Katerina

10

I WENT FROM TAVERN TO TAVERN. The railway station street was full of them, orderly ones and some less orderly. I preferred the quiet ones. Two or three drinks restored Rosa and Benjamin to me. I know I shall never forgive myself for allowing the Ruthenians to steal the boys. Sometimes I felt they were thinking about me in secret. If I had known where they were, I would have gone to them on foot. Sometimes it seems that time has stopped and we are still together in that little shed during that winter. The rustic stove is giving off its thick heat and I am bundled up with the boys in the big wooden bed.

Each tavern evoked different sights for me. In the Royal Tavern, near the front window, I saw Henni. Now it seems to me I understand her rigor better. She couldn’t bear “almost” or half measures. Without that rigor, she would have floated away. That was her character, and that was how she punished herself. Now she was jolting all over the provinces and entertaining the dull ears of the wealthy. Izio’s rigor was even more severe than hers. I remember him saying, “One must peel off the many outer layers of the matter and lay bare the kernel.” At that time the word peel astonished me. Now I understand the dread inherent in that word. I was afraid of his rigor. The Royal Tavern was quiet, and I could sit there for many hours. Once men used to accost me. Now only old men took an interest in me. In the Royal I met Sammy, a tall and husky man with eyes like a child’s.

They say the Jews are cheats. Sammy, for example, didn’t have an ounce of cunning. I saw him sitting in a corner, sipping a drink. In Strassov, no Jew would enter a tavern. Wonder of wonders, here a Jew sat and piled up glass after glass. I approached him. “What’s a Jew doing in a tavern?”

“I like to have a drink. What can I do?”

“Jews aren’t supposed to drink, don’t you know?”

“I’m a sinner. What can I do?”

He looked strange in the tavern, a boy in a den of thieves.

“You mustn’t be here.” I spoke brazenly.

“Why?”

“Because Jews have to direct commerce. If they don’t direct it, who will?”

He laughed heartily, and his laughter infected me, too.

I used to see him sometimes, but I didn’t go up to him. I felt that my presence embarrassed him. Finally, he overcame it and approached me, paying me back in my own coin. “What’s Katerina doing in a tavern?”

“Because Katerina is Katerina, a Ruthenian from time immemorial.”

We laughed and drank like two friends.

Most of the day I wandered through the streets and slowly soaked up the big city. In fact, I didn’t stray from the streets around the railroad station. But even those faded streets had the odor of a big city.

In the evening I sat with Sammy. Sammy told me about his life. Twice married and twice divorced. He divorced his first wife because she was domineering and the second because she was crazy. He had a grown daughter from his first wife, but he saw her only seldom.

“Why don’t you have steady work? Every Jew has steady work.”

“How do you know?” He chuckled.

“For many years I worked for Jews.”

“I hope you weren’t contaminated by them.”

There was a kind of piercing honesty to his rejoinders. I, for my part, told him about my native village. Sammy was a stricken man, and every word that came out of his mouth was dipped in his wound. Nevertheless, a few of his movements were pleasing to the eye, and his voice, too, or rather his accent, sounded melodious to me.

I was not working then, either. I squandered the money Henni had given me with abandon. Each morning, I would wander the city streets. The city was full of Jews. For hours I sat and observed them.

In the afternoon I would enter a Jewish restaurant. My appearance astonished the customers for a moment. When I asked, in Yiddish, for chicken soup with matzoh balls, everyone’s eyes opened wide, but I wasn’t offended. I sat in my place, ate, and watched. Jewish foods are pleasant to the palate; they don’t have too much vinegar or an excess of black pepper. In the evening I used to come back to the tavern and sit beside Sammy. While he was drinking no one did him any harm, but when he got drunk, they abused him and called him a drunken Jew. Sammy was a strong man, defending himself even in his drunkenness, but he didn’t have the strength to stand up to the tavern’s owner, his son, and his son-in-law. At midnight they grabbed him and threw him out. “I won’t come back here!” he shouted, but the next day he came back.

“Get a grip on yourself,” I tried to persuade him.

“I must control myself,” he agreed with me.

In my heart I knew he wouldn’t do it, that he couldn’t take himself in hand, but still I plagued him with vain demands.

“And you, what about you?”

“I’m a Ruthenian, the daughter of Ruthenians. Generations of drunkards flow in my veins.”

“I get drunk easily,” he admitted.

The daytime was all my own. I wandered among stores, courtyards, and synagogues, and at noon I entered the Jewish restaurant. Yiddish is a savory language. I could sit for hours and listen to its sound. The old people’s Yiddish recalled delectable winter dishes. I would sit for hours and observe the old people’s gestures. Sometimes they seemed to me like priests who have forfeited their pride, but occasionally an old man would lift his head and direct his gaze toward someone impertinent, and then one saw clearly the priestly fire burning in his eyes. I, for example, loved to stand near the window of the synagogue and listen to the Rosh Hashanah prayers. People tell me that the Jews’ prayers are maudlin. I don’t hear any weeping in them. On the contrary, they sound to me like the complaints of strong people, firm in their opinion.

While I was wandering, doing nothing, forgetful of myself and surrounded by many sights, I saw a large advertisement in the newspaper: “The famous pianist Henni Trauer has gone to her eternal rest in the resort city of Cimpulung. The funeral will take place tomorrow morning at ten.” I read, and my eyes went dark.

I immediately went down to the railroad station to catch the express. It was already late, the station was empty of travelers, and only drunkards lay in the corners, making a racket.

“Can I get to Cimpulung this evening?” I called out desperately.

The ticket agent opened his window and said, “What’s the matter?”

“I must get to Cimpulung,” I informed him.

“At this hour there are no trains to the provinces. It’s midnight, for your information.”

“Not even a freight train? It doesn’t matter to me. I’m willing to travel under any condition, at any price.”

“Freight trains are for beasts, not human beings.”

The ticket windows shut, one after the other. The lights dimmed. Even the drunkards collapsed in a heap and fell asleep.

“God, send me a train from heaven,” I called out. I had barely voiced that prayer when a freight train steamed in and stopped.

“Can I get to Cimpulung with you?” I called out to the engineer.

“Are you willing to ride with me in the cabin?”

“I’m willing.”

“Climb in,” he said, and lowered the ladder.

“I have a great task,” I informed him. “I must get to Cimpulung.”

“You’ll get there,” he promised.

I knew I’d have to pay the price of the trip with my body, but the trip was more important than my body. I stood in the narrow cabin, knowing what to expect.

“Why are you trembling?”

I told him that a woman who was more dear to me than a sister had suddenly died, and I had a strong wish to bid her farewell.

“We’re all going to die.”

My words didn’t impress him.

“True, but meanwhile some set out to meet their fate and others stay alive.”

“That’s nothing new.”

“It’s hard to bear that parting.” I tried to soften his heart.

But he stuck to his guns. “That’s the way of the world.”

I didn’t know what to answer and fell silent. While he was operating the enormous engine, he asked me what village I came from. I told him at length. I wasn’t afraid. I was prepared for anything to get to Cimpulung on time.

On the way, he fondled me and said, “The Jews have ruined you. You mustn’t work for them.”

“Why?”

“They ruin the feeling.”

My heart impelled me to say, Jews are people too, but I didn’t say it.

Afterward, he was busy getting the locomotive ready. He had a long conversation with the track inspector, and finally he asked him to inform all the stations he would be late. Now I saw again: Night in a railroad station is a different kind of night. The noise freezes. It isn’t silence but a confined hubbub. Ever since I’d left the house, I’d known those godforsaken places.

Later, he started the engine and spoke a lot about the Jews and the damage they caused and about the need to wipe them out.

“There are also good ones.” I couldn’t stand idly by.

“None.” He jabbed that isolated word into the roar of the engine and added nothing.

Afterward, he stopped fondling me and, casually, said, “You’ve worked too long for the Jews. You mustn’t work for the Jews. They ruin body and feeling.” The morning steadily lit up the horizon, and suddenly it became clear to me that Henni was no longer alive. That vivid knowledge frightened me, and I wept. The engineer was busy operating the locomotive, and he paid no attention to my weeping.

Toward morning, we arrived at Cimpulung. My fear that he would take me from the station to a hotel was unfounded. He told me, not without disgust, “You’re dismissed.” I remembered. That was the way the manager of the restaurant in Strassov used to get rid of old women who worked for him. The morning light spread out over the empty platform. I ran for my life to a café.

The coffee was hot and thick and I sank completely into its taste. I forgot for a moment why I had dragged myself there. For a long while I sat, remembering my childhood. My father and mother now appeared very hazy, as though they had never existed. Only when I went to the cashier to pay did I remember my long night journey, and my body trembled again.