Blooms of Darkness

52

They sit and look at the fire. The flames are thin and blue and give off a good smell of burning wood. For a long while they just stare at it. The potatoes in the middle of the fire take on a dark crust. It’s pleasant to sit and not do anything.

“God knows what will be, but meanwhile we have something to eat. As long as there are supplies to stave off hunger, there’s nothing to worry about. If the weather stays the way it is now, we can get to the mountains in two or three days, and there it will be easier for us. In the mountains they don’t pursue people who have committed no misdeed.”

The gleaming snow covers the earth, leaving no bare spots. Mariana is apparently apprehensive. “In the mountains, they won’t pursue us,” she repeats. “In the mountains they don’t dig into a person’s past. They respond to his deeds. I’m prepared to do any kind of work and to earn my bread by the sweat of my brow. They’ll see that Mariana’s not lazy,” she says to herself. Suddenly she’s silent.

The potatoes and cheese are tasty. Mariana melts some snow in a pot and prepares tea. The tea and the chocolate-covered wafers remind Hugo of the trips his family would take when the season changed from winter to spring. His mother loved the white snow flowers that would peek out of the earth that was suddenly laid bare, black and moist.

The vision of those distant and forgotten mountains dazzles Hugo, and he closes his eyes. Now he clearly sees his mother kneeling, looking with wonder at the white flowers, and his father, seeing her wonderment, kneeling as well. For a moment they marvel together without speaking.

This vision, buried within him, breaks through and appears before his eyes, stunning him. Tears catch him unawares and flood his face.

“What’s the matter with you?” says Mariana. “A big fellow like you doesn’t cry anymore.”

“I remembered my parents.”

“You mustn’t cry. We’re setting out on a long and dangerous journey. Who will watch over Mariana? A spoiled fellow cries, but a strong and brave lad mustn’t cry. We’ll have to climb mountains, cross rivers, and get our bread from the earth. A strong boy knows how to suffer and never cries.” Her voice is determined, and Hugo feels that he has made a mistake, that he must overcome his weakness.

“I’m sorry,” he says, and wipes his eyes.

“Crying is hard to forgive. All those years I wanted to cry, but I restrained myself. A person who cries announces to the world that he’s lost and needs pity. A person who asks for pity is a sad sack. You can be anything, but not a sad sack. Do you understand?”

“I understand,” Hugo says, and without doubt he does understand.

“From now on not even a single tear.”

“I promise.”

For quite a while they sit and drink tea. Mariana’s face doesn’t soften. She sinks deep into thought, and her eyes express dour seriousness. In his heart he knows that if he asks her pardon now, she won’t be forgiving. He must wait and, when the time comes, prove to her that he’s brave, that emotions and weakness have no control over him.

“I’ve been thinking about you,” Mariana says, rousing him from his thoughts. “You’ve changed and matured, but you still have quite a way to go. Jews spoil their children, and they don’t prepare them properly for life. A Ukrainian child works in the field, and if they hit him, he doesn’t cry. He knows that life isn’t a plate of strawberries.”

Then she takes a few swigs from her bottle and stops punishing him. Hugo gathers some twigs and brings the bonfire back to life. “Come to me, baby, and I’ll give you a kiss. It’s good that you’re with me. It’s hard to be alone. Bad thoughts strangle you.”

“Should I melt more snow?”

“There’s no need. We’ve drunk enough. What time is it?”

“Three o’clock.”

“In a little while we’ll have to set out. We can’t sleep outdoors. Let’s hope that God sends us decent people,” she says, and puts the bottle in the fire. Strangely, that motion, which had nothing superfluous about it, implants itself in Hugo’s memory with great clarity. In time he will wonder: When did the tears freeze in me?