Suddenly, Love

28

ERNST’S RECOVERY IS SLOW, AND IT HAS ITS UPS AND downs. When the pain attacks him, he grits his teeth and bites his lip. He struggles with it and receives praise from the nurses and doctors. One time Irena was about to tell him, We’ll light a memorial candle on the anniversary of your parents’ death. They will come back and forgive you. Parents always forgive their children. When Irena has taken care to keep her house properly maintained and has gone to prostrate herself on her parents’ graves on the anniversaries of their deaths, she knows that ghosts won’t disturb her rest at night.

Irena has noticed that since Ernst has been in the hospital, his speech has been flowing in torrents; whenever the pain lets up, he talks about his parents, about his home, and about the distance between the house and the grocery store. The narrow space disturbs him. Irena doesn’t know how to respond or what to do to calm his spirit. On Sabbath eve, when she lights the candles, she prays and asks Ernst’s parents not to be angry with him, to speak slowly to him. He will listen to everything they say, but in the state he is in they mustn’t be angry with him. One evening, Irena went to Ernst’s house, dusted, washed the floor, and before leaving lit a memorial candle. Perhaps his parents would hear of this and forgive him.

Ever since Ernst told her about his parents at length, Irena has known no rest. She listens to his thoughts, and she keeps trying to reach his parents in another way. She tries so hard that she can see them before her eyes: they are tall people, somewhat stooped, and wrapped in silence. There is no anger in their eyes, just the perplexity of forgiveness. When they draw near to Irena, she wants to say to them: Ernst is looking for you. He has been looking for you for years. What should I tell him? They look back at her, and their confusion increases. But they have no words.

Of course Irena tells Ernst nothing about these secret contacts; nevertheless, he seems to feel that she is trying very hard to raise his parents up from the depths. Every morning, when he opens his eyes and sees Irena, he says, “Why don’t you go to sleep?”

“I slept.”

“But you’re always at my side.”

“I slept for three hours straight.”

Sometimes it appears to Irena that he, too, is trying to reach his parents with all the strength of his pain, and she wants to tell him, There can be no doubt that you’ll reach them one day. The path is unpaved, but longing can reach any place. You aren’t alone. There’s someone watching over you. Ernst is aware of her efforts, and he says to her, “Thank you, Irena.”

“What are you thanking me for?”

“For sitting by my side.”

“I’m not doing anything.”

“You’re doing more than I deserve.”

“You deserve every help.”

Sometimes Ernst speaks about his writing, about the many nights he has invested in digging up the wrong wells.

“For years I didn’t understand why the wells were dry. I thought that if I dug deeper, I’d find a living spring.”

Once he told her, “I have to go home urgently.”

“To which home?”

“To my parents’ home.”

You’ll go there. You have already been going there, she was about to say, but she didn’t say it.

Irena knows that Ernst doesn’t like useless consolations, ornamental words, or hollow expressions. Once he told her something that she will never forget: “Words that aren’t connected to pain aren’t words, but fluff. For so many years I went to places where I didn’t belong, with words that didn’t grow from within me.” What did he mean by “words that didn’t grow from within me”? Irena wanted to ask. Ernst sensed this and said, “Words that don’t grow out of one’s pain.”