Until the Dawn's Light

by Aharon Appelfeld

  “Let’s go to My Corner.”

  “We’ll sit in your house. Why go so far?” he said, as though seeking cover.

  “Everything is neglected in the house. And there isn’t anybody in My Corner at this hour.”

  They set off for the center of town and Blanca did most of the talking, telling him about everything that had happened to her since the morning. Her father wasn’t distracted. He listened attentively, as though she were telling him secrets. When they reached the center of town, it was already three o’clock. The sun flooded the shop windows with cool light. Her father raised his eyes, as though looking away from a terrible dream, and said, “I’m so glad I came back. It’s good to return to your native city.”

  Blanca was alarmed by that sentence.

  “I have no special sentiments for this city,” she said. “There are more important things than the city you live in.”

  “What are they?” He surprised her.

  “A good feeling, for example,” she said, and she was pleased that she hadn’t been tripped up in an idle statement.

  “True, the evening light is always joyful,” he said, pausing, as though he weren’t sure of what he’d said.

  “I feel no sentiments for this city. I would gladly travel to another place.”

  “Where?” he asked with his old curiosity.

  “To Vienna, for example.”

  “I,” he said, returning to his former ways, “find our city very pleasant.”

  This was not the ill and confused father whom Blanca and Adolf had put into the old age home but, rather, the father from her childhood. He had always dreamed. Her mother loved him because he was a dreamer, and when he failed—he mainly failed—she would support him with her fragile body and envelop him with soft speech, with good food, with a new coat that she had bought him. Or she would take him out for a long walk. She was his great admirer, and she believed in his hidden talents, which would someday be discovered.

  “So, where shall we sit, Papa?”

  This time her father preferred Amnon & Tamar to My Corner. They sat in the place where they always sat, near the window, across from the acacia tree, whose leaves had fallen, revealing its sturdy trunk. They ordered coffee and cheesecake, and the waiter, who had known them for many years, said, “It’s been a long time since I’ve seen you, sir. How are you?”

  “Everything’s as it should be.”

  “Thank God,” said the waiter, withdrawing to the counter.

  Blanca’s father didn’t say a single word about Himmelburg. He spoke about a few efforts he had made in the past to extricate himself from the difficulty of earning a living. Once he had even gone to Vienna, where he had been offered the management of a small bookstore. The offer fell through because the salary they offered him would barely cover his rent. Her mother was prepared to do any kind of work to pull him out of that swamp, but her father wouldn’t agree, and the idea was shelved.

  He went on for a bit, and Blanca said, “Let’s take a walk in the direction of the station.”

  “I don’t want to go back to Himmelburg. That place depresses me.”

  “Where will we sleep?” Blanca spoke in the plural.

  “I,” he said in a voice that froze her, “am returning to my home.”

  “Papa.”

  “What’s the matter?”

  “We don’t have a home. We sold the house. Don’t you remember?”

  “We sold our house?”

  “Yes, Papa. We had debts.”

  “I don’t want to go back to Himmelburg. That dark place depresses me.” He spoke the way he had sometimes spoken when her mother was alive.

  “I’d invite you to stay with us, but my house, Papa, is completely full. Adolf’s sister and her three children live with us,” she lied.

  “Don’t you have a bed for me?”

  “Everything is dirty, crowded, and noisy.” She spoke hurriedly.

  “I don’t know what to do,” he said, cracking his knuckles.

  “Let’s take a walk. Don’t you want to take a walk?”

  Now she tried to entertain him, to distract him and lead him indirectly back to the railway station. Amazingly, she managed. She told him that after Adolf’s sister left the house and returned to her own home, she intended to enroll in a course in bookkeeping.

  “But you wanted to study at the university, didn’t you?”

  “Later, Papa.”

  “And what does Adolf say?”

  “He’s very encouraging.”

  “I’m glad. Your happiness is very precious to me. I never managed to accomplish anything.”

  Now he spoke about himself again, about his partner, Dachs, and about his classmates who were weak students and became successful industrialists.

  “How can you explain that, Papa?”

  “Abstract thought isn’t good for commerce.” Again he surprised her with a clear and accurate insight.

  “And what’s needed for success?”

  “A certain kind of coarseness of mind.”

  Now she was alarmed by the clarity of his thought.

  They reached the station on time. Blanca had intended to join him, to stay overnight in Himmelburg and return the following day, but her father said quietly, in his customary tone of voice, “Why displace yourself at night? Sleep in your own bed, and come to visit me tomorrow.”

  “Still, I want to join you.”

  “There’s no need, dear.”

  Now he no longer tarried but walked up the steps into the railroad car and sat at the window. The car was empty, and Blanca managed to see him in profile. Then the train began to move, and Blanca waved good-bye with both hands.

  Surprisingly, her father opened the window and called out, “Thank you very much, Blanca. It was a wonderful day.”

  The train quickly moved off into the distance, and Blanca’s face flooded with tears.

  20

  THE NEXT MORNING, the postman woke Blanca and handed her a telegram.

  “Your father disappeared last night,” it read. “Police and citizens searching for him. Come at once.” At first it seemed as though the old postman had risen up out of her nightmares, but she saw her error immediately. He was Richard, the postman she had known since her childhood. At one time he delivered the mail in the center of town. Later he was transferred to the outlying areas.

  “Papa’s disappeared,” Blanca said, hardly knowing what she was saying.

  The postman’s jaw dropped. “Where was he?” he asked.

  “He was here. I accompanied him to the Himmelburg train. He was pleased. We had spent time together downtown.”

  “Why did he go to Himmelburg?”

  “He’s living in the old age home.”

  “All kinds of strange things happen in old age homes,” said the elderly man. He closed his bag and stood where he was.

  “What can I do?” Blanca asked distractedly. Now she saw her father’s face clearly in the train window. Before getting on the train, he had spoken quietly and cogently, as though he understood that there was no way out and that he had to go back.

  It was ten o’clock, and a pure autumn sun stood in the sky.

  “Blanca,” said the postman in a fatherly voice. “Get dressed. The train leaves in an hour.”

  “Yes,” she said, as though he had woken her up again.

  “People don’t get lost.” He used a peasant proverb to calm her fears and then went on his way.

  Blanca dressed quickly and hurried to the station. There was no one there, and the young conductor made a joke at her expense. He heaped compliments on her and then casually mentioned that he had seen Adolf in the bar at the training center the day before.

  “How is he?” Blanca asked.

  “Don’t worry. There are plenty of girls there.”

  For the first time in her life, she felt disgust.

  There was no commotion in the old age home. It was twelve thirty, a
nd the inmates were lying in bed. Her father’s bed was unmade, and it was evident to Blanca as she approached that many hands had disturbed it.

  “What happened?” she asked.

  “Last night your father disappeared,” said the man in the neighboring bed, and he sat up.

  “Where did he disappear to?”

  “I don’t know,” he replied, shrugging his shoulders.

  “Strange,” she said, and she knew that wasn’t the appropriate word.

  “Are they unkind to the inmates here?” she asked.

  “No, never,” said the old man, smiling. He quickly added, “We don’t bother anyone, and no one bothers us.”

  From the director, Blanca learned that her father’s footprints led to the nearby grove. The janitor and two cleaning women immediately went out to look for him. The police had arrived, and they, too, were looking. The weather was fair, and that would help them locate him. The director sounded satisfied, as if she had succeeded in doing what was necessary at that time.

  “Do a lot of people go to the woods?” Blanca asked cautiously.

  “Not many, but every year one or two of the inmates disappear. In the end we find them.” She tried to soothe Blanca.

  “I’ll go and have a look myself,” Blanca said, and she went out into the rear courtyard. The broad, empty courtyard was illuminated by a dull noon light. The gate was open, and it seemed as if it had been that way for years. It was decorated with metal ornaments and had evidently known better days.

  No one was to be seen in the nearby grove. There was just a cold, motionless silence. The idea that her father had left his bed at night and gone out into these woods began to seem more concrete to her. Now she remembered that he would occasionally get angry, and harsh words would escape from his mouth. Usually it was because of something connected to the store, the source of his torments. Once, in a terrible moment of anger, he came up close to his partner, Dachs, and shouted, “Monster!” But his greatest hatred was for Grandma Carole. She was the thorn in his flesh. Because of Blanca’s grandmother, he didn’t even go to synagogue on Yom Kippur. He attended funerals bareheaded, and he signed a petition demanding the closing of the kosher butcher because Jewish ritual slaughter was cruel. This soft-spoken, courteous man, whom everyone liked, would be filled with fury every time anyone mentioned Grandma Carole’s name. Once he had gone too far. “All my misfortunes have befallen me because of her,” he said. Now his angry face was turned toward his daughter. Blanca returned to the old age home.

  The old people gathered around her and asked whether there was any news. Blanca told them she was considering going to the police and asking them to deploy as many men as possible in the area. The nights were cold, and her father wasn’t dressed properly. The old people agreed with her.

  Meanwhile, lunch was being served, and Blanca was offered a bowl of soup. She sipped the hot liquid and told everyone about the mailman who had awakened her that morning. She recounted this dispassionately, as though what had happened to her was only a nightmare. Now that it had passed, she could tell others about it.

  The old people stared at her. “What can we do?” they asked.

  “I won’t give the police any respite.” Blanca spoke in a voice not her own.

  The kitchen worker brought her a second course as well. Now most of the old people were sitting in the dining room, eating and drinking from ornate ceramic mugs that didn’t look as though they belonged to the place. Blanca repeated that she intended to go to the police, ask for an interview with the chief inspector, and explain the urgency of the matter to him. The nights were cold and dark, and a person who had lost his way was liable to fall into a pit. One of the old men made a dismissive gesture with his hand and looked at her skeptically, as if to say, They won’t do a thing, I know.

  Suddenly these strangers surrounding her had become the only close relatives Blanca had in the world, and for a moment she thought about telling them everything that had happened to her since she had married Adolf.

  “Why did he go back to Heimland?” one of the old men asked, interrupting her thoughts.

  “He missed his home,” she said, and was appalled by the words that had left her mouth.

  “He shouldn’t have gone back. If you are doomed to be in an old age home, you should just stay there, without moving. No one will have mercy on you.”

  Blanca was about to reply that her father had in fact gone to ask for shelter in her home, but that she was afraid of Adolf. Adolf couldn’t stand her father. He used to call him a weakling, subject to moods, someone who didn’t know how to work. She wanted to tell them that she was afraid to bring her father into her home, fearing that Adolf would beat her for it, for he would beat her mercilessly. She intended to say all that, but she didn’t have the courage to do so. She just repeated that she was going to go to the police and ask them to send out more men that night, because the nights were very cold and dark.

  21

  AT THE POLICE STATION Blanca learned that the two patrolmen who had been summoned to the Jewish old age home that morning went out right away, gathered testimony, and submitted a report.

  “Didn’t they search anymore?” Blanca asked.

  “Where are we to look for him, madam?” the officer in charge said. A sharp laugh, like that of someone who had seen reversals in his life, burst from his thick lips.

  “I’m sorry,” said Blanca.

  “If we knew where he was, we would go out and get him. We have a total of three policemen in this town. Two of them patrol, and one sits here. We relieve one another every few hours. In this town, for our sins, there are quite a few thefts.”

  “I don’t know what to do,” Blanca said, and she really didn’t. Her head felt like a void, as though all the thoughts in it had been uprooted, leaving only the walls.

  Seeing her helplessness, the policeman looked at the report that lay before him and said, “I see that your father was in Heimland yesterday. What was he doing in Heimland?”

  “He came to visit me. He missed the town,” Blanca answered hurriedly, glad that the words left her mouth in that order.

  “And when did he return to Himmelburg?”

  “On the last train,” she said, hoping that would be an end to the questions.

  “And who accompanied him to the train?”

  “I did,” Blanca said with a feeling of relief.

  “Old people usually don’t like to go back at night,” the policeman remarked in a matter-of-fact way.

  “True.”

  “So why did he return at night?”

  “He wanted to return.”

  “I understand,” he said.

  “I offered to accompany him, but he said he wanted to go back alone.”

  “Was he in a bad mood during the past few days?”

  “He was a little depressed in the old age home,” Blanca said, sensing that the policeman was starting to rummage through her private life.

  Indeed, he didn’t let up.

  “He’s fifty-three years old, I see. What’s a fifty-three-year-old man doing in an old age home?”

  “He had no home. He had to sell his house.”

  “And why didn’t he live with you?” It was an arrow fired directly at her forehead.

  “My husband absolutely opposed it,” Blanca said, the words sticking in her throat.

  “Is your father sick?”

  “No.”

  “So why did your husband refuse to keep him in your home?”

  Blanca burst into tears.

  The policeman stopped his questioning.

  “I didn’t have the strength to stand up to him,” she muttered.

  “There’s nothing to worry about,” he said, now trying to console her. “Every day people disappear and then reappear the following day. That’s how the world works. How long has he been living in the old age home?”

  “Three weeks, no more.”

  “Every month somebody r
uns away from there, usually new residents. But don’t worry, they come back. They have no choice. The cold at night forces them to come back.”

  “A lot of people run away from the old age home?” For a moment she tried to meld her voice into his.

  “Quite a few. They also run away from the Catholic old age home.”

  “And you look for them?” She forgot that she had already asked this.

  “How is it possible to look for them?” he replied. “After all, this is a far-flung region, with groves, forests, swamps, and whatnot. If someone wants to run away, the hand of the law won’t touch him. We don’t even find murderers, unless they give themselves up voluntarily.”

  “I didn’t know.”

  “That’s how it is in this region. I don’t know whether it’s different in other places.”

  “What can I do, sir? What do you advise me to do now?”

  “Not to do anything. That’s my advice.”

  “And he’ll come back?”

  “He will certainly come back. He went out wearing his street clothing, it says in the report, which means that he can survive for three nights. My advice: go home and wait for him to come back.” His rough face was filled with a simple humanity, as though he weren’t a policeman, but someone in whom much wisdom of life was stored up.

  “He’ll come back, sir?”

  “I’m sure he’ll come back,” he said, and rose to his feet.

  “My heartfelt thanks,” she said, and bowed her head.

  Blanca didn’t immediately realize what the policeman had done to her. Only later, as she sat in a tavern downing drink after drink, did she understand that this stranger, without the superior airs of a judge, had laid her shame before her eyes and made her see that her father had fled because she hadn’t taken him into her home and he didn’t want to live in the old age home. That sharp insight burned her eyes, and she closed them. But the pain kept spreading. In vain she tried to dull it with cognac. But every sip merely heightened her awareness, and her pain.

  22

  WHEN BLANCA RETURNED to the old age home, it was already evening. In answer to her question about whether her father had come back, one of the inmates answered loudly, “Erwin didn’t return.”