Katerina

30

I DIDN’T MOVE FROM WHERE I WAS. The lights of day mingled with the lights of night, and night in that season is as short as a heartbeat. You lay your head on the straw, and dawn already breaks out. I knew I had to do something, to move forward or to raise my voice, but the silence that surrounded me on all sides was great and thick and my legs were heavy, as though metal had been cast around them.

Some distance away wagons full of clover lumbered along. I saw that just an hour ago it had been mown, and soon the peasants would pile it in the broad feeding troughs. Children skipped in front of the wagon wheels the way I had done when I was their age. “Who’s there?” I called out. Since my encounter with that peasant woman, I was attentive to every noise. In the villages they forgive murderers but not murderesses. Murderesses have been regarded as a horror and a curse from time immemorial. They are pursued to the death. A murderer, after he’s served his sentence, returns to his village, marries, and fathers children, and no one reminds him of his deed. But a murderess is forever a murderess. I knew that and wasn’t frightened. On the contrary, I had a strong desire to approach the wagons and feel the clover with my hands, but the wagons quickly passed me by.

Meanwhile, I remembered that during the long summer evenings the Jews used to come to the village and spread out their wares on hangers and improvised stands. And there were stands for special fruits, dates and figs, stands for creams and perfumes, household goods and furs from the city. In the summer twilight, the peddlers looked like ancient priests breathing enchantment into their belongings. That was the summer market, and everybody called it the Jews’ long market. They sold all night, and toward morning the prices would drop to half. I didn’t sleep during those nights, and my mother, who knew what I wanted, would drive me into the house with a stick. Nevertheless, I stole, sometimes together with Maria, but mostly alone. Everybody was drunk with the lights of the night at the summer market, and from the sparkling of the lake, which spread an enthralling glow. You could buy everything at that market— pumps and high-heeled shoes, beads, cloth, and even transparent silk stockings. My young head was not given over to wonders at that time. The urge to steal was stronger than everything, and I stole whatever came to hand. Poor Maria—at our last meeting at the station she wore a necklace around her neck, one we had stolen together from the Jews. She too is in the world of truth, and only the summer light, the eternal summer light, flows as it always used to flow.

I uprooted my legs and advanced. The night light grew stronger above me. I was thirsty. The years of hunger in prison hadn’t left me with hunger, only thirst. I drank from the pond, and for the first time I saw my face: not Katerina of the meadows and not Katerina of the railroad station and not Katerina of the Jews. Very little hair remained on my head, and my face was thin and old.

Some distance away, on the hilltops, serene smoke rose in columns over the houses. I knew that everyone was seated at the table, and the lady of the house was serving fatback, cabbage, and potatoes. In the long summer evenings it’s hard to sleep. Even babies in the cradle are awake and absorb the rustling of the night light. For an instant I forgot the many years, and I wrapped myself up in moments of peace that remained from my childhood.

But not for long. The smell of burning came to my nostrils. First it seemed that the smell was rising up from the ditches where the cows were grazing in the daylight. It wasn’t a harsh or oppressive smell. For some reason it reminded me of the picnics that Maria and her companions used to have in the woody glens on summer days. The boys used to steal chickens from the village, slaughter them, and roast the meat on coals. I was about twelve years old, and the sight of the slaughtered fowl on the coals frightened me greatly. Maria, from sheer anger, used to threaten me, saying, “You mustn’t be scared. If slaughtered chickens scare you, who’ll save you from the murderers?” Even then Maria had been hard and brazen, as though she weren’t a young girl but some forest creature. The fear of that moment came back to me, and I moved on. My feet were heavy, but I walked without stumbling. The night light grew dimmer, but the brightness wasn’t spoiled. The meadows spread out along the hilltops bathed in blue.

I knew something was amiss, but what it was exactly, I couldn’t say. It was as though my head was emptied. Now I felt a strong desire for a drink. For years no strong drink had passed my lips. What the women drank in prison was worse than sewage. I remembered that I had promised Benjamin that I wouldn’t drink, but now I knew that I wouldn’t be able to keep that promise. If a peasant came and offered me a drink, I’d grab it.

While I was standing there, given over to my desire, the heavens opened and a light from on high covered the blue meadows with a mighty splendor. I covered my face and knelt down.

“Katerina.” I heard a voice.

“Your servant, my Lord,” I answered immediately.

“Remove your shoes from your feet, because you are standing on a holy place,”

I took off my shoes and sat, closing my eyes. For a long time I was withdrawn into myself, but the voice didn’t speak to me again. Later, when I raised my face, I saw ruins looming up before me, actually one ruin and two walls remaining from a building that had collapsed. The empty windows were full of light.

“What must I do, O Lord,” I said, and I didn’t know what I was saying.

The heavens did not open again, but the light was strong and my attention great. When I drew near the ruin, I saw with my own eyes that I hadn’t been wrong. It was a Jewish ruin. There were still signs of a mezuzah on the doorpost. Everything, every shelf and hook, had been pulled from the walls, and what hadn’t been ripped away by human hands had been tattered by the winds.

“I consecrate you as a temple,” I said, and stepped inside. The light inside was sharper than outside. I put out my hands and wanted to call out, God in heaven, for I immediately saw that the dreadful rash had left my hands and they were as they had been, the fingers short and the thumb thick.