Until the Dawn's Light_ A Novel - Aharon Appelfeld [59]
“Otto must be strong,” she said. “Here you have to be strong. You have to eat a lot and stand powerfully on your own two feet. Grandpa Erwin and Grandma Ida would have taken care of you differently, but they’re no longer with us. What can I do? Don’t cry. People who cry are weak. And you’re not weak. You’re as strong as a lion cub, and no one will dare to touch you.”
Adolf would return home late at night half drunk and shout, “Why’s he crying? Shut him up!” His threatening voice was very frightening, and Otto would quiet down. Adolf would then collapse on the bed and fall asleep.
Blanca’s anxieties no longer gave her rest. She worked many night shifts, and in return Elsa would free her for a few hours during the day. She would rush to catch the noon train and come back by the evening train. Once Adolf caught her and said, “What are you doing here in the middle of the week?”
“I came to see Otto.”
“What for?”
Otto’s features, as though in spite, became more delicate. A quiet intelligence glowed in his eyes. It was as if he understood that the people surrounding him were putting him to a hard test. When Blanca appeared, he would stretch out his arms, hug her around the neck, and cling to her. Blanca kept promising him that his suffering would not last long, that soon they would set out on a long journey. In the few hours that she was with him every week, she taught him new words. Otto would look at her lips and try to imitate the sounds.
Parting from Otto on Monday mornings was agonizing. If it weren’t for the two shots of brandy that Blanca had in the buffet car, the pain would have been constant. But by the time she returned to the old age home, the pain, roused from its slumber, would torture her again. Finally, though, her work wiped that pain away, too. After a day of labor, she would lay her head on the pillow, her thoughts scattered to the winds.
Meanwhile, Sonia also got into trouble. One of the janitors informed on her for making soup for two old people in the middle of the night. Sonia confessed, and Elsa decided to adopt a new method of punishment: to deduct from her wages. Sonia responded with fury and threatened to complain to the old age home’s board of trustees. Upon hearing her threats, Elsa dismissed her on the spot.
The residents repeatedly asked Elsa to forgive her, but Elsa stuck to her guns.
“If everybody in the old age home does whatever he feels like,” she said, “anarchy will reign here, not order.” “Order”—that was the ideal for whose sake she tormented both the workers and the residents. She never tired of proclaiming, “There will be order here. This is not some Jewish market.”
True, the old age home didn’t look Jewish from close up. The old people didn’t sit in the lobby or in front of the entrance to the building. Flowers and houseplants were placed in every corner. In that matter, as in others, there were disagreements among the residents. Some of them claimed that Elsa had turned the place into a grim Protestant temple, or into a prison where they punished old people for being old. Others argued that strict discipline was better than Jewish commotion. Elsa was strong in her resolve to dismiss Sonia, but in the end, because of the residents’ pleas, she forgave her. She informed her that from now on she was working there on probation. Any infraction, even a small one, would result in her immediate dismissal. Elsa used to punish the residents in similar fashion. For example, anyone who didn’t dress neatly or who neglected to tidy the area around his bed wasn’t taken on the weekly excursion to the river.
“We’re Jews, not Germans,” one of the residents stated, daring to raise his voice.
“Order is the honor of life,” replied Elsa. “Without order, there is no honor. Jews are negligent about