“You have to stop drinking,” the woman with the authoritative voice coaxed her. “You’re a pretty and attractive woman, and the men like you. But they don’t like it when you’re drunk. You have to stop drinking and do what the guests ask of you. That’s our profession. That’s our livelihood.”
Mariana promised, but she didn’t keep her promise. The guests shouted at her and hit her. Hugo saw blue spots on her body, and his heart felt bitter.
“You’re the only one who understands me,” Mariana says, and hugs him. “You’re the only one who doesn’t hit me or abuse me, and you don’t call me bad names, and you don’t order me to do disgusting things.” The compliments that Mariana showers on Hugo embarrass him, but he knows that she needs some encouragement now, and he says, “You’ll get yourself out of this. You’re beautiful, and everybody loves you.”
“You’re wrong, darling. Everybody wrings me out, abuses me, and then they complain about me.”
“We’ll run away from here.” Hugo tries that stratagem.
“Where will we run to? My late mother’s house is about to collapse, and my sister stole what was in it.”
“We’ll work together in a kitchen.” Hugo utters that sentence without knowing how it could be done.
“My darling, no one would hire me. This profession is the mark of Cain not only on your forehead but on your whole self, on your whole life.”
Mariana is frightened, but Hugo, for some reason, isn’t frightened. Mariana feels that and says, “What would I do without you?”
Once she said, in a moment of distraction, “The Jews are more delicate.”
“Than who?”
“Than other people. If you thought that the Germans were polite, you’re mistaken. They fall upon a woman like wild beasts. Only the Jews approach a woman cautiously, hug her and kiss her gently, buy her a bottle of perfume, a pair of silk stockings, give her some extra cash so she can pamper herself.”
“Did you have many Jewish friends?” he asked, and he immediately regretted asking.
“Mainly students. They were attracted to me, and I was attracted to them. One student even proposed marriage. I was afraid. I said to myself, he’s educated, he’ll be a lawyer, and what about me? I’m nothing. Aside from that, non-Jews don’t marry Jews.”
“Why not?”
“Because each one believes in something different.”
“We’re not religious.”
“I know.”
One night, a warm, quiet night, angry voices are heard from Mariana’s room. Mariana swears by God and His Messiah, “Today not even a single drop of brandy entered my mouth. All day long I struggled with myself not to drink, and I didn’t.”
Mariana’s oaths are of no use. The man claims that she stinks of brandy, and he won’t lie with a stinking woman. The man’s words push her over the edge. She screams and shouts. The man slaps her face and leaves the room.
Before long the woman with the authoritative voice arrives, and without first coaxing or trying to persuade her, announces that Mariana has been fired, and that she must leave the room within two days.
Hearing that bitter news, Mariana raises her choked voice and says, “Why?”
“You know exactly why.” The woman’s voice cuts like a knife.
“I didn’t drink, I swear to you.”
“Why didn’t you change clothes? Your clothes stink.”
“I didn’t know.”
“I’m fed up with you,” the woman says, and leaves the room.
Hugo knows exactly what that means, but he sympathizes with Mariana and ignores the anger of the woman in charge. No matter, he says to himself, we’ll find a better place.
The hours pass, and Mariana doesn’t come into the closet.
Toward morning, defeated and humiliated, she opens the door and says, “They fired me.”
“You’ve suffered more than enough here.”
“I don’t know what to do.” Despite the shock, she grasps the gravity of her situation.
“I’m willing to go anywhere.”
“Darling, don’t forget that you’re a Jew.”
“Can you see it on me?”
“Not right away, but people have evil eyes, and they’ll discover it very quickly. I thought all day about what to do. It occurred to me to ask my friend Nasha, who works here, to keep her eye on you until I find a hiding place.”
“And I won’t go with you?”
“Honey, I really love you, but you can’t walk around with me in broad daylight. They’ll simply kill you. They kill Jews without mercy. Nasha is a good woman, my age. She’s different from me. She’s not excitable like I am. She always has a plan.”
“And she won’t turn me in?”
“Perish the thought. She’s a very good woman. Her grandpa was a priest.”
“I’m afraid,” Hugo says, without meaning to say it.
“Don’t be afraid. I’ll talk to Nasha. Just for a short time, until I find the right place. I swore to your mother that I would watch over you, and I’ll keep that promise under any condition. Come to me, and I’ll give you a kiss. Now you give me a kiss, harder. We’ll always be together,” she says, and then locks the closet door.
28
Hugo suddenly feels that danger is approaching. He checks the opening near the toilet that Mariana spoke of, and it’s a good thing he does, because it’s full of boards and rags. After cleaning it, he crawls through it easily and finds himself close to the woodshed. The thought that in an emergency he can escape makes Hugo glad, and he sits and writes in his notebook:
Mama dear,
Mariana was fired, and she is about to pass me on to her friend Nasha. The contact between people here isn’t soft. Everyone demands the impossible from others. Don’t worry, it’s not aimed at me. Mariana was fired because she drinks, and she really does drink a lot. Mariana promised me that she would look for a hiding place somewhere. I’m sure she’ll do it. I won’t conceal from you that there are days when I’m scared. In my heart I know that most of the fears are groundless. Everything around me here captivates my heart, and I forget the dangers. Most of the time I’m busy listening and making efforts to understand what I hear. The conjectures, I must truthfully confess, don’t lead me far. I feel that I’m changing. Mariana says that I’m maturing. It’s hard for me to know what’s happening in my body. I’ve grown taller, it seems to me.
A few days ago the thought crossed my mind, and it’s hard for me to get rid of it: What harm did the Jews do that everyone is persecuting them? Why do they have to take shelter in hiding places? Mariana says that the Jews are more delicate, and that, too, is something I can’t understand. Are they persecuted because of delicacy? You and Papa always told me, “People are people, there’s no difference among them, the same thoughts and the same pains.”
At home we never talked about what it means to be Jewish. What do we have in us that makes us enemies of humanity? Several times I’ve heard people here saying, “The Jews are a danger to the world, and they have to be destroyed.” I also heard one of Mariana’s guests say, “Our war isn’t against the Poles or against the Russians, but against the Jews.” Opinions like that don’t raise my spirits. I hope that those malicious intentions will never be carried out.
I think about you all the time,
Hugo
The next day the closet door opens, and Mariana stands there with a woman at her side.
“This is Hugo.” Mariana introduces him.
Hugo rises to his feet, as though exposed and with no choice but to admit that he has been in hiding.
“This is my friend Nasha. Nasha will be your new friend from now on. She will watch over you and make sure you’re not hungry. As soon as I get settled, I’ll come and get you. I won’t forget you, honey. Do you like him?” She turns to Nasha.
“Very much.”
“He’s not only sweet and lovable, he’s also smart.”
“Like all the Jews.” Nasha chuckles in a thin, restrained voice.
“Nasha can keep secrets, and you can rely on her. Her grandpa was a priest.”
“Don’t remind me of that.”
“I’m leaving my things with you, dear. When I make the right kind of arrangement, I’ll come and get you.”
Hugo feels more and more frozen with every passing minute. The words he intended to say are erased from his mind. Finally he asks, “Where are you going?”
“God knows.”
“Take care of yourself,” he says, and tears pour out onto his face.
“Don’t cry, honey.” Mariana draws Hugo close and hugs him. “You’re a hero, and you’re brave. Heroes don’t cry. Heroes say, Mariana has to go, but she’ll come back soon. Meanwhile, you’ll fall in love with Nasha, and you won’t want to come with me.”
At first sight it’s hard to figure out the new woman, but Hugo immediately notices: she is better groomed than Mariana.
“Goodbye, and we’ll be seeing each other very soon,” Mariana says, and kisses his face. That is the end of the transfer ceremony.
Hugo sits down and cries. He cries so much that he falls asleep and doesn’t hear the closet door open. Nasha is standing at the doorway.
“I brought you soup and meatballs.”
“Thank you.” Hugo quickly rises to his feet.
“Did you sleep?”
“Yes.”
“Your name is Hugo, right?”
“Correct.”
“That’s an unusual name. It’s the first time I’ve heard that name.”
“In my class there was another boy named Hugo.”
“That’s a Jewish name.”
“Maybe. I don’t know.”
Nasha looks at him attentively, and Hugo feels her gaze surveying him.
“How is it to be in the closet? Aren’t you cold?”
“Not anymore. It’s spring, right?”
“And it’s not boring for you?”
“I think or imagine things.” He doesn’t hide it from her. “And that relieves boredom?”
“Apparently,” Hugo says, using a word that his mathematics teacher used to use.
“And do you know what we do in this place?”
“Not exactly.”
“Didn’t Mariana tell you?”
“No.”
“We’ll talk about that later,” Nasha says, and a thin smile spreads across her face.
Hugo knows that was a test. Did he pass? He has already noticed that Nasha is restrained. The words that come out of her mouth are few. Usually they are questions that reveal nothing about her. Mariana, by contrast, spat out words like boiling water.
29
Spring is at its fullest. Through the cracks, the smells of mown grass and flowers filter into the closet. Outside a great sun shines. The cows are brought out to pasture, and the pure tranquility heightens Hugo’s longing for Mariana. Only now does he sense how close he was to her. At ten o’clock Nasha stands at the doorway to the closet with a cup of milk in her hand. “How did you sleep?” she asks in an impartial tone of voice.
“I slept well. It wasn’t cold.”
“What did you do?”
“I thought.”
“What did you think about?”
“I thought about Mariana’s fate.”
“Her fate?” Nasha is surprised.
“I don’t have any other word for it.”
“You miss her?”
“Indeed.”
“In that case, why not say, I miss her.”
This is the first personal comment Hugo has heard from her.
Nasha shuts the closet door and begins tidying the room. Hugo can hear her movements, measured and restrained. Mariana hated mopping the floor and changing sheets. She usually neglected cleanliness, and people commented on that more than once.
Hugo soon notices that at night Nasha’s guests don’t make comments to her or get angry at her. Her voice is hardly heard. The visits conclude in a businesslike way, without ceremonies, and without the shouting that he was used to hearing with Mariana.
Since Mariana left, it has been hard for Hugo to write in the notebook. It seems to him that he doesn’t have enough words, that he’s concealing the truth. He wants very much to write everything that is happening in his soul, especially his longings for Mariana, but he’s afraid his mother won’t like that.
Hugo hasn’t been in Mariana’s room since she left. Now the domains are separate: Nasha is in the bedroom, and he is in the closet. Her way of speaking is moderate, and sometimes indifferent. Every once in a while a slight laugh breaks out, but there is no raising of the voice. Nevertheless, Hugo finds something that Mariana and Nasha have in common: at times Nasha also talks about herself in the third person.
“Today Nasha’s going to inspect the room and her body,” she announces. Hugo wants to ask what that means, but he withstands the temptation and doesn’t ask. This time, in any event, she goes out of her way and reveals a bit to him, perhaps more than a bit. Unlike Mariana, she tidies the room thoroughly and washes for a long time.
Toward evening she brings him soup and meatballs and asks, “What did you do?”
“Nothing,” Hugo says, and that’s the truth. Since Mariana left him, he has been assailed by fear. It’s hard for him to sink into thoughts or imaginings. All his thoughts are cut off. And the images in his memory aren’t as clear as they had been. In the morning, Frieda appears before his eyes, trapped in the transport, waving her broad-brimmed hat as though parting from the world with a sarcastic laugh. Hugo wants to go back and examine that image more closely, but fear snatches the picture from before his eyes, and he can see only the transport now, and the people crammed into it. They have no faces, as though they are about to be swallowed in thick fog.
“Why don’t you read?” Nasha stabs him without intending to.
“It’s hard for me to concentrate.” Hugo doesn’t hide the truth from her.
“Have you tried?”
“I haven’t even tried.”
“Jews like to read, isn’t that so?”
“Papa and Mama loved to immerse themselves in reading.”
“My grandfather was a priest. He used to say, ‘Learn from the Jews, they are the people of the book. There isn’t a Jewish house without a library.’ ”
“In our house there’s a big library.” For a moment the pride of past days returns to him.
“And what happened to the books?”
“There’s no one in the house.”
Nasha speaks slowly, listens cautiously, and chooses her words carefully. Her gaze is concentrated, so as not to lose a movement or syllable. Sometimes it seems to Hugo that she is spreading traps around her so that he will be caught or fall.
He tries to learn her gestures, the rhythm of her words, but his efforts achieve nothing. Nasha is a strange creature, he concludes. Who knows what secret she keeps in her soul?
“Isn’t it hard for you to live in the closet?” Nasha surprises him again.
“I’ve gotten used to it.”
“You’re a strong kid.”
“I haven’t done anything to justify that description.”
“You have.”
Every day she leaves him with a loaded word or an incomprehensible sentence. Hugo catches them, and for a long time he turns them over and over, until he becomes weary.
30
Hugo has already noticed that Nasha doesn’t speak about her parents or about her sisters. Sometimes she mentions her grandfather, and it’s clear that her connection with him was long-standing and close. Every time she mentions his name, she adds, “May he forgive me.”
Hugo listens to Nasha so closely and observes her so intently that Mariana’s face is erased, but not her scent. At night he sees her in the middle of a field of flowers, and she’s drunk and happy, raising her hands to heaven and giving thanks out loud: “Thank you, God, for freeing me from prison. Now Mariana is on her own, just on her own, and no one can tell her what to do.” She immediately kneels down, p
laces her hands together, closes her eyes, crosses herself, and prays.
While she’s praying, Hugo’s mother appears, wearing a long coat that makes her look shorter, her face white and wrung out. For a moment she observes Mariana’s prayers, kneels beside her, and waits for her to finish. When she has finished, his mother asks her, “Mariana, what are you doing here?” Hearing that question, Mariana shrinks down and says, “It wasn’t my fault that they fired me.”
“And where is Hugo?”
“Don’t worry, he’s in good hands, better hands than mine.”
“Are they still searching for Jews?”
“Now the informers are digging in every hole. They are paid for every Jew.”
“The Jews are a desirable commodity, I see. How is Hugo?”
“He’s developed a lot since you left him. He’s a young man in every sense. It’s easy to fall in love with him.”
“Good God.” A shout bursts from his mother’s breast.
“Why are you worried? The school of life is an institution that shouldn’t be underestimated.”
The dream breaks off, and Hugo awakens. Unlike Mariana, Nasha knows how to run her life with strict order. After a night of guests she sleeps until late afternoon. Then she tidies the room, showers, rubs her body with fragrant lotions, and when she appears toward evening she looks calm. She makes no complaints. Sometimes Hugo notices a few wrinkles of dissatisfaction on her face, or a smile mixed with repressed pain, but usually she’s quiet or indifferent. Unlike Mariana, she doesn’t hug or kiss him, doesn’t praise him to the skies or use exaggerated endearments.
Sometimes she asks Hugo to mop the floor and clean the bathroom. The room that he continues to call “Mariana’s room” has changed beyond recognition. It is without pictures, without the little decorative bottles on the dresser, and without the small marks of carelessness that indicate poor housekeeping.
The short time Hugo spends in Mariana’s room, no longer free and on his own but as a servant, reminds him of Mariana’s open face and of the nights he lay close to her. Sharp longings fill him. The day before, Nasha told him, “You have to tidy up the closet. You mustn’t live in such disorder.” Most of the objects in the closet are Mariana’s clothes: robes, dresses, blouses, shoes, corsets, brassieres, and silk stockings. Mariana’s clothes are also her. They continue to breathe without her in the thin darkness of the closet.
Blooms of Darkness Page 10
