All Rivers Run to the Sea_ Memoirs - Elie Wiesel [135]
Brazil was Dov’s idea. It seems the Catholic Church was conducting suspicious missionary activities in Israel, particularly among Jews recently arrived from Eastern Europe. They were poor and unhappy, and Rome’s emissaries offered them visas for Brazil, free passage, and two hundred dollars each, provided they converted to Catholicism. “I want you to go and see what’s going on,” Dov said.
I was happy to go. My poet friend Nicolas, now immersed in South American literature, proposed to go with me. A resourceful Israeli friend somehow managed to come up with free boat tickets for us. But before sailing, let me pick up the thread of another story. If you recall, we left Hanna in front of her building near the Sacré-Coeur, in the middle of the night. She had just asked me to marry her.
Back in the café, when she popped the question, I instantly began to imagine our future together. I tried to picture us as a couple, united by common plans and obligations. We would leave the house together in the morning, she for her job, me for mine. We would go to dinner with friends. On Friday night we would celebrate Shabbat. There would be candles on the table and songs with the meals. I tried to picture our home. What would it look like? Would it resemble that of my childhood? Would we live in Israel, France, or somewhere else? I tried to picture our children. I imagined Hanna at thirty, at fifty. Would I still love her? Did I really love her, or was I only attracted by her beauty and inaccessibility? “Listen, Hanna,” I finally said. “The answer is yes. I’m ready to marry you. But I don’t want you to regret it someday.” There were tears in her eyes. “I won’t regret it,” she whispered. I wasn’t so sure, but I didn’t want to humiliate her. I felt trapped. At a loss for what to do, I suggested we postpone the decision.
“Why?” she asked.
“To give you—give us—time to think.”
“I’ve already thought it through.”
“Even so,” I insisted.
She swallowed, smiled sadly. She was as beautiful as ever. I felt myself wavering, but she was asking: “When you say put off the decision until later, what do you mean?”
I reminded her that I was leaving for Brazil in two days. “I’ll be gone six weeks. When we see each other again, you’ll ask the same question, and I’ll say yes, and it will be a yes without reservations. But you’ll have to ask it again. Okay?” She agreed.
I walked her home. A strange peace mingled with disquietude swept through me. We walked hand in hand, like lovers, slightly embarrassed, confused and silent. I felt close to her but wasn’t sure how to act. It was late. The streets were empty, the windows shuttered. Was there any couple in Paris like us? All lovers in this city made for lovers must have wondered the same thing. We were sure we were different. For the second time in forty-eight hours we arrived at the gate of Hanna’s building, and once again we didn’t know what to do. Go upstairs? Embrace? I wanted to, of course, more so than at Versailles, more so and differently. In a sense, we were almost engaged. “Should we kiss?” Hanna asked. We kissed. Not on the cheek, but on the mouth, shyly, our lips barely touching. It was the first time. How I had dreamed of this moment. How many sleepless nights had I spent imagining how it would be to hold her in my arms. I loved her, there could be no doubt.
She called me the next day, and the day after that. I gave her my itinerary, including the addresses where she could write to me.
Her first letter was waiting for me in Marseilles, where I embarked on Le Provence. Her letter was hesitant and cautious, mostly about the past: Versailles, the choir, the evenings. “How could you have been so blind so long?” she asked. As for the future: “Let’s try to be happy, let’s make up for all the lost years.” I was touched, and happy, but anxious too. I wasn’t so sure I wanted to get married right away.