Until the Dawn's Light

by Aharon Appelfeld

  “Their prayer. Have you ever seen Jews praying?”

  “I was in the synagogue with my mother a few times.”

  “Those weren’t Jews anymore, my dear. Among the Jews of the east there’s a style of prayer, of blessing, and also of human connection.”

  “Don’t the Austrians have any style?”

  “They do, but it’s clumsy.”

  Strange, Blanca said to herself. After all, I was once Jewish.

  Brauschwinn sat and spoke, and the more he told her, the more spiritual his face appeared. It was clear that this simple man who had never set foot in a high school, who had worked hard on trains all those years, whose wife vexed him, who got no joy from his sons and daughters, that this man had a secret that nourished him even at this difficult time, a day before he was to be hospitalized.

  “Mr. Brauschwinn,” Blanca said, rising to her feet. “Your love for the Jews is a mystery to me.”

  “They’re worthy of it, believe me,” he said, removing his cap.

  “Will we see each other soon?” she asked when the train stopped at Himmelburg.

  “Everything is in the hands of heaven, as people used to say.”

  In Himmelburg a pleasant summer light filled the streets. The courtyards and roads were bathed in silence. Blanca wished she could go into one of the little cafés, order a cup of coffee and a piece of cheesecake, and sink into her thoughts, the way she used to do. But her legs refused to do her bidding. They drew her to the old age home.

  Theresa saw her from a distance.

  “Blanca!” she called out.

  Blanca noticed immediately that the corridor had been emptied of its residents, and in the dormitory the old people moved like shadows. Theresa told her that the situation in the old age home couldn’t be worse. The assistance from Vienna had stopped, and though the Himmelburg community continued to support the home, it didn’t have the means to maintain the place. Anyone who had a bit of money ran away. The salaries had been reduced, and they were months in arrears.

  They sat in the kitchen, and Theresa served her lunch. She told Blanca that her husband was ill again and had been hospitalized. She spent whatever she made on doctors and medicines. There was never any word from their absent children. Except for her sister, whom she saw occasionally, she had no close relatives. But one mustn’t complain, she said; anyone who was walking on their own two feet and not confined to a wheelchair should bless their good fortune.

  Blanca raised her voice. “I felt that I had to come back here.”

  “When did you have that feeling?”

  “Yesterday I saw my father passing before me.”

  “The dead go to their own world, dear, and we’ll see them only at the great resurrection.”

  “Sometimes I feel that my father is angry at me.”

  “You are mistaken. In the world of truth, our parents speak only on our behalf. They know what we’re going through.”

  It was hard to know whether that was an expression of faith or a habit of speech that Theresa had inherited from her mother. She spoke to Blanca the way one speaks to an injured person, to soothe the pain. Blanca took in the words that Theresa showered on her but wanted to say, My guilt feelings can’t be healed by folk wisdom. I’ll wallow in them all my life.

  Theresa didn’t say any more. Blanca remembered when she first arrived here with Adolf—how he had surveyed the old people with wordless contempt, and how he had threatened the director so that she, in her fear, had agreed to take in Blanca’s poor father.

  “I have to rescue Otto,” Blanca said, rousing herself.

  “You have to be patient, to wait and see.”

  “To wait, you say?”

  “They’re punished in the end, whether by people or by heaven.”

  “How many years did you wait?”

  “The years pass quickly, and in the end freedom will come. You mustn’t rush things.” In her voice Blanca heard a cruel simplicity, a kind of women’s spell that was passed down from generation to generation, that said again and again, Wait, wait, until the bastard croaks, and then you, too, can go free and enjoy a new life.

  Before leaving, Blanca asked, “Do you know a goldsmith or a jeweler?”

  “Yes,” Theresa said, and smiled as though she were sharing another secret. “There’s a Jew in this city who has a jewelry store, an honest man. He’ll appraise the jewel and pay you its price. He won’t cheat you.”

  “I don’t know how to thank you.”

  “What did I do for you?”

  “Once again, you pulled me up out of the underworld.”

  51

  BLANCA LEFT THE old age home and walked directly to the jeweler’s shop. She was sure he would stare at her and say, This is a stolen ring and you’re a thief. But she didn’t stop. She walked on, as though in the grip of a force stronger than her fears. To her surprise, the jeweler didn’t suspect her. He looked at her with sympathy and asked, “Where are you from, young lady?”

  “From Heimland.”

  “A nice town. What’s your name, if I may ask?”

  “Blanca Guttmann.”

  “You’re Erwin Guttmann’s daughter. What an educated and pleasant man.”

  “He’s no longer with us, I regret to say.”

  “He used to come here: a man of refinement in the full sense of the word.” The jeweler examined the ring from every angle and declared, “It’s old and worth four thousand.” He paid her with new banknotes, and Blanca made a reckoning: that was a year’s salary for work in the old age home. But her joy was marred. The thought that she had used her father’s good name to deceive the jeweler stung her. She began walking to the railway station with rapid steps.

  On the train, she sat in the buffet car and drank a few brandies. Her head was spinning, and she knew that she would pay for her deed one day, both for the theft and for the deception. Then the dizziness passed, and she fell asleep in her seat.

  She returned home at one thirty and told Kirtzl she’d found work. Then she talked with Otto and played with him on the floor. Otto was happy, as though he understood that from now on his mother would no longer abandon him for long periods of time. An hour later she left the house and hurried to the railway station. First she thought of traveling to Winterweiss, where her parents used to go on vacation, but at the last moment she changed her mind and got off at Hochstein, a small and little-known town. She rented a room in a pension and took a bath. Then she saw Adolf’s long arm before her eyes as he raised his belt against her. She felt the dizziness and the heavy stumble that quickly followed, then the effort to rise, then the blurred sensations and the weak knees. For a moment it seemed to her that Adolf was in the corridor, lying in wait for her. She buried her face in her hands, as she did when he whipped her back.

  But this time he wasn’t there, he wasn’t lying in wait. The small, quiet room, filled with houseplants and covered with carpets, seemed to say, Here no one meddles in anyone else’s life. The owner of the pension is a delicate woman who guards the privacy of her tenants. The thick silence enveloped her, and she fell asleep.

  Blanca slept for the rest of the day. When she awakened, she was very thirsty. She hurried to a café and ordered a cup of coffee and some cheesecake. The cake was tasty, and she ordered another slice. She sat in the café for about two hours, and the more she sat, the more her mind was emptied of thoughts. It seemed to her that all the people sitting around her and drinking coffee were much taller than she, and they knew what to do with their lives.

  Then she went outside and sat on a bench. The small, unfamiliar town, about two hundred kilometers from her hometown and lit with a summer sun, felt very pleasant to her. For a moment it seemed to her that if she stayed there for a few days, her life would go back to the way it used to be, and everything would start afresh. She saw clearly the two thick mathematics books that her father used to peruse eagerly in his free time. Everything begins here, he would say with envy. On
ce I, too, had ideas, she thought, but they’ve vanished. At special times Blanca’s father would write out a formula for her and explain the greatness that dwelt within it.

  Blanca had planned to go back and see Otto toward the evening. But she didn’t. The night was tranquil, and people strolled along the boulevard. The light danced in and out of the trees and brought hidden colors to mind. There was a time when colors like those would wash over her in the evenings and move her to tears. Mama, she was about to get up and say, I haven’t gone far away. I’ll wait for you.

  Ever since she had left Blumenthal, Blanca had seen her parents with every step she took. Usually they were separate, but sometimes she saw them together, as though they knew that her life was approaching the abyss.

  The next day, Blanca sat on the same bench and drank in the light. The longer she sat there, the more she felt that she was shedding the years, that in a little while she would return to the time when she would come home from school and immediately lose herself in her reading.

  In the evening she went back to the pension and sank into the bathtub. “Dear God,” she called out loud, “in a little while the iron gates will open, and I’ll return to my mother and father at Number Five Cedar Street.”

  At night she dreamed that the train was delayed and that she had arrived late in Blumenthal. Elsa met her at the door and called out, Here comes the thief! She immediately began to search Blanca’s clothing. Blanca’s body was paralyzed, but she could still feel Elsa’s bony fingers in her pockets. Policemen were waiting in the next room and put handcuffs on her. Don’t take Otto away from me! she shouted. Then she woke up.

  The next day Blanca returned on the first train, and Otto was happy.

  “I knew you’d come,” he said.

  “And how are you, my dear?”

  “I arranged the soldiers in rows, and now they’re guarding the king.”

  “You arranged them very nicely.”

  “Mama, play dominoes with me.”

  “Right away,” she said and knelt down.

  They played on the floor, and Kirtzl didn’t interfere. Later Otto counted to twenty, added and subtracted, and amused himself with his fingers. Blanca pretended to make mistakes, and Otto corrected her.

  Later she went back to the train station and took off with no destination in mind. The harvested summer fields sped by and lulled her into a deep sleep. Blanca slept without interruption, not waking until the last stop. Then she hurried away to rent a room in an inn. The small inns, quiet and clean, made her think of an inner life that belonged solely to herself, one that no stranger had a part in. Blanca sat in cafés for hours and drank cup after cup of coffee. Sometimes she also had a drink of brandy, but never very much. For a moment she saw herself in Vienna, already in the third year in the mathematics department. After lunch she would sit in a café and read from the works of Adalbert Stifter. Her mother and father wanted to surprise her and came to visit. They were proud of her achievements. In a little while she would publish an article of her own in the well-known magazine Papyrus. Her father kept saying, I knew. I always knew.

  Thus she sat and daydreamed.

  On Saturday Blanca returned home and told Adolf that she had found work in a small old age home near Himmelburg. Adolf, who had drunk a great deal but wasn’t intoxicated, immediately asked, “How much are they paying you?” Blanca had prepared a few banknotes. She put them on the table and said, “More than in Blumenthal.” Adolf beamed, as though he’d been offered tasty food.

  Adolf sat in his seat and Blanca served him dinner. But then, in the middle of the meal, his expression changed. He told her that two Jews had recently bought the dairy and that they wanted to lengthen the workday. The workers had declared a strike, and they were planning to attack the owners. Adolf despised Jews in general, but this time he was able to articulate his animosity.

  “We’ll eliminate them,” he said, his mind finally at rest.

  After the meal Adolf went to join his friends at the tavern. Blanca sat with Otto and told him that soon they’d be taking a long trip. Otto asked for details, and Blanca soared off in her imagination. Then they played dominoes, and Otto won twice. For a long time he played by himself, too, had imaginary adventures, and murmured to himself. Finally he fell asleep on the floor.

  Late that night Adolf returned drunk and angry and immediately started reviling the Jews, who were destroying the Austrian economy and filling their pockets with money. Blanca made an awkward movement and knocked over a china pot. That drove Adolf out of his senses. He slapped her face and called her a careless woman who broke things without consideration. Blanca, who had learned not to react, responded this time.

  “What are you talking about?” she said.

  Adolf grabbed her arm and shook her, shouting, “Who said, ‘What are you talking about?’ Who dared to say, ‘What are you talking about?’ ”

  Blanca, in great pain and anger, shouted back, “Murderer! Leave me alone.” Then Adolf started kicking her, and his fury didn’t subside until he’d knocked her down.

  That night Blanca didn’t sleep. The blows that Adolf had dealt her hurt and burned, but, to her surprise, she didn’t feel weakness. She felt that if she had to leave, she would, and she would even be able to carry a burden on her back. She went to see Otto, who was sleeping soundly. Then she went over to the window. The darkness was dense, and no light was visible anywhere. She thought of going outdoors and sitting on the front steps, but the thought vanished, and she did nothing.

  When the first light appeared, the pain attacked her again. She rose from the sofa and dressed her wounds with bandages that Dr. Nussbaum had given her. Her arm was bleeding. She placed a thick cloth on it and tied it with a bandage. She was about to return to the sofa when she saw the ax blade flash. The ax stood in the corner next to the kitchen. Adolf used it to chop wood for heating. Once he had also used it to make fence posts. The ax had a broad blade and a short handle. Blanca walked to the corner and picked it up. It wasn’t heavy.

  Then Blanca went into the bedroom. Adolf was lying on his back, with his face and chest exposed. His mouth was open, and his breathing was a bit heavy. Blanca raised the ax and with a powerful motion brought the blade down on Adolf’s neck. His huge body trembled, and his head fell against the wall. Blood spurted onto her face, and she wiped it with her sleeve.

  Blanca ran to Otto’s room, changed her clothes, and packed a few things. Then she woke and dressed Otto, and they left for the railway station. The strength Blanca had felt before flowed out of her, and her knees trembled.

  “Where are we going, Mama?”

  “We’re going on a trip.”

  The morning train came on time, and no one was in the station. They entered a car and sat next to the window. Blanca’s thoughts were spinning, but she knew that she should get off at Blitzstein because at eight o’clock the express train left from there. There were not many passengers at Blitzstein, either. The express train hurtled out of the station.

  “Mama.” Otto opened his eyes.

  “What, dear?”

  “Where are we going?”

  “We’re going north.”

  Otto closed his eyes and curled up on the seat.

  The express train stopped at Hochstein. They transferred to a small local train that stopped at village stations and sawmills. Blanca reasoned that no one would know what had happened until the afternoon, and the farther she got, the harder it would be for the police to find her.

  “Where are we, and where are we going?” Otto kept asking. Blanca would distract him, confuse him, deceive his limited memory.

  “We’ll live on the train,” she said at one point. “What could be better than that?”

  Otto immediately showered her with questions. Blanca answered in a haphazard way, contradicting herself, mixing up day and night. Finally she said, “Why are you tormenting your mother, dear?”

  “What’s ‘tormenting,’ Mama?”

>   “Nothing, dear.” She was too tired to explain.

  So they traveled for many days. When they finally stopped and rented the house near the Dessel River, Blanca realized that she no longer had the strength to go on. She sank deeper and deeper into writing. Now, when she began to sense danger again, all her fears were reawakened. Blanca wrapped up the manuscript and said, “This is for you, Otto.”

  “But I only know how to read a little.”

  “Soon you’ll know more.”

  52

  THE FOLLOWING DAY the landlady came, and Blanca paid her rent, adding an extra banknote. The landlady brought a present for Otto: a vest that she herself knitted. Blanca hugged her and promised to write. Their bags were already packed, and the landlady stood in the doorway and followed them with her eyes until they reached the station.

  Before long they were on their way. Otto was pleased. The sight of the tall trees and the lakes excited him, and he didn’t stop expressing amazement. Blanca was saddened. The fear that had died down during the past weeks pounded at her once more. She wasn’t afraid of her own death, but she was afraid for Otto. Since he had asked, “Why won’t you tell me what’s written in the notebook?” it seemed to her that he knew her secret. Again she tried to distract him, but this time the words failed her. During the weeks they’d spent near the water, he had grown and become tan, and his vocabulary was richer. On their last walk he had asked how birds fly without falling. Blanca, who had once studied the physics of bird flight in school, had forgotten the answer. She was flustered and finally raised her hands, saying, “I can’t remember a thing.”

  How much those days near the river had changed her, Blanca did not yet know. But she had become stronger, and some of her essence had found its way into Otto. She was certain that little of Adolf remained in him and that she would be able to wipe out whatever was still there. She had noticed that he used expressions like “it may be assumed” and “nevertheless.” And sometimes, when his mind was not at ease, he would say, “It’s hard for me to believe.” All of those expressions were hers. Adolf had never used them. She was more and more certain that in the fullness of time, Otto would change completely and would indeed be like her mother’s brother, whose name he bore.