Blooms of Darkness

37

The summer is dying. The fields that just yesterday were golden are now harvested, barren, and gloomy. The nights are cold, and Hugo covers himself under the sheepskins. Once a week Mariana washes him. That time is very pleasant, and it fills him with a secret feeling that stays within him all week long.

At night, when Mariana has no guests, she invites Hugo into her bed, hugs him, and says, “You’re Mariana’s. You’re her man. All men are bastards. Only you truly love her.”

When fortune favors him, he sleeps in her embrace the whole night. But on some nights an unexpected guest knocks on her door, and he must crouch down and creep into the closet. All the warm pleasure evaporates, as though it had never existed. Searing humiliation remains.

Between morning and evening light, Mariana is tormented. She lists her torments one by one. “The soldiers treat me like a mattress and make me do disgusting things. When I drank brandy, I could stand that humiliation, but without brandy, every limb of my body is despised and painful.” Hugo can’t grasp all of her feelings, but he sees the trembling of her hands. More than anything else, that tremor says, It’s impossible for me to bear all the men who follow one after the other. The time has come to flee, and it doesn’t matter where.

Hugo feels that he must save her. “I’ll run away with you,” he says. “We’ll live in the country, just you and I.”

“People will recognize me and beat me.” Mariana reverts to her old fears.

“We’ll run away to places where they won’t recognize us.”

“Are you sure?” she asks, as if he has the answer.

“My heart tells me that you need brandy. In the mountains, by ourselves and without threats, you’ll be able to drink as much as you want.”

“You understand Mariana, and you love her,” she says, and gives him a quick hug.

Every time Mariana decides to leave The Residence, something happens that holds her back. A few days ago Paula fainted and was sent to the hospital. Her situation got worse, and Madam refused to pay the hospital bills. For its part, the hospital threatened to transfer Paula to the poorhouse, where abandoned people quickly died. There was a general mobilization. Everybody talked about saving Paula as a holy deed. They collected money and jewelry, and there was a great moment of reconciliation. A specialist was called in, and he brought Paula back to life. Everybody celebrated her recovery with drinking and song. Madam threatened to fire all the revelers. Everybody was drunk and merry and had sealed their ears to her threats, but when Madam announced that she was going to police headquarters, they sobered up and stopped.

That very day Paula’s condition worsened, and she died that night. Gloom and helplessness fell upon The Residence, but there were no recriminations or calls for rebellion.

“Paula departed because we ignored her pain, and when we were roused, it was too late. People are no different from animals. They live only for themselves.” Mariana spoke with a cold objectivity that terrified Hugo.

Hugo notices that when Mariana speaks about God and about His Messiah, she forms her sentences in the negative: “God doesn’t love Mariana. If He loved her, He wouldn’t torture her. He would show her the true path.” Another frequent comment is: “Mariana deserves it. In all of her ways she is rebellious, as the priest says.” And another: “I didn’t know how to love my parents, as God commanded, and I became addicted to dubious pleasures. God sees everything and hears everything, and He punishes people for their actions. I bear a burden of shame. I haven’t yet gotten a tenth of what I deserve.”

Once he heard her say, “Jesus, take me to you. I’m fed up with this life.” But when a guest was good to her, when he gave her extra banknotes or a box of candy, she forgot her trials. She washed, made herself up, put on a colorful dress and high-heeled shoes, and stood up straight in the center of the room. “How do I look?” she would ask.

“You’re marvelous,” Hugo would say, to flatter her.

“It’s wrong to complain too much. Not everything is black,” she would say in moderate tones. When Mariana is content, Hugo also comes out of his shell, and his world expands.

When the last of the guests have left the room, Mariana stays in bed and sinks into a deep sleep. Sometimes she sleeps until twilight. Hugo is tortured by hunger, but he’s careful not to disturb her. When she wakes up, she hurries to bring him a hot meal, apologizing and scolding herself. “I neglected my heart’s beloved. I deserve a whipping.”

One day she told him, “It will be different when we’re together in a secluded place. I have to gather strength. I need a little push, and we’ll take off. Don’t despair, Hugo, we’ll do it, and in the nicest way. Nature is the most suitable place for Mariana. People drive her out of her mind. It’s hard for me to bear their hypocrisy and cruelty. I love birds. I’m willing to give my life for them. A little bird that pecks at bread crumbs in your hand is part of God above. For a moment you become weightless, and you can fly away with it.” She then fell silent. It was clear to Hugo that those words weren’t hers, but that someone else had put them in her mouth.