All Whom I Have Loved

31

Father returns when it's dark. I am so happy that I forget my woes. Father is also happy. When Father's happy his forehead gets broader and the lines on it rise.

Father gets up to make a pot of potatoes for dinner. He buys provisions from our landlord. The landlord brings the provisions and hastens to extol their quality and freshness. Father tries to make this conversation as brief as possible, but the landlord goes on and on. He talks about the rains and crop yields, and the flooding that has uprooted an entire orchard. Father pays him and promises that he'll come and see the new plot of land he's bought. The landlord leaves, and we sit at the table to eat our meal: baked potatoes, cheese, and yogurt.

Father doesn't ask, “How was it?” or “What did you do?” He eats and then serves up more for me and for himself. It appears as though this is his only full meal of the day. To break the silence, I tell him how I sat on the riverbank and gazed at the water. I would have really liked him to ask me about Storozynetz and about Halina, but he does not ask, as if he has no curiosity. And yet his presence does not weigh heavily on me. I love to have him close to me, so sturdy, and I think that one day I'll be like him.

When it stops raining, we go into town. Once our walks were less leisurely; now we stroll about the alleyways and walk up the main streets. The downtown area is crowded at night, with the stores and cafés open. At the café, Father knows many people, and they greet him cheerfully. In the street, too, he meets acquaintances. Sometimes it seems to me that the entire city likes him, and I'm proud of him.

It's not always like that. Once, a short, stocky man approached us, and I saw that Father became filled with anger. The man was an art critic, as it turned out, one of Father's enemies. Although I knew that he doesn't usually beat up people, I was still afraid. But this time Father surprised me and called out, “You scum! I hope the worms will eat you!” The man must have heard the curse; he began to run toward the gate of a house and then disappeared inside. Father's fury abated and a cold smile spread over his face.

Our walks usually wind up at the tavern. Father downs a couple of drinks, jokes with the barmaid, asks after his friends, and then we return home. I fall asleep on the tram, and Father carries me home in his arms. When I wake up in the morning, I feel as though I'm still sitting in the café.

The rains do not cease, and most of the day I sit by the window and gaze at the Prut flowing by. The river is black, and its waters surge and break over the banks with a deafening noise. Sometimes the landlord comes in and asks how I'm doing. Once, he asked me if I went to synagogue. I was taken aback by his question, and I told him the truth. “A person should go to pray at least once a week so that he'll remember that there's a God in the world,” he said. “The new Jews never go to see the face of God in the synagogue as they're commanded. The café is their temple. God has been showing restraint, but not for long. When the time comes, He'll punish them.” His face was red, and he spoke in a voice that shocked me.

“I'll go to the synagogue,” I said, very frightened.

“Every Sabbath, like your forefathers used to go. You promise?”

“I'll try.”

“That's not enough.”

“I promise.”

“Say ‘I promise and I will keep to it,’ ” he said, and a broad smile spread over his ruddy face.

At this time of the year the landlord does not work in the fields, only in the cowshed and the chicken coop. But like me, he sits at the window for hours, gazing at the River Prut. On Sundays he puts on a suit and goes to church. He leaves quietly, circumspectly. But when he comes back from church in the afternoon, his face is red and he's singing hymns.

Once I heard him talking to his neighbor, a peasant like himself, and this is what he said: “People have forgotten that there's a God in the world, and they think that everything's up for grabs. There is order and a purpose in the world. Whoever does not see this is blind or dumb — but how can I talk? Even my own sons have gone astray. If a man does not respect his father, he ends up not respecting our Father in heaven. His own father does not have it within his power to punish him, but God is wise and mighty, and He'll bring him to a reckoning.”