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.”
Again they are in the depths of darkness. Mariana is full of brandy and calls out loud, “I love the night. The night is better than people and their houses.” Hugo rushes to gather twigs. They light a fire, boil water in the pot, and put some potatoes in the fire.
They eat the remainder of the cheese and a piece of the sausage, and Mariana gives her imagination free reign: “I foresee days when we’ll have plenty; poverty doesn’t suit us. I see a small house, a vegetable garden, an orchard. We’ll milk the cow, but we won’t slaughter her. We’ll spend most of the day in nature, and in the evening we’ll come home and light the oven. I love a lit oven, when you can see the flames in it. That’s all, nothing more. Wait a moment, I forgot the main thing—a bathtub. In our house there has to be a bathtub. Without a bathtub, life isn’t life. You have to lie in the bathtub for two or three hours every day. That’s the kind of life I foresee. What do you think?”
Thus they pass the first part of the night.
56
After midnight, when they’re already half frozen, they find an empty tavern whose owner agrees to let them sleep there. Mariana is drunk, and she keeps blessing the proprietor, who is not impressed by her blessings and demands payment. Mariana gives him a banknote, and he demands more. She gives him more and asks for a blanket. Hugo’s feet are as cold as ice, and Mariana rubs them briskly. In the end they wrap themselves in each other and fall asleep.
They wake up early in the morning and set out immediately. An overcast day is preferable to a moldy alcove, Mariana maintains. Fortunately they find a tree with broad branches and prepare to make a fire.
The snow is melting, and the black earth that was hidden all winter is revealed. Thin smoke rises from the chimneys atop the houses. It’s a tranquil, innocent morning. Mariana looks particularly beautiful. Her large eyes are wide open, and her long neck becomes her.
After finishing her tea, Mariana takes a few swigs from the bottle and her heart opens. “My life was ruined from the start,” she says. “I don’t want to blame my father and mother. I used to blame them and hang all the bad things that happened to me on them. Now I know, it was my youthful restlessness. I was young and beautiful, and everybody was in love with me. I didn’t know then that they were predators, that they only wanted my flesh. They taught me to drink and smoke. I was thirteen, fourteen, stunned by the money they gave me. I was sure things would go on that way all my life. I didn’t know they were poisoning me. At fourteen, I already couldn’t manage without brandy. My parents shunned me. They wouldn’t even let me into the house. ‘You’re lost,’ they told me, and I was sure that they were evil and would relent. After that—from whorehouse to whorehouse, from madam to madam. Why am I telling you all this? I’m telling you so that you’ll know that Mariana’s life was ruined from the start. Now it’s impossible to fix it.”
“Why?”
“Because a large part of my body has been ravished. The wolves ravished it. I don’t expect mercy or who knows what. The Russians say that if a woman slept with the Germans, her blood is on her head. I assume that God won’t stand by me, either. I ignored Him all those years.”
“But God is greatly merciful and forgiving.” Hugo interrupts her.
“Yes, to those who are worthy, to those who walk in His ways and do what He asks of them.”
“You love Him very much.”
“It’s a late love. For many years I rebelled against Him.”
How right she is becomes clear that very day. People attack them wherever they go. They throw stones at them, call them bad names, and sic big dogs on them. Mariana protects them from the dogs with a stick, and she curses the people loudly. They call her “servant of the Germans,” and she calls them “hypocrites” and “bastards.” They wound her neck, which heightens her anger and frees her tongue.
Now it’s evident they have to leave, and soon. Hugo bandages Mariana’s neck with a handkerchief, and they set out. “Too bad I don’t have iodine. I had a lot of it in my room, but who ever thought I’d be wounded?” she mutters to herself.
That night they walk quite a bit. Mariana is angry at herself, because she has no idea where they are. “After all, I was born in these parts. I wandered around here during my whole childhood. What’s the matter with me?”
“We’re walking toward the mountains.” Hugo tries to comfort her.
“How do you know?”
“I feel it.” He is drawn out by her words.
“We’re groping like blind people. In every corner, there’s a pitfall or a trap. Who knows where Satan is dragging us. He’s a cheat, and he’s cunning.”
57
Morning breaks through and lights up the darkness. To their surprise, Mariana and Hugo find themselves standing at the foot of a mountain. On its side there are small houses surrounded by gardens. “We got there, thank God,” says Mariana, as if they had reached a different continent. She immediately sinks down onto the ground.
Hugo hurries to gather wood and light a fire. Mariana announces out loud, “From here, I’m not moving. I don’t have the strength to lift myself and walk even one more step.”
“We’ll rest. There’s no hurry.” Hugo speaks like an adult.
Then a large sun comes out and lights up the mountains and the plain. Thin mist rises from the moist earth. Not far from them a river meanders. It’s peaceful, as after a mighty battle that ended in a standoff.
Mariana puts the suitcase under her head and falls asleep. Hugo feels that he has now been freed from his bonds and can step out into the outdoors. His previous life, crammed and restricted in the closet, seems distant to him, rooted in darkness.
Mariana sleeps until noon, and when she wakes and sees Hugo at her side, guarding her sleep, she is very moved. She holds out her arms and hugs him. “I slept, and you watched over my sleep, my good soul. You didn’t sleep all last night, either.”
“Do you feel better?”
“Certainly I feel better.”
There are a few potatoes left and some sausage. They make a meal that, in her great enthusiasm, Mariana calls “a princely feast.” Fatigue and nervousness have vanished from her face, and she is entirely given over to Hugo, as though she has just discovered him.
“What are you going to want to do in the future?” She surprises him.
“To be with you,” he answers right away.
“The war is over, and soon your mother will come and get you.”
“Let’s see what happens.” He tries to give his voice the composure of an adult.
Mariana again gives free reign to her imagination. “Mariana was a beautiful, tall woman. She could have been a singer who traveled from city to city and moved people, a devoted housewife who raised her children like the Jews, going with them on long summer vacations and coming back suntanned. If I had been a kept woman, my lover would have taken me to sunbathe. But I’m a simple whore. I don’t want to conceal anything from you. To be a whore is the most contemptible thing in the world. Nothing is more contemptible.”
Hugo has learned that every one of Mariana’s moods has different words. Fortunately for him, her moods come and go, and so it is this time, too.
The sun is at its fullest, and spring is bursting from every blade of grass. Cows and horses have been taken out to graze. Mariana announces that this place is the loveliest imaginable and that it’s forbidden to waste this precious time. “All my life I was shut up in rooms,” she
says again, “working at night and sleeping during the day. I forgot that there was a sky, plants, animals, and green beauty like this. Those poplars, look how tall they are. Now they’re naked, but soon they’ll be covered with silver leaves, and they’ll be even more beautiful.
“Now I’m sitting and contemplating everything. Contemplation brings tranquility to the soul. ‘Everything we see and hear is God,’ my grandma used to say, ‘because God dwells everywhere, even in the lowest weed.’ I was a child then, and I was attentive to what she said. But I went astray very quickly.”
Then she shuts her eyes and says, “The sun is warm and pleasant. I’m going to close my eyes. If informers come to arrest me, don’t follow me. Run away. You’re not to blame for my fate. You were good to me.”
Hugo wants to say, You’re wrong, it’s not true, but Mariana immediately sinks into sleep.
Hugo sits and stares at the fire and the landscape. Memories don’t disturb him. Instead, the sights of spring appear before his eyes. He imagines life from now on as pleasant—wandering along rivers with low trees on their banks, observing flowers of every hue, watching birds peck at seeds in the palm of his hand.
Mariana awakens and says, “Again you didn’t sleep?”
“I’m not tired. I was contemplating the landscape.”
“Come to me, and I’ll give you a kiss. Who knows how much time I have left to be with you in this world.”
“Always,” he responds immediately.
58
The following days are clear and bright. The fire burns day and night. Hugo is sure that Mariana’s fears will subside as they advance toward the wooded, uninhabited areas.
“Come on, let’s get moving,” he keeps saying.
“To where? Who knows what’s swarming around out there.”
To overcome his secret despair, Hugo fans the flames of the campfire and assures Mariana that collaborators won’t reach them there. The place isn’t populated, and it’s far from the main road.
Blooms of Darkness Page 18