana will say, Don’t mix in, don’t tell me what to do. But he does what she wants and says, “I’ll watch over the bottle, and if it’s necessary, I’ll remind you.”
That night Hugo dreams he’s in a field full of flowers and trees, and his parents are sitting by his side. They used to take day trips to the Carpathians every season. Their favorites were the spring and the summer. They would explore and would wonder at the landscapes. Then they would sit on the ground and eat a light meal, speaking little. The wagon driver would wait for them next to one of the tall trees. He usually drank a drop too much and became merry.
On the way back, he would joke about the Jews, who don’t drink and always retain their sanity. “Sanity, you should know, Doctor,” he said to Hugo’s father, “does not always help in life. Too much sanity spoils the flavor of life. You take three or four drinks, and you’re immediately in a world where everything is good.”
“Excessive drinking is harmful to your health,” Hugo’s father would respond.
“Even somebody who takes care of his health will get sick in the end.”
“Lying in hospital isn’t a pleasure I’d wish on myself.”
“Sooner or later everybody ends up there,” the wagon driver would crow victoriously.
Hugo’s father liked the wagon drivers. He would listen to their wishes and their confessions, and sometimes he tried to deflate somewhat their baseless self-assurance. But of course nothing worked, and they stuck to their guns. They were planted like boulders in their way of thinking. At the end of the argument, they would say, “The Jews are stubborn, a stiff-necked people. You can’t change their minds.”
Hearing that, Hugo’s father would burst out laughing and say, “You’re right.”
“What good does it do me to be right?” the driver would say, and then join in the laughter.
This time, in his dream, it’s different. Hugo’s mother looks at him in wonderment, as if to say, Why won’t you tell me what happened to you?
Hugo recovers and says, “What is there to tell? I was in Mariana’s closet.”
“I know that. After all, I’m the one who brought you to her. But what did you see there, and what did you hear, and how did the days pass for you?”
“That’s a long story,” he replies ambiguously.
“Will we ever hear the whole story from you?”
“What is there to tell?” He tries again to evade her.
“Everything interests us,” his mother says in a tone familiar to him.
“There were days as long as the underworld and days as short as a breeze,” says Hugo, glad that he found the words.
“I didn’t imagine I would be able to come here again,” his mother says.
“It’s impossible to forget summers in the Carpathians.” Language returns to Hugo.
“Thank God we’re together.”
“Do you believe in God?” Hugo is glad he can ask questions, and not only be the one asked. “Why do you ask?”
“In our earlier life, I never heard you say, ‘Thank God.’ ”
“My mother, your grandmother, would sometimes say, ‘Thank God.’ Now I allow myself to speak in her words. Is that a sin?”
Here Hugo’s father intervenes. He is dressed in his white suit, which gives a simple elegance to his height.
“One doesn’t easily acquire beliefs or change them,” he says. “I’ve remained as I was.”
“I can’t believe my ears,” says Hugo’s mother, and she raises her head.
“Did you change?” his father asks in a tone intended to relieve the tension in the air.
“It seems to me that we’ve all changed. You were in a labor camp for about two years, and you built the bridges over the Bug River. Hugo was with Mariana, and I worked like a slave in the fields. Could it be that all of this didn’t change us?”
“I feel that I’ve grown older, but not that I’ve changed,” replies Hugo’s father.
“As for me,” says Hugo, touching the cross on his chest, “this cross saved me.”
That statement makes his parents fall silent, and they stand in astonishment at their son’s words. It’s clear they won’t go on to ask what or why.
35
Mariana’s torments as she tries to dry out extend through the whole day. Every morning, after breakfast, Hugo hands her the bottle, and she takes a few long gulps, saying, “You’re my secret, you’re my elixir of life, you keep me alive.” For caution’s sake, she splashes perfume on her body and clothes. “No one will notice that I drank,” she says.
When Mariana is sad or depressed, it’s hard for her to restrain herself. “Just one sip,” she says, “and no more.” Hugo hands her the bottle, and she drinks and whispers, “Hide the bottle fast, so that I won’t see it.” And when her friends discover that she has had a drink, they rebuke her. “Have you sinned again?”
“Just a sip.”
“Be careful,” they warn, “Madam has a sense of smell like a dog’s.”
Sometimes her friend Kitty comes into her room. Kitty is very short, and she looks like a girl who ended up there by mistake on the way home from school. She is charming and cheerful, and she amuses her friends. She has, it seems, customers who are hers and hers alone.
Kitty likes to tell about her experiences, and she sometimes talks about them at length and in detail. Mariana and her friends don’t talk about theirs. Their impressions are usually summed up in a single word or a short sentence, A beast, disgusting, horrid; what do you expect from an unbridled bull? I feel like vomiting. Only rarely do you hear, He brought me a box of candy, he told me about his house in Salzburg.
Hugo learns from them that there is a special unit in the city that hunts down Jews. Every week they find a few. Mainly the Jews are executed, but some are interrogated and tortured until they reveal their friends’ hiding places. The Germans intend to kill them down to the very last one, Hugo hears, and he shivers.
One day the closet door opens, and Kitty is standing in the entrance. “I came to see you. Mariana has told me a lot about you.”
Hugo rises to his feet and doesn’t know what to say. “Good Lord, you’re my height. How old are you?”
“In a little while I�
��ll be twelve.”
“I’m twice your age, even a bit more. What do you do all day?”
“Nothing. What is there to do here?”
“Don’t you read? Jews liked to read, isn’t that so?”
“I think, and sometimes I imagine things.”
“Are you afraid?”
“No.”
“Mariana told me about you. She likes you.”
“And are you content here?” he dares to ask.
“This is my life,” she says with a simplicity that touches his heart. After a pause, she adds, “I’m an orphan. I’ve been an orphan for twenty years. This is my home. Here I have friends.”
“Don’t you have sisters?”
“I’m an only child,” she says and chuckles.
In the school where Hugo studied, there were some girls Kitty’s height, with the same look. But Kitty isn’t a girl. She reminds him, for some reason, of Frieda, who also had a girlish face. The last time he saw her, she was crushed among the deportees, waving her straw hat.
“Aren’t you bored?”
“No.”
“I would be bored. I need friends. You’re a good-looking boy, and it’s no wonder that Mariana likes you.”
“I help her.” Hugo tries to diminish his status.
“How?”
“In whatever way I can.”
“That’s good of you,” says Kitty. “I’ll come to visit you again. Now I have to go.”
“Did I disappoint you?”
“No. Not at all. You’re a good-looking, smart boy. I was curious and so I came to see you.” She smiles and locks the closet door.
Hugo takes out the Bible and reads the story of Joseph. He immediately visualizes Joseph as a slightly built prince, dressed in a striped coat. His brothers are earthy and coarse of spirit, and their eyes disclose that they are out to harm him. Strangely, Joseph ignores their plots. He is immersed in his princely world. Every time his brothers speak, he smiles, as though he has uncovered their dark interior. In his heart he knows that his brothers would not hesitate to murder him, but he ignores them purposely, and in so doing he expresses his contempt for them.
Reading and thinking about what he has read restores to Hugo, without his realizing it, some of the life he had lost. Before his eyes he sees his German teacher, a converted Jew, who used to formulate ideas clearly. Franz and Anna were his favorites. But it seems to Hugo that the dark days in the closet have secretly taught him things that he lacked, and that when school resumes, he, too, will be able to express his thoughts tersely, without getting tangled up in pointless details.
That little discovery pleases him.
36
The harvest is over. Wagons laden with straw roll along the dirt roads. Hugo sits and watches them. The more he looks, the more he knows that he once saw laden wagons like that during a golden summer along the Prut, but where it was and under what circumstances, he can’t remember. That forgetting pains him. Not long ago he saw his parents standing right next to him, at their full height, and now they are just passing shadows. Every time he tries to visualize them, they slip away or are covered with darkness. Their voices, too, which were bright and clear, have faded.
Mariana keeps saying—as always, with repressed anger—that her body can’t withstand this pressure for long. She speaks about her body as a being that she has no control over. Once she says to Hugo, “My body has calmed down a bit. Apparently it’s restrained itself.” Mainly she reviles it and calls it “loathsome flesh.” She speaks of her breasts as udders that have been milked without end. Once she surprises Hugo and says, “It’s no wonder the priest says, ‘Abandon flesh, for today it is here and tomorrow it is under the earth. Think about your soul and about the kingdom of heaven.’ ”
Every few days little Kitty comes in and asks how he is. Hugo’s hidden life makes her curious. “What do you think about?” she asks, and apparently she expects a long answer. Hugo tells her something that he hasn’t even revealed to Mariana. In the spring he saw his parents in his imagination, but now they have gone away from him. “What does that mean?” he asks.
“Don’t worry. They’ll come back to you,” she says in a soft voice.
“How do you know?” Hugo asks, and immediately knows that he shouldn’t have.
“Mine also went away from me, but now they’ve come back. Almost every night I see them in a dream.”
“Do they come to you from the other world?”
“That’s right. I’m happy to greet them.”
Kitty doesn’t probe too much. She tells him there are rumors that the war will be over soon. All the soldiers that were posted permanently in the city have been sent to the front.
“And they’re not hunting down Jews anymore?” Hugo inquires.
“There is a small unit that has stayed behind and is looking for Jews. They always find one or two, shackle their hands, and bring them through the city streets. They look very miserable. In a little while the war will be over and the nightmare will be finished.”
Hugo likes to hear Kitty’s voice. Even though she’s twenty-four, it reminds him of the voices of the girls in his school.
“And you’re really a Jew?” She surprises him again.
“Correct. Why are you asking?”
“You look like one of us, just like one of us.”
“I’m a Jew. It can’t be denied,” Hugo says, and chuckles.
Kitty looks at him fondly and says, “For years I dreamed I would have a brother like you, tall, with curly hair, and talking the way you talk.”
“I’m willing to be your brother.”
“Thanks,” she says, and blushes.
Every meeting with Kitty leaves a kind of pleasure in him and becomes part of his imagination. Once he dreams he is strolling next to a river with her, and suddenly Kitty announces that she is thinking of fleeing from The Residence and living in the country. She’s fed up with the fat guests. “If you want, we could go away together. I assume that you’re also fed up with life in the cage.”
“And what will I say to Mariana?”
“Tell Mariana that you’re fed up with the cage. You’re a boy like all the other boys. You didn’t sin or commit a crime, and you’re allowed to live outdoors.”
“Won’t the Germans hunt me down?”
“You’re my brother, and you look like me.” She laughs.
Hugo wakes up and finds Mariana sitting by his side.
“Give me a sip, honey. I didn’t want to disturb you, so I waited for you to wake up. You sleep very beautifully. It’s just a pleasure to watch you in your sleep. That’s how puppies sleep.”
“You should have woken me. You shouldn’t suffer too much,” Hugo says, and is surprised at himself.
“I wanted to know how long I could bear this torment.”
Hugo hands her the bottle. Mariana takes a long swig and immediately takes another.
“Take the bottle and hide it,” she says, and gets to her feet. “Let’s hope there won’t be any guests tonight. They’re getting fewer, thank God, but there are some who come back here and don’t forget to comment that my breath smells of brandy. I’m waiting desperately for the end of the war, and then we’ll be free. You’ll get out of the closet, and I’ll get out of The Residence. It’s better to hoe a cornfield than to be crushed night after night. My hero, why am I bothering your head? The day will come when you’ll say to yourself, Mariana was as crazy as a coot.”
37
The summer is dying. The fields that just yesterday were golden are now harvested, barren, and gloomy. The nights are cold, and Hugo covers himself under the sheepskins. Once a week Mariana washes him. That time is very pleasant, and it fills him with a secret feeling that stays within him all week long.
At night, when Mariana has no guests, she invites Hugo into her bed, hugs him, and says, “You’re Mariana’s. You’re her man. All men are bastards. Only you truly love her.”
When fortune favors him, he sleeps in her embrace the who
le night. But on some nights an unexpected guest knocks on her door, and he must crouch down and creep into the closet. All the warm pleasure evaporates, as though it had never existed. Searing humiliation remains.
Between morning and evening light, Mariana is tormented. She lists her torments one by one. “The soldiers treat me like a mattress and make me do disgusting things. When I drank brandy, I could stand that humiliation, but without brandy, every limb of my body is despised and painful.” Hugo can’t grasp all of her feelings, but he sees the trembling of her hands. More than anything else, that tremor says, It’s impossible for me to bear all the men who follow one after the other. The time has come to flee, and it doesn’t matter where.
Hugo feels that he must save her. “I’ll run away with you,” he says. “We’ll live in the country, just you and I.”
“People will recognize me and beat me.” Mariana reverts to her old fears.
“We’ll run away to places where they won’t recognize us.”
“Are you sure?” she asks, as if he has the answer.
“My heart tells me that you need brandy. In the mountains, by ourselves and without threats, you’ll be able to drink as much as you want.”
“You understand Mariana, and you love her,” she says, and gives him a quick hug.
Every time Mariana decides to leave The Residence, something happens that holds her back. A few days ago Paula fainted and was sent to the hospital. Her situation got worse, and Madam refused to pay the hospital bills. For its part, the hospital threatened to transfer Paula to the poorhouse, where abandoned people quickly died. There was a general mobilization. Everybody talked about saving Paula as a holy deed. They collected money and jewelry, and there was a great moment of reconciliation. A specialist was called in, and he brought Paula back to life. Everybody celebrated her recovery with drinking and song. Madam threatened to fire all the revelers. Everybody was drunk and merry and had sealed their ears to her threats, but when Madam announced that she was going to police headquarters, they sobered up and stopped.
Blooms of Darkness Page 12