“And is that how you talk to your mama?”
“Yes, exactly that way, my dear.”
28
THE HOSPITAL’S SITUATION worsened, and most of the patients were sent home. Blanca was among the last to go. Adolf didn’t greet her gladly and expressed his consternation about her appearance. During the past few weeks she had, indeed, recovered, but her knees were weak and her legs felt unsteady. But she made all his meals on time anyway. Adolf no longer slapped her face, but he still preached to her and criticized the way she roasted meat. Every word that came from his mouth struck her temples, and the fear that had receded throbbed within her once again.
The last few days had been very difficult for Dr. Nussbaum. The maintenance workers, who hadn’t received their salaries, first gathered in the courtyard and then went up to the top floor and overturned tables and cabinets. Dr. Nussbaum pleaded with them to stop.
“Why are you being hard on the patients?” he asked. But his words were in vain.
Dr. Nussbaum had been struggling with the Ministry of Health and the local authorities for years, as well as soliciting donations from wealthy people and persuading the workers to be patient. Usually he had managed to do the impossible. Now he stood in the hospital entrance and with shame escorted out those who were leaving it.
“Come see me soon,” he said to Blanca. She had intended to go to him on Friday, but then she remembered that on Sunday Adolf’s parents and his brothers and sisters would be coming, and there were no refreshments in the house. She immediately rushed to the butcher, and on Sunday at noon she served everyone at the table dumplings filled with meat and sauerkraut. When her mother-in-law asked how she felt, Blanca answered, “Much better.” At the end of the day, her head was spinning and she could barely drag herself to bed.
The next day, when Adolf came home his face was dark and angry. Blanca hurriedly served his meal, and he ate without complaining. Suddenly, without warning, he raised his voice and shouted, “Where are the pickled cucumbers?”
“I didn’t manage to make them yet,” Blanca answered promptly. Adolf rose to his feet, walked over to her, and slapped her. This time the slap wasn’t hard, and she didn’t fall down, but the words that he had kept in during the weeks that she hadn’t been there poured out of him in a frightening torrent.
“All the doctors are Jews. All the illnesses are Jewish, and the lawyers who defend the doctors are Jews. You shouldn’t learn from them. You have to be at home, not there. You get sicker in the hospital. A normal person doesn’t go to the hospital unless they’re amputating his leg. The Jews fill up the hospitals.”
Blanca didn’t open her mouth. In the past, every time she replied, his fury would increase, his face would turn a saffron color, and he would raise his huge, hairy arms. Almost without realizing it, Blanca covered her belly with her hands and hoped for mercy. But Adolf’s mercy wasn’t aroused.
Before Blanca was discharged, Dr. Nussbaum had written Adolf a letter summoning him to his office.
“You must know that we cared for your wife for three weeks,” he said, “to heal the wounds that you inflicted with your own hands. You’re supposed to speak to a woman, not beat her like an animal.” Adolf was about to reply, but seeing the doctor’s angry eyes, he kept his mouth shut. But when he came home, he didn’t hold his tongue: “The Jews won’t give me instructions about when to sleep with my wife.” Blanca was afraid that he would pour his rage out on her, but, fortunately, he hurried off to the tavern that evening, and when he came home, he fell into bed.
Blanca, despite everything, grew stronger. She worked in the house and the garden. Adolf continued to pick on her, but he was careful not to hit her. Her mother-in-law would come to visit her, advising her about what to cook for Adolf and how.
“Adolf likes a hot meal at night,” she would say. “He’s like his father, a hot meal calms him down, and it should be a roast, with potatoes and sauerkraut. Sometimes it would be good to make him squash stuffed with chopped meat.”
Thus the days passed. The sun was apparently good for Blanca, and her face became tan. After two hours of work in the garden, she would make herself a cup of coffee. Her thoughts grew narrower, and all her senses were now given over to the baby in her womb. Sometimes, in the middle of the day, she would suddenly be attacked by a feeling of dread, and she would remember Himmelburg. She would start to get dressed, but fear would paralyze her legs again, and she would stay bound to her place.
One morning Blanca overcame her fears and took the first train to Himmelburg. Since her last visit, the old age home had changed beyond recognition. The director had passed away, and Theresa had been appointed temporarily in her place. Theresa came out to greet Blanca and hugged her, and she immediately began telling her about her trials and the troubles of the home. In Blanca’s father’s bed there now slept a man whose sightless eyes were sunk deeply in their sockets; an involuntary smile fluttered on his lips. Theresa served Blanca a bowl of soup and asked her whether she had been to Blumenthal yet. Blanca told her that she had been in the hospital for the past month, and that upon going home she had found a neglected house and an angry husband.
“You still must go to Blumenthal. The old age home there is roomy and rich, and they’ll greet you with open arms.”
“And who’ll take care of the baby?” Blanca wondered.
“A housekeeper. She’ll give your husband some of her favors, and he’ll be quieter and won’t hit you as much. Your husband needs a beast of the field.”
“How do you know that?” Blanca’s eyes widened in surprise, as though Theresa had discovered a hidden secret.
“From my body, my dear. First my father beat me, then my husband. If you love life, you’ll run away from there while your soul is still in you. If you don’t, you’ll be worn out and sick by the age of thirty. Spare yourself and get away from your house.”
“I’m afraid.”
“You mustn’t be afraid. You have to say to yourself, ‘There are more important things than fear, and I’ll go to Blumenthal no matter what.’ ”
“Thank you, Theresa.”
“Why thank me? We’re sisters in suffering.”
29
CELIA CAME TO visit Blanca the next morning, bringing Martin Buber’s anthology of Ba’al Shem Tov stories. Blanca was glad to see her and hugged her. Now she noticed: Celia’s face was pale and gaunt, but no fear was evident in it. Her long nun’s habit suited her height.
“My dear,” Blanca said, “I’ll make you a cup of coffee.”
They had studied together as far back as elementary school, but during all those long years they had never conversed as friends. Perhaps it was because Celia had been born Christian and wore a small wooden cross around her neck. Celia sat in the armchair where Blanca’s mother-in-law usually sat. Blanca was about to say, Why don’t you sit in the armchair opposite? It’s more comfortable. But she realized that was foolish. A quiet glow burned in Celia’s wide, dark eyes. She was evidently at peace with herself and had no need for any unnecessary gestures.
“How’s your father?” Blanca asked.
“I just saw him. Everyone is picking on him, and I’m afraid for his health.”
“He drew me up out of a deep pit,” Blanca said, removing the scarf from her head.
Then Celia said, “Martin Buber’s anthology has precious elixirs in it. When I was younger, I was sure that the Jews had no true faith. Grandpa used to say, ‘In the church, there’s music, and in the synagogue, people sweat.’ ”
“Are the stories about the Ba’al Shem Tov also about the faith of the Jews?” Blanca asked.
“Yes, so Martin Buber says.”
“And do you think their faith is beautiful?”
“Very much so.”
“Strange.”
“What’s strange?”
“After all, we’re Christians, aren’t we?”
“Contradictions don’t put me off,” said Celia.
“What’s become of me?” Blanca asked herself out loud. “I’m no longer what I was.”
“I don’t understand,” Celia said.
“He says I inherited the faults of my mother and father, and Grandma Carole’s craziness.”
“And how do you answer him?”
“What can I say?”
Blanca walked Celia to the station. Celia spoke with longing about their distant and forgotten ancestors and about how much Buber’s anthologies had helped her understand them. For only in Stillstein had she come to fully realize that her Jewish forebears, who were originally from Bukovina and had moved to Himmelburg at the end of the last century, were truly the flesh of her flesh. They were devoted people who worshipped God in simplicity, and if it hadn’t been for certain disasters, their children would be worshipping God with the same simplicity.
“Are we still connected to them?” Blanca asked.
Blanca hadn’t understood her friend’s words, but she sensed that Celia, who had by now been living in the distant mountains of Stillstein for a year, had seen visions that had entirely changed her way of thinking. She was now connected with her ancestors, with nothing separating her.
“Take me with you, Celia.” The words tumbled from Blanca’s mouth.
“Don’t be afraid. We’re not alone. We have good and faithful ancestors who always dwell within us.”
Blanca raised her eyes, and a chill raced down her spine.
30
ON FEBRUARY 16, 1908, after a long and difficult labor, a son was born to Blanca. At first she wanted to call him Erwin, after her missing father, but Adolf refused. He agreed to the name Otto, after her mother’s brother, who had died young, in the middle of his university studies. Dr. Nussbaum extended her stay in the hospital, and Blanca nursed the infant morning, noon, and night, until she became weak from lack of sleep and, under doctor’s orders, stopped nursing. Adolf heard about it and was angry, but he made no comment. She had noticed: in the hospital he controlled himself and didn’t raise his voice. Dr. Nussbaum’s efforts to restore the hospital to full capacity had failed. Just two wards were occupied. The others were deserted. Day and night, patients pounded on the doors, but he was unable to help them. The maintenance staff refused to work, and, lacking help, Dr. Nussbaum put on overalls and went to clean the toilets and add coal to the boilers to heat water for the laundry. The patients, most of them aged, complained a lot about their pains, about their children who had abandoned them, and about their old age. Dr. Nussbaum loved those old people. He went from bed to bed to examine them, and to tell a joke and make them laugh. Some of the old people spoke Yiddish, and Dr. Nussbaum, to make them happy, told them that he was born in the provinces, in a small town called Zhadova. His family had spoken Yiddish at home, and he was still fond of the language. The old folks forgot their age and their pains for the moment, and they told him what weighed on their hearts. Dr. Nussbaum listened and said, “May God have mercy,” and that of course made them laugh heartily.
Blanca slept most of the day, but when she opened her eyes and saw Christina, the will to live returned to her, and she wanted to get to her feet and approach the window. Christina was devoted to her patients, never leaving them day or night. Sometimes, in the middle of the night, when a patient burst into tears, Christina would immediately rush to his bed, give him something to drink, and calm him down. Now that the staff numbered only two, she never took off her uniform. If I possessed a love of humanity like Christina’s, Blanca thought, I wouldn’t have married; I would, instead, have worked in the public hospital. But I was weak, given over to myself and my own happiness.
Adolf and his two sisters visited her. After that noisy visit, it was hard for Blanca to keep her eyes open. Drowsiness enveloped her like a blanket, and as she felt herself succumbing to it, she remembered exactly what Adolf’s sisters had said to her and how they had looked at her. A great scream, like the sound of a falling tree, rose up out of her throat.
Christina held her hand.
“Now you look better,” she said.
My life is shattered to splinters, Blanca wanted to say, and it can be repaired only by labor and devotion. Otto will belong to his father, and I’ll go to work in a hospital or an old age home.
Later Dr. Nussbaum came and sat beside her. Now he was not only a physician. He was the hospital, in the figure of a single person. The pharmacist refused to provide medicines on credit, so Dr. Nussbaum paid him out of his own pocket. He took the trash down to the inner courtyard. When Blanca saw Dr. Nussbaum at work, she overcame her drowsiness and opened her eyes, marveling at every step he took.
“How do you feel, my dear?” he asked, leaning over her.
Blanca wanted to tell him that she felt a strong dizziness that pulled her down, that her legs were cold, and that she was afraid of the abyss yawning beneath her. She wanted to tell him, but didn’t dare. She knew that Dr. Nussbaum’s responsibilities were even greater now and that everyone was pressuring him. Dr. Nussbaum looked at her face and knew that Blanca lay in darkness, that she had to be watched over lest she do something desperate.
Sometimes, in the afternoon, when the heaviest drowsiness loosened its hold on her, Blanca felt a strong connection to her father and mother and to the country from which they had emigrated. It seemed to her that the Prut—in whose clear waters her mother and father and their forebears had bathed—was a purifying river, and if she ever managed to get to it, she would be saved from this stifling melancholy.
Thus the days passed. From time to time Adolf or one of his sisters would appear like a thick shadow. Blanca barely recognized them. One evening Adolf’s elder sister came to visit her and asked, “When are you coming home?” Blanca tried to open her eyes. When they were open, to her joy she saw Dr. Nussbaum. “You don’t have to answer,” he said. She was immediately relieved and felt as though he had hidden her under the hem of his clothing.
31
BLANCA BEGAN TO feel better; she saw Otto and took pleasure in him. The other patients gathered around her, and they all said the baby was amazingly beautiful, that it had been a long time since they’d seen such a lovely baby. Dr. Nussbaum knew about Blanca’s situation and said, “You’ll stay here for the time being.”
March was warm, and Blanca felt the closeness of her mother and father, and remembered the row of walnut trees that led to the high school. Sometimes she had met her teachers Klein and Weiss there, and they would talk on the steps of the building. The image was bright, as though time had transparently embalmed it.
Now her heart told her that she must go to Grandma Carole and reconcile with her. The last time Blanca had seen her, Grandma Carole was standing silently, her neck stretched upward, the sun’s rays covering her dark face. She had looked like a statue that had been mummified for years, frozen in time. In her dream, Blanca had wanted to approach her and say, Grandma Carole, don’t you remember me? But her legs wouldn’t carry her.
When she awakened, Blanca heard a voice in the treatment room. First it had sounded like Theresa from the old age home, but it turned out that her ears had deceived her. It was her mother-in-law. She had come to take the baby to church so the priest would bless him.
“The weather is still chilly, and the child is weak,” Christina explained to her.
“That’s exactly why I came to take him. He needs a blessing to grow strong.”
“But he’s very weak.”
“The cold won’t hurt him. I raised five children, and all of them, thank God, are healthy and strong. The cold just strengthens them. And the blessing before baptism is a good charm for weak children.”
“I can’t give you the baby
, only the doctor can.”
“I’m the baby’s grandmother, and I knew exactly what he needs.”
Dr. Nussbaum arrived at a run and declared on the spot that the child was weak and must not be removed from the hospital.
The mother-in-law’s jaw dropped. “Why?” she asked.
“Because he’s weak.”
“I’m taking him to the church. The priest’s blessing will strengthen him.”
“All of that must wait until he’s healthy.”
“I don’t understand a thing,” she said, and headed for the exit.
As she was leaving, Blanca’s mother-in-law met one of her friends, and she complained to her that Jewish doctors had taken over the public hospitals, and they had neither loving-kindness nor mercy in their hearts. They took no account of the priests’ opinions.
“Cursed be the Jews and their behavior.” She didn’t restrain herself now and slammed the door.
The next day, Adolf’s sisters arrived and gathered in the corridor. They asked Christina whether the baby was still weak, why he was so weak, and whether there was any danger that he might be handicapped. They then asked permission to take him to the church. Christina explained once again what she had already explained. Hearing her words, the eldest sister said, “If he lies here all the time, he’ll turn into a slug instead of a man.”
Later, the sisters returned with a big, strong woman from a nearby village. They sat her on a chair and gave her the baby to nurse. Blanca saw the woman, her huge, dark breast, and the nipple that she stuffed into the baby’s mouth. The baby suckled greedily until he choked. Everyone rushed to turn him over and pat him on the back.
When the baby was finished nursing, Adolf’s eldest sister gave a banknote to the wet nurse. She took the bill in her dark hand, stuffed it into her coat pocket, and without saying a word headed for the exit.
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