Blooms of Darkness

50

They find shelter in a hayloft, abandoned but roofed. Mariana spreads her kerchief on the ground and puts a small bottle of liqueur and some chocolate-covered cookies on it. Hugo tastes the liqueur, and it pleases him.

The sun now stands in the middle of the sky and is reflected on the blanket of snow, which gleams with great intensity. When they traveled to the Carpathians to ski, Hugo’s mother took care to wear sunglasses. He hears the sound of her voice, warning and fearful.

After finishing the strange meal, Mariana lights a cigarette and says, “It’s odd that everyone is glad the war is over, and only I’m afraid.”

“What are you afraid of?”

“Of the Russians. They’re fanatics. They will kill anyone who was in contact with the Germans. How strange — life isn’t so important to me, yet the fear still remains.”

“We’ll slip away from them,” says Hugo, trying to pull her out of her distress.

“I’m not complaining. I feel good now. A night spent sleeping alone or with you is worth everything to me. Since my youth, I’ve been forced to work like a slave, night after night.”

“I’ll watch over you,” says Hugo, looking into her eyes.

“You have to get sturdy and grow. Since you’ve been with me, you’ve grown, but not enough. I’ll make sure you have enough to eat. Spring is around the corner, and when it comes, we can walk along the river, catch fish, and grill them.”

Hugo wants to flatter her, but he can’t find the words, so he says, “Thank you very much.”

Mariana looks at him softly and says, “Friends don’t need to say thank you. Friends help each other. It goes without saying.”

“I was wrong,” Hugo says.

“We have lovely days ahead of us,” Mariana announces, and sips from the bottle.

Later, they keep their distance from the houses on the road. Mariana is in a good mood. She sings and jokes and imitates Madam speaking German. At last she says, “I’m not sorry I left The Residence. In a little while spring will come, the trees will be covered with leaves, and they will be our roof. Mariana loves nature. Nature is good to women. Nature doesn’t threaten, and it isn’t violent. A woman can sit on a riverbank and dip her feet in the water, and if the water is warm, she can swim. Do you agree?”

“Absolutely.”

“You love Mariana, and you make no demands or criticisms of her.”

“You’re beautiful.”

“That’s what Mariana loves to hear. My father, of blessed memory, used to say, ‘Beautiful women are a disaster. All troubles come because of them.’ ” She chuckles with the harsh voice of a crow.

The setting sun stands on the horizon. Frost is blowing in the wind, and Mariana rouses herself from her thoughts and says, “In a little while night will fall, and we have no roof over our heads. We’ve gotten too far from the houses, and now we’ll have to go back to them.” There is no panic in her voice. Hugo has noticed that when the bottle is within reach, her thoughts are clear and without gloomy clouds.

“The horizon is beautiful,” she continues in a nostalgic tone. “When I was a girl, I loved to look at it, but many years have passed. I forgot how beautiful it is. I was sure then that if I walked for an hour or two, I’d get to it. Why are you laughing?”

“I thought the same thing when I was a child.”

“I knew we had something in common,” she says, and they both laugh.

They advance with short steps, and without hurrying. “I would give all the money in the world for a cup of coffee and some cheesecake,” Mariana says. “I’m not hungry, but a cup of coffee and some cheesecake would strengthen the faith within me. What about you, sweetie? You haven’t eaten all day. Mariana is very selfish, and she’s always tied to her own belly button. Sometimes she forgets the people she loves. That’s a flaw in my character. I doubt I can correct a flaw like that. But you forgive me. You always forgive me.”

Meanwhile, night has fallen, and it has gotten colder. Mariana gives Hugo her thick sweater and the kerchief. The coat that he brought with him from home is short on him now, and it won’t button. “Now you’ll be warm,” she says, and is pleased with his new look.

Suddenly, a cabin appears before them, a rather meagerlooking hut with no fence.

“Let’s ask. Maybe they’ll let us spend the night,” she says, and knocks on the door.

An old man opens it, and Mariana quickly tells him that they have fled from the front and are looking for a place to sleep — for payment, of course.

“Who are you?” asks the old man in a sharp voice.

“My name is Maria, and I’m a widow and a mother. This is my son, Janek.”

“What will you pay me with?”

“I’ll give you two packets of German cigarettes.”

“Come in. I was about to go to sleep. A person doesn’t know what the night will bring him.”

“We’re quiet, and we won’t disturb you. In the morning we’ll be on our way.”

“Have the Russians come already?” the old man inquires.

“They’ve broken through the front, and they’re rushing forward.”

“Only God knows what the day will bring.”

Mariana hands him the two packets, and the old man holds them in his trembling hands. “All winter long I haven’t smoked,” he says. “Without cigarettes, life is tasteless. I don’t have the money to buy them. In the past my sons used to bring me tobacco, and I would roll my own cigarettes. This last year they haven’t come. They forgot their father.”

“They didn’t forget. The war blocked the roads.” Mariana defends them.

“If a son wants to see his father, he gets there. Now everyone is waiting for the father to die. An old father is a curse. After his death, they come and finger his possessions and fight over every pillow. That’s it. Who am I to complain? Would you like some potato soup that I made?”

“Gladly, grandfather.”

The hot soup fills them, and Mariana thanks him again.

“People have forgotten that we are commanded to help one another,” the old man murmurs.

Later, they fall into bed and sleep like stones. Mariana wakes up several times and kisses Hugo hard on the neck. He sinks between her breasts and sleeps dreamlessly.