Blooms of Darkness

24

The next day Victoria doesn’t appear. Hugo eats leftover sandwiches and listens constantly. Not a sound is heard from Mariana’s room. From the neighboring rooms the usual voices are heard: “Where is the pail?” or “Did you mop the room yet?” Several times Victoria’s voice is heard. It’s hard to know, with her voice, whether she’s conversing or arguing. In any event, there are no quarrels. Between one bit of talk and another, waves of laughter arise, flood the corridor, fall, and shatter.

Where am I? Hugo suddenly asks himself, as he sometimes does in his dreams. He already sensed the secret that surrounded this place during the first weeks after his arrival, but now, perhaps because of dour Victoria, it seems like a prison to him. Every time he asks Mariana about it, she evades the question and says, “Let that foulness be. It would be a shame to dirty your thoughts.”

Hugo very much wants to take out the notebook and write about everything that’s happening to him, and about his thoughts. But fear and excitement prevent him from doing that. All morning long he sees Mariana’s face, and it is darkened by grief. She is muttering incomprehensible words, and from time to time she raises her head and calls out loud, “Forgive me, Jesus, for my many sins.”

Toward evening men’s voices can already be heard. First they sound familiar, but in a short time he catches a military tone of voice.

“Are there Jews here?” The question comes soon.

“There are no Jews. We work in the army’s service,” a woman answers in German.

“In what service?” the military voice keeps asking.

The woman says something Hugo doesn’t understand, and everybody bursts out laughing.

The atmosphere changes all at once. The men are served soft drinks, because one of them, apparently the commander, says, “We’re on duty. Alcoholic beverages are forbidden while on duty.” They praise the coffee and the sandwiches, and to the woman’s invitation to stay and enjoy themselves, the military voice answers, “We’re on duty.”

“A little entertainment never hurt anyone,” the woman’s voice cajoles.

“Duty first,” answers the military voice.

And then they leave.

Silence returns to the place, but the dread doesn’t release Hugo’s body. It’s clear to him that this time, too, his mother protected him, the way she guarded him during the first days of the ghetto and afterward, when danger lurked in every corner, and especially at the end, in the cellar. He always believed in his mother’s hidden power, but this time it is fully revealed.

When it first gets dark, Victoria brings Hugo a bowl of soup and some meatballs.

“You were saved this time, too,” she says.

My mother saved me, he’s about to say, but he doesn’t. “Thank you,” he says instead.

“Don’t thank me, thank God.” She rushes to teach him a lesson.

“I’ll give thanks,” he quickly replies.

Without another word, Victoria goes out and locks the closet door.

That night it’s merry again. The accordion bellows and people dance and shout in the hall. The wild laughter rolls loudly and shakes the closet walls. Hugo is so tired that he falls asleep and dreams that Mariana has abandoned him and Victoria doesn’t hesitate to turn him in. He tries to cover himself in the sheepskins, but they don’t cover him.

Toward morning the accordion falls silent. The people scatter, and no one enters Mariana’s room.

At nine o’clock the closet door opens and Mariana stands in the doorway. It’s Mariana, but it is also not her. She’s wearing a black dress, a peasant kerchief is on her head, and her face is pale and sunken. For a moment it seems she’s about to kneel, put her hands together, and pray. That’s a mistaken impression. She stands there, and it’s clear that she doesn’t have the power to utter a word.

“How are you?” Hugo gets to his feet and approaches her.

“It was difficult for me,” she says, and bows her head.

“Come, let’s sit down. I have sandwiches,” he says, and takes her hand.

A glum smile spreads across Mariana’s face, and she says, “Thanks, darling, I’m not hungry.”

“I can tidy up your room, mop the floor, whatever you tell me to do. I’m so glad you came back.”

“Thanks, darling, you mustn’t work. You have to be in hiding until the troubles pass. My poor mother was very sick and died in great pain. Now she’s in the good world, and I’m here. She suffered a lot.”

“God will watch over her,” Hugo quickly says.

Hearing that, Mariana goes down on her knees, hugs Hugo to her heart, and says, “Mama left me alone in the world.”

“We’re not alone in the world.” Hugo remembers what his mother wrote to him.

“I have had some very hard days. My poor mother died in agony. I didn’t manage to buy the medicine for her. I’m guilty. I know.”

“You’re not guilty. The circumstances are guilty.” Hugo remembers that phrase, which they used a lot at home.

“Who told you that, darling?”

“Uncle Sigmund.”

“A marvelous man, an extraordinary man. I’m nothing compared to him,” she says, and she smiles.