Until the Dawn's Light_ A Novel - Aharon Appelfeld [27]
“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, and 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