Suddenly, Love

43

ONCE A MONTH ERNST RETURNS TO THE HOSPITAL FOR tests. Sometimes they keep him there for a few days. Ernst doesn’t complain — either about his pain or about the treatment. Irena feels that the doctors who are taking care of Ernst are always trying to evade responsibility and to place it instead upon him. Ernst doesn’t get upset. He lays his hand on his chest and says, “The responsibility is all mine.”

When Ernst is in a good mood and writing without pause, Irena returns to her house for a while; she dusts and lights two candles. Since she has started living at Ernst’s house, Irena has lost contact with her parents. She knows that they are used to coming to their own house, but that they wouldn’t dare come to a place that wasn’t their own. So she sits at home and waits for them. The tension brought on by this anticipation tires her.

In the mornings Irena washes Ernst, and if his skin is dry, she rubs his arms and legs with a moisturizing cream. Sometimes she also shaves him and pats rose water on his face. Ernst doesn’t flinch. He has full confidence in Irena’s hands.

Time is short, but Ernst does not feel under pressure. Irena envelops him with moderation and calm. Most of the time she is in her corner or the kitchen, and when she appears, her face is full of readiness to do his bidding.

Ernst gets deeper into his time in the Carpathian Mountains. He knows that what was revealed to him back then has been hidden away over the years. But thanks to Irena, he now has a key that opens the heavy doors. Sometimes he feels that Irena is from there herself, that she’s one of Grandmother’s young granddaughters, or perhaps a great-grandchild who lived with her for several years and learned the rules and customs for serving God, and all the little details that accompany them: how to walk, what to say and when, how to be silent, when to pray silently, and when to pray out loud.

One time Ernst asked Irena, “Weren’t you there?”

“No,” she said, “I was born in a displaced persons’ camp on the way to Israel.”

Irena has changed. She is prettier. Her gestures, which had been reserved, have blossomed. Her vocabulary has also changed. She still talks in the same jumble of languages that her parents had spoken in, but her voice has taken on a special charm. Irena tries to surround Ernst with things that please the eye, with fresh flowers and dried roses. A few days ago she bought a Chinese screen decorated with flowers so that he wouldn’t feel too exposed to the daylight.

At night, when Ernst closes his eyes, Irena is happy just to be at his side and watch over him. From his face she can tell whether his sleep is tranquil or he is being frightened by bad dreams. Once she heard him talking in his sleep in Russian, and it sounded like the recitation of a poem.

Ernst is actually dreaming about Irena. She is wearing an embroidered peasant blouse and a wide skirt that resembles the skirts that the Ruthenian women in the Carpathians wore. He tries to free himself from the bonds of the dream, but his body feels heavy and the bonds are tight. In great despair he tears the ropes with his teeth and runs toward Irena.

“We were together in the Carpathians,” he tells her when he wakes up.