Blooms of Darkness

21

That night no sound is heard from Mariana’s room. She is alone, and her sleep is punctuated by sudden snorts and mutterings that sound like stifled speech. Hugo expects her to call him to her, but she is immersed in deep slumber.

In the last darkness of the night they wake her. Hugo hears Mariana get dressed and hurry out. When she returns, it is already daylight. She bursts into tears. Hugo has heard her cry more than once, but this time it’s a different sort of crying, a choked weeping that comes up from within her in heaves.

Mariana goes out and returns several times. Finally, she stands in the closet’s doorway with a short woman and says, “Last night my mother died. I have to set out right away. Victoria will watch over you. She’s a woman who can keep a secret. She’s our cook, and I’m sure you won’t go hungry.”

“Don’t worry. I’ll watch over you,” says Victoria in a heavy, foreign accent.

Hugo doesn’t know what to say, so he says, “Thank you.”

Now he sees Victoria from close up: short, plump, older than Mariana. Her flushed face expresses tense surprise, as if Hugo were different from what she imagined. Mariana repeats, “Hugo is a good boy. Watch over him.”

After the door is locked, a curtain falls over his eyes, and he doesn’t see a thing. Just yesterday it seemed as if Mariana loved him, and it would not be long before he slept with her again. Now she is gone and has left this miserable creature in her place. Sorrow chokes Hugo’s throat, and it is clear to him that until her return he will know no peace. He rises to his feet and stands next to the boards of the closet. If it weren’t for the slivers of light that filtered through the cracks, the darkness and the cold would devour him in one gulp. Mama, he wants to call out, but he immediately grasps that his mother is far from him, and, like him, she is imprisoned in a closet. His father is even farther away. He no longer appears even in Hugo’s dreams.

In the afternoon Victoria brings him soup and meatballs. She looks at him again and asks, “Do you speak Ukrainian?”

“Certainly.”

“I’m glad,” she says, and her face smiles. She immediately adds, “You’re lucky.”

“How?” Hugo asks.

“They’ve already sent away all the Jews, but the Germans aren’t satisfied with that. They’re going from house to house and making careful searches, and every day they find another five, another six. Whoever tries to run away is shot. Also if anyone is caught hiding Jews, they kill him.”

“Will they kill me, too?” He is panicked for a moment.

“You’re not like the Jews. You’re blond and speak Ukrainian like a Ukrainian.”

It’s hard to know what’s going on in Victoria’s head. When she speaks about the Jews, a sort of smile with many meanings spreads across her mouth, as though she were speaking about things one mustn’t talk about.

“The poor Jews, they don’t leave them in peace.” She changes her tone.

“After the war, won’t life again be the way it was?” Hugo wants her to confirm that.

“We’ll probably live without Jews.”

“Won’t they come back to the city?” he asks in surprise.

“That’s God’s will. Who gave you the cross?”

“Mariana.”

“And do you believe in Jesus?”

“Yes,” he says, without removing all the doubt from her heart.

“The Jews don’t believe in Jesus.” She wants to put him to the test.

“I like the cross. Mariana told me it was my charm.” He avoids her direct question.

“You’re doing the right thing,” she says, bowing her head.

Toward evening she brings him sandwiches and a pitcher of lemonade and asks, “Do you pray?”

“At night, before closing my eyes, I say, ‘God, watch over me and over my parents and over all those who call Your name and seek Your help.’ ”

“That isn’t a prayer,” she says quickly.

“What is it, then?”

“It’s a request. Prayer has a set wording that we say.”

“I’ll ask Mariana to teach it to me.”

“You’re doing the right thing.”

“Do you know my mother?” He delays her.

“Certainly I know her. Who doesn’t know Julia? Every poor person in the city goes to her pharmacy. She smiles at them all and is never angry. Usually pharmacists are irritable. They scold you or show you that you’re ignorant. Your mother greets people kindly.”

“Maybe you know where she’s hiding?”

“God knows. It’s dangerous to hide Jews. Whoever hides Jews gets killed.”

“But they’re hiding my mother.”

“I believe so,” she says, and bows her head.

At night, in his dream, Hugo hears a loud noise in Mariana’s room, like somebody drilling. Suddenly the closet door collapses and in the doorway stand Victoria and two soldiers. Victoria points at his corner and says, “There he is before you. I’m not the one who hid him. Mariana hid him.”

“Where’s Mariana?”

“She’s mourning for her mother.”

“Get to your feet, Jew,” one of the soldiers orders him, and blinds him with his flashlight.

Hugo tries to get up, but his legs are attached to the floor. He tries again and again but doesn’t succeed.

“If you don’t get up, we’ll shoot you.”

“Jesus, save me!” Hugo shouts, and clutches the cross.

Hearing his cry, Victoria smiles and says, “It’s all a pretense.”

“Should we kill him?” the soldier asks her. “Do what you want,” she says, and moves aside. A shot is heard, and Hugo falls into a deep pit. When he wakes up he knows he’s been saved again, and he is glad.

Toward morning Hugo hears voices in Mariana’s room, and fear rivets him to his place. One is the voice of a man complaining that the bathtub isn’t clean and the sheets are dirty. In her defense, the woman claims that it isn’t her room but another woman’s. The conversation, as always, takes place in brusque German.

In the end the voices fall silent, and only grunts can be heard. Hugo doesn’t fall back to sleep. The visions of the night and the first lights of the morning merge, and he’s sad that Mariana is mourning alongside her mother’s coffin. The sorrow gradually melds to the remainder of his fear, and they stay within him, becoming one.