Until the Dawn's Light_ A Novel - Aharon Appelfeld [58]
“What will I do without you?”
“I’m sure you’ll get there, too.”
“I don’t see how.”
“I already see you there.”
Thus the days passed. During breaks between shifts, Blanca would tell Otto what she was thinking. She was sure not only that Otto could hear her from afar, but also that he could understand her. Once one of the residents approached her and asked in surprise, “Blanca, are you praying? I didn’t know you were so religious.”
“I’m not praying. I was just mumbling something, apparently. Sorry.”
There was an extremely aged woman named Tsirl in the home. Like Blanca’s mother, she had been born in Zelishtshik and remembered Ida Beck’s family and its ancestry, and she told Blanca that Ida was a descendant of the legendary Rabbi Nachman of Horodenka. Just the mention of his name brought blessings.
“I didn’t know,” said Blanca.
“It was no accident that my daughter hospitalized me in this place, and no accident that you came to work here. There is a reason for everything, my child.”
“What was so special about that rabbi?”
“He wasn’t a rabbi, dear. He was Rabbi Nachman of Horodenka.”
“Do you remember Grandma Carole?”
“Certainly I remember her. She was many years younger than I.”
“She passed away yesterday.”
“May her memory be blessed. In the world of truth, they will receive her well,” she said, and closed her eyes.
Tsirl dozed most of the day, but when she opened her eyes, her gaze was clear and she remembered everything very well.
The next day she told Blanca, “It’s hard for me to die in a foreign place. If I were in Zelishtshik, I would have been gathered to my ancestors long ago. This alien place is delaying death, and a person lives a long life for no purpose.”
43
THE WINTER WAS long and harsh, and Blanca would return home leaden and dejected. Kirtzl had taken over the house. The cheap perfume that she used filled the rooms and smothered them. On every wall she had hung an icon. It was clear: Kirtzl was no longer Blanca’s helper; she did Adolf’s bidding. With every passing week, Otto was more and more neglected. His rear end was chapped, and an unpleasant odor wafted from him.
It was now Kirtzl’s house, not Blanca’s. Sometimes Kirtzl would ask her, “How is it there?” to emphasize that Blanca belonged to the old age home in Blumenthal and not to this house. Blanca suffered but didn’t complain. In Otto’s company she was full of joy and contentment. She would wash him and rub his sores with salve, and then she would sit with him and show him the big letters in the children’s book she had received as a gift from one of the residents of the home. When Otto would cry, Blanca would promise that the day was not far off when she would no longer go out to work.
Adolf’s behavior became more brutal. In the past, when he took her wages he would leave her with money for the train fare and a little pocket change. Now he gave her only her train fare, and he would always say the same thing: “They’re exploiting you and not paying you properly.”
“What can I do?” She would stand before him as though paralyzed.
“Demand more.”
Otto would awaken at night and burst into tears, and Blanca would rush over to soothe him. One Sunday she secretly brought him to Dr. Nussbaum. Dr. Nussbaum quickly determined that the child was neglected. Blanca told him she was working away from home and saw Otto only on weekends.
Dr. Nussbaum had changed a lot since Blanca last saw him. The battle he was waging against the municipality and against the health authorities in Vienna had left its mark on his face. His fingers trembled. There was now some hope that the gates of the hospital would soon be opened, but not all its departments. Meanwhile he continued treating patients in his home and courtyard, and if he was summoned at night, he didn’t refuse.
“How is Celia?” Blanca asked.
“She’s in seclusion. That is her path now. What can I do?” When he spoke about his daughter, the physician’s authority evaporated from his face.
The Sunday parties continued as usual. Blanca would do the cooking on Saturday