All Whom I Have Loved

18

Father appeared immediately after Yom Kippur. His expression frightened me, and I clung to Halina's legs. Father's face had grown darker since I last saw him. He was wearing a long raincoat and a black peaked cap, and he carried a bag in his right hand. “Father!” I called, without letting go of Halina. On hearing my cry, he bent down and stretched out his arms to me. I detached myself from Halina and went to him.

Once again, we crossed and recrossed the main street in silence. Father wanted to say something, but the words stuck in his throat. Father is tall and strong — he can lift tables and chests of drawers — but he finds talking difficult. When he's angry he smashes things, but he doesn't lash out at people. Once I saw him break a chair into pieces. Mother stood by the door without uttering a sound. From then on I knew that he must not be annoyed.

We sat in the café we used to go to. To break the silence, I told him about my walks with Halina, about the ice-cream shop and the candy kiosks. Father listened but he was not with me; his thoughts were elsewhere. The waitress brought him a cup of coffee and me a hot chocolate. His face had become more wrinkled, and I saw that his thoughts gave him no rest.

When he finished the coffee, Father began talking with pent-up anger about a certain man who had just been appointed curator of the municipal museum, a Dr. Manfred Zauber, who once wrote a scathing review of his paintings. I gazed into his blazing eyes and saw the fire burning in them.

Later, we sat in the tavern. Father talked about the delays and the obstacles that kept him from painting. He had never talked with me about his paintings. Now his words rolled out of his mouth like heavy stones. I was afraid to look at him. After a few drinks he relaxed, spoke with the waitress, and complimented her. The waitress confided that she would soon be leaving this backwater and going to Czernowitz. Life in the provinces depressed her; it was better in a large city — you've got cinemas and nightclubs there. Father looked at her as if to say, “I hope you won't be disappointed.”

On the way home he asked me if I had seen Mother's new friend.

“No,” I lied.

“Your mother has a boyfriend, and his name is André.” Father rolled the r with a strange emphasis. I glanced at his face and was afraid that he would go on questioning me, but he didn't. His face got tighter and tighter, and he looked like a man rushing to get somewhere. At the house he hugged me and said, “Hurry on in!” Then he immediately turned away.

I stood watching him for a long time. I was sure that at any moment he would smash the gate of the municipal park and the wooden platform where the fire-brigade band played every Sunday. I stood and waited for the noise of wood smashing, and when it didn't come, I went inside.

It was already late, and Mother hadn't arrived yet. Halina didn't ask how it went. We sat on the floor and began to play cards. Most of the time I'm lucky and I win. This time Halina won. Whenever she won, a malicious grin spread across her face, as if she were saying, “Don't I also deserve to win sometimes?”

I said nothing about what Father had told me. Whenever she said, “Your father,” it was with a wicked smile on her lips. In the end, she couldn't contain herself and said, “Your father is a good-looking man; all the girls are in love with him.” It was clear to me that she counted herself among them, but she was careful not to say it.

Later I asked her if she believed in God.

“Of course I believe,” she said, kissing the crucifix on the chain around her neck.

“Why doesn't Mother believe in God?”

“She's a teacher.”

“Teachers don't believe in God?”

“Only Jewish teachers.”

“But the bearded Jews believe in God.”

“They? Yes.”

The conversation confused me.

Mother arrived later, apologized, and said, “Our staff meeting took longer than usual.”

I did not believe her.