Katerina (19 page)

“I’ll be seeing you,” he said, and raised his hand.

“When?”

“I’ll come in a month.”

“Thank you. I’ll be expecting you.”

“To my regret, I didn’t bring you good news.”

“But your very coming, your being here …”

At that moment a great storm was raging outside, a black storm. Through the cracks in the door I could see him as he headed off, and the wind swung him on its wings.

25

T
HE DAYS ADVANCED HEAVILY,
as though they were tethered to a sluggish locomotive. The winter was long and its darkness was great, and the summer was hardly felt. One day was like the other; there was no end to the days. Nevertheless, year pursued year. A person no longer sought closeness to anyone. Almost nobody talked to me. A murderess is a murderess, I heard more than once. I didn’t answer, and I didn’t insult. I was attached to my secret by an umbilical cord, and from there I drew patience. I had a family hidden from all eyes. Now my lawyer had joined it. For months, he didn’t come to visit me.

Sometimes I saw him in the image of John the Baptist, standing by the waters of the Prut and pouring water on people’s heads. That task doesn’t suit you, I remarked to him. And what task does suit me? he asked without turning his head. You’re the court-appointed lawyer for the poor and the downcast; they are certainly waiting for you. You’re right, my dear, you’re absolutely right. But you mustn’t forget that a year ago I was dismissed from my job. But if
my new task doesn’t please you, I shall return to my old one. I hope they won’t kill me. If you’re afraid, don’t go there, I was about to tell him, but I didn’t have the chance. He disappeared from before my eyes. I didn’t understand the meaning of that dream. I missed him and his cringing movements, and every month I expected him.

Outside, they had begun looting Jewish shops once again, and no small amount of the booty continued to arrive. One of Sigi’s aunts brought her a poplin blouse. I saw immediately that it was a Jewish blouse. Sigi wore it, and her mood improved. It was very hard for me to bear the way she looked in that blouse, but I restrained myself and didn’t say a thing. But one evening I couldn’t control myself and I said to her, “That blouse doesn’t suit you.”

“Why?”

“Because it belongs to the Jews.”

“So what?”

“You mustn’t wear the clothing of tortured people.”

“Jews don’t scare me.”

My hands shook. I was alarmed by the tremor, because I felt that it was a violent one, that I didn’t have the power to subdue it. Sigi apparently felt that she’d gone too far and said, “Why get angry for nothing?” Later, she said, as though by the way, “I see you still love Jews.”

“I don’t understand.” I feigned innocence.

“I have a strong aversion to the Jews. The Jews, to tell the truth, never cheated me or bothered me, but I still feel no pity for them. Once, I even had a Jewish lover, unquestionably a sweet young man. We used to go out on walks, to the movies, and cafés. I knew I’d never again know love like that, but I still wasn’t at ease. The Jews make my heart
restless. I feel guilty. Maybe you can explain that to me. The Jews drive me out of my mind.”

I looked at her and I saw she was telling the truth. Anyway, there was no malice, just a desire to solve a difficult riddle. “Strange,” she said. “At night I’m not angry either at myself or at my mother, not even at my husband, who abused me. I get angry at the Jews. They drive me out of my mind. Do you understand?”

“But they didn’t hit you.”

“Correct, you’re absolutely right. But what can I do? It’s a fact: Everybody hates them.”

To be at peace with myself, I told Sigi, “Don’t speak ill of the Jews. That kind of talk drives me mad. It’s hard for me to control myself.”

“Would you hit me?” She was alarmed.

“Not I,” I said as though to myself, “but my hands.”

“Ignore me.”

“The poplin blouse you’re wearing makes me crazy.”

“For your sake, I won’t wear it.”

“Thank you very much.”

The days raked us into their flow like beasts. We worked. With our last strength we dislodged beets from the frozen soil. The head jailer used to beat the weak women mercilessly. The screams would shatter our ears, but our hearts knew no pity. From month to month my heart grew harder. My life was nothing but movements, and at night I would sink down on my cot like all the rest and fall asleep. Fatigue was so powerful that it conquered me completely. My contact with other worlds was limited and rare. Only occasionally would I clench my fists and sense my strength, but very quickly they relaxed.

In my heart I secretly envied all the women who sat and chatted at night, quarreling and cursing. I had no words, as though they had withered within me. Even the simple numbers scrawled on the wall made me dizzy. Were it not for the work, were it not for that curse, I would have been buried in sleep.

One evening, after the lineup, Sigi approached me and said, “Katerina, permit me to say a word to you. Don’t get angry at me and don’t hit me.”

“Don’t say it to me.” I turned down her request.

“I can’t keep it in. It’s weighing on my heart like a stone.”

“But why do you have to irritate me?” I said, and my hands clenched.

“I have to.”

“You don’t have to. You can control your mouth.”

Hearing my words, she lowered her head and burst into tears. “Do what you want. Hit me as much as you want to. Your attitude toward the Jews frightens me more than the prison, more than the jailer, more than solitary confinement.”

“Shut up!” I cried to her.

But she didn’t keep quiet, and it was clear to me that she was prepared to die beneath my fists. Yet she would not conceal her truth from me. Her weeping rose, and as it rose, my hands weakened.

26

I
READ THE PSALMS
and prayed to God not to lead me into temptation. Aside from the Old and New testaments, books were forbidden. Only there, in that darkness, did I learn to pray. I am not sure whether it was conventional prayer, but I felt devotion to the words and that devotion sometimes drew me out of the darkness in which I was lying.

But the sights one sees are stronger than the soul’s yearnings. The women’s wing was flooded with blouses, sweaters, pillows, and candlesticks. That loot blinded me. Everyone received gifts, even the women who hadn’t received anything at first. Lipsticks, bottles of cologne, and a few packets of soap also made their way in here.

The chief jailer averted her eyes from several infractions, and it was clear that a new regime had arisen. The face of things outside had changed. All the women were awaiting a tall, strong man who would come and break down the iron doors and free them. A kind of dark joy enveloped the women by their bedsides. They laughed wantonly and flounced about in the Jewish clothes.

Sophia, who slept in the neighboring bed, got a long silk dress from her sister, a necklace, and two jackets. Her lust for new clothing calmed her fears. Now she strutted about with her neck outstretched like a peacock’s. “Don’t wear those clothes,” I asked her, but she ignored my request.

The long dress imbued her with courage. She spoke like a peasant woman about to marry her daughter off in the city, as though her fears were forgotten. My hands shook, but I restrained myself. Finally, I couldn’t contain myself and I said, “At thy enemies’ fall shalt thou not rejoice.”

“So it’s forbidden to dress up?” she said impudently.

“It’s permitted to dress up, but it’s forbidden to rejoice.”

“I hate sanctimonious people.”

“I’m a simple woman, not sanctimonious. I’ve never been sanctimonious in my life. I didn’t preserve my body for myself, but I won’t wear the clothes of persecuted people. It’s forbidden to wear the victims’ clothes. Torments are holy.”

“Why do you always defend the Jews?”

“I was talking about taking malicious pleasure.”

“I can’t live on proverbs. With me, feeling comes before everything.”

My arms were already charged with power, but I, for some reason, still checked myself. But she went on, saying, “We’re talking openly. Let’s not hide our hatred.” I couldn’t bear it any longer. I lifted my arms and knocked her down. No one came to her assistance, and I knew no one would. I stood there and beat her resoundingly with my fists. She was bleeding when the chief jailer rescued her.

They don’t put true murderesses in solitary confinement but in a special room with a bunk and sink. Before long the
chief jailer motioned to pack up my things and move them to the special room. I did so, saying nothing.

“Why did you beat her?” the chief jailer asked me without raising her voice.

“She drove me crazy.”

“You have to restrain yourself.” She spoke like a woman who knew people’s weaknesses.

“I wanted to hit her for a long time.”

“Now you’ll have to live in total isolation.”

“I’m already used to not talking.”

“A person still needs a little company, isn’t that so?”

“I can be by myself.”

“I’ll come and visit you,” said the chief jailer, and locked the door.

A new life opened before me. Indeed the room was very narrow, but when I stood on my bed I could fill my gaze with fields and meadows. Moreover, the room wasn’t entirely isolated. In the evening I caught the prisoners’ voices, and from their voices I learned that the Jews had already been driven out of their homes and the looting was continuing. People celebrated with malicious joy until late at night.

Only after midnight was I with myself and my dear ones. The gates of the land opened before me, and Benjamin came toward me, crawling under the table. I saw the shadows of his hands, and the room filled with his laughter. He had not grown since he was taken from me. Now his look is like that of a little Jesus, clasped in his mother’s arms, just like the wooden relief carved by an artist in the chapel. I bent my knee and called to him, “Benjamin, my dear.” But I was immediately alarmed by the words
my dear
, because I never called him my dear. “Benjamin,”I say. “Your mother
is talking. Why are you hiding?” I stepped back a little, waiting for him to appear, but he didn’t come out from under the table. I gathered my strength and took a few steps on my knees, saying, “Benjamin, I’m your mother. Don’t you remember my voice?”

“I’m here.” I heard his voice, familiar to the marrow of my bones.

“I want to see you.”

“I’m right at your side.” I heard his laugh.

I tried to lift my knees, but my knees wouldn’t come away from the floor.

When I woke up the next day, I felt his body in my arms.

That morning they placed us, Sophia and me, in the same row. There were still some black-and-blue marks on her face from the blows I had showered upon her. She begged and pleaded not to be put next to me. A few of the prisoners felt sorry for her and were willing to trade places, but the jailer stubbornly refused. Finally, she had no choice but to take the spade in her hand and force it into the hard earth. She worked at my side in dread, without lifting her head and without uttering a sound.

“Why aren’t you talking?” I addressed her.

She was alarmed. She raised her head and said, “I’m afraid. They put you in solitary confinement because of me.”

“I won’t hit you again.”

“But I’m afraid.”

“For my part, I won’t hit you. I swear by my departed parents that I won’t hit you. Solitary confinement isn’t so bad. And how are things in the sheds?” I tried to continue the conversation.

“Everything’s fine. The mood is good. The Germans are
doing great things on the front, driving the Jews out of the villages. There’s lots of booty. Everybody’s getting something out of it.” For a moment she was swept away by that enthusiasm, but she immediately noticed her error, took her head in both hands, and shouted, “I made a mistake again! I sinned again!”

“What’s the matter?” I tried to calm her down.

“I always annoy you.”

“Today you’re not annoying me anymore. You can talk as much as you please.”

“I won’t talk. I’m afraid to talk.”

“I’m a Ruthenian daughter of Ruthenians, and nothing Ruthenian is alien to me. When I die, they’ll lay me next to my mother and father. You mustn’t be afraid.”