Blooms of Darkness (11 page)

I love you very much,
Mama

Hugo reads the letter again and again, and the two sheets of paper tremble in his hands. He loves his mother’s clear handwriting. Her world shines from every line: openness, clarity, cordiality, and a willingness to give. She believed that if a person gave, he would also receive, and if he didn’t receive, giving was its own reward and joy. More than once reality had slapped her in the face. Even then she hadn’t said that there is no way to
reform people. Instead, she put her head down and absorbed the insult.

Now Hugo envisions the way she would tilt her head to listen. He sees how her arms would go limp when she was unable to help, and the joy she radiated when the medicine she had given was helpful.

He reads the two sheets again. The more he reads, the more he knows that his mother’s situation is worse than his. She bears a heavy knapsack on her back, struggles against harsh winds, and every time she falls to the ground, she calls out,
Hugo, don’t despair. I’m on my way to you. I’m sure that soon the winds will weaken, the war will end, and I will overcome the obstacles strewn in my path. Don’t despair, promise me
. Her face glows as it did on their way to Mariana’s house.

Later, Hugo takes the notebook out of his knapsack and writes:

Mama dear, the letter that you wrote to me only reached me today. I’ll carry out your request with great precision. Compared to you, my situation is better. I’m living in a closet in Mariana’s room. Mariana watches over me and takes care of my meals. Most of the day I think and imagine things. For that reason I didn’t yet start reading and writing, as I promised you. Everything that surrounds me is so intense, and sometimes shocking, that it’s hard for me to open a book and follow the plot. Sometimes it seems to me that I am living in a fairy tale. I expect that in the end things will be good
.

Mariana’s mother died, and she went to her village, but don’t worry, the cook Victoria brings me my meals and tells me what’s happening on the outside. Your letter brought me many visions of light and much hope
.

Take care of yourself,
Hugo

He places the notebook in the knapsack, and the tears that were locked in his eyes roll down his face.

Once again Victoria brings him horrible news. That night they caught more Jewish families. They were taken together with the people who hid them to the town square, where they were all lined up and executed, so that everyone would see and hear and not be tempted to hide Jews.

“What should I do?” Hugo asks cautiously.

“We’ll see.” Her answer comes quickly.

Saying nothing more, Victoria closes the door, and Hugo takes the notebook out of the knapsack and writes:

Dear Mama
,

I don’t want to hide the truth from you. For more than a week, soldiers have been going from house to house and making searches. Mariana is mourning for her mother in the village, and I have been placed in the hands of the cook, Victoria. Before, she was sure that they wouldn’t search here. Now fear has fallen upon her. I’m not afraid. I’m not saying that to calm you down. The months in hiding have blunted my feeling of fear. I live our life at home every day. The house, the pharmacy, and mainly you and Papa are with me from morning to night. When I’m cold or my sleep wanders, I see you with great clarity. Recently I saw our ski vacations in the mountains once again, and the feeling of soaring came back to me. Mama, the loneliness doesn’t hurt me because you taught me how to be by myself. I won’t conceal from you that from time to time a feeling of uncertainty attacks me, or despair, but those are passing moments. You equipped me with much belief in life. I’m so glad that you and Papa are my parents that sometimes I want to break down the door of the hiding place and run away to you
.

I love you,
Hugo

24

The next day Victoria doesn’t appear. Hugo eats leftover sandwiches and listens constantly. Not a sound is heard from Mariana’s room. From the neighboring rooms the usual voices are heard: “Where is the pail?” or “Did you mop the room yet?” Several times Victoria’s voice is heard. It’s hard to know, with her voice, whether she’s conversing or arguing. In any event, there are no quarrels. Between one bit of talk and another, waves of laughter arise, flood the corridor, fall, and shatter.

Where am I?
Hugo suddenly asks himself, as he sometimes does in his dreams. He already sensed the secret that surrounded this place during the first weeks after his arrival, but now, perhaps because of dour Victoria, it seems like a prison to him. Every time he asks Mariana about it, she evades the question and says, “Let that foulness be. It would be a shame to dirty your thoughts.”

Hugo very much wants to take out the notebook and write about everything that’s happening to him, and about his thoughts. But fear and excitement prevent him from doing that. All morning long he sees Mariana’s face, and it is darkened by grief. She is muttering incomprehensible words, and from time to time she raises her head and calls out loud, “Forgive me, Jesus, for my many sins.”

Toward evening men’s voices can already be heard. First they sound familiar, but in a short time he catches a military tone of voice.

“Are there Jews here?” The question comes soon.

“There are no Jews. We work in the army’s service,” a woman answers in German.

“In what service?” the military voice keeps asking.

The woman says something Hugo doesn’t understand, and everybody bursts out laughing.

The atmosphere changes all at once. The men are served soft drinks, because one of them, apparently the commander, says, “We’re on duty. Alcoholic beverages are forbidden while on duty.” They praise the coffee and the sandwiches, and to the woman’s invitation to stay and enjoy themselves, the military voice answers, “We’re on duty.”

“A little entertainment never hurt anyone,” the woman’s voice cajoles.

“Duty first,” answers the military voice.

And then they leave.

Silence returns to the place, but the dread doesn’t release Hugo’s body. It’s clear to him that this time, too, his mother protected him, the way she guarded him during the first days of the ghetto and afterward, when danger lurked in every corner, and especially at the end, in the cellar. He always believed in his mother’s hidden power, but this time it is fully revealed.

When it first gets dark, Victoria brings Hugo a bowl of soup and some meatballs.

“You were saved this time, too,” she says.

My mother saved me
, he’s about to say, but he doesn’t. “Thank you,” he says instead.

“Don’t thank me, thank God.” She rushes to teach him a lesson.

“I’ll give thanks,” he quickly replies.

Without another word, Victoria goes out and locks the closet door.

That night it’s merry again. The accordion bellows and people dance and shout in the hall. The wild laughter rolls loudly and shakes the closet walls. Hugo is so tired that he falls asleep and dreams that Mariana has abandoned him and Victoria doesn’t hesitate to turn him in. He tries to cover himself in the sheepskins, but they don’t cover him.

Toward morning the accordion falls silent. The people scatter, and no one enters Mariana’s room.

At nine o’clock the closet door opens and Mariana stands in the doorway. It’s Mariana, but it is also not her. She’s wearing a black dress, a peasant kerchief is on her head, and her face is pale and sunken. For a moment it seems she’s about to kneel, put her hands together, and pray. That’s a mistaken impression. She stands there, and it’s clear that she doesn’t have the power to utter a word.

“How are you?” Hugo gets to his feet and approaches her.

“It was difficult for me,” she says, and bows her head.

“Come, let’s sit down. I have sandwiches,” he says, and takes her hand.

A glum smile spreads across Mariana’s face, and she says, “Thanks, darling, I’m not hungry.”

“I can tidy up your room, mop the floor, whatever you tell me to do. I’m so glad you came back.”

“Thanks, darling, you mustn’t work. You have to be in hiding until the troubles pass. My poor mother was very sick and died in great pain. Now she’s in the good world, and I’m here. She suffered a lot.”

“God will watch over her,” Hugo quickly says.

Hearing that, Mariana goes down on her knees, hugs Hugo to her heart, and says, “Mama left me alone in the world.”

“We’re not alone in the world.” Hugo remembers what his mother wrote to him.

“I have had some very hard days. My poor mother died in agony. I didn’t manage to buy the medicine for her. I’m guilty. I know.”

“You’re not guilty. The circumstances are guilty.” Hugo remembers that phrase, which they used a lot at home.

“Who told you that, darling?”

“Uncle Sigmund.”

“A marvelous man, an extraordinary man. I’m nothing compared to him,” she says, and she smiles.

25

After Mariana’s return Hugo’s life changed beyond recognition. Mariana still forgot him sometimes, returned from town drunk and abusive, but in her moments of sobriety she fell to her knees, hugged and kissed him, and promised him that nothing bad would befall him. She would watch over him no less than his mother. Closeness to her was so pleasant for Hugo that he forgot his loneliness and the fears that surrounded him.

The baths were especially pleasant. Mariana soaped him down, washed and rinsed him, and she no longer said, “Don’t be embarrassed,” but whispered, “A proper young man, in a year or two the girls will gobble you up.” When she was depressed, her tone changed, and she turned things around: “If only they washed me like you. Believe me, I deserve it. They crush me every night like a mattress. Not even one word of love.”

“But I love you.” The words slipped out of Hugo’s mouth.

“True, you’re good, you’re loyal,” she said, and hugged him.

After her mother’s death, fear of God came over Mariana. She kept repeating that they would roast her in hell because she hadn’t watched over her mother, hadn’t called the doctor in time, hadn’t bought her medicine, hadn’t sat by her bedside. And not only that: instead of working in the fields or in a
factory, she was working here. For that God would never forgive her.

Once Hugo heard her say, “I hate myself. I’m filthy.” He wanted to approach her and say,
You’re not filthy. A good smell of perfume comes from your neck and your blouse
. But he didn’t dare. When Mariana was sunk in depression, she was unpredictable. She didn’t talk but, rather, spat out harsh words like pebbles. Hugo knew that at times like that, he mustn’t talk to her. Even a soft word drove her out of her mind.

Hugo takes out his notebook and writes:

I’m trying to keep up continuity in my diary, but I’m not managing. The place is feverish. Since Mariana returned, her moods rise and fall, and sometimes several times a day. I’m not afraid. I feel that behind her suffering hides a good and loving woman
.

Mama, sometimes it seems to me that what once was will never be again, and that when we meet after the war, we’ll be different. How that difference will be expressed I have no notion. Sometimes it seems to me that we’ll speak in a different language. Things that we didn’t used to talk about or ignored will concern us. Each of us will tell what happened to him. We’ll sit together and listen to music, but it will be a different kind of listening
.

Before I yearned for this meeting, and now, God forgive me, as Mariana says, I’m afraid of it. The thought that at the end of the war I won’t recognize you and you won’t recognize me is a very hard thought for me to bear. I’m trying not to think it, but the thought won’t let me be
.

There’s no doubt I’ve changed a lot in these months, and I’m not what I was. For a fact: it’s hard for me to write and hard for me to read. You remember how much I loved to
read. Now I’m entirely immersed in listening. Mariana’s room, my eternal riddle, is a house of pleasure for me, and at the same time I feel that evil will come from there. The tension that pervades me most of the day has apparently changed me, and who knows what else will be
.

By the way, Mariana always complains that everybody exploits her all the time, wrings her out, and crushes her. I often want to ask her, Who’s oppressing you? But I don’t dare. I mainly observe your instruction not to ask but to listen, but what can I do? Listening doesn’t always make you wiser
.

The nights are cold. Hugo wears two pairs of pajamas, wraps himself in one of Mariana’s cloaks, and covers himself with sheepskins. Even that heavy covering doesn’t keep him warm. Sometimes in the middle of the night Mariana opens the closet door and calls him to come to her.

For a long time Hugo’s body hurts him from the piercing cold, but gradually sensation returns to his arms and legs, and he feels her soft body. That pleasantness is unlike any other, but, sadly, it doesn’t last for long. Suddenly, with no warning, a feeling of guilt breaks out within him and spreads over him like a searing flame.
Mama is suffering on the cold roads, and you are embraced in Mariana’s arms. Mariana isn’t your mother. She’s a servant, she’s like Sofia
. But amazingly, that sharp twinge of the heart is quickly swallowed up in feelings of pleasure, and there is no trace of its having entered him. Sometimes Mariana whispers in her sleep, “Why don’t you kiss me? Your kisses are very sweet.” Hugo does her bidding gladly, but when she says, “Bite, too,” he hesitates, afraid to hurt her.