Blooms of Darkness

20

Hugo remains standing in Mariana’s bedroom. Three months have passed since his mother left him here. Everything has changed in his life. How much it has changed, he doesn’t know. Hugo’s heart torments him because he hasn’t kept his promises to his mother. He doesn’t read, he doesn’t write, and he doesn’t do arithmetic problems.

While he’s standing there, Hugo realizes that the room hasn’t changed since he first arrived: the same pink slipcovers, the same vases with paper roses stuck in them, the same dresser with its drawers full of little bottles, cotton, and sponges. But that afternoon the room looks to him like the clinic where he was brought to get injections. Anna had a sweet little dog, and Hugo liked to play with him whenever he went to visit her. One morning word spread that Luzzi had rabies. All the children who had played with him or touched him were brought to the clinic.

Some of the children, seeing the hypodermics and hearing the patients cry, slipped out of their parents’ grasp and fled. The startled parents tried to catch them, but the children were quicker. They escaped to the cellar and hid there. But their hiding didn’t last long. The tall and cunning hospital watchmen closed the doors to the cellar and went from room to room, trapping them. The sight of the children being led back to the clinic stayed in Hugo’s mind for many days.

Later, Hugo sits on the floor and begins a chess game. Everything he used to like to do at home is hard for him to do here. Even to open a book is a task beyond his powers. He thinks a lot. Memory keeps bringing up his classmates, his teachers. But to take out a notebook and write isn’t in his power.

Hugo is sorry that Anna and Otto have changed so much. Every time he thinks about that change, a chill grips his arms and legs. Thinking about all the delicate embroidery that was spun between him and Anna, between him and Otto — the visits to their houses, the trips and the long conversations about themselves and about what was going on around them — the thought makes him so sad that he chokes. To prevent them from disappearing from his memory, he brings them back up in his mind and says to them, True, you’ve changed, but in my head you live as you were. I’m not willing to give up even a single feature of your faces, and for that reason, as long as you’re in my memory, your disappearance is only partial, and to a large degree abolished.

Suddenly, illuminated by the cold afternoon lights, the path Hugo had taken every day to school arises in his memory. It began on the long, shady boulevard with the chestnut trees, and it branched off among narrow, twisting alleys perfumed with the smells of coffee and fresh cakes. In the morning the taverns were closed, and the smell of beer and urine rose from the dark corners.

Sometimes he would stop at a bakery and buy a cheese pastry. The fresh, crisp taste stayed with him until he arrived at the school’s front steps. The way to and from school is now imprinted in Hugo’s mind with sharp clarity.

He usually walked back home with Anna and Otto, and sometimes Erwin would also join them. Erwin was Hugo’s height, and it was hard to know whether he was happy or sad. A restrained look of surprise was usually spread across his face, and he hardly spoke. The other children didn’t like him, and sometimes they picked on him. But Hugo had a feeling that Erwin held a secret within him. Hugo expected that one day Erwin would reveal his secret. Then it would be known to everyone that he wasn’t an indifferent creature, limited or lacking in feelings. Once, Hugo discussed this with Anna. Anna didn’t think there was any secret in Erwin. She believed he had closed himself off because he had trouble with mathematics and had a feeling of inferiority. A feeling of inferiority wasn’t a secret. Anna was smart. She knew how to express her thoughts like an adult.

Once, when they were on their way home from school, Hugo carelessly asked Erwin, “What do your parents do?”

“I don’t have any parents,” Erwin answered softly.

“Where are they?” asked Hugo, stupidly.

“They died,” Erwin said.

For many days Hugo regretted his questions; he felt as though he had been stricken. After that, he was careful not to be in Erwin’s company, and if he found himself with Erwin, he spoke little or not at all.

Hugo refused to think about what had happened to Erwin in the ghetto. One night they sealed off the orphanage on all sides, took the orphans out of their beds, and loaded them onto trucks while they were still in their pajamas. The orphans wept and cried out for help, but no one did anything. Anyone who opened a window or went outside would be shot. The shouts and weeping pierced the empty streets, and they could be heard even after the trucks had driven away and disappeared from view.

• • •

Thus Hugo sits on the floor and dreams about his friends and his school. The chess pieces are arranged on the board, but apart from the opening, he hasn’t made a move.

Mariana arrives toward evening and asks, “What did Mariana’s shut-in puppy do?” The smell of brandy wafts about her mouth, but she isn’t angry. She hugs and kisses Hugo, saying, “You’re better than all of them. What did you do today?”

“Nothing.”

“Why didn’t you eat the sandwiches?”

“I wasn’t hungry.”

Every time Mariana comes back from town, Hugo wants to ask her, Did you meet Mama? Did you meet Papa? But he remembers that Mariana doesn’t like him to ask about his parents. Only when she’s in a good mood, she’s willing to say, “I didn’t meet them. I didn’t hear from them.” Once, in a moment of anger, she said, “I’ve already told you. They’ll only come at the end of the war. The Jews are shut in and locked up in hiding places.”

Then she tells him, “My mother is very sick. I don’t have any more money for the doctors and medicines,” and she bursts into tears. When Mariana cries, her face changes and becomes a child’s face. This time she isn’t angry at the bastards but at her sister, who lives right near her mother but doesn’t take the trouble to go to her and bring her bread or fruit. She ignores her completely. The doctor who came to see Mariana’s mother told her they had to buy medicine immediately, because without it she would expire in a few days.

Now Mariana is about to sell the jewelry she received from Hugo’s mother. The jewelry is beautiful and very valuable, but it’s doubtful that she can sell it for its full value. “They’re all cheats,” she says, and there’s no one she can trust.

After a short pause, she adds, “My mother is still angry at me. She’s sure I’m neglecting her. What can I do? I work all night long to bring her food and firewood. A week ago I bought her fruit. What more can I do? I’m willing to sell the jewelry if the medicines will save her. I don’t want my mother to be angry at me.”

“Your mother knows you love her.”

“How do you know?”

“Mothers have a special feeling for their children.”

“In my childhood she used to beat me a lot, but in recent years, since my father died, she’s calmed down. She suffered a lot all those years.”

“Everyone has his own portion.” Hugo recalls that sentence.

“You’re smart, darling. All the Jewish children are smart. But you surpass even them. It’s good that God sent you to me. What do you say? Should I sell the jewelry?”

“If that will save your mother, you should sell it.”

“You’re right, sweetie. You’re the only one I can depend on.”