Blooms of Darkness (17 page)

But the following night Mariana has no guests, and she invites Hugo to come to her. Mariana is soft and devoted. He feels her arms and legs exquisitely, and he has a strong desire to fondle her breasts.

40

And so the days pass—a mixture of disquiet, fear, and powerful pleasures. Hugo’s earlier life slips far away from him, and it is now a pale patch that gradually evaporates and fades away.

Papa, Mama, where are you?
He asks without meaning it. They are no longer within him. In vain he tries to raise them up from the depths of his memory. They refuse to dress in their image. They have also departed from his dreams. Mariana fills his dreams.

What will be, and how will his life go on? Hugo doesn’t think about that. He has become part of this strange place and can easily identify some of the voices: that of the authoritative and venomous guard; that of Victoria, who complains that she works day and night and gets angry at a woman named Sheba, who gobbles food down without measure or proportion and leaves empty pots; and of course the thin, childish voice of Kitty. Hugo is sorry that he’ll soon be leaving. In his heart he consoles himself with the thought that Mariana will be with him in his wanderings. And without her nightly obligations, she will be all his.

Hugo imagines his wanderings with Mariana in the Carpathian Mountains as a voyage of pleasure and contemplation—
like his golden summer vacations with his parents. But now all the responsibility will be upon him.

Hugo knows that his imagination is not impartial, but the desire to be with Mariana, far from other people, plants words in his mouth that he does not ordinarily use. Sometimes they sound frightfully hollow to him, and sometimes an unpleasant artificiality arises from them.

“Do you forgive me?” he says.

“For what?”

“Because I’m not expressing myself properly.”

“What are you talking about?” Mariana says, and bursts out laughing.

But for now there is rain again, and cold. “Next week we’ll leave,” says Mariana, putting off their departure. The army of occupation is sent to the front, and only a small unit that is looking for Jews is left in the city. They, in fact, are the clients of The Residence.

Clearly the war is coming to an end. There is no longer any doubt that the Germans are in trouble. The guard, who always spoke in praise of the German army, has stopped doing so. Now he speaks with the same words of praise about the Russian army. They knew how to retreat, he says, cunningly tempting the Germans to plunge into the snowy plains after them. The Germans’ end will be like that of Napoleon. The winter, not the tanks, will win the war.

The women hear this and are afraid. It is clear to everyone that those who served the Germans will be punished. The Russian army bears grudges and takes revenge.

“What will they do to us?” asks a young voice that Hugo can’t identify.

“After every war, there are pardons. Sins like these aren’t considered serious,” says the guard in his authoritative voice.
That statement doesn’t assuage the fears of the woman who asked, and she wants to know whether the pardon will also apply to her. The guard’s patience wears out, and he answers without looking at her.

“You have nothing to fear,” he says. “They won’t rape you.”

The guests have become very few. At night the women sit and play cards and reminisce. Sometimes a confession is heard, accompanied by tears. Mariana is tranquil. She drinks as much as she pleases. When Mariana drinks the amount she needs, her face lights up and out of her mouth come surprising comments. She sees the future in pink colors and promises Hugo that as soon as the weather improves, they will set out.

“You’re big already,” she says, “and you should know that The Residence is nothing more than a whorehouse.”

Hugo has learned some of the secrets of the place, though there are things that remain more hidden than visible.

Now the women fight over each guest. But not Mariana. She has had enough of them, and she’s glad she can sleep in her bed with Hugo. Hugo’s joy is boundless.

“A person should bless every day and every hour.” Mariana surprises him again.

“Why?” Hugo wonders.

“Because everything can change in a moment. A day without degradation is a gift from heaven, and it should be blessed. You have to learn this, honey. Nothing is self-explanatory. We are given over into God’s hands. When He wishes to, He harms, and when He wishes to, He is beneficent.”

“Does God watch over us?”

“Always. For that reason I’m frightened. God doesn’t like these houses of sin. God loves married women who bring children into the world. He doesn’t love women like me.”

“I love you.”

“But you’re not God,” Mariana says, and they both laugh. Hugo opens the Bible again and reads the story of Joseph.
Hugo feels that he, too, like Joseph, bears within him a secret that will be revealed. He, too, for the moment, has to undergo many trials, but what the future will bring him, he doesn’t know.

“You’ll be an artist,” Mariana keeps saying. “You have the right height and observant eyes. You think correctly, and you don’t let sensitivity drown you. In short, you’ll be an artist. That’s what my heart says.”

It’s strange that she, who since childhood has known hardship and has struggled, does not deny that people can have both beauty and nobility. Where did she acquire that understanding? Hugo continues to wonder about this.

41

Mariana’s religiosity surprises Hugo anew every time. He has noticed that when she’s depressed, she doesn’t talk about God but about herself and her sins, painting hell in fiery colors. But two or three swallows of brandy erase the gloom from her face. A new light makes her forehead throb, and she speaks directly to God.

“Dear God, You understand my heart better than any person. You know that my pleasures in this world were few and bad, my humiliations were many and bitter. I don’t say that I’m a righteous woman worthy to go to heaven. I bear a burden of shame, and that’s why I’ll pay a forfeit when the day comes. But I never stopped longing for You, God. Even when I’m in the depths of hell, You are my beloved.”

At night she allows him to touch her breasts. Her breasts are big and full, and they give off warmth and an inebriating smell. Mariana seems to like the way he touches her, because she says, “You’re gentle, you’re good, you love Mariana.”

Again she makes Hugo swear. “Whatever happens between us is a secret forever and ever.”

“I swear,” he cries out.

Now that there are hardly any guests, the nights are filled
with soft darkness. On the rare occasions when a guest knocks at Mariana’s door, she quickly tells him she’s drunk too much and can’t entertain anyone. The guest turns away and goes to the next door.

Mariana is now laden with brandy. Her mood is exalted, her brain is feverish, and from her mouth come glowing utterances. She tells Hugo that she has worked in residences like this since she was a young girl. They were all the same: a guard at the door, a thin and unbearable madam, and the hostesses. Among the hostesses there were good ones and mean ones. Most of them were bitches. This was no surprise: two or three hungry men every night can burn up even the sturdiest woman. “Since I was fourteen, they’ve been devouring me,” she says. “Now I feel like lying in bed and hugging my big puppy and sleeping for hours and hours. There’s nothing like an uninterrupted night’s sleep.”

Again she surprises him. “You should stay a puppy,” she says. “Men who are puppies are sweet. When they grow up they turn into beasts of prey. I won’t let you grow up. You’ll stay the way you are. Do you agree?”

“I agree.”

“I knew you’d agree. I know you by now.”

One night she tells him, “There’s nothing else to be said: Jews are gentler. They wouldn’t abuse a naked woman. They’ll always touch her softly, whisper a good word in her ear, always leave her a few extra banknotes. They know that Madam takes most of the cash for herself. Your mother was always good to me. During the hardest days, she remembered me and brought me clothes, fruit, cheese. What didn’t she bring? She never forgot that the two of us once sat at the same desk, that both of us loved to play jump rope and ball. She never said to me,
Why don’t you do respectable work?
I actually expected her to speak sternly to me, but I was glad that she didn’t torment me.

“Like I said: the Jews are gentler. The Jewish students
always tried to get me to join the Communist Party. Once I even let myself be convinced to go to their headquarters. They discussed and argued over things I didn’t have any idea about. To tell the truth, I wasn’t suitable for them. I grew up in mud, and like a mud-animal, I didn’t know any other atmosphere.

“You, thank God, grew up in a good home. Your parents let you observe, think, imagine. I ran away and went from place to place, always afraid and always ashamed. My father, God forgive him, used to beat me with sticks. It started when I was a child. He also hit my sister, but he beat me more bitterly. It’s no wonder I ran away from home.

“He used to follow me, and when he found me, he would beat me mercilessly. I can feel his lashes to this very day. Those are scars that never healed. My flesh still remembers them. He was a fierce detective. He wouldn’t return home until he found me. Sometimes he would look for me for a whole week, and when he found me, there was no limit to his cruelty.

“Why am I remembering him? It’s impossible not to remember him. His lashes are embedded in me, to the marrow of my bones. I don’t mean to disturb his eternal rest. Let him rest in peace in his grave, but what can I do? When I lie in bed, the scars wake me up and gnaw at me.

“My mother, of blessed memory, was better to me. She also suffered. My father didn’t spare her, either. He was always angry at her: ‘Why didn’t you pick the cabbage? Why is the barn neglected?’ The poor thing would apologize and ask for mercy and promise to do everything, but because she didn’t keep her promises, he would scream at her and sometimes slap her face. In time, when she got sick, he would say, ‘You’re pretending to be sick. There’s nothing wrong with you. You don’t want to work. From lying in bed so much, you’ll really get sick.’ But in the end he died before she did.”

Hugo hears all this and says, “In a little while, we’ll be surrounded by nature, without people.”

“But now it’s raining,” Mariana replies. “Better to stay here. Here there’s a warm stove.”

As the hours pass it rains harder. There are no preparations for nightly duties and no sudden visits from Madam. The women sit in the hall. They drink and sing. Hugo likes to listen to their Ukrainian folk songs. Sometimes a sob is heard from the hall, and everyone joins in. Only Madam isn’t pleased. Hugo sometimes hears her voice: “Without customers, we’ll have to close The Residence.”

“And what will happen to us?”

“Everyone will go her own way.”

Upon hearing her answer, the women sit in silence, and Hugo feels that the enemy is both outside and within. He wants to say, the way Mariana herself used to say now and then,
Don’t be afraid. Fear is a shameful quality, fear is what brings us down to hell. You mustn’t fear people
.

42

Winter comes before its time. Persistent rumors say that the German army has begun to withdraw. Trains stream from the front to the rear without stopping at stations. Even from the closet, it’s possible to hear their muffled rush.

“Now it’s impossible to leave,” Mariana says. “Now we have to stay here until the fury of the rains has passed. This rain will bring hail and, finally, snow. A person with no house would freeze.” Mariana is pleased to have no contradiction between her wishes and the conditions outdoors that force them to remain in The Residence.

If it weren’t for the guard, they would all curl up in bed and sleep even more. But for some reason the guard has changed his mind and now is warning the women that the Russians will whip them to death.

“Whoever sold her body to the Germans won’t be let off. You have to run away as soon as possible.” His tone of voice has changed recently, and he sounds less authoritative. Victoria’s advice is different: “You have to flee to convents and return to God.”

“How can we return to God?” A young woman’s voice is heard, but Hugo can’t identify it.

“Bend your knees and say, ‘Lord Jesus, forgive me for all
the sins I committed. From now on I swear that I won’t sin or lead others into sin.’ ”

“Should we say it now or in the convent?”

“Now.”

“It’s strange to make an oath in this place.”

“Why is it strange? The moment a person swears not to sin, God begins to listen to him.”

Later he hears one of the women hissing, “A cursed life.”

“Is married life better? My sister’s husband beats her every day.”

“Men desecrate us three times a night.”

“Today, after ten years of desecration, I’d choose marriage.”

“Now the Russians will come and whip us to death. What the Germans did to the Jews, the Russians will do to us. The Russians have no God in their hearts.”

There are no more guests. There is tension and creeping fear. The girls sit in the hall, chat, drink, and play cards. They remember the guests who were nice to them, brought them boxes of candy, and didn’t ask them to do anything disgusting.

“In a little while, the volcano will erupt,” the guard warns them.

“Let it erupt. Our life is worth zero squared,” replies one of them, and everybody laughs.

Mariana’s mood is exalted. She drinks as much as she wants and regrets the days when she denied herself the marvelous potion known as brandy. You only live once, she says.

Hugo is also content. Mariana doesn’t stop hugging him, and every few days she stands him next to the door, measures him, and says, “You’ve gotten taller. In a little while hairs will grow.” When she drinks, she is free. She shows him the bottles of perfume she has in her drawers, the jewelry, and the silk stockings she received as presents. Hugo likes to watch her when she stretches out her leg and puts on a stocking. Sometimes she stands before the mirror wearing only panties and a
brassiere and says, “Isn’t it true that I haven’t lost my shape? I’m just the way I should be, not fat and not thin. A lot of women have doughy legs or a swollen belly. And now we have to teach Hugo how to love Mariana.”