by Herz Bergner
Bronya returned from the captain with a great secret that she wouldn’t divulge to anyone. She had a delighted expression, her head and shoulders quivered with joy, her piercing black eyes overflowed with pleasure. She wouldn’t talk to just anyone—she wouldn’t tell just anyone of the things she had achieved with the captain. She kept the secret locked within herself, talking in riddles and hints, and it took a long time before anything could be coaxed out of her. After every few words that were extracted from her she repeated the same tale.
‘Of all people, he’s a captain!’ She winked vivaciously. ‘Anything seems to be called a captain these days. I’m sure the captain has never seen a woman before. Otherwise he wouldn’t blush like a boy or a dunce in the first grade. Who could compare that man with one of our own captains? He’s so phlegmatic that he doesn’t know when to kiss a lady’s hand. I’ve never met one like that before.’
Nothing else seemed to be in her mind, and to all the important questions she had no proper answer. They had to have the patience of Job to listen to all the foolishness that she uttered. She kept pouring out wonders: how she had awakened the captain from his sleep and made of him a gentleman like other men.
When she came into his cabin he hardly glanced at her, not even rising to give her a chair. But they could rely on her: Bronya knew how to handle men so that they would fall to their knees before her. Oh, those men, she knows them well! All that a woman has to do is to show some indifference, wear a cold mask on her face, and they run after her like foolish sheep. She gave that captain, that ignorant boor, a proper talking to and taught him some good manners—a little bon ton! And in the end he would hardly let her go and implored her to stay, with tears in his eyes, not like a captain but like a schoolboy.
On the spot he had fallen in love with her, head over heels. Now she has him firmly in the palm of her hand; he lies at her feet and she can do what she likes with him. Everything happened as she foretold. He only let her go after she promised that she would meet him again. What a piece of impudence! It wouldn’t even occur to her to see him again. Although he was an unusual type, the like of whom she had never met before, he didn’t interest her in the least. Naturally, she had promised to see him again, but as if she had nothing better to do than that!
With her last words she shrugged her soft, womanly shoulders sulkily and coquettishly, as though to say, ‘I am not as mad as all that.’ She had made the best of her opportunity to keep everyone around her, to enjoy the feeling that she was the leading lady. Everybody looked her straight in the eyes and she wanted to continue to stretch out the story. But the patience of her audience was ebbing, and someone interrupted her.
‘What sort of nonsense are you talking? What sort of rubbish are you pouring into my weak head? Who can be as light-hearted as she. It would be better if you would tell us what you found out from the captain. What’s the good of all this nonsense? “Bon ton, bon ton! Captain, captain!” Look at this addled Galician! Really it takes all kinds—a world of little worlds.’
Those words brought Bronya back down to earth. She was bewildered, her tongue was tied, sticking in her mouth, and she stammered. She no longer knew what she was talking about. The words had come so unexpectedly and they seemed so unjust to her that tears welled in her eyes. She didn’t want to say any more. Tediously and with the use of many wiles they learned that the captain had told her that they were not far from a port. Another twenty-four hours, or at the most forty-eight hours, and they would reach a port.
The passengers felt almost sorry that they had chosen her for such an important mission. Somehow they couldn’t believe her words. They felt no confidence in her and they knew that what she had said might have no truth at all. But they had no alternative so they looked her straight in the face and accepted everything she said as good currency. And then, if some still doubted, they were shouted down.
‘A young woman comes along and talks plain words and someone already wants to twist them. Have you ever heard of such a thing?’
The joy was really deep and it increased when Reb Lazar, saying his prayers in the morning, actually saw several white seabirds. This was really the best proof that they were not far from the shore.
Reb Lazar that morning, as was his custom, awoke early, walked on the deck and looked into the Holy Book. Then he began to pray. The sun had risen like a full goblet of wine that had overflowed and flooded a large part of the sky. The sea was warming itself in the first rays of the sun, lying stretched out like a mighty silvery fish. The water was still sleepy, its drowsy ripples and swellings shimmering. When Reb Lazar saw the seabirds he reflected that they were, as in Noah’s Ark, the first messengers of the land. Joy flowed through him, pervading every part of his body. He wanted to share his joy with someone as quickly as he could, but he wouldn’t interrupt his prayers. Quietly and with closed eyes he recited the morning prayers without running to tell anyone. When he had finished he unwrapped his phylacteries and folded his large prayer shawl with the silvery bands that was yellow and grey with use and smelt of melting candles and passionate prayers. Only then did he hurry to relate his news.
Everybody then watched the seagulls that followed the ship, cutting the sunny air with straight and curving lines, swooping up and down and demanding food. But the ship didn’t have food enough for itself, let alone any to throw to the birds as they flew tiredly after the ship, screeching hungrily in pitiful voices. Now and then a bird would drop to the sea as if it had been shot. Nearly all the morning the birds never left the ship. They came closer and closer to the people on deck, saying something to them in their bird language. Their voices rose higher as they hung in the sunny air with white, out-spread, cleanly washed wings.
The people were now certain that Bronya had invented no lie and that they were close to land. And the ship, which had been silent for so long, never uttering a cry, wailed hoarsely like a lost animal that has again found its lair. In the distance, on the sea, something black was seen. The passengers became alarmed, not knowing what it could be. And the fears grew when they noticed that their own ship, that had moved slowly all the time, now gathered speed as if it was running away from something. In great fear they stared at the dark speck that swayed gently as if anchored on the sea. It soon became clear that the speck was a ship and only when it was discovered that the ship was not an enemy one, that there was no reason for alarm, was calm restored.
For quite a time they saw the ship on the horizon and then it disappeared as suddenly as it had come. Together with the ship the birds vanished as if they had been wafted away by a magic hand. The people looked everywhere for them, running from one end of the ship to the other, peering into the distance, but they were nowhere to be seen. A great longing for the birds that had brought the first promise of land seized hold of the people on board. They longed for their hungry cries, for their strange bird language that told of the land, and their sudden disappearance left an oppressive emptiness in their hearts.
But the oppressiveness soon vanished and great happiness surged through them all so that they could not remain still for one moment. They ran after each other to announce the good news, although everyone already knew it. The appearance of the seabirds and the ship had made them forget about the land which was now surely quite close! The first delirious overpowering wave of excitement over, the realisation that they had been saved shone out. Why then is their joy so quiet? Why don’t they embrace each other and dance with joy? Why do they stand with folded arms and do nothing? They should pull themselves together and get ready to land. They should pack their pitiful handfuls of rags.
Rejoicing swept the ship. They never tired of talking of the great event; they interpreted it this way and that, discussing every detail of their salvation. They repeated the same thing over and over again for the hundredth time. They threw themselves upon each other, embraced warmly, kissed passionately and tears ran from their eyes in their happiness. They thanked the Creator and nothing could silence them. In the mi
dst of their tears they talked incessantly of the seabirds and the ship that they had seen. Rarely had they met with a ship on their long journey. All the signs surely meant that their release was not far away.
Woe to him who attempted to let drop a word doubting whether they would be admitted into a port. They had been tossed around everywhere, he said. In Greece they had only wanted to get rid of them. They had sent them away and washed their hands of the whole business. But nobody wanted to listen to him and he was silenced.
‘Now, there he goes!’ they shouted him down. ‘A new moaner has arisen, God help us!’
CHAPTER XIII
When the first wave of joy had passed and they became accustomed to the idea that they had been saved, the people slowly returned to their cabins. Each one began to handle his own few possessions. It was a long time since they had looked at them and they lay forgotten in cases under the bunks.
Now the cases were taken out, dusted and aired to get rid of the mustiness. Their few, pitiful belongings that recently had seemed worthless had once more become of great value to them and each person trembled with excitement over every little thing. Each one made up his account, sorting out his few possessions, and they all became so absorbed in their work that they forgot everything else.
Mrs Hudess was famous as a good housewife who could do anything with her two strong hands. She swiftly and with much noise and bustle tackled her case. Everything crackled under her hands and she was the first ready. Before anyone else could turn around she had finished with everything and began to attend to her two daughters. Soon the two little girls were arrayed in clean dresses and pinafores just as if it were the eve of the Sabbath, before the lighting of the candles. Then the children went on playing with their doll. The younger one dressed the doll just as her mother had dressed her. She put on a new dress and apron and tied a ribbon in its hair. She talked to the doll in the same way as her mother had talked to her:
‘My treasure. Precious.’ She hugged the doll close to her. ‘A blessing on your head! My heart is full when I look at you. And I only saved you by a hair’s breadth. But where has your father got to, Good God in Heaven?’
Mrs Hudess had recently become devout and made her little daughters recite aloud the evening prayer before going to bed. Now, in her great joy, she hardly knew what she was doing and she did many things that were unusual for her. She looked very excited, talked without ceasing in the most extravagant way, screeched and laughed and poked her nose into everything. Without being asked she took upon herself the role of mother and looked after everybody.
And like a good but strict mother who stops at nothing, speaks out bluntly, even dressing down her grown-up sons, the fathers of children themselves—so Mrs Hudess stopped at nothing, shouted at and commanded everybody. Her pride in coming from a big city, in being a Warsaw lady, reawakened and she became a great expert on everything under the sun, although nobody wanted any of her advice. This one she reprimanded, the other she praised. Whenever she saw something that displeased her she slapped the person concerned, with a pretence of good humour, and her thin, wrinkled hands, in spite of everything, had still not lost their motherly assurance and warmth. She didn’t even pause before the dignified and well-respected Rockman, but she admonished him for his grubby collar. She told him to take it off and she would wash it. This was very much out of place and Rockman was terribly embarrassed and to hide his embarrassment he gravely continued to stroke his well-cared-for, spade-shaped beard, without answering her.
Bronya made enough commotion for a whole work-room. Flustered and dishevelled, she wandered about in a loose dressing-gown, wasting plenty of time, although everyone else hurried as if they were afraid of missing something. Around her lay scattered all her possessions: dresses, blouses, stockings, brassieres, all her bits and pieces. Nobody else had a decent bit of apparel but Bronya wanted for nothing. She could hardly attend to all the things she had to do, sorting, mending and packing. Her piece of blurred, broken mirror stood before her all the time and she was always glancing into it. She took out of her case a bit of coloured, scented soap—God only knows where she had got that from. She held it carefully in her hand and looked after it like the eyes in her head. She also dug out a jacket that she had made from some of her husband’s clothes, a jacket of a thousand charms. She held it against her and posed before the broken mirror with many little feminine movements and gestures as she asked Mrs Hudess how it suited her. And Mrs Hudess had to confess that it was very charming. She became very excited and was unable to tear her eyes away from the jacket.
‘This young woman can take snow and make noodles from it.’ Her eyes glittered with excitement as she spoke. ‘And she can put together a ribbon and a rag and from nothing make something that is charming. It’s a heaven-sent gift!’
But Mrs Hudess couldn’t spend much time with Bronya as she was in a great hurry to dash into Mrs Fabyash’s cabin to see how she was getting on. She knew this would be a difficult job and she had been putting it off. But she hadn’t forgotten Mrs Fabyash. She had come to get Bronya to go with her and she almost forcibly tore her away from her bits and pieces that had absorbed her with all her heart and soul.
As usual, Mrs Fabyash was sitting on her bunk, her heavy, crippled feet resting on the floor. When the two women came in she didn’t even lift her eyes to glance at them. She had heard about everything and she didn’t listen very carefully to what Mrs Hudess poured into her ears. But Mrs Hudess, not abashed, never tired of repeating the same thing over and over again. She almost talked herself to death until she had had enough of it and complained to Mrs Fabyash.
‘Why don’t you answer me,’ she burst out in apparent vexation. ‘I’m tired of talking all the time. I’ve already strained my heart!’
In the end she succeeded in forcing a word out of Mrs Fabyash. It was all the same to her and to everything that Mrs Hudess told her she made the same answer.
‘What difference does it make to me? It’s all the same to me. It’s very nice of you to have come. But for me there is nothing to live for.’
Mrs Hudess summoned the courage to interrupt her.
‘Now, now, don’t say that! Don’t sin with such words. What sort of talk is this? God knows I don’t think you know yourself what you are saying.’
Mrs Hudess began to stammer, not being brazen enough to talk unrestrainedly to Mrs Fabyash. She felt that anything she could say was not enough, was superfluous. It was only self-deception for there were really no words to comfort her, but nevertheless she didn’t stop. While she was speaking she gathered more courage and raised her voice higher.
‘Don’t pretend!’ she lectured Mrs Fabyash, feigning anger, ‘You want to live all right. Everybody wants to live. That’s the way of the world. Don’t tell stories, because nobody will believe you.’
Mrs Hudess became silent, sighed deeply and added, ‘When my husband, God bless him, was torn away from me I also thought that the world was finished for me but as you see I am still living. We forget. Life is stronger than everything else, believe me!’
It was noble of Mrs Hudess to have bared her own wounds and caused herself pain to make it easier for the other woman. Mrs Fabyash understood that and she allowed the two women to gather her few possessions. Quickly and nimbly Mrs Hudess set to work on the pitiful belongings. When she came across Fabyash’s and the children’s things she quickly hid them, pushing them right under everything else, so that Mrs Fabyash wouldn’t have them before her eyes. Bronya helped her, doing everything that she was told. As soon as she was finished, Mrs Hudess approached Mrs Fabyash and insisted on her changing her dress and combing her hair.
‘A person must take herself in hand!’ Mrs Hudess said. ‘One shouldn’t neglect one’s self! Now you’re beginning to look more like yourself again. One could hardly recognise you. A pity there isn’t a mirror that you could look into!’
Mrs Hudess’s words, the devotion and loyalty with which she busied herself, and her anxious face tou
ched Mrs Fabyash and she smiled faintly. Although nothing mattered to her any more, tired and sick of everything as she was since her life had lost its meaning, it gave her some pleasure that people were still interested in her and she couldn’t restrain the broken smile, like a terminally sick person who feels better for a moment. But she soon felt lost again and had no more strength to listen to this feigned brave talk. She begged Mrs Hudess: ‘Leave me alone. What do you want of me?’
But Mrs Hudess gave her no rest. She had seen her faint, twisted smile and with her strong hands she caught her under one arm and beckoned Bronya to take the other. The two women then took Mrs Fabyash out into the passageway.
When the eminent Warsaw doctor saw the women he ran towards them. He was now clean and neatly dressed. His silvery hair was carefully combed, his thick aristocratic moustache brushed and his black, broad-brimmed artist’s hat shone. But somehow this new look didn’t suit him. Although he had always talked of hygiene, warning everyone else to keep clean so as to avoid infections, he had always neglected himself. As often happens, he never saw his own faults but always those of others. Neatly groomed, as he was now, he looked uncomfortable, as though he didn’t belong to himself and was in another’s skin. It was apparent that his new-found neatness wouldn’t last long. His well-combed hair, the brushed moustache, the good-humoured smile in the half-senile eyes all together reminded one of a child who had been forcibly washed by its mother and dressed up for an occasion; it wouldn’t be long before the child got himself grubby again.
When Mrs Hudess saw the doctor she remarked to the women, and particularly to Mrs Fabyash, that some comfort could be drawn: ‘There goes the doctor with his instruments. As always, misfortune goes with misfortune, the blind leads the lame. Look how his wife has decked him out! Everyone carries a load of troubles and he’s well loaded. Such a learned man too! He still thinks that his son is alive.’
