Blooms of Darkness

31

In the morning, Hugo awakens in a panic: Mariana’s room is in an uproar. It’s hard to know what the commotion is about. For a moment it seems to him that soldiers are making searches, and the women are trying to block their way to the closet. Hugo gets to his feet and is about to slip out through the opening alongside the toilet. Meanwhile, the commotion becomes weeping. From the weeping arises Nasha’s name.

Hugo hears, and his body shrinks. For a long time the weeping continues, but gradually it goes somewhere else. A few women remain in the corridor and speak with strange practicality. From what they say he understands that a disaster has befallen Nasha. They don’t talk about its nature.

Hugo sits in his place and sees before him Nasha’s long, white legs and the toenails he trimmed and painted with nail polish. He had noticed then that, unlike Mariana, Nasha didn’t bare her legs easily. It was as though she was afraid of being hurt. All the while Hugo was cutting her nails, she bit her lower lip, and when he finished putting on the nail polish, she folded her legs with a motion that showed fear of pain that might come.

Later he hears one of the women say breathlessly, “After she finished her work, she left her room. She was wearing a warm coat, her hair was neat, she was wearing makeup, and she showed no sign of anything bad to come. The guard was sure she was going to town to visit her cousin and buy a package of chocolates in the bakery, the way she sometimes did.”

“Still, who witnessed her drowning?” the woman is asked.

“A fisherman. He saw her jump into the water and tried to pull her out, but he didn’t manage to. The current was too strong.”

“Where is she now?”

“Have you any more questions like that?” the woman replies angrily.

Suddenly the voice of another woman is heard. She speaks deliberately but not without emotion, telling how Nasha had begun to work there more than a year earlier, and how she had adapted to the place. “A modest woman and loyal to her friends. If a friend didn’t feel well, or needed help, Nasha was the first one to help her. She helped without expecting anything in return. She never said, I gave to you, I helped you, you’re ungrateful.

“Her grandfather was a priest, and she apparently inherited her virtues from him. She never complained, not about her friends and not about the clients. She suffered in silence, with nobility. She didn’t go to church, but God was in her heart. Too bad we didn’t know how to watch over her. She gave to everyone, and no one gave anything to her.”

“Why did she take her own life?”

“She was apparently very lonely. Lonelier than the rest of us. She never spoke about her parents or about her sisters. She always mentioned her grandfather. She would say, ‘A man of God in the full sense of the word.’ ”

“And did she have guilt feelings?”

“I guess so, but she never talked about it. She was very restrained. Once she said to me, ‘What won’t people do to earn a living?’ She didn’t express disgust or revulsion, the way we all do. She did her work every day without complaining about headaches or stomachaches. More than once I said to myself, Nasha is strong, she’s contemptuous of us. It turns out I was wrong.”

Hugo hears the voices, and as he listens, he sees the rushing water envelop her pure legs. What will be, and how will his life proceed from now on? He doesn’t know. He imagines that toward evening Nasha will surprise everyone and stand in the doorway, saying, The fisherman was wrong. It wasn’t me. Here I am standing before you. In the end she will tell them, I was in Grandpa’s church, and I went up to his grave. He took me in his open arms and called me “my daughter.”

Thus Hugo sits in the corner and dreams. Meanwhile, The Residence returns to its ordinary pace. The regular questions are asked, and the regular answers come in their wake. Suddenly an older woman’s voice is heard: “How much should I make?”

“Thirty portions, no more.”

“Sandwiches, too?”

“Of course.”

Hunger torments him, and he waits tensely for Nasha’s arrival.

Toward evening the closet door opens, and Victoria stands in the doorway. “What are you doing?” she asks, as though he was again caught doing something naughty.

“Nothing,” he says, and stands up.

“Nasha drowned in the river, and you sit there as though everything is coming to you.”

“I didn’t know,” he lies.

“Nasha drowned, and I don’t know who they’re going to put in her room. Not everyone will want to watch over you. It’s risky to watch over you. You’re endangering all of us. Do you understand?”

“Yes.”

“If there are more searches, you’ll have to get out of here. We can’t keep you anymore.”

“Where will I go?”

“To the forest. There are Jews in the forest.”

“And who will watch over Mariana’s clothes?”

“That’s no concern of yours.”

Later, Victoria brings him soup and meatballs and leaves. Hugo sinks completely into the tasty food. The terrors and fears that tortured him all day long depart. He recovers and says to himself, If I have to run away, I’ll run away. Now it’s summer, and the nights are warm. There’s fruit in the forest. The farmers won’t identify me. I’m blond. I’m wearing a cross on my chest, and I speak fluent Ukrainian. In the forest I’ll find Mariana, and we’ll live together in nature, far from people and their scheming.