Blooms of Darkness

45

The winter continues, and covers the fields and the houses with a thick veil of snow. Again the frost returns, but not to worry, Hugo is sleeping with Mariana. Every night he’s wrapped in warmth and softness. They sleep like everyone else, until late. Sometimes, in her sleep, she draws him to her. He already knows what to do.

“I have food for another four days,” Victoria keeps reminding the women. “After that, you can chew on the walls.” Now every minute is precious, and everyone knows it. They drink, play cards, reminisce, and confess. Hugo sees a woman kneeling before a crucifix, crossing herself and praying. For meals, Mariana takes Hugo out of the closet, and he sits with everyone. They are a merry bunch, full of life, and they have received an unexpected vacation in the middle of winter. They enjoy one another’s company and do whatever they please.

“Now Hugo will speak.” One of the women halts the flood of happiness.

“What do you want from him? He’s still a kid.”

“He’s been with us for a year and a half. It would be interesting to hear what’s running around in his head.”

Mariana intervenes. “You can’t think about anything else,” she says. “Always the same thing.”

“Twelve-year-olds already know what sin is.”

Hugo listens and enjoys the humor, the sassiness, and the insights. He has noticed that there isn’t much difference between their thoughts and their words. Women speak about everything that gives them pleasure or pain, though not in the same tone of voice.

Victoria’s repeated threat, that the supplies are steadily dwindling, no longer frightens them. “It’s a good thing you’re not threatening us with hell,” one of the women says.

“I am threatening, but what good will my threats do for stopped ears?”

“Don’t worry. One day we’ll repent.”

“I guess I won’t live to see that.”

“Mom, you mustn’t lose hope.”

“Look who’s talking,” replies Victoria, making a strange motion with her head.

The word “God” isn’t uncommon here. The women often fight over it, and Hugo senses that if a priest or monk were to enter the room, the women would kneel silently in their places and ask forgiveness. “God is everywhere,” he heard one of them explaining at length. “There is no place where He is not present. He is even to be found here, in this garbage dump. We have cut ourselves off from Him, not He from us.”

“You’re wrong. I think about Him all the time,” another answered.

“If you thought about Him all the time, you wouldn’t be here.”

“I’m here because I have no alternative.”

“That’s an excuse. You can use that excuse on us, but not in God’s ear. God knows exactly what’s the truth and what’s a lie.”

Hearing those words, the women fall silent, but not for long. Suddenly one of them bursts into sobs. Hearing her weeping, other women gather around her and say, “Don’t listen to that one. You know her. She looks for faults in everyone except herself.”

Suddenly Madam appears. Since the guard left his post, she has been careful about what she says and doesn’t threaten anyone. She is a handsome woman and could have been the mother of any of the girls here. She speaks in Ukrainian and peppers her words with German. Her appearance stuns Hugo. “How are my girls?” she addresses the seated women.

“We’re unemployed, and our future is in doubt. Maybe you could advise us on what to do? You’re our mother,” says one rather young woman, who has drunk a great deal but isn’t drunk.

“Advise? Me? You know life better than I do.”

“We haven’t had time to think. Three men every night make you dumb.”

“Don’t exaggerate. There were a lot of nights when you slept alone and even got served breakfast in bed.”

“I can’t remember them.”

“I’ve got a list of your free nights.”

“Interesting. My body doesn’t remember them.”

Madam has firm opinions. “A profession is a profession,” she says. “If you chose it, don’t look at it as a punishment, bad luck, or the devil knows what. Every profession has its disadvantages and its little pleasures.” As for the men, she says, “Some are wild beasts who have to be put in their place, but most of them treat women gently.”

“When’s the last time you slept with a man?” one of the women asks impudently.

“I knew men before you were born.” Madam gives as good as she gets.

“Maybe once they were gentle, but not today.”

“People don’t change. What was will always be.”

Madam doesn’t keep it a secret from them that a soft girl or one who’s too picky are not for her. “Even in our profession,” she says, “you can maintain manners and respect. But for that you need backbone.”

Hugo goes back to the closet. I’ve got to write down everything that’s happening to me, he says to himself, so that I’ll always remember what I saw and heard. Mama will read and flinch, and she’ll say, Good God, but Papa will take it in good spirit. Strange and puzzling things always amused him. He’ll say, Our Hugo, we must assume, is no longer the Hugo we knew. He’s matured before his time. Is that a reason to hit him?