Until the Dawn's Light_ A Novel - Aharon Appelfeld [1]
Otto sank ever deeper into sleep, and his face was relaxed. What she would do, and where the trains would lead them, Blanca still didn’t know. The summer light was full. The sky was blue, and the fields were yellow and spread out over the low hills. The bright view brought to mind the long vacations she had taken with her parents. They were so far away now, it was as if those vacations had never taken place.
When Otto woke from his sleep he was pale, and he immediately started vomiting. In his infancy he used to vomit, but since then he hadn’t complained about stomachaches or vomited. Now he shuddered in her arms as if fleeing from a nightmare.
“We’ll get off here,” said Blanca, and they got off right away.
It was a small village, with wooden houses scattered amid greenery.
“This is it,” she said, as if they had reached a safe haven.
“And there’s a river here, Mama.” Otto opened his eyes wide.
“I assume so, dear,” she guessed, not knowing if she was right. Not far from the station the famous Dessel River flowed energetically. Its clear, gushing waters were well-known.
“Mama!” Otto shouted in astonishment.
“What?”
“Let’s go rowing on the river.”
The word “river,” which Otto pronounced very sweetly, moved her, and she hugged him and kissed him on the forehead. A house for rent was easily found, a little wooden house overlooking the river, wrapped in vines and willows, far from the main road. Inside, darkness reigned, and dried herbs perfumed the air. The landlady, a pleasant-looking elderly woman, said, “Enjoy yourselves. This was my house once. Since my husband’s death, I’ve been living with my daughter.”
“When did your husband die?” Blanca asked.
“Two years ago. At the end of June it will be two years.”
“I’m sorry.”
“That’s how it is. What can I do?”
After showing them the secrets of the house, the old woman asked, “And where are you from?”
“From Vienna,” Blanca lied.
“God Almighty,” said the woman. “All during my youth I wanted to go to Vienna.”
“And you never got there?”
“Just once, for an operation.”
“Happiness doesn’t dwell where we imagine it.” Blanca repeated what her mother used to say.
“How true,” said the old woman, and she turned to go. She had cultivated a vegetable garden next to the house, and she placed it, too, at her tenants’ disposal.
“You can pick to your heart’s content.”
“Thank you,” said Blanca. She was so moved that she hugged the old woman.
Thus the dizziness was halted for a moment. They got up early, ate breakfast, and went down to the river. The river, they found, actually didn’t rush. It flowed, slow and clear, and carp swam lazily at the bottom, as though to avoid the danger awaiting them up above. Blanca and Otto swam together for hours, sometimes until sunset. Blanca, finding she could easily buy dairy products from the neighbors, filled the pantry with good food, and at night they would split open a watermelon, sitting and chatting until Otto collapsed on the mat and fell asleep.
But, finally, the blow fell.
“Mama!”
“What?”
“Where’s Papa?”
True, she had expected it, but her tongue cleaved to her palate. Why are you pestering me? she almost said. But she quickly recovered and murmured, “He’ll surely come.”
“Here?”
“I’m doubtful that he’ll come here, though.”
“What’s ‘doubtful’?”
“It’s a promise, dear.”
Otto’s sensitivity to words always scared her. Other children, she had noticed, also asked the meaning of a word, but Otto’s questions had the sharpness of a razor.
“Nobody knows what those darling creatures are capable of.” She remembered her grandmother Carole saying that.
Three weeks ago, or, more precisely, seventeen days ago, Blanca had fled with Otto. Since then: running, yearning, and frightening joy. She didn’t reveal a thing to him. During the last nights at home, before going